The Ear of the Heart: An Actress' Journey From Hollywood to Holy Vows (41 page)

“
If, in the final analysis, I have made a mistake,” I wrote Ethel, “if I have given up the real treasure of life, I will have at least the satisfaction of knowing that I was wholly committed to my choice. But if I am right, then my joy will be the fullness of a final communion of love with the same persons who question, tolerate, kid or condemn my choice. My only justification will be the living of it, and I don’t know if I have what it takes to do that
.”

—
That was so true. I had barely gotten through the first months by the skin of my teeth
.

I didn’t know how to explain the contemplative life. All I felt was my own conviction in the power of prayer and in the deep faith that prompts that prayer, but the letter to Ethel kind of gathered up the bits and pieces swimming about in my brain concerning the decision I was facing. Composing the letter had been surprisingly comfortable. Then reading it over began to clarify what the essentials were. Would I ask to be clothed? Yes
.

Two months are set aside to prepare for Clothing—for practical reasons such as the time needed to make the habit (there are multiple fittings) and because the bishop determines the date of the ceremony according to his availability (the date for Dolores’ Clothing was changed three times). The Community also needed time to arrange accommodations for her guests. Dolores’ thirty-eight invitees exceeded the available space at both guesthouses, which sent the nuns scurrying to arrange outside accommodations, including several private homes in the vicinity and the Curtis House in Woodbury, the oldest inn in Connecticut. Dolores also wrote personal notes to several members of the Hollywood press who had been particularly kind to her, advising them of her impending new status, which they published in their columns.

—I just felt it was a good way to keep my fans aware of my progress
.

There had been a great deal of media interest in the ceremony, and several magazines and newspapers requested access.
Look
magazine was given permission to cover the event by the Hartford Archdiocese. An agreement was drawn up listing the ground rules. The article had to be submitted to the archdiocese to check for accuracy, and there were severe restrictions as to what could be photographed. This boiled down to two shots: one of Dolores in a formal dress before the ceremony and one, post ceremony, in her habit—but only through the Communion window.
Look
bowed out. The
New York Post
agreed to abide by the rules and was the only publication allowed to cover the event. The
Post
article, however, was widely quoted in other publications.

It is customary in most orders for the candidate to take a new name at the time of Investiture: new name equals new life. The new name was decided upon by Reverend Mother Benedict and revealed to the novice at the end of the ceremony. In my case, the chances were good that I would retain my own given name. There was ample precedent; Thérèse of Lisieux, for example, kept her own name. However, there was an older nun in the Community who felt very strongly that I should have the name Judith; it became almost an obsession with her. Because Reverend Mother was convinced that a name change could help in distancing me from the media, she asked me if I could accept the name of Judith, making it clear that my acceptance could reach out to this nun and perhaps save her vocation. Did I want to be Judith
?

—Well, there is an entry in your journal—May 7, 1964—that reads: God knows I do not—but I will.

   
I knew how much it would cost Mom to think of me no longer as Dolores. Indeed, she did not hide her displeasure with my new name even though I explained that the title of Judith is a
complement
of Dolorosa and was one of the reasons Reverend Mother had approved that name. I think, at the time, I also hoped that Judith’s courage would give me strength
.

Both Judith and Mary represent absolute faith in God. Both gave their lives totally in praise of Him. Judith, introduced in the Old Testament, was a wealthy widow who became a heroine to her people at the time the Assyrians, an enemy of Israel, were laying siege to her town. The elders felt sure all would die and were about to capitulate, but Judith insisted, “God will not let us be destroyed if we are faithful.” This brave woman risked her own life by going to the Assyrian general’s tent, getting him drunk and cutting off his head! When she returned to her people, she was praised as blessed above all women on earth for what she had done. In the Latin version of the Book of Judith, you will see the phrase
“non recedet laus”
(“May praise never cease”). It is the motto that appears on our abbey crest
.

My Investiture took place on June 29, 1964. It was a perfect summer day. As was the custom then, postulants arrived at the Clothing wearing a wedding dress, symbolic of marriage to Christ, and usually it was a family heirloom. That was a convention with which I was quite ill at ease. It had less to do with the garment itself than a conviction that it was premature. I was not going to be a full member of the Community. All I was going to do was exchange my postulant tunic for the habit of a novice. The wedding dress did not fit the step I was taking
.

My discomfort with this was yet another example of my finding fault with the system. I spoke about this to Reverend Mother, who listened patiently and then brought out photographs of her Clothing and said, “I wore a wedding dress
.”

—
I knew that I shouldn’t press the point
.

I dressed in a simple white gown that I found in our closet of clothing that had been worn by previous postulants. With it, I wore a lovely lace mantilla that my friend Father Salazar brought me as a gift. But I remained embarrassed. I decided that I would work on changing that part of the ceremony someday
.

—And have you?

   
Well, let’s just say my Clothing was the last time the wedding dress was used. After that, clothes that represented a woman’s own professional or personal life were worn, to show more what she was leaving behind. It broke with the traditional idea that the woman was now the bride of Christ. The reality at my Clothing was that I was a long way from that step
.

All of Dolores’ families were represented at the Clothing. Harriett was there—with Emilio Mazza, her new companion and partner in a Hollywood talent agency they had recently opened. Among Dolores relatives were both grandmothers, May Hicks and Esther Kude; her uncle John Hicks’ wife, Mabel; her uncle James Pittman and Sister Dolores Marie. Her religious family included Fathers Doody, Salazar and White, and Ray Powers represented her professional family. Valerie Allen, Gerry Brent, Ina Balin, and her benefactor from her New York days, Irving Sachs, made up the close-friends contingent. Maria Cooper and Jan Shepard served as her godmothers.

As was the tradition, I walked with Mom and the other guests up the hill to the chapel in procession. I was seated with my guests until Maria and Jan escorted me to the altar, where I knelt before the prelate—who was, happily, my good friend Monsignor Lacy. I divested myself of jewelry, actually just hair combs and a small gold pin—and Monsignor Lacy made one cut of my hair. Then Maria and Jan led me back to the cloister, where the cutting was completed
.

The cutting of the hair is a deeply felt experience because this moment is the first physical step for the nun to receive the habit. It can be terrible too, as it was for me, because I was giving up a sign of my femininity. In actual fact, my hair was not cut short. Reverend Mother felt a symbolic cut was sufficient out of respect for the individual
.

—
It was a practical consideration. If the novice should leave prior to making vows, she wouldn’t have to leave with a shaved head
.

My mind flickered with minutiae as my appearance changed—flashes from the past: my grandmothers brushing and brushing my hair, hours spent in front of a studio mirror having my hair made special for a scene. Now it was being made special for a better part. I changed from the gown, symbolic of marriage, to the habit and white veil, symbolic of a life of devotion to God
.

It’s a fair observation that, as an actress, I was curious about my appearance. I wanted desperately to see how I looked, but with nary a mirror around, the only time I saw myself in the habit was when I caught my reflection in a window pane. I immediately recalled I had worn a habit before—a costume—but the headdress I wore when I played Clare had felt like a helmet. I had, frankly, feared wearing a helmet for the rest of my life, but my religious headdress felt much more comfortable. Somehow it seemed part of my body. I felt free
.

Following the
Rule of Saint Benedict,
I knocked three times at the cloister door. It was opened by Reverend Mother, and I took my place beside her. I could see there were tears in her eyes
.

—
Never since have I put my veil on without remembering the look on her face
.

“
Are you ready?” she asked quietly. She opened an envelope, took out a piece of paper and said
, “Tu vocaberis Soror Judith.”
I nearly died. I had forgotten that I would be receiving a new name. I was now Sister Judith
.

At the end of the Investiture there was a brief reception in Saint Joseph’s to give me a chance to say goodbye to family and friends before retreating inside the enclosure for the next year. I remember that Mom seemed totally happy and even at peace. The last thing she said to me was about Reverend Mother. They had met several times in the year between my entrance and Clothing, and Mom had been quite drawn to her. “I looked into those eyes”, she told me that day. “Don’t ever doubt her, Dolores. She knows
.”

However, in revisiting that day, Jan Shepard remembered, “Everyone attending was very supportive and happy for Dolores. Even her mother seemed contented. But that evening a very bitter Harriett said to me so forlornly, ‘It’s all my fault, isn’t it?’ ”

Twenty-Five

It is harder than I ever dreamed. It is so real it hurts and yet anything less would be unbearable in its sham. It is the ineffable brought to terms
.

—Journal entry, August 1964

For one year after my Clothing, I would not leave the enclosure except for medical needs. No visitors would be allowed, and this applied not only to people I knew but to any guests. No telephone calls could be made or received except in the most severe emergency. Letters could be received, but they would first be read and evaluated. Permission to reply would have to be granted and the letter appraised before it could be sent. All of this was to help me become so formed in the customs and practices of the Order that they would become second nature to me
.

Such a total immersion in monastic life is harsh, but I looked upon that year as a time for reflection and integration. I had only a short while to find out whether I could live the life fully. Until First Vows, I could still abandon my course with no strings attached
.

As a novice I was not yet a full-fledged member of the Community, but I began to participate in many more aspects of its life. I did the same things I did as a postulant, but I was now expected to do them with greater regularity and attention
.

My obediences in the garden and laundry continued (I would ultimately work at both jobs for seven years), but I was now required to be at every Office. If I was working, say, in the garden on a project that couldn’t be stopped and the bell rang for prayer, I would be sent to pray; whoever was supervising me would finish the project herself. I had to focus on this very difficult rhythm of obedience to the Horarium—the Hours of the day—by doing it repeatedly over a long period until it became part of me
.