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03-08-2009
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04-08-2009
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Zsa Zsa's is currently in hospital, and this article looks back at her life and loves (dailymail.co.uk):

Quote:
My darlink Zsa Zsa had nine husbands, and slept with Nixon. But her real love? Her shih tzus

She's fighting for her life at the Ronald Reagan hospital in Los Angeles, where doctors are battling to replace her hip after a nasty fall out of bed, and mend countless other broken bones in her once voluptuous body.

But Zsa Zsa Gabor has always been an extraordinary survivor. I should know, because as her friend for nearly 35 years, and the co-writer of her 1992 autobiography One Lifetime Is Not Enough, I know the truth about the last of the legendary Gabors.

First of all, Zsa Zsa is 94, not 93, as she claims. Second, while she claims to come from an illustrious, well-heeled family, supposedly pillars of pre-war Hungarian society, I have it on good authority that her mother - the formidable Jolie - once ran one of Budapest's most successful brothels.

Zsa Zsa, of course, would never admit any such thing. Mistress of creating her own mythology, she has always been a storyteller to the ends of her well-manicured fingertips ('always wear pale polish if you haff small fingers, darlink, and dark if you have long ones . . .'), the crafter and keeper of her own glittering legend.

Her face, once moon-shaped and pudgy, was re-sculpted myriad times by some of Hollywood's earliest plastic surgeons, as was her nose. Right into her 70s she underwent many chemical peels in an effort to look as youthful as possible.

Yet Zsa Zsa's face and her figure (which was bosomy and curvy in the extreme) was not her fortune. It was her sunny charm, her bubbly personality and her rapier wit, combined with her naked flirtatiousness, that won her a legion of admirers.

President Richard Nixon, for example, had an affair with her, which consisted in part of him quizzing Zsa Zsa on Turkish politics (her first husband was in the Turkish diplomatic corps) and part Zsa Zsa praising him for his sexual prowess and vast endowment.

All men have to be told they are the biggest and the best, darlink, even if they are not,' she told me. When I raised an eyebrow, she tossed her head and said, 'And vhy not, darlink, it doesn't cost anything.'

Zsa Zsa was born Sari Gabor, and went on to win the Miss Hungary contest at the age of 15 - though she was subsequently disqualified for being under age. Her life changed irrevocably, though, when she fled World War II in 1941 and joined her sister, Eva, in America.

In the years that followed, she made her name as an actress - and cut a swathe through no fewer than nine husbands, the last of which was the exotically named Prince Frederic von Anhalt, who is 30 years her junior and has been married to her since 1986.

Queenly in the extreme - not just when she imperiously slapped a Los Angeles cop for being impertinent enough to stop her for speeding - perhaps it was inevitable that she would end up a Princess. Zsa Zsa loved her title, adored her tiara, yet was just as happy throwing off her diamonds, kicking off her shoes, and being one of the girls - or boys.

British actor George Sanders - her third husband and the man whom she told me was the 'great love of my life, even though he was cold and cruel to me' - once called her 'the best pal any man could have', a compliment she cherished above all others.

Perhaps for all her husbands, her shih tzu dogs - Zoltan Gabor being the favourite - have been the passion of her life. She loved giving parties for them, during which she made them hot dogs on her beloved hot dog machine.

She was also domesticated in the strangest ways, cooking a goulash recipe that included ginger snaps and eating a piece of green pepper every day because she thought it was good for her skin.

Zsa Zsa surrounded herself with wealthy men, but she also thought nothing of donning a few diamonds and making a trip to her local fashion store to bargain with the salesgirl for a dress that took her fancy. More often than not, she'd wear that dress once or twice, hiding the tag, then return it a few days later, insisting the store accept it, makeup marks on the collar and all.

At one store, Saks Fifth Avenue in Palm Beach, she took advice on her beauty regime for many years from Elizabeth, the Chanel representative. When Elizabeth was revealed to be a transsexual (or a transvestite, Zsa Zsa was never sure which), instead of expiring with shock, Zsa Zsa roared with laughter and stayed friends with her.

Her ability to laugh at herself was always supreme. One great love, Dominican playboy, Porfirio Rubirosa - one of the few men she didn't marry - died in 1965 after a crash in which he was crushed to death by his own Ferrari.

Many years later, friends relayed Rubirosa's last words to her: 'Zsa Zsa, I love only Zsa Zsa.' She snorted and said: 'What rubbish! He had a Ferrari on his chest - the last thing he would ever be thinking about was Zsa Zsa!'

Cynical realist she may have been, but she was also a romantic fantasist with an imagination that rivalled that of any Jackie Collins or Danielle Steele. She spun yarn after yarn, all in shimmering Mills and Boon style. She recalled how, in her youth, she had seduced a Roman Catholic priest during a midnight trip on an Italian train.

During her teens, she said, Ataturk - the founder of modern Turkey - had presented her with a ruby-encrusted 'Hand of Fatima' as a symbol of their romantic destiny. True or not? I was never sure. Yet many of Zsa Zsa's most outlandish stories turned out to be fact.

When I interviewed her for the autobiography we wrote together, she suddenly announced that Frank Sinatra had raped her. Not that he had ravaged her violently (Zsa Zsa may well have relished that), but that he had simply refused to go home unless she had sex with him.

I listened to her story about Sinatra with some scepticism, but when the book was finally published, Sinatra came out and admitted that he had had sex with Zsa Zsa, but denied the rape and dubbed her 'an iceberg'.

From everything I observed from Zsa Zsa, from the testimonies of her litany of lovers and husbands, Sinatra was not only being ungentlemanly, but also dishonest.

Right through her 70s and early 80s, Zsa Zsa enjoyed a vigorous sex life with her ninth husband Frederic, and made sure everyone, in particular her maids, knew about it.

She also spoke glowingly to me of past lovers such as Richard Burton ('I adored his voice, so deep and sexy'), but less enthusiastically of Sean Connery ('so disappointing, sveetheart. Nothing, really').

George Sanders once dubbed her 'the last of the great courtesans', but despite her reputation, Zsa Zsa was never a gold-digger.

Hotel millionaire Conrad Hilton, her second husband, didn't give her a vast divorce settlement, nor did any of her other husbands. As for Frederic von Anhalt - it was Zsa Zsa, not he, who had the money.

She and her two sisters, Eva and Magda inherited their mother Jolie's money, and when Eva and Magda (who were both childless) died, Zsa Zsa inherited everything.

After knowing her for so many years, I have come to appreciate her countless kindnesses. There was the time she sent my father a signed photograph when he - just like her today - had broken his hip, and the occasion she presented me with one of her most beautiful diaphanous nightgowns because it matched my hair. She also cared for children with Down's syndrome at a home where she volunteered.

And even if she was a man's woman, she has always liked other women as long as they are flamboyant, daring and sexy, just like her. But woe-betide any woman Zsa Zsa took a dislike to. Ivana Trump was a particular bete noir (Zsa Zsa much preferred Donald), and she was scathing in her dislike of Joan Collins, lambasting her as 'stupid'.

Despite the sadness of her latest setback, broken and old as she may be, I will never forget the Zsa Zsa who has always meant so much to me. She was the woman every man wanted to have and every woman wanted to be.





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22-07-2010
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Quote:
Perhaps for all her husbands, her shih tzu dogs - Zoltan Gabor being the favourite - have been the passion of her life. She loved giving parties for them, during which she made them hot dogs on her beloved hot dog machine.
This is just so Zsa Zsa.

I hope she gets better soon. ):

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01-09-2010
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Ailing Zsa Zsa Gabor is rushed back to hospital
Dailymail.co.uk

Hollywood legend Zsa Zsa Gabor is back to hospital after an emergency call from her husband.

The 93-year-old had complained of flu-like symptoms and body pain but it is believed her condition is not life threatening.
Gabor's husband Prince Frederic von Anhalt, told TMZ : 'I just called an ambulance. She has to go back to UCLA (Medical Centre).'
The Prince added that the former actress was unresponsive and clearly in distress.
However, the website is reporting that Gabor was rushed to hospital in an ambulance without emergency lights flashing - an indication her life is not in immediate danger.
The Hungarian-born socialite has been resting after returning home to her Bel Air mansion from hospital two weeks ago where she was given the last rites by a priest.
Gabor spent last month in hospital following hip replacement surgery after falling out of bed in July.
'Her health has been up and down ever since,’ said her publicist John Blanchette.
She and her husband decided not to opt for more surgery.
'She wanted to spend her final days at home,' said Blanchette.
The former beauty queen suffered two blood clots following the hip surgery.
She needed several hours more surgery to remove the clots from her upper body, one of them very close to her heart.
'It is a very difficult time for her family,' Blanchette said.
Gabor celebrated her 24th wedding anniversary to her ninth husband von Anhalt in hospital on August 14.
Gabor starred in more than 30 Hollywood films, including John Huston's 1952 Moulin Rouge and the 1958 film noir Touch of Evil by Orson Welles.

In recent years she also starred as herself in movies.
Most memorably she appeared in Naked Gun 2 And A Half: The Smell Of Fear in a scene where she gets pulled over by a police car and then proceeds to slap the red light.
The spoof is a parody of a real incident in 1989, when Gabor slapped a police officer who pulled her over for a traffic violation.
Her sisters, Eva and Magda, were also renowned socialites in the United States in the 1950s.
Gabor has been married nine times but only has one child - Francesca Hilton, by her second husband hotel magnate Conrad, Paris Hilton's great grandfather.

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Bizarre Zsa Gabor: The ailing star's former Man Friday reveals the eccentric side of
Dailymail.co.uk.

As Zsa Zsa Gabor clung to life in a Los Angeles hospital this week after suffering a serious infection, the eulogies were already being written. But what is the truth behind the wisecracks and the coquettish smile? DAVID GERRIE is a British writer who found himself witness to her extraordinary lifestyle when he was hired as her personal assistant at the height of her fame.
To a young man who had left the grey skies of Britain for the sunshine of Los Angeles, it seemed like I’d finally found my ticket to the Hollywood high life.

It was 1977, and after a few months of touting my typing skills around Hollywood’s heavyweight talent agencies, I was being offered the post of PA to a bona fide celebrity.

Not just any celebrity, but Zsa Zsa Gabor, the epitome of big-screen glamour.

I’d been working for a public relations agency, and one day the woman who helped to run it called to say Miss Gabor was looking for a new assistant, and that she’d arranged for me to go and see her. I made the call to the Gabor *residence at the prearranged time, only to hear that famous Hungarian voice inform me in no uncertain terms she didn’t have a clue who I was or what I was calling about.

It should have been an omen, but I let it pass in my naive enthusiasm to be a legitimate *passenger on the Hollywood Express.

Once my interview was re-arranged, the long-suffering female executive at the PR company — who was all too accustomed to the many moods of La Gabor — looked me straight in the eye and said: ‘Don’t think it’ll be like any job you’ve had before.’


In the months to come, I wished I had taken greater note of that veiled warning.

Naturally, the PR boss could never have told me what was really in store for me — that’s not the way that town works. She could certainly never have explained that Zsa Zsa was a monster beside whom Joan Crawford looked like a Barbie doll.


Her ex-husband George Sanders may have said being with Zsa Zsa was like permanently swimming in vintage bubbly, but the truth is she is more cyanide than champagne.

An overriding narcissistic ego, an outrageous temper and a vindictive love of making defenceless people *suffer, combined with foul-mouthed racism and a scant regard for the truth, make her easily the most unpleasant person it has ever been my misfortune to meet.

Monstrous employers come with the territory in LA, but in the space of a few short months the woman supposedly loved by her audience for her chirpy bons mots brought me close to the edge of a nervous breakdown.

It started on a sunny weekend as I turned off Sunset Boulevard through the imposing gates guarding the exclusive Bel Air estate, and started my climb past the multi-million-*dollar mansions which line Bel Air Road.

Arriving at Zsa Zsa’s electric gate, her barrier against the real world, I nervously pressed the button on the entry phone to be greeted by the soft yet slightly menacing tones of her then-husband, Irish-American lawyer Michael O’Hara.


As the gate swished open and I drove up to the hilltop house, I could never have suspected what a prison it was to become.

As O’Hara ushered me into the *palatial lounge, with its commanding views over the pool and estates below, I had my first glimpse of Zsa Zsa, and, I have to say, she looked every inch the movie star — except there were many more inches to her circumference than recent publicity pictures suggested.

This was not a large house by Hollywood standards, but the couple told me previous residents had included Elvis Presley and Howard Hughes, and that those nice Reagans lived across the street.

I was told Zsa Zsa was looking for much more than a secretary — she was hoping I would be her confidant, public relations adviser and, more importantly than I could ever have realised, her buffer against life’s little inconveniences.

I was shown the trappings of the job. These included a comfortably *furnished office, with en suite *bathroom. Her files were chaotic and her contacts book filled with wildly out-of-date names and numbers entered in a random fashion.

I was told to take anything I wanted from the kitchen for lunch — an apparent perk, until I discovered there was a complete absence of fresh food; the fridge contained only an open can of dog food and a half-empty bottle of Dom Perignon.

I was later to find out Zsa Zsa’s notion of cooking — on the rare *occasions she attempted it — was to throw half-a-pound of butter into a frying pan before drenching whatever she was cooking in it.

But forget the food, I’d hit the big time! I floated down from Bel Air half an hour later in a dream, clutching my passport to the ‘real’ Hollywood — a key hanging from a pink ribbon which would open Zsa Zsa Gabor’s electric gate every morning as I showed up to do her bidding.

Within only a few days, reality kicked in. My new employer exhibited what many see as a clear sign of madness: a relentless desire to move paintings and furniture around on an almost daily basis. And there was an internal madness at work, too, in the way she lashed out with a stream of invective at people who couldn’t fight back.

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The same source.

But one employee did, the result being that within weeks of working for Zsa Zsa, I found myself saving her life. Had I not stepped in, she would have been lying dead in a bloody heap, her head smashed in.

Zsa Zsa went through domestic staff — housekeepers, cooks, maids — like most people go through tissues. They either quit, unable to face her daily dose of insults and scorn, or she would find some pathetic reason to fire them. In this case, she had just hired an enormous black lady as a maid, who had incurred the wrath of Gabor over some petty misunderstanding.

From my desk, I heard raised voices. Then Zsa Zsa stormed into my office, and yelled: ‘Tell that f*****g n***** bitch she’s fired!’

With that, she turned and flounced off. But the maid wasn’t going to take that racist insult lying down.

I heard heavy footsteps pounding from the kitchen down the hall, towards my office.

Stepping out, nothing could have prepared me for the bizarre sight I was to see.

To my left, Zsa Zsa was once again hurling hurtful profanities at the maid. To the right, the maid was charging towards her, a massive glass ashtray held high above her head.

I was right in the middle of what looked like a lethal collision course. In a gesture of foolish gallantry, I stood fast in front of the maid, held out an upturned hand and said, *quietly but firmly: ‘Think what you’re doing. This could change your life for ever.’

Still panting from her effort, the maid stopped in her tracks and backed off. Within minutes, she was off the property. Zsa Zsa retired to her boudoir. I had just saved her life, and she couldn’t even say ‘thank you’.

I don’t know if she ever told her *husband what happened. If she had, he was equally unforthcoming, although I don’t expect he’d have been too worked up, for theirs was a true Hollywood marriage — one of mutual convenience.

The first time I took a phone call from him, I informed Zsa Zsa her *husband was on the phone, which provoked a tongue-lashing. I was never, ever, under any circumstances, to refer to him as ‘her husband.’ He was always to be called ‘Mr O’Hara’.

But, as I discovered, this show of surface respect was a mere sheen to garnish the gaping emotional vacuum which was their life together.

For all her coquettish public *pronouncements about how wives should please their mates — *‘Husbands are like fires. They go out when unattended’ — these two not only had separate bedrooms, but, to all intents and purposes, *separate lives.
O’Hara had a strict evening *routine. Returning from work, he’d go to his gym, then down an *enormous vodka and grapefruit juice before disappearing into ‘his’ section of the house. He had a fierce temper, once smashing his hand in a rage against a wall.

But at least he wasn’t as tight-fisted as his wife, who would cancel cheques for unpaid bills whenever she sensed she could save a few dollars.

There came a point when I could no longer explain to people she regarded as mere minions why their payments had been stopped, why she had deliberately written a cheque wrongly so it could not be cashed, or why she was just plain not going to pay at all.

In one instance, a delightfully innocent young Irish nurse had been hired, and thought she was doing fine. Behind her back, though, Zsa Zsa would bad-mouth her, and, in a moment of spite, called the bank to stop her final cheque when she had been let go.

The girl was depending on it to pay her rent, and wound up crying her eyes out on the phone to me, begging for an *explanation. Behind me a Hungarian voice was saying: ‘Just tell her to f*** off. She’s fired.’

As for that PR executive who had offered me a guarded warning when I took the job: she was disabled, and while well aware of Gabor’s devastating rants, even she could never have guessed the disdain in which Zsa Zsa held her. Gabor regularly told me to:

‘Get that f*****g Jewish cripple on the phone!’

Not even Zsa Zsa’s supposedly beloved pet shih tzus were safe.

Her faithful retainer was a trusty and rather likeable Alsatian dog, but the woman who told the world how much she adored animals also had an addiction to these little fluffy dogs.

The Alsatian decided there was nothing more entertaining than to pick these yapping balls of fur up by the scruff of their necks and deposit them in the swimming pool. The trouble was, the water in the pool was a foot below the edge, so once the Alsatian had had its fun, the *little *darlings disappeared from sight and were condemned to a watery grave.

The only time I took a stand against Zsa Zsa and won was when she insisted I went with her on a *publicity trip to Alaska of all places.By this time, I had come to the end of my emotional tether and could stand no more of the almost hourly bile she now dispensed — so I quit.

Returning to my West Hollywood *apartment, I was besieged with phone calls from her ‘friends’ and associates, then a telegram from Zsa Zsa.

Finally, one morning my entry phone rang, and through the *intercom came the disembodied voice of Michael O’Hara. He’d parked his Mercedes, and was *standing forlornly on the street, shouting up at me how important it was to ‘Miss Gabor’ (he never called her Zsa Zsa to me) that I relent and accompany her.

Although I never did go to Alaska, I finally agreed to go back and work for her again after an entreaty from one of her genuine friends, who felt she needed my stabilising influence.

But the rot had set in. Some seven months after I first climbed that elegant driveway, I headed for the last time down the hill, *jobless, but feeling as if a vicious clamp had been removed from my head.

Still her rage had not ceased. I had stupidly agreed to pick my last pay cheque up from her *husband’s office. Finally, after days of delay he told me it was ready, but after I waited an age outside his office, I was curtly informed by his secretary that ‘Miss Gabor’ was withholding payment.

In a later conversation, the PR executive who fixed up the job told me La Gabor said I had lied to her, that I was really Jewish (no problem, but I’m not), that my real name was David Gittelson (don’t ask me why) and that I had stolen her *jewels. Laugh? I nearly did.

Today, 30 years on and in parlous health, Zsa Zsa is on her ninth *husband, Prince Frederic von Anhalt. So are they any *happier together than she was with O’Hara?

The PR who introduced me to her all those years ago told me: ‘I think Frederic is just trying to get back at her for all the *torture she’s inflicted on him over the years.

‘He keeps parading her out without make-up, in a wheelchair and leaves her stranded while she rants about affairs he’s *supposedly having.’

As for me, the only satisfaction I draw from all this is that if you ask people to name more than one film Zsa Zsa Gabor starred in . . . you’ll be met with a blank stare.

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