Red Fox finally tells the truth about Nancy Culp. Red Fox was born John Elroy Sanford on December 9th, 1922 in St. Louis, Missouri. Raised in the south side of Chicago, Fox experienced the harsh realities of poverty and racism at an early age, which would later inform his bold, unfiltered comedic style. He dropped out of high school in the 10th grade and began performing in clubs, slowly building his career in an era when opportunities for black performers were exceedingly scarce.
In the 1940s and 1950s, Red Fox became known as a chitlin circuit performer, touring black clubs across the country and cultivating a unique brand of raw, often runchy humor that was considered taboo for mainstream aud.i.ences. He quickly gained a reputation for being the king of the party records, releasing over 50 comedy albums filled with uncensored material that made him a cult favorite among adult aud.i.ences.
These records, though underground in nature, solidified his reputation as a comedic innovator and truthteller who spoke openly about race, sex, and social injustice in ways few dared. with titles like Laugh of the Party, You Got to Wash Your Ass, and I Ain’t Lied Yet, his albums sold millions of copies despite being too explicit for mainstream radio.
These recordings were trailblazing. They helped break down racial barriers in the entertainment industry and paved the way for future comedians like Richard Prior, Edd.i.e Murphy, and Chris Rock. Red Fox wasn’t just telling jokes. He was redefining comedy for a new generation. Fox’s big break into mainstream fame came in 1972 when he was cast as the canankerous wisecracking junk dealer Fred G.
Sanford in Sanford and Son, NBC’s American adaptation of the British sitcom Stepto and Son. The show created by Norman Lear premiered during a time of major social change and quickly became a television landmark. Sanford and Son not only became a ratings hit, but also broke ground by centering around a workingclass black family, an extremely rare occurrence in prime time TV during that era.
Red Fox’s portrayal of Fred Sanford with his exaggerated heart attacks, I’m coming, Elizabeth. Quick wit and insultladen banter with his son Lamont, played by Demon Wilson, made him a household name and earned him a devoted cross-cultural fan base. Behind the scenes, Fox was both praised and criticized for his fiery personality and insistence on equal treatment in Hollywood.
He often clashed with network executives over issues of creative control and fair compensation, blazing a trail for other black entertainers to demand better representation and rights. His stand on labor disputes and racial inequality in the industry earned him respect among his peers and civil rights advocates. After Sanford and Sun ended in 1977, Fox remained active in television and film, appearing in shows like The Red Fox Comedy Hour and The Royal Family.
Though none replicated the success of his original sitcom, he continued performing standup and took on various acting roles that showcased his enduring charisma and comedic timing. He also helped mentor and inspire the next generation of comics, including Richard Prior and Edd.i.e Murphy, both of whom credited him as a major influence in their careers.
Red Fox, known for his sharp wit and groundbreaking comedy, led a personal life as colorful and complex as his public persona. Over the course of his lifetime, he was married four times, with each marriage reflecting a different chapter in his journey, ranging from youthful hope to deep romantic entanglement, painful betrayal, and finally redemptive companionship.
His first marriage was to Evelyn Kibru in 1948, a union that came during the earliest days of his career when Fox was still grinding it out in clubs and struggling to establish himself as a professional entertainer. Little is known about their courtship or the dynamics of their relationship. But by 1951, just 3 years later, the marriage had ended in divorce.
This brief and early marriage likely coincided with Fox’s years of instability and ambition when the demands of the road and the financial pressures of show business made sustaining a domestic life difficult. Fox’s second marriage, however, was far more significant both emotionally and professionally. On July 5th, 1956, he married Betty Jean Harris, a stunning and talented showgirl and dancer known in the entertainment circles for her charisma and grace.
Intriguingly, Betty was a colleague of Lwanda Paige, the woman who would later famously portray Aunt Esther, Fox’s Bible wielding nemesis on Sanford and Sun. Fox and Harris met during a nightclub performance, appearing on the same bill, a reflection of how tightlyk knit and intertwined the black entertainment circuit was during that time.
Their romance blossomed quickly, and they married soon after meeting. What made this marriage especially notable was Betty Jean’s willing sacrifice of her own career. As part of their mutual agreement, she chose to step away from show business entirely, dedicating herself to becoming a full-time housewife and business partner.
This wasn’t just a personal sacrifice. It was a strategic partnership. Betty took charge of Red Fox Enterprises, managing much of his financial empire. This included overseeing record stores that Fox owned in Los Angeles, a business venture that supplemented his income and kept his brand strong outside of television. She also took on a maternal role for Fox’s family when he adopted her daughter, Draasa, from a previous relationship.
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Draa assumed the last name Fox and was by many accounts treated as his own daughter, at least for a time. Unfortunately, after nearly two decades, this union began to fall apart under the weight of Fox’s infidelities. In 1974, their relationship deteriorated, leading to a bitter and highly publicized separation.
Fox filed for divorce in May of that year, citing incompatibility, a vague term that masked the emotional turmoil beneath the surface. Legal filings revealed a deeper level of mistrust and tension. Fox obtained a restraining order to prevent Harris from removing or concealing any property from their Las Vegas home.
The conflict over assets became so intense that Harris was ordered to return $110,000 that had allegedly been taken from their joint bank accounts. The emotional scars were apparent, so much so that Fox even skipped De Brassa’s wedding in 1975, a move that suggested lingering resentment or unresolved pain.
Undeterred by past heartbreak, Fox ventured into marriage a third time, this time with Joy Yuni Chung, whom he wed on December 31st, 1976 in a lavish ceremony at the Thunderbird Hotel in Las Vegas. Joy was approximately 20 years younger than Fox and originally hailed from South Korea. She had arrived in the US relatively recently and was working as a cocktail waitress at the Las Vegas Hilton when she and Fox met.
The relationship moved swiftly, culminating in a high-profile New Year’s Eve wedding. Yet, despite the glamorous setting and festive occasion, the marriage was fraught with discord. In October 1979, Fox filed for divorce. Not to be outdone, Joy filed a counter suit alleging cruelty, a serious charge that hinted at serious strife behind closed doors.
In an interview with Jet Magazine during the unraveling of this marriage, Fox sounded disillusioned. “I’ve been married three times and I’m out,” he declared, expressing a desire to give up on marriage entirely. He further remarked that the money he was spending on divorce settlements would have been better spent on children, bemoning the fact that, in his words, it should go to the children and not some guy, likely a reference to alimony going to ex-wives who may have remarried.
The divorce was finalized in 1981, and it came with a steep financial cost. Fox agreed to a $300,000 settlement, another blow to his increasingly precarious financial standing. Despite his vow never to marry again, Fox’s heart had one more chapter left. In July 1991, he married Kaho Cho, a woman from Seoul, South Korea, marking his fourth and final marriage.
The two had met at Bal’s Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, where Cho worked. Unlike his previous relationships, which often began in the limelight and ended under public scrutiny, this union was rooted in mutual support and loyalty, especially during one of the darkest times in Fox’s life. His battles with the IRS, which had left him nearly bankrupt.
Cho remained by his side throughout, providing both emotional and logistical support. In an interview with Jet, Fox explained why he made the surprising decision to marry again despite his previous disappointments. She saw me with a nickel and hopefully she will see me with a dollar. I’ll give her 75 cents of it.
His words captured the blend of humor, humility, and hope that defined his late in life relationship. They were married at the Little Church of the West in Las Vegas, a venue known for celebrity weddings, and celebrated afterward with a reception at the Hianda Hotel. This final marriage would endure until Fox’s untimely d.e.a.t.h in 1991, making Kaho Cho the woman who would stand beside him during his final days.
In a moment that surprised fans and industry insiders alike, Red Fox, known for his razor sharp wit and unfiltered cander, finally opened up about his long speculated relationship with actress Nancy Culp, best known for her role as Miss Jane Hathaway on the Beverly Hillbillies. For decades, rumors had swirled about the nature of their friendship.
Some even whispering of a secret feud or an unexpected alliance. But Fox, never one to mince words, set the record straight in an interview that would later become legendary in television circles. With a sly smile and a twinkle in his eye, he revealed that behind their vastly different public personas, his as the outspoken, boundary pushing comic from Sanford and Sun, and hers as the prim, proper, and intellectual character on one of America’s most beloved sitcoms.
There was a mutual respect that had been forged in the earliest days of their careers. Fox recounted how he first met Nancy Culp in the late 1950s, not on a sound stage or red carpet, but in a quiet Hollywood diner frequented by character actors, vaudevilleians, and struggling comedians.
According to him, it was during one of those late night after show hangs that they struck up an unlikely conversation about the absurdities of show business and the rigid boxes the industry tried to put them in. He was drawn to Kulp’s dry wit and cerebral humor, and she in turn appreciated his boldness and his refusal to conform to anyone’s expectations but his own.
What began as a casual acquaintance soon blossomed into a deep, if unconventional, friendship, one built on mutual admiration and a shared understanding of what it meant to be outsiders in their own ways. In the interview, Fox brushed aside the salacious rumors that had occasionally floated through tabloids, suggesting romantic tension or animosity.
“Nancy?” “Nah, we were never romantically involved,” he said with a chuckle. “She was way too classy for a rascal like me, but she was real, honest, and funny in a way most folks never saw.” He described Kulp as a sharp tonged intellect who could hold her own in any conversation, be it political, philosophical, or comedic.
Fox admitted that he often sought her advice when navigating the complicated world of network television, especially during his battles with sensors and studio executives. She’d say, “Red, just tell the truth, but tell it with a smile.” And that always stuck with me. Fox also revealed that Culp had stood up for him behind the scenes when others were hesitant to align with a performer known for his controversial routines.
During a particularly tense moment in the early 1970s when network brass questioned whether Sanford and Sun would be too risky for mainstream aud.i.ences. Culp allegedly wrote a quiet but powerful letter to an NBC executive praising Fox’s brilliance and insisting that television needed voices like his to shake things up.
Fox, visibly moved as he recounted this, said, “She never told me she did that. I only found out years later. That’s the kind of person she was. No spotlight, no fanfare, just grace.” Perhaps the most touching part of Fox’s revelation was his admission that he had modeled parts of the Fred Sanford character after people in his life who had surprised him.
Those who didn’t fit the mold but left a mark. Nancy Culp, he said, was one of them. She was like a southern lady with a brain sharper than a switchblade. Didn’t matter that she played a stiff on TV off camera. She was looser than me at a jazz club. By telling the truth about Nancy Culp, Red Fox not only shattered the myth surrounding their relationship, but also painted a picture of two seemingly opposite stars united by integrity, mutual support, and a love of the craft.
It was a reminder that the entertainment world, often driven by ego and image, occasionally allowed space for genuine, enduring friendships that defied expectations. And in that rare moment of honesty, Fox showed a softer, more reflective side, one that acknowledged the people who had helped him along the way, even when the spotlight wasn’t on them.
On the afternoon of October 11th, 1991, Red Fox was on the set of his then new sitcom, The Royal Family, a show meant to mark his celebrated return to television. The series, produced in part by Edd.i.e Murphy, was designed to showcase Fox’s unique blend of sharp wit and physical comedy while pairing him with another TV veteran, Delar Ree, in a multi-generational family setting.
However, what was intended to be a creative resurgence for Fox would tragically become his final project. That day, the cast and crew were on a break from rehearsals, and Fox, ever the engaging personality, was chatting with a reporter from Entertainment Tonight. According to Dela Ree, who was present during the incident, the scene that was supposed to be rehearsed next was not even ready.
Nevertheless, a producer whom Ree later claimed had clashed with Fox on multiple occasions came over and bruskly interrupted the interview. This producer had reportedly argued with Fox in the past, even claiming he could teach Fox how to be funny. A statement that many who knew Red considered absurd, if not disrespectful, given Fox’s legendary comedic instincts and decadesl long influence on American humor.
Despite his irritation, Fox was ushered back to the set. Even though his only role in the upcoming scene involved simply walking across the stage behind a chair, he had no lines to deliver. Visibly annoyed and perhaps emotionally unsettled from the ongoing tension, Fox performed his small part in the scene. But as soon as he finished the movement, he suddenly collapsed on the set.
At first, there was no sense of urgency among those watching. In fact, many laughed or watched passively, assuming Fox was up to one of his usual antics. This was, after all, the man who for years had delighted aud.i.ences as Fred Sanford on Sanford and Sun, regularly clutching his chest and crying out, “This is the big one, Elizabeth.
” in dramatic comedic mock heart attacks. His mastery of physical comedy and well-timed prattf falls was so convincing that even his own colleagues were fooled in that critical moment. However, Delerice quickly realized something was terribly wrong. Fox did not get up. The humor drained from her face as she rushed to his side.
Kneeling down, she listened closely and heard him faintly murmur, “Get my wife.” A hauntingly human plea that he repeated twice. Ree, recognizing the seriousness of the moment, immediately called for emergency medical assistance. The gravity of the situation began to settle over the set, and a sense of disbelief filled the air.
Entertainment Weekly journalist Joshua Rich later described the moment with a chilling sense of irony. It was an end so ironic that for a brief moment castmates figured Fox, whose 1970s TV character often faked coronaries, was kidding when he grabbed a chair and fell to the floor. The line captured the surreal heartbreak of losing a man whose comedic genius had for so long revolved around pretending to d.i.e of a heart attack only to be taken by a real one on the set.
Fox was rushed by paramedics to Queen of Angels Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center where doctors fought to save his life. He was temporarily revived, but his condition remained critical. Despite the best efforts of medical staff, Red Fox was pronounced dead 4 and 1/2 hours later, a loss that devastated the entertainment community and stunned fans around the world. He was 68 years old.
His passing marked not just the end of a remarkable life, but also the silencing of one of comedy’s most original and unfiltered voices. Fox had spent his life challenging boundaries, racial, social, and comedic, with raw truth and fearlessness. His d.e.a.t.h was mourned deeply by fellow entertainers, particularly Edd.i.e Murphy, who had both admired and worked with Fox.
Murphy had considered him not only a mentor, but also one of the funniest human beings he had ever known. Once stating that Red Fox was the most naturally funny person he’d ever encountered, a man who could make others laugh without even trying. In the days following his d.e.a.t.h , there was discussion about how to honor Fox’s legacy properly.
Ultimately, Edd.i.e Murphy personally stepped in to cover all the funeral expenses and ensure that his friend received the dignified farewell he deserved. Fox was laid to rest at Palm Memorial Park, also known as Palm Eastern Cemetery in Las Vegas, Nevada, a city he had loved and performed in for many years during his stand-up career.
His gravestone bears his real name, John Elroy Sanford, and marks the resting place of a trailblazing comedian who influenced generations of performers from Richard Prior to Chris Rock and who remained a sharp uncompromising presence until his very last breath. very
