John Barrymore came from a long line of theater actors. He himself first appeared on stage alongside his father in 1900, and in 1903 officially began his career, starring in the likes of Justice (1916) and Richard III (1920). His greatest role was his 1992 appearance in Hamlet, for which he was dubbed “the greatest living American tragedian.”
Barrymore also starred in a slew of silent films, most notably Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920), Sherlock Holmes (1922) and Beau Brummel (1924). He later made the transition to sound movies, starring in the likes of Grand Hotel (1932) and Midnight (1939).
On May 29, 1942, Barrymore died at the age of 60 from pneumonia and cirrhosis. What happened next has been the subject of many rumors. It’s alleged his friends, Errol Flynn, W.C. Fields and Sadakichi Hartmann snuck into the morgue where his body was being held, propped him up against a poker table and allowed him to experience one final celebration.
As it turns out, these rumors are true! In an August 2020 episode of the popular YouTube series Hot Ones, the acting legend’s granddaughter, Drew Barrymore, revealed his corpse had actually been stolen.
“Not only yes, but there have been cinematic interpretations of it,” she exclaimed. Those interpretations include S.O.B., starring Julie Andrews, and allegedly the 1989 comedy Weekend at Bernie’s, in which two friends pretend their deceased boss is alive.
Barrymore added that she wants the same to happen to her. “I will say this, I hope my friends do the same for me. That is the kind of spirit I can get behind. Just prop the old bag up, let’s have a few rounds.
“I think death comes with so much morose sadness and I understand that, but if it’s okay, just for me, if everybody could be really happy and celebratory and have a party, that would be my preference.”
Vintage Hollywood certainly was a different era…
I Burned My Face in a Fire and My Husband Dumped Me, Years Later, I Accidentally Ran into Him And He Was Shocked
The house we rented had an old, unreliable furnace. I had mentioned to my husband, Evan, several times that we should have it checked, but he always brushed me off. That was typical of Evan—he always assumed he knew better, especially as he studied to become a doctor. My concerns were dismissed as if they were trivial.
That night, eight years ago, I lit a few candles to add warmth to our home. The power had been flickering, and I wanted to create a cozy atmosphere. I was lost in a book, holding a mug of tea, feeling content despite the wind rattling the windows. But then, I smelled something burning.
I looked up and saw it—the fire. It had started from the faulty furnace and was spreading fast, climbing the walls like a living thing. In my panic, I knocked over the candles, which only fueled the flames. Within moments, the entire living room was ablaze.
I ran to grab the fire extinguisher, but it was too late. The fire had consumed everything in its path. I screamed for Evan, who was upstairs studying. He rushed down, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes.
“Get out!” he shouted, but I was frozen in place, struggling to operate the extinguisher. Before I knew it, a beam from the ceiling crashed down, pinning me to the floor. The heat was unbearable, and my skin blistered from the flames.
Evan pulled me out just in time, dragging me across the floor and out into the yard. I was in shock, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. The sound of sirens echoed in the distance, but all I could focus on was the excruciating pain that tore through my body.
I was rushed to the hospital, where I spent days in a haze of surgeries and painkillers. When I finally woke up, I was wrapped in bandages, my face and body covered. Evan sat by my bedside, pale and trembling as he held my hand.
But when the doctors removed my bandages, his reaction said it all. His eyes filled with horror as he struggled to find the words. “I… I don’t know how to…” he stammered. I wanted to reassure him, to tell him it would be okay, but I didn’t have the strength.
I could feel the distance growing between us, like a chasm neither of us could cross. When I was discharged, Evan hired a nurse to care for me while the house was being repaired. He kept his distance, and although I hoped we could rebuild our life together, I didn’t expect what came next.
The very next morning, Evan packed his bags and left. He didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face—he sent me a cold, heartless message that read, “I can’t be with someone like this.”
Evan, the man I had loved and trusted, couldn’t handle the way I looked. I was devastated, crushed by his betrayal. I thought his rejection would break me, but instead, it became the catalyst for my transformation.
For weeks, I focused on my recovery. I endured countless surgeries and therapy sessions, working to heal both the physical and emotional wounds. The doctors did their best, but I knew I would never look the same again. When I finally looked in the mirror, the woman staring back was a stranger.
Re-entering the world, I braced myself for the looks of pity and disgust from others. It was a daily battle to rebuild my confidence and sense of self. But that’s when I met Jim.
Jim was different from Evan in every way. He was kind, steady, and sincere. We met at a support group for burn survivors, and although I was hesitant at first, we quickly formed a connection. As a doctor, Jim had worked with trauma patients, and he never flinched when he saw my scars. Instead, he saw me.
With Jim’s support, I underwent additional surgeries, but this time it wasn’t about trying to look like my old self—it was about feeling comfortable in my own skin again. Jim loved me for who I was, and he made sure I knew it every day. Slowly but surely, I began to see the beauty in myself once again.
Eventually, Jim and I fell in love, and we got married. I had found happiness again—something I never thought possible after the fire.
Fast forward to last Saturday, Jim and I were celebrating his promotion at a fancy restaurant with his colleagues. Everything was going perfectly until I saw him… Evan. He was standing across the room, chatting with one of Jim’s coworkers. I felt a wave of shock wash over me. For a moment, I was transported back to that painful time in my life.
Evan walked over to congratulate Jim, and when he glanced at me, he gave me a flirtatious smile. “You’re lucky,” he said to Jim. “You’ve got a beautiful wife.”
I smiled back, but my heart was racing. Evan didn’t recognize me.
Later that evening, I was set to give a speech in honor of Jim. As I stood there with the microphone in hand, I looked at Evan, who was completely unaware of who I was. I decided to seize the moment.
I spoke about my journey—from the fire to my recovery—and how I had been abandoned by my ex-husband when I needed him the most. I glanced at Evan as I spoke, and I watched as the realization hit him. His face turned pale as he connected the dots.
Without naming names, I had told the whole room about Evan’s betrayal. He left in a hurry, clearly shaken by my story. Jim, who hadn’t known about my past with Evan, was furious when I told him later that night. But I stopped him from confronting Evan.
“It’s not worth it,” I said. “He’s already living with the consequences of his choices.”
A few months later, Jim noticed that Evan had been underperforming at work. His poor attitude and lack of compassion had caught up with him, and he was eventually let go. It was poetic justice, seeing Evan face the repercussions of his own actions.
In the end, I realized that everything I went through led me to where I was meant to be. I had found a love that was true and built a life I was proud of. The scars that once brought me pain had become a symbol of my strength.
Life has a way of bringing things full circle, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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