(11 of 12)
Hughes' present sanctuary at the Britannia, like his old penthouse at the Desert Inn in Las Vegas, is something from a James Bond movie set. Hughes occupies the western end of the Britannia's ninth floor, attended 24 hours a day by the Mormon Mafia. His suite is decorated with the usual hotel furniture, plus a humming array of several hundred thousand dollars worth of electronic equipment, including a radio-telephone hookup to the U.S. mainland and telephone scramblers to prevent his phone conversations from being bugged. The roof bristles with antennas. At night all eleven of Hughes' balconies are awash with harsh floodlights. Closed-circuit TV cameras lean out from the building's walls, scanning for intruders. Uniformed guards watch the elevators. Recently the hotel applied fresh paint to all of its fire doors on the emergency stairwell—except on the ninth floor; apparently workmen were not allowed there.
Medium Rare. As he always has, Hughes works whenever he chooses, generally very late at night. According to one source in his organization, he watches television frequently (he has erected a 45-ft. TV mast atop the hotel), is particularly interested in news shows. He also reads newspapers "from important cities," keeps up with technological and scientific journals, and has movies screened.
Hughes dresses in a white shirt with no tie, slacks and loafers, and wears his hair just above collar length, slightly longer than in the past. He eats only two meals a day, although with his hours it may never be clear which meal is breakfast and which is dinner. He favors salads, fresh vegetables and lean meats. He drinks only milk and fruit juices.
Hans Schenk, a Swiss chef who once worked for Hughes, describes the invariable menu: two 20-oz. sirloin-strip steaks with all fat removed, boiled peas, carrots and green beans, followed by vanilla ice cream and cake. A Hughes aide would appear in the kitchen and watch to make sure that Schenk scrubbed his hands and fingernails. "I would cook his steak with a stop watch," Schenk recalls. "He wanted it medium rare, eight or nine minutes of the grill. He'd notice if it was a minute overdone." If Hughes was on the phone when dinner was served and the meal cooled, it was thrown into the garbage and another was prepared.
Richard Hannah, the harassed Los Angeles public relations man who has become Hughes' chief spokesman to the outer world, believes that with the controversy over Irving's book Hughes will now begin emerging from his seclusion. Hughes indicated as much during his press conference, suggesting that he would allow pictures of himself and even face-to-face confrontations with reporters. But it may be a while yet.
To Go Public. This week the New York State Supreme Court will hear arguments on whether or not to grant a temporary injunction forbidding publication of Irving's book and the LIFE excerpts. The suit was brought on behalf of Rosemont Enterprises, a Hughes company that