Big man, huge home, tall tales

George CARTTER discovered the Florenz Ziegfeld connection two years ago in a used bookstore. For years it had been suspected -- Marion Davies was a former Ziegfeld girl after all -- but never verified. But here it was, in a book about Hollywood, a photo of the legendary showman in front of the main house of Hearst Castle.

“We had figured he had visited,” Cartter says, his voice bright with excitement as if this startling revelation had occurred just yesterday, “but there was no proof. Now we could add him to the official guest list.”

And to Cartter’s already extensive Hearst Castle file. Cartter is a Hearst Castle guide. Like many of his 100 colleagues, his official State of California classification is “permanent intermittent” -- he works year-round but never a full 40-hour week -- but his commitment to William Randolph Hearst and his San Simeon residence is pretty much round the clock.

With just 7 1/2 years on “the hill,” Cartter, 56, is a relative newbie; most guides have 15 or more. Every year, they lead as many as 900,000 people through the gardens, living quarters and guest cottages of the former media mogul, highlighting the many points of interest: the 19th century neoclassical Venus that belonged to Napoleon’s brother, the carved teak cornice that outlines Hearst’s private floor, the ketchup bottles on the four remarkably long and formal dining tables in the refectory.

It is as unlikely an occupation as the castle is a residence, with no real job requirement beyond a high school diploma or equivalency, six months of public speaking training, and a willingness to learn as well as instruct. Not surprisingly, many of the guides are retired teachers and amateur historians, but the list also includes former journalists and waiters, an aerobics instructor, even a firefighter. Cartter came by way of a radio news job in Santa Maria, fascinated by one of the “few places in the West where you can walk through a powerful person’s house and talk about his stuff.”

For all the splendor of the surroundings, this isn’t exactly a cushy job -- the hours are irregular -- only nine of the guides are truly full time; the pay is not high, the temperatures can hit triple digits, and the house, being a state historical monument, is not air-conditioned. On a busy summer day, a guide can talk for five hours, stand on concrete for six and climb 1,700 stairs. John Porter, a local rancher who has worked summers as a guide for 33 years, says he goes through a new pair of shoes every summer.

“People tell me I have a play job,” says Beverly Brockington, who has been on the hill for 15 years. “But it is physical work and requires you to be open to all people, to be tolerant of all people.”

Guides must cope with all sorts of wildlife and not just whining toddlers and surly tourists. The hills are home to deer, foxes and coyotes. All sorts of spiders, including tarantulas, scuttle across the patios and stone railings, and often early groups disturb the occasional bat or snake.

Diane Kosarko recently made the mistake of walking backward, a tour guide no-no, and stepped on a California king snake. The worst thing was, Cartter says, “everyone was much more concerned about the snake than they were about Diane.”

But as with many of Hearst’s long-ago guests, once here, none of the guides can imagine leaving.

“Glamour, scandal, power, every sort of art from ancient Egypt to Art Deco,” says Mary Kocher, who has worked on the hill for 12 years, “there is nothing that we don’t have.”

Kocher is a painter who says her goal in life is to be a renaissance woman. “So where else would I work?”

History meets glamour

It remains an unlikely vision, those telltale turrets, red tile roofs and palm trees cresting the golden hills of the Central California coast like some fantastic pirate ship or a low-flying cloud city. A mile or so south, the town of San Simeon briefly clutters Highway 1 with motels and cafes, but the hilltop house Hearst commissioned and architect Julia Morgan designed in the first half of the 20th century remains pretty much smack dab in the middle of nowhere and perpetually unexpected.

Hearst Castle has been many things to many people -- a lover’s retreat for its master and his mistress, an ongoing hobby for an obsessive art collector, a seat of power and influence, an A-list destination for Hollywood luminaries and, in the last 25 years, one of the most profitable state parks in California.

Three separate tours are offered throughout the year; from April to October, visitors can take a fourth tour through the grounds and wine cellar; and in the spring and autumn on Friday and Saturday nights, there’s an evening tour, which includes docents in period dress.. At peak attendance, during the late 1980s, a million people annually came to see the over-the-top opulence on the estate that was renamed Xanadu in “Citizen Kane,” Orson Welles’ famous and formidable interpretation of the man who invented the media empire.

In the last few years, the numbers have fallen slightly but are holding steady -- for those traveling along Highway 1, Hearst Castle is about the only tourist attraction, not counting beaches, between, say, Morro Bay and Big Sur. And for Californians, it is the grandest opportunity to explore a house that was a seat of local political and cultural power. Although Hearst remained married to Millicent Veronica Wilson until his death, at the castle Marion Davies was the lady of the house; on the hill, life proceeded according to Hearst. Movie stars, heads of state, national heroes and artists of every genre got off the train in San Simeon.

But although many of those names -- Amelia Earhart, Harpo Marx, Cary Grant, Gloria Vanderbilt, Joseph Kennedy, J. Paul Getty -- still resonate with folks older than 40, an increasing number of visitors have no idea who any of these people, including Hearst, were. Which presents a new challenge to the guides, who now must not only explain the history and contents of the castle but also that of its inhabitants.

“The only name you can drop without an explanation is Walt Disney,” Cartter says. “Everyone else, including the Marx Brothers, you have to explain.”

When Porter began giving tours in 1971, it was not unusual for visitors to know as much or more about Hearst than he did and to have emotionally charged opinions about him. “Some came up here especially to make little speeches about what a terrible guy he was,” Porter says, adding with a laugh, “I kind of miss that; it spiced things up.”

Nowadays, visitors may recognize the name, or link it to his granddaughter Patty Hearst, but others think of the house long before they think of the man. “Young people may not even know who Clark Gable or Carole Lombard were,” Porter says. “So I always try to mention people who have taken the tours -- Tom Cruise or Bill Gates -- and explain that these are the sorts of people Hearst surrounded himself with.”

There is no set script for the castle tours; after weeks and sometimes years of training, each guide creates his or her version of each tour, talks that can change on the hour. There is a reference library attached to the guide trailer, across from where the buses unload. Guides can check out books and movies to help embellish their talks, or if a visitor poses a question that stumps them, they can call the librarian on the spot.

The most common question: How deep is Neptune’s pool and do people still swim in it? Answer: 10 feet deep on one side, 3 on the other and yes, including the guides, who are allowed a two-hour swim evening each September. The most unusual question, according to librarian Judy Anderson: How much does the entire castle weigh? Answer: A lot.

Keeping it fresh

Such tutorial freedom is what draws and keeps many of the guides, but it also makes thinking about the man and his castle a full-time hobby. Mary Kocher says she is constantly filing away bits of historical references. “I’m watching a program about Billy the Kid and Mr. Hearst is the yardstick -- he was 15 when Billy was shot. Or I can tell people that in 1903, when he got married, the Wright Brothers first flew. It gives people a chance to see the juxtaposition.”

Wayne Fiske believes that, although people may like to see the cool stuff, what they want to hear is the dirt. “They want scandal and misbehavior, so I give them scandal and misbehavior.”

Guides also learn to gauge what each group is looking for. If there are a lot of children, for example, Diane Kosarko, a former kindergarten teacher, will get them involved spotting animals in paintings and tapestries and encourages them to touch the lions on the terrace above the dressing rooms because, as she then tells them, “these are the last things you can touch.”

“You can tell a lot about a group from the first few questions,” she says. “Sometimes you’ll get people who don’t want to hear about the affair [with Davies] or people from another country who want to know about American history. Sometimes you’ll get an older crowd who want to talk all about the movie stars. We try to give them what they want.”

Occasionally, though with less and less frequency, a visitor will arrive with a personal connection to Hearst. “We still get people who’ll say, ‘Oh, yeah, my granddad was friends with him, came up here once,’ ” Cartter says. “Then I give them my card and we see if we can verify that.”

When your job entails meeting hundreds of people every day, not all of the moments are going to be magical. The rules are strict on the hill; there is little guests can touch, and they are expected to stay with the tour at all times. Every guide has a tale of the nightmare visitor -- the screaming child, the lady with the dog, the stubborn photographer determined to climb everywhere, the tourist from a more ancient land who didn’t think twice about sitting on a 200-year-old chair. One guest recently jumped into the indoor swimming pool. The rangers on the hill also double as security, and they do not hesitate to send a troublesome guest back to the visitor center, in handcuffs if necessary.

For some of the guides, enduring the anticipatory moments as the next bus chugs up the hill is the toughest part of the job. When a friend from her church suggested that Brockington apply for a job as a guide, she took one look at the application and said, “I can’t do this.” But her friend was persistent, and so Brockington took, and passed, the test and became a guide trainee for two years, learning about the property and how to deal with the public.

Fifteen years later, she likes the wide variety of people she meets, “and if I run into someone difficult, well, an hour and 15 minutes later, someone better will show up.”

Working as a guide, she says, has brought out the best in her, “turned me into a butterfly. Bill Gates could come in here and I wouldn’t be intimidated. Being around this place made me realize how big a person can be if you only believe in yourself. I talk to my grandchildren now about the importance of education and daring to dream big.”