In a timeless tale of romance, Naval Officer Zack Mayo swept factory worker Paula into his arms and carried her from her workplace, leaving fans everywhere wishing they were the beautiful Debra Winger.
The legendary scene in the romantic drama an Officer and a Gentleman–where Richard Gere played Officer Zack Mayo, the handsome hero in navy whites–became the benchmark of love stories for daydreaming fans.
Acting alongside Hollywood’s hottest men, Debra Winger was the envy of many.
Today, Winger, 67, is as beautiful as ever. In the past few years, Winger has posted photos herself on Instagram, first with brown hair and now to a natural wavy gray.
Winger’s first starring role was in the 1976 film Slumber Party ‘57, which led to a part on the hit TV series Wonder Woman (1979), where she played Drusilla, the younger sister to Lynda Carter’s Diana Prince/Wonder Woman. Winger was asked to appear more often but concerned she’d be typecast by that role, she declined.
There were no regrets for that decision, the early ‘80s would be prosperous for the rising star.
At the height of her young career, she received numerous nods from the Academy and Golden Globes for performances in three iconic movies of the 1980’s.
In 1980, she starred in Urban Cowboy, with John Travolta, who at the time was driving fans wild with his smooth dance moves in Saturday Night Fever (1977) and Grease (1988); as Paula in an Officer and a Gentleman (1982) and in Terms of Endearment (1983), where she played Emma, a dying young woman with an over-bearing mother, Aurora, played by Shirley MacLaine.
Despite her huge success, Winger, carving hours from her acting schedule, took a mini Hollywood hiatus, and more than four decades after her rise to stardom, speculation of why she left is still circulating.
Most of these rumours revolve around the feuds that Winger had with her co-stars.
Though fans couldn’t get enough of the handsome Gere, it’s been widely reported that Winger had enough of him on the set.
According to an excerpt published on ABC News from the book, “An Actor and a Gentleman,” by co-star, Louis Gossett Jr., who played Sgt. Emil Foley: “The onscreen chemistry between the two of them was terrific, but it was a different story once the camera was turned off. They couldn’t have stayed farther apart from each other.”
Gossett also claims that Winger didn’t think much of Gere’s acting and wrote that she once described Gere as “a brick wall.” And, the film’s director, Taylor Hackford, whom she also did not likе, she referred to as “animal.”
It wasn’t only people on that film that ruffled her feathers.
Winger, a free spirit in real life and in her role as Emma, also clashed with the prolific MacLaine, a glamourous, eccentric and seasoned veteran.
Their first meeting set the stage for their relationship.
“To see how my character would feel I was wearing all my leftover movie-star fur coats,” MacLaine said in an interview with People. “There was Debra dressed in combat boots and a miniskirt…I thought, ‘Oh my goodness.’”
People writes, “Indeed, the set became the source of Hollywood’s most relished rumors. Winger wanted top billing. One reportedly slugged the other.”
And then, the women were pitted against each other in the Oscars when they were both nominated for best actress.
MacLaine, taking the trophy home, said in her acceptance speech, “I deserve this!”
Rumors aside, Winger insists she “pushed the pause button” on Hollywood for personal reasons and not professional.
“The parts that were coming, I wasn’t interested in. I’d already done that or I’d already felt that. I needed to be challenged. My life challenged me more than the parts, so I dove into it fully,” Winger told People.
After starring in the 1995 romcom Forget Paris with Billy Crystal, Winger took a six-year break.
In that time, she moved to New York City and shifted her focus to actor Arliss Howard, whom she married in 1996. The pair have a son, Gideon Babe, who was born in 1997, and she is stepmother to Sam, Howard’s son from a previous marriage. She also has another biological child, Noah Hutton, whom she mothered while married to her first husband, Timothy Hutton (1986 to 1990).
She reappeared in the 2001 film Big Bad Love, that was directed and produced by her husband, who also co-starred alongside Winger and Rosanna Arquette, who’s next project was 2002 film Searching for Debra Winger. As director of the documentary, Arquette attempts to answer why Winger temporarily аbаndоned her career at peak performance.
Winger gained some momentum with roles in Rachel Getting Married (2008) with Anne Hathaway, the 2017 romcom The Lovers, and the crime-comedy, Kajillionaire (2020).
In 2021, she was in With/In, Volume two of the anthological drama film, in the segment Her Own, which is written and directed by her husband, who also co-stars.
“I don’t know what Hollywood is. I’m living under the freaking sign now, and I just stare at it and laugh. Los Angeles is a place, but the idea of Hollywood doesn’t really exist for me,” Winger said, adding, “…although there must be some in-crowds that I just don’t know about.”
We can’t imagine a Hollywood without Debra Winger and we hope she soon gets to take home an Academy Award ! What are your favorite Winger movies?
The HOA President Fined Me Over My Lawn – I Provided Him with More Reasons to Pay Attention
Larry, our clipboard-wielding HOA dictator, had no idea who he was messing with when he fined me for my lawn being half an inch too long. I decided to give him something to really look at, a lawn so outrageous, yet so perfectly within the rules, that he’d regret ever starting this fight.
For decades, my neighborhood was the kind of place where you could sip tea on your porch in peace, wave to the neighbors, and not worry about a thing.
Then Larry got his grubby hands on the HOA presidency.
Oh, Larry. You know the type: mid-50s, born in a pressed polo shirt, thinks the world revolves around his clipboard. From the moment he took office, it was like someone handed him the keys to a kingdom.
Or at least, that’s what he thought.
Now, I’ve been living here for twenty-five years. Raised three kids in this house. Buried a husband too. And you know what I’d learned?
Don’t mess with a woman who’s survived kids and a man who thought barbeque sauce was a vegetable. Larry clearly didn’t get that memo.
Ever since I skipped his precious HOA meeting last summer, he’s been out for blood. Like I needed to hear two hours of droning on about fence heights and paint colors. I had more important things to do — like watching my begonias bloom.
It all started last week.
I was out on the porch, minding my business, when I spotted Larry marching up the driveway, clipboard in hand.
“Oh, here we go,” I muttered, already feeling my blood pressure spike.
He stopped right at the foot of the steps, and didn’t even bother with a hello.
“Mrs. Pearson,” he began, his voice dripping with condescension. “I’m afraid you’ve violated the HOA’s lawn maintenance standards.”
I blinked at him, trying to keep my temper in check. “Is that so? The lawn’s been freshly mowed. Just did it two days ago.”
“Well,” he said, clicking his pen like he was about to write me up for a felony, “it’s half an inch too long. HOA standards are very clear about this.”
I stared at him. Half. An. Inch. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His smug little grin told me otherwise.
“We have standards here, Mrs. Pearson. If we let one person get away with neglecting their lawn, what kind of message does that send?”
Oh, I could’ve throttled him right there. But I didn’t. Instead, I just smiled sweetly and said, “Thanks for the heads-up, Larry. I’ll be sure to trim that extra half-inch for you.”
Inside, though? I was fuming. Who did this guy think he was? Half an inch?
I’ve survived diaper blowouts, PTA meetings, and a husband who once tried to roast marshmallows using a propane torch. I wasn’t about to let Larry the Clipboard King push me around.
That night, I sat in my armchair, stewing over the whole thing. I thought about all the times in my life I’d been told to “follow the rules,” and how I’d managed to bend them just enough to keep my sanity.
If Larry wanted to play hardball, fine. Two could play that game.
And then it hit me: the HOA rulebook. That stupid, dusty old thing Larry was always quoting. I hadn’t bothered with it much over the years, but now it was time to get acquainted.
I flipped through it for a good hour, and there it was. Clear as day. Lawn decorations, tasteful, of course, were completely allowed, as long as they stayed within certain size and placement guidelines.
Oh, Larry. You poor, unfortunate soul. You had no idea what you’d just unleashed.
The very next morning, I went on the shopping spree of a lifetime. It was glorious. I bought gnomes. Not just any gnomes, though, giant ones. One was holding a lantern, another was fishing in a little fake pond I set up in the garden.
And an entire flock of pink, plastic flamingos. I clustered them together like they were planning some sort of tropical rebellion.
Then came the solar lights. I lined the walkway, the garden, and even hung a few in the trees. By the time I was done, my yard looked like a cross between a fairy tale and a Florida souvenir shop.
And the best part? Every single piece was perfectly HOA-compliant. Not a single rule was broken. I leaned back in my lawn chair, watching the sun set behind my masterpiece.
The twinkling lights came to life, casting a warm glow over my gnome army and the flamingo brigade. It was, in a word, glorious.
But Larry, oh Larry, was not going to take this lying down.
The first time he saw my yard, I knew I had him. I was watering the petunias when I spotted his car creeping down the street. His windows rolled down, his eyes narrowing as they scanned every inch of my lawn.
The way his jaw clenched, his fingers tight on the steering wheel — it was priceless. He slowed to a crawl, staring at the gnome with the margarita, lounging in his lawn chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.
I gave Larry a little wave, extra sweet, as if I didn’t know I’d just declared war.
He stared at me, his face turning the color of a sunburned tomato, and then, without a word, he sped off.
I let out a laugh so loud it startled a squirrel in the oak tree. “That’s right, Larry. You can’t touch this.”
For a few days, I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d let it go. Silly me. A week later, there he was again, stomping up to my door with that clipboard, wearing his HOA President badge like he’d been knighted.
“Mrs. Pearson,” he began, not even bothering with pleasantries, “I’ve come to inform you that your mailbox violates HOA standards.”
I blinked at him. “The mailbox?” I tilted my head toward it. “Larry, I just painted that thing two months ago. It’s pristine.”
He squinted at it like he’d found some imaginary flaw. “The paint is chipping,” he insisted, scribbling something on his clipboard.
I glanced at the mailbox again. Not a chip in sight. But I knew this wasn’t about the mailbox. This was personal.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “All this over half an inch of grass?”
“I’m just enforcing the rules,” Larry said, but the look in his eyes told a different story.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sure, Larry. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He turned on his heel and strutted back to his car like he’d just delivered some life-altering decree. I watched him go, fury bubbling up inside me. Oh, he thought he could win this? Fine. Let the games begin.
That night, I hatched a plan. If Larry wanted a fight, he was going to get one. I spent the next morning back at the garden store, loading up on more gnomes, more flamingos, and just for fun, a motion-activated sprinkler system.
By the time I was done, my yard looked like a carnival of absurdity. Gnomes of all sizes stood proudly in formation, some fishing, some holding tiny shovels, and one, my new favorite, lounging in a hammock with a miniature beer in hand.
The flamingos? They’d formed their own pink plastic army, marching across the lawn with solar lights guiding their way.
But the pièce de résistance? The sprinkler system. Every time Larry came by to inspect my yard, the motion sensor would activate, spraying water in every direction. Totally by accident, of course.
The first time it happened, I nearly fell off the porch laughing.
Larry pulled up, clipboard ready, only to be met with a stream of water straight to the face. He spluttered, waving his arms like a drowning cat, and retreated to his car, soaked to the bone.
The look of pure outrage on his face was worth every penny I’d spent.
But the best part? The neighbors started to notice.
One by one, they began stopping by to compliment my “creative flair.”
Mrs. Johnson from three houses down said she loved the “whimsical” atmosphere. Mr. Thompson chuckled, saying he hadn’t seen Larry so flustered in years. And soon, it wasn’t just compliments. The neighbors started putting up their own lawn decorations.
It began with a few garden gnomes, but soon, flamingos popped up all over the cul-de-sac, twinkling lights appeared in every yard, and someone even set up a miniature windmill.
Larry couldn’t keep up.
His clipboard became a joke. The once-feared fines became a badge of honor among the residents, and the more he tried to tighten his grip, the more the neighborhood slipped through his fingers.
Every day, Larry had to drive past our gnomes, our flamingos, and our lights, knowing full well that we’d beaten him at his own game.
And me? I watched the chaos unfold with a smile on my face.
The whole neighborhood had come together, united by lawn ornaments and sheer spite. And Larry, poor Larry, was left powerless, just a man with a soggy clipboard and no authority to back it up.
So, Larry, if you’re reading this, keep on looking. I’ve got plenty more ideas where these came from.
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