Dolores Hicks never wanted to be a nun.
From the time she was 7, Dolores had Hollywood in her sights. She wanted to become a big-time film actress and—unlike so many of her star-struck contemporaries—that’s exactly what she became. In the 1950s and ’60s, Hicks (changing her name to Dolores Hart) appeared in such movies as Where the Boys Are and Francis of Assisi and starred alongside Elvis Presley in Loving You and King Creole. She won a Tony Award (for Best Featured Actress in The Pleasure of His Company) and was nominated for a Golden Globe (for The Inspector). By 1963, she was near the height of her popularity and engaged to architect Don Robinson.
But along with her success, she began to feel a different sort of calling—one which would eventually lead to the Abbey of Regina Laudis in Connecticut, where she would become a nun. She broke off her engagement and took up a new, very different life in the abbey. And 50 years later, Dolores—now Mother Dolores—is still there, functioning as the Abbey’s Prioress.
I had a chance to talk with Mother Dolores last week, when she was in Colorado promoting her book, Ear of the Heart: An Actress’ Journey from Hollywood to Holy Vows. We had an opportunity to talk about her life in Hollywood, her sometimes trying transition into the abbey—and why she has such a strong appreciation for the abbey’s bell these days.
Paul: What was your life like growing up? Did you have a good childhood?
Mother Dolores: Well, you know, my mother and father were very young when I was born [both were 17]. And my father was taken very quickly by a talent scout [to Hollywood] because he looked like Clark Gable. It was 1939. My mom followed along to keep him, she said. And my grandmother kept me because she didn’t think that was a good place for me to grow up. So I spent my summers with my mother and my father, before they divorced, and my winters in Chicago with my grandparents. My grandparents were wonderful people and great fun; my grandfather was a motion picture operator, and he took me to the theater all the time with him, and I learned to look for my daddy on the screen.
P: Did you grow up in a fairly religious environment?
M: My grandparents, my grandmother came from central Illinois, where religion was the golden rule. But my grandfather, he had fallen away from the church at a very young age. He didn’t think that any religion worked, so I didn’t have much help from them. But my grandmother did send me to a Catholic school so I wouldn’t have to cross the streetcar tracks. So at the school … I noticed that some of the kids had sweetrolls. And so after Mass, I told the sister I wanted bread. She thought I meant the real bread of life. The way to do it was to take the religion classes, she said. So I asked my grandmother, she said, ‘Look, I told you before, whatever you want to do in life is fine. Whatever floats your boat.’
P: So you became a Christian, and eventually you were “discovered” and went to Hollywood yourself. Was it difficult to be a Christian in Hollywood at the time?
M: Well, it was, but I was very fortunate because I did fall into the hands of very good people. One of my very best friends was Maria Cooper, who was the daughter of Gary Cooper. And Maria was a very faithful Catholic. And she never stopped advising me. ‘Don’t go to this party,’ ‘Don’t do that,’ or ‘Do do this,’ because she’d been there and done that. And she knew where the pitfalls were. So I think it was a combination of friends and God’s very great mercy that kept me [safe].
P: Your emotional and spiritual journey to the convent was a little bit awkward, I suppose, given all the circumstances. And from what I understand, you didn’t want to join the convent at first.
M: No, I was not interested, at least not consciously. I had thought about it early on in my life. But what was happening to me in my career was so amazing. I was talking with the Mother Superior at Regina Loudes one day, and I asked her, ‘Do you think I belong here?’ And she said, ‘No, no, you go do your Hollywood thing. That’s what you’re really meant to do.’ I was so happy I could’ve kissed her. I just wasn’t prepared or released yet. But the seed was there. That was the thing.
And so I did five more films, and those films really put me into the heart of the human struggle for redemption. One film (The Inspector, aka Lisa) was about a Jewish woman who had been in Auschwitz. Before then, I didn’t know anything about what happened in the Second World War. I was just born in 1939. When I found out what people could do to other people … I couldn’t imagine that we would fight people who we loved.
P: So in a way, in some of the roles you were playing, they almost helped sort of form a bridge to that contemplative life. Would that be fair to say?
M: I think that’s a wonderful analogy.
P: I know you were engaged at the time when you decided to go to the abbey. It must have been a terrifying and difficult struggle for you. What did that look like at the time? Were you scared? Did you debate over the choice?
M: I was very, very sure that I was called, but I did not know how I was going to tell Don, who I was engaged to. What was I going to say to him? When I told him, he got very angry at first, but then he said to me, ‘You know, all love relationships do not end at the altar. I’m going to stay with you in this.’ And I said, ‘How in the world can you do that, Don? You find someone, find someone who you really care about.’ And he said, ‘I care about you. And I’m going to stay with you.’ And you know, Don never married. He came to the abbey at least twice a year. He got me a phone so I could call him. Up until 18 months ago, when he died, he was an absolutely stalwart friend.
P: Going into the convent must’ve been a trial at first. What was the toughest thing about transitioning to the abbey?
M: I think, if I’m really honest about it, it was having to be obedient. Having to do exactly what the bell said. When the bell rang, you were to do this or that.
I was in the carpentry shop, running a board through the saw one day, and the bell rang. And I said, ‘Oh, I can just finish this job.’ And then I thought better of it. ‘No, I better stop.’ and when I stopped and turned away, the saw on the blade started to jiggle and flew off—right onto the place I had been standing. And I thought to myself, ‘You better listen to that bell, honey.’
P: In the 50 years you’ve been at the abbey, how has your faith changed? How has it grown? How are you different from when you first stepped in?
M: I think when I first went in, I think I expected to find the Lord in a puff of smoke somewhere. Or in some manifestation. And I really understood, gradually, that the Lord is in the Eucharist. And the Eucharist is the gift of all of the body of Christ. That you find the Lord in every person you meet. Each person will tell you something different. Or show you something. Or give you another sense of who this person of Christ is meant to be. So it’s a much more deep and pervasive understanding. But at the same time, it made a lot of sense to me.
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