Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1963)

DOLORES HART continued and her lifelong dream — to become a nun — would have, at last, its beginnings. She kneeled for a while at the side of her bed. Silently, she prayed: “Oh Lord God Almighty, Who has safely brought me to the beginning of a new day, defend me this day by Thy power, so that I may not only turn away from all sin, but also that my every thought, word and deed may proceed from and be directed according to Thy Will. . . .” And then she added a special prayer of her own: “I thank You, dear God, for the life You have given me. I dedicate that life to You from this day. And I offer up my joys, my ambitions, my all. Give me the strength, this I ask of You, please, dear God, to be able to follow my true calling. . . .” She rose, then, and washed, and dressed. As she washed, she carefully avoided looking at herself in the mirror. There would be no mirrors at the convent, she knew. Vanity, any vestige of it, must be left behind. And so, this pretty girl, an actress, a Hollywood starlet, so used to having all manner of men and women rush up to her with handmirrors before a scene, so used to sitting in front of a bulb-framed mirror and staring to see that the lipstick was properly applied and that the mascara was not smudged — now avoided her own mirror. Not looking at her face this morning. As she would be living from now on. As she would never look at it again. She dressed simply this morning — in a plain dress that was a particular favorite of hers. Her only dress, really. Since, just the day before, she had finished giving her other clothes away. To friends. And charities. Along with the rest of her possessions — everything. And now Dolores walked into the garden of the pretty little hilltop house where she had lived these past few years. For a look down the hill. A last look. At Hollywood. It had been good to her, this town. She had no complaints. It had treated her fairly. It was filled with people who had been nice to her. It was a rich town, filled with every luxury known to man. There were some people in it who had traded their souls to taste some of that luxury. It was a strange town — happy, sad, clean, dirty, moral, perverse. Hollywood. Fortunately, however, Dolores had known only the best of it. And had she continued in that town, it was clear that the best would have mounted for her — she would undoubtedly have been a true star one day, truly wealthy, truly happy in the most earthly sense. This she sensed. But this she could not have cared less about. Not now, this day, this moment of this particular morning. As she looked down at the so-called magic town, as she thought to herself, simply: “The life you offered me, Hollywood, held no meaning for me.” After a while, her eyes began to rise . . . above the pink roofs, the lushly green palms ... to a patch of sky overhead. And she whispered now: “Give me the grace to be Thy faithful soldier, so that by fighting the good fight of faith, I may be brought to the crown of eternal life by the merits of Thy son and our Savior, Jesus Christ.” Then she turned and went back into the house. To wait for the car that would soon come to take her to the Los Angeles airport. . . . Vince Edwards said of Dolores’ decision to enter the Connecticut convent : “The news about Dolores came as no surprise to me. A girl that good and that religious was bound to enter a convent. I have never known any other girl in my life as wholesome and honest as Dolores. We dated a lot when we were both under contract to Hal Wallis. There was nothing serious. She was doing important things — and I wasn’t. My biggest checks came from the unemployment office. That didn’t bother Dolores. She spent most of the time boosting my morale and uplifting me spiritually when I needed it the most. A lovely, beautiful girl, she will make a wonderful nun. I know she is truly happy — and I’m very happy for her. . . .” Dolores listened intently, that next morning, as the Mother Superior of the Regina Laudis Monastery in Bethlehem, Connecticut, spoke to her and the other girls ( Continued on page 84) 58