In the 1980s, this beautiful woman was on her way to becoming a Hollywood star. She won three Academy Awards when she was at the top of her game, but after that she became less well known. She looks so different now that she’s 67

In a timeless romance, Naval Officer Zack Mayo swept factory worker Paula off her feet, whisking her away from the mundane confines of her workplace. Debra Winger’s portrayal was the envy of fans worldwide, setting a standard for romantic tales in the iconic film “An Officer and a Gentleman”. Richard Gere’s depiction of Officer Zack Mayo, the dashing naval hero clad in his crisp blues, captured hearts across the globe.

Winger, now 67, retains her enduring beauty that first captivated audiences alongside Hollywood’s leading men. Recently, she’s shared glimpses of herself on social media, her once brown locks now naturally curly and silver. Winger’s career ignited with her debut in the 1976 film “Slumber Party ’57”, leading to a memorable role as Drusilla in the hit TV series “Wonder Woman” (1979), where she portrayed the spirited younger sister to Lynda Carter’s Diana Prince.

Despite early success, Winger bravely turned down further commitments on “Wonder Woman” to avoid typecasting, a decision that proved pivotal. Throughout the early 1980s, she garnered acclaim with Oscar and Golden Globe nominations for her roles in iconic films like “Urban Cowboy” (1980) alongside John Travolta, “An Officer and a Gentleman” (1982) as Paula, and “Terms of Endearment” (1983) as Emma, a poignant portrayal of a young woman facing mortality under the watchful eye of her mother, played by Shirley MacLaine.

Yet, amid rising stardom, Winger took a hiatus from Hollywood, sparking speculation that persists over four decades later. Rumors swirled about conflicts with co-stars, including reputed tension with Gere during the filming of “An Officer and a Gentleman”. Co-star Louis Gossett Jr., who played Sgt. Emil Foley, chronicled in his book “An Actor and a Gentleman” that their on-screen chemistry didn’t translate off-screen, attributing friction between Winger and Gere to creative differences.

Winger’s outspoken nature extended beyond Gere; she reportedly clashed with MacLaine on the set of “Terms of Endearment”, where their contrasting styles and personalities led to both friction and eventual camaraderie. The Hollywood grapevine buzzed with tales of Winger’s independence and occasional clashes, enhancing her mystique.

Following her hiatus, Winger returned to the spotlight with “Forget Paris” (1995) alongside Billy Crystal before taking another break to focus on family life in New York City with her husband, actor Arliss Howard. She returned to acting with “Big Bad Love” (2001) and gained further attention with the documentary “Searching for Debra Winger” (2002), exploring her decision to step away from the limelight at the peak of her career.

Reflecting on her Hollywood journey, Winger has remained philosophical, viewing Los Angeles as a place rather than a concept of stardom. Her recent roles in films like “Rachel Getting Married” (2008), “The Lovers” (2017), and “Kajillionaire” (2020) underscore her enduring talent and commitment to diverse roles, reinforcing her status as a cinematic icon who defies easy categorization.

In 2021, Winger appeared in the anthology drama “With/In”, Volume two, in a segment titled “Her Own”, directed and written by her husband Arliss Howard. Her ongoing career continues to surprise and delight audiences, proving that while Hollywood’s landscape may evolve, Debra Winger’s allure and talent endure.

My Husband Went on Vacation..

I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away, but instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over my grief. Devastated, I faced the funeral alone. But when he returned, he walked into a situation he never expected—a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. I was at work when the doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and somehow, I knew what was coming. My heart sank even before I answered. Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One moment I was sitting in my cubicle, and the next I was home, fumbling with my keys, eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN muted in the background while he pretended to answer emails.“John?” My voice echoed through the house. “I need you.” He stepped into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.” I tried to speak, but the words got tangled in my throat. I reached out to him, desperate for comfort. He sighed and gave me a quick, awkward pat on the back, like he was consoling a distant acquaintance. “My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.” His grip tightened for a moment. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.” Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout?
Maybe Thai?” I nodded, numb. The next day, reality hit hard. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, notifying family, and dealing with a lifetime of memories. As I sat at the kitchen table, buried in lists, I remembered our planned vacation. “John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—” “Cancel?”
He lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Besides, I’ve already booked my golf games.” I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.” He folded the newspaper with the kind of precision that told me he was more irritated than concerned. “I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.” It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Just my husband?” “You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.” I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage. The week that followed was a blur. John occasionally offered a stiff pat on the shoulder or suggested I watch a comedy to lift my mood. But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting Instagram stories of sunsets and cocktails. “#LivingMyBestLife,” one caption read. Meanwhile, I buried my mother alone on a rainy Thursday. That night, sitting in an empty house, surrounded by untouched sympathy casseroles, something snapped inside me. I had spent years making excuses for John’s emotional absence. “He’s just not a feelings person,” I would say. “He shows his love in other ways.” But I was done pretending.I called my friend Sarah, a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? Oh, and include John’s Porsche in the deal.” “His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll lose it!” “That’s the point.” The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, watching as they circled John’s beloved car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. It was showtime. John stormed in, face flushed. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!” “Oh, that. I’m selling the house. The Porsche is a great bonus, don’t you think?”He sputtered, pulling out his phone. “This is insane! I’ll call Sarah right now!” “Go ahead,” I said sweetly. “Maybe you can tell her about your fabulous vacation. How was the beach?” Realization slowly dawned across his face. “This… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?” I stood, letting my anger finally surface. “You abandoned me when I needed you most. I’m just doing what you do: looking out for myself. After all, I’m just your wife, right?” John spent the next hour frantically trying to shoo away buyers, while begging me to reconsider. By the time Sarah texted that her friends had run out of patience, I let him off the hook—sort of. “Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car.” I paused. “This time.” He sagged with relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—” I held up my hand. “But things are going to change. I needed my husband, and you weren’t there. You’re going to start acting like a partner, or next time, the For Sale sign will be real.” He looked ashamed, finally understanding the gravity of his actions. “What can I do to make this right?” “You can start by showing up. Be a partner, not a roommate. I lost my mother, John. That kind of grief isn’t something you can fix with a vacation or a fancy dinner.” He nodded. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I want to try.” It’s not perfect now. John still struggles with emotions, but he’s going to therapy, and last week, for the first time, he asked me how I was feeling about Mom. He listened while I talked about how much I missed her calls and how I sometimes still reach for the phone, only to remember she’s not there. He even opened up a little about his own feelings. It’s progress. Baby steps. I often wonder what Mom would say about all this. I can almost hear her chuckling, shaking her head. “That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Never let them see you sweat. Just show them the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.” Because if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that strength comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s pushing through the pain, and sometimes it’s knowing when to push back.

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