Nicholas Pryor, a well-known actor recognized for his long career in movies and TV, has passed away at the age of 89. Pryor, famous for playing fatherly roles to young stars, died on October 7 at his home in Wilmington, North Carolina, after a battle with cancer. His wife, Christine Belford, shared the sad news with The Hollywood Reporter.
Pryor’s death has left both Hollywood and his fans mourning. A message shared by The Hollywood Reporter on October 8 stated, “Nicholas Pryor was enormously grateful to have been a working actor for nearly 70 years.” He had a long, successful career and was thankful for all the opportunities he had in the entertainment industry.
Jon Lindstrom, one of Pryor’s co-stars from the TV shows Port Charles and General Hospital, also paid tribute to him on Instagram. He called Pryor an “Actor’s actor,” meaning someone who was highly respected in the acting world. But beyond work, Lindstrom shared that Pryor was a close friend. He wrote, “He was my friend, mentor, and even a father figure, not just on-screen but in real life too.” Lindstrom remembered how funny Pryor was and how much fun they had spending time together, especially over good food and wine. Lindstrom said he would miss him deeply.
Fans reacted strongly to Lindstrom’s tribute. Many expressed their sadness, remembering Pryor’s roles in popular shows like Eight Is Enough and Beverly Hills, 90210. One fan wrote, “I’m so saddened by Nicholas Pryor’s passing. He was an amazing actor.” Others shared their shock at the news and thanked Lindstrom for his heartfelt tribute, saying Pryor’s work would always be remembered.
In addition to Lindstrom, Pryor’s agent, Susan Tolar Walters, also shared her sorrow, calling him “one of the nicest people” she had ever met. Jeff Maxwell, who runs a podcast about the TV show MASH*, where Pryor made a guest appearance, also paid tribute to the actor.
Born on January 28, 1935, in Baltimore, Maryland, Pryor’s full name was Nicholas David Probst. He began his acting career on Broadway before moving into film and TV. Over the course of his career, Pryor acted in more than 170 roles, showing his talent in both comedy and drama.
Pryor was best known for his roles in TV shows like The Secret Storm, Beverly Hills, 90210, All My Children, and Another World. He also appeared as a guest star in well-loved series like The West Wing and NYPD Blue. In a video interview shared on YouTube on October 9, Pryor talked about his time on Beverly Hills, 90210 and how much he enjoyed watching his wife, Christine, guest-star on the show. He said it made him happy to see her having such a good time with the cast and crew.
Pryor wasn’t just a TV actor. He also had memorable roles in movies. He appeared in films like Airplane!, Damien: Omen II, and The Hunger Games: Mockingjay — Part 1. He played the father of Tom Cruise’s character in Risky Business and Robert Downey Jr.’s character in Less Than Zero. His last role was in the 2021 movie Halloween Kills.
Nicholas Pryor is survived by his wife, Christine, his daughter Stacey, and his two grandchildren, Auguste and Avril. They will carry on his memory and the impact he left behind in his nearly 70-year acting career.
MY HUSBAND LEFT ME WITH KIDS AND ALL THIS HEAVY LUGGAGE TO GET HOME ON MY OWN WHILE HE HUNG OUT WITH FRIENDS – THE LESSON I TAUGHT HIM WAS HARSH.
The roar of the airplane engines faded into the background as I stepped off the plane, two tired toddlers clinging to my legs. I scanned the crowd, expecting to see Tom, my husband, his familiar smile a welcome sight after a long flight. But he wasn’t there.
I called him, my heart sinking with each unanswered ring. Finally, he picked up, his voice casual, almost breezy. “Hey, honey! How was the flight?”
“Where are you?” I asked, my voice tight. “You were supposed to pick us up.”
“Oh, right!” he said, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. “Mike called. He’s in town, and we decided to grab a drink. Just for a few hours. You can manage, right?”
“Manage?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Tom, I have two toddlers, a stroller, and three heavy suitcases. I can’t ‘just manage’!”
“Come on, it’s just for a few hours. You can manage,” he replied again, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his voice.
I hung up, my anger a burning ember in my chest. He had abandoned me, his family, for a few hours of drinks with a friend. I felt a surge of resentment, a feeling that had been simmering for years, now boiling over.
The next few hours were a blur of chaos. I struggled to wrangle the kids, their tired whines echoing through the airport. I wrestled the stroller, a monstrous contraption designed to fold with the dexterity of a Rubik’s Cube, and lugged the suitcases, each one a testament to the sheer volume of “essential” items toddlers require.
By the time I finally made it home, I was exhausted, my body aching, my patience frayed. But as I collapsed onto the couch, a plan began to form in my mind. Tom had underestimated me. He had assumed I would simply accept his dismissive attitude, his blatant disregard for my time and effort. He was wrong.
The next day, I woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. I packed a small bag, kissed the kids goodbye, and left a note on the kitchen table.
“Gone to visit a friend. Will be back when I feel like it. You can manage, right?”
I drove to a nearby spa, a place I had always wanted to visit but never had the time or money for. I spent the day indulging in massages, facials, and manicures, reveling in the quiet solitude.
I turned off my phone, ignoring the barrage of calls and texts from Tom. I wanted him to experience what I had experienced: the feeling of being abandoned, of being taken for granted.
The next day, I went shopping, buying myself a new outfit, a pair of designer shoes, and a luxurious handbag. I spent the evening at a fancy restaurant, savoring a delicious meal and a glass of wine.
I returned home late that night, to find Tom pacing the living room, his face etched with worry. The kids were asleep, the house a mess.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice laced with anxiety.
“Out,” I replied, my voice cool.
“Out? All day? All night?”
“Yes,” I said, “I needed some time to myself.”
“But… but the kids,” he stammered. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You managed,” I said, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with confusion and a dawning realization. “You… you did this on purpose.”
“Yes, Tom,” I said, “I did. I wanted you to understand what it feels like to be left alone, to be taken for granted.”
He looked down at his feet, shamefaced. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think…”
“That’s the problem, Tom,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You didn’t think. You assumed I would always be there, always manage, no matter what.”
He nodded, his eyes filled with remorse. “I understand,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”
I looked at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. I saw genuine regret, a flicker of understanding.
“Good,” I said. “Because I won’t tolerate it again.”
From that day on, Tom was a changed man. He became more attentive, more considerate, more appreciative of my time and effort. He learned that partnership meant sharing the load, not dumping it all on one person.
And I learned that sometimes, a little bit of payback can go a long way in teaching a valuable lesson.
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