The Horrible Death Of Buddy Hackett & His Wife JJ

Buddy Hackett spent many years making countless people laugh, but behind the scenes during his final days, a profoundly sad reality took shape away from the spotlight. His health deteriorated in unexpected ways, and after he chose to overlook serious warnings from his doctors, time began to run out.

 His wife, who had stood beside him for close to 50 years, could only watch helplessly as a heartbreaking situation unfolded, one she never saw coming. When death eventually arrived, it did so in a manner that caught everyone off guard. Born in Brooklyn on August 31st, 1924, Leonard Hacker, later known as Buddy Hackett, came from humble beginnings.

 His father, Philip, made a living upholstering furniture and tinkering with failed inventions, while his mother sewed garments for other families. Neither parent had ties to show business. They were Jewish immigrants hoping to give their son a better future. Leonard found his way out not through schooling or traditional labor, but through humor.

 As a boy, he developed Bell’s palsy, which paralyzed one side of his face, leaving him with a crooked mouth and a slurred speech pattern. Rather than hide in shame, he turned these traits into tools. He was also severely overweight, which made him a target for bullies, but he learned to diffuse fights with unexpected, well-timed jokes.

 Comedy became his shield, then his weapon, and finally his career. His childhood neighbor was Sandy Koufax, the future baseball legend. Both learned that performing under pressure left no room for fear. World War II interrupted his youth. Buddy served 3 years in an army anti-aircraft battery, gaining discipline that would later help him perform night after night despite exhaustion.

 After the war, he started in the Catskills Borscht Belt circuit, a brutal training ground with terrible pay and cramped conditions, where he slept on basement floors and often worked for just a meal. He changed his name to Buddy Hackett, something friendlier and more approachable. His Broadway break came in December 1954 with the farce Lunatics and Lovers, which ran for 336 performances.

 Critics loved his physical timing. He didn’t just tell jokes, he embodied them using his unique face and voice. Hollywood soon followed with roles in classics like The Music Man 1962 and It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World 1963. He also became the face of Lay’s potato chips in 1968, delivering the unforgettable line, “Nobody can eat just one.

” A new generation knew him as the voice of Scuttle the seagull in Disney’s The Little Mermaid 1989. Through four decades, he never changed his style. He was always authentically himself. By the late 1990s, Buddy seemed ageless and tireless, appearing regularly on The Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn, but his body was hiding a danger no audience could see.

 The woman who loved him through it all would witness what no one predicted. Before meeting Sherry Cohen, Buddy’s romantic life was sparse. Insecure about his appearance despite his success, he buried himself in work. Then he met Sherry, a young Brooklyn-born dance instructor performing as Sherry DuBois while working a summer gig in the Catskills.

The connection was immediate. Their courtship was bumpy. She refused a casual car ride, saying she didn’t know him well enough, and later deflected his city invitation due to her grueling schedule as a daytime telephone operator on the 72nd floor of the Empire State Building and a nighttime mambo teacher. But Buddy persisted, finally securing a Sunday drive during a rainstorm.

 She said yes, launching a 48-year partnership. they married on June 12th, 1955 in a private ceremony. Buddy was 30, Sherry was younger but remarkably mature. They raised three children, son Sandy who became a stand-up comic, and daughters Lisa Jean and Ivy Julie. At home, Buddy was quiet, sensitive, and fiercely private, nothing like his raucous stage persona.

 He credited Sherry with keeping him sane, saying she looked past his face to see the serious man within. Sherry described him as protective and devoted, keeping his work life entirely separate from family life. Their marriage outlasted nearly every celebrity union of their era, free from scandals or tabloid drama.

 But no amount of love could stop what came next. In the late 1990s, Buddy’s body began to betray him. Sherry convinced him to see a doctor, and the diagnosis was devastating: advanced severe coronary heart disease with critically blocked arteries. Cardiologists urged immediate bypass surgery, warning that without it, his heart would only weaken.

 Buddy refused. His stubborn independence, the same trait that had carried him from Brooklyn to Broadway, made him want to manage the condition on his own terms with medication and willpower. For a few years, he managed, taking pills, watching his diet, continuing to work. In 1996, while performing on stage, an acute wave of dizziness struck.

 The room spun, he couldn’t breathe, and his chest tightened. Terrified of losing control mid-performance, he stopped the show, walked off, and never performed another full show again. He blamed major gum surgery days earlier, but cardiologists pointed to his untreated heart disease. Adding to his troubles was severe, progressive type 2 diabetes, which damaged his circulation and worsened his heart condition.

 His weight fluctuated wildly, his breathing grew worse, and simple tasks like walking across a room left him winded. He retreated from public life, not wanting fans to see his decline. He even sold his beloved firearm collection, a decision that carried deep emotional weight because it symbolized the loss of his independence and strength.

 By the late 1990s, Buddy was a shadow of his former self. He and Sherry withdrew to their Malibu beach house, where they founded the Singita Animal Sanctuary in California’s San Fernando Valley, rescuing unwanted dogs and cats. Buddy found comfort in caring for neglected animals. The only live performances he gave after 1996 were at Singita’s annual fundraisers, small, unglamorous shows for donors.

 Given everything he had left, the end came quickly. About a week before his death, Buddy suffered a severe stroke that robbed him of mobility, energy, and will. Sherry never left his side. On the last weekend of June 2003, he died at his Malibu beach house late Sunday night, June 29th, or early Monday morning, June 30th.

 Family members found him there. No ambulance rushed to a hospital. The official cause of death was severe complications from diabetes and chronic heart disease, the very conditions he had refused to treat surgically. In keeping with his explicit wishes, his body was cremated. He wanted no public burial, no grave for fans to visit, only to be reduced to ashes and kept by his family, away from cameras and crowds.

 But for Sherry, the real devastation began after the ashes were collected and well-wishers went home. She had spent nearly five decades building a life around Buddy, managing his career, raising their children, and nursing him through his final illnesses. Now she had to discover who she was without him. The night he passed, friends like comedians Jay Mohr and Jeff Ross rushed to the beach house to sit with her in silence.

 After they left, Sherry felt an immediate vacuum. Losing Buddy, she said, felt like losing half of her own body. She withdrew from public life for months, unable to bear being seen without him. She poured her energy into the Singita Animal Sanctuary, but without Buddy’s celebrity fundraising power, donations slowed and the work became draining.

 Internet rumors claimed Buddy died broke and left Sherry with nothing. False. He left a substantial estate tied up in a liquid real estate, primarily the family home. That house, a 7,800 square foot property on a prime 1 acre corner lot in Beverly Hills across from the Los Angeles Country Club, had been owned by Buddy since 1952. Its land was worth millions.

In October 2020, decades after Buddy’s passing, Sherry listed it for $18 million, not out of desperation, but because the time had come to let go. The children were grown, the memory secure. Beyond property and animal rescue, her son Sandy became entangled in a bitter, multi-year legal battle in Las Vegas over his Rat Pack tribute show, straining family dynamics.

 Sherry supported him while maintaining her own peace. Despite all challenges, she lived for many years after Buddy, preserving his memory with dignity and pushing back against myths about his death and her life afterward. Despite every obstacle, financial struggles, legal battles involving her son, and the immense loneliness of widowhood, Sherry Cohen carried on with quiet strength.

 She safeguarded Buddy’s legacy with grace, spoke honestly about their life together in rare interviews, and corrected the false stories that surfaced after his death. The man who made America laugh for half a century left behind more than jokes and film roles. He left a testament to resilience, love, and the quiet dignity of a family that stood by him until the very end.

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