(Paola Mori Welles passed away on August 12, 1986 at the age of 57. She was a passenger in a car driven by a family friend that pulled into oncoming traffic. She died from her injuries at Desert Springs Hospital in Las Vegas several hours later. Originally published in the Las Vegas Sun on August 15, 1986, columnist Muriel Stevens recalled the loss of her close friend and shed light on Welles’ wife of 30 years.)
By MURIEL STEVENS
It was to have been an interesting day. After my radio show, I would go to the home of my friend, Paola Welles, to watch the filming of a documentary being made by an Italian TV company.
Some years ago, the producers had made a show about the former Countess di Gerfalco and her husband, the late Orson Welles. Now, they would do a sequel about her life without him. With Paola would be her only child, the beloved Beatrice, and her other “children”— Betty, Susi and Kisskiss, her dogs and constant companions.
Without warning, the day turned into a tragedy which ended with the death of Paola from massive head injuries suffered in an automobile accident just a short distance from her home.
When the call came, I rushed to the hospital to be with Bea. I had no idea of the gravity of her condition, just that she had been injured. There is nothing lonelier than the wait outside a critical care unit. It doesn’t matter how many wait with you, caring, hoping, praying for a miracle. For Bea, waiting for word of her mother’s condition, it was a terrible time. Yvonne French, waited with us. Like me, she had come to know Paola when she moved to Las Vegas from Sedona, Ariz.
We had become friends through our husbands, who had met backstage during tapings of the Dean Martin roasts at the MGM Hotel. And when the Welleses bought a home in Las Vegas, our husbands put us in touch and the friendship began. Paola had many questions about Las Vegas, so we talked on the phone daily — sometimes three and four times in the same day. By the time she arrived, we were good friends.
Paola was a rarity — elegant, dignified, without any pretense or airs. Her life had been privileged and glamorous. but simplicity was her style. She remained unimpressed by her aristocratic background. It was simply what was. She was an accomplished needleworker. Her gifts were always handmade treasures. And when Orson was home, she cooked wonderful foods for him. She scoured the city for delicacies. It pleased her to make him comfortable and happy. I’d never met a celebrity wife like her. We exchanged recipes, philosophies and gave each other advice and comfort.
When Orson died, she was devastated and, when three weeks later her mother died, too, it was more than she could bear. But with Bea at her side, she handled it. In time, the two set about rebuilding their lives. Bea relocated her cosmetic business and moved in with he mother to help her through the bad times.
They were adjusting when again fate intervened.
Paola was taking the dogs to be groomed for their appearance on TV when the accident occurred. Only Betty remained near the car. The other two, probably terrified after the crash, bolted. Thanks to a Sun reader. Peggy Harvey, and Jane Marlin, who organized the search, Susi has been returned. Only Kisskiss, the most special, is still missing.
When Paola’s Pekingese, Mr. Chow, died. she was inconsolable. At 2 a.m. the next day, she was awakened by a knock on the door. There stood her husband’s chauffeur with a basket containing Kisskiss. After learning of the loss of Mr. Chow, Orson had tracked down a breeder of Pekingese, chosen Kisskiss and sent him in the limousine to Paola — she adored him. Now, he is the last link to the life that ended so tragically.
Kisskiss, please come home…
© Las Vegas Sun, 1986. Reprinted with permission.
(Editor’s note: Kisskiss, one of Orson Welles’ final gifts to his wife, was eventually found and returned to Beatrice Welles. Following Kisskiss’ death, its ashes were interred in Rome near Paola Mori Welles.)
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