Ali MacGraw became a Hollywood superstar overnight. But just as quickly as she rose to fame, she disappeared from show business altogether.
Today, the 84-year-old actress has settled down in a remote and tiny town, and she’s aging gracefully with her grey hair.
Ali MacGraw
Ali MacGraw – born Elizabeth Alice MacGraw – was born on April 1, 1939, in Pound Ridge, New York, USA. Her mother, Frances, was an artist and worked at a school in Paris, later settling in Greenwich Village. She married Richard MacGraw, who was also an artist. In 1939, Ali was born.
Ali’s father Richard supposedly had issues from his own childhood which made him a little bit different from others.
He had survived a terrible childhood in an orphanage, running away at the age of 16 to go to sea. He would later study at an art school in Munich, Germany.
“Daddy was frightened and really, really angry. He never forgave his real parents for giving him up,” Ali explained, saying said her father’s adult life was spent “suppressing the rage that covered all his hurt.”
Ali MacGraw – childhood
Money was short for their family, too. Frances and Richard, together with Ali and her brother, Richard Jr, had to move into a house on a Pound Ridge wilderness preserve which they shared with an elderly couple.
“There were no doors; we shared the kitchen and bathroom with them,” Ali said. “It was utter lack of privacy. It was horrible.”
Mom Francis worked with several commercial-art assignments and supported the family. At the same time, Richard had a hard time selling his paintings, and as a result became very frustrated. Ali’s brother Richard became a victim for his anger at home.
“On good days he was great, but on bad days he was horrendous,” she recalled. “Daddy would beat my brother up, badly. I was witness to it, and it was terrible.”
Ali was the daughter of artists, and she knew that she, too, wanted to go into a creative line of work as she got older. She earned a scholarship at the prep school Rosemary Hall, and in 1956, she moved to study at Wellesley College in Massachusetts.
By the age of 22, Ali MacGraw moved to New York and got her first job as an assistant editor at Harper’s Bazaar, working with photographers as an assistant.
Fashion work in New York
Fashion editor Diana Vreeland hired Ali as, what she recalls as, a “flunkie”. Ever seen the film The Devil Wears Prada? Well, it was pretty much that.
“It was ‘Girl! Get me a pencil!’,” MacGraw recalled.
The future Hollywood celebrity worked her job as an assistant for several months. Then, about six months in, fashion photographer Melvin Sokolsky noticed her beautiful looks, and Ali MacGraw was hired as a stylist,and given a better salary. She’d end up staying in that position for six years.
“I don’t know where she got this work ethic, but Ali would come in at eight a.m., and many times I’d come back at one in the morning and she would still be doing things for the next day,” Ruth Ansel, a former art director of Vanity Fair and Harper’s Bazaar recalls.
Ali was great as a stylist. But soon, she was asked to work in front of the cameras as a model. It didn’t take long before she was on magazine covers all over the world, even appearing in television commercials. For thing led to another, and Ali tumbled headfirst into the profession of acting.
She had been sketched nude by Salvador Dali a couple of years earlier. But when the surrealist artist started sucking her toes, MacGraw decided that she’d rather be an actress than a model.
Ali MacGraw – films
Ali went straight from an unknown stylist and into the world of cinema, and boy, did she do it with a bang.
She was untutored in the art of film, which gave her acting another dimension. Her natural beauty was stunning, and the audience loved her.
Following a small role in A Lovely Way to Die (1968), she was asked to star in the 1969 film Goodbye, Columbus. It turned out to be a great call, with MacGraw receiving a Golden Globe for Most Promising Newcomer – Female. The following year, she got her big international breakthrough with a role that would pretty much sum up her career.
Ali MacGraw had received a script from her agent. She’d read it and wept twice because of how much she loved it. She decided she really wanted a part in it, and got herself a meeting with the film’s producer Robert Evans – who at the time was Paramount Picture’s head of production – at the Beverly Hills Hotel’s Polo Lounge. Not only did Evans think she was perfect for the part in the movie Love Story, he absolutely fell in love with her.
MacGraw – playing the role of Jenny – acted alongside Ryan O’Neal in the movie Love Story. The American romantic drama film, in which Ali played a working-class college student, became a smash hit.
Love Story hit the cinemas in 1970, and wow did the audience cherish it. It became the No. 1 film in the United States, and at the time, it was the sixth highest grossing movie in history in the US and Canada.
Award-winning actress
MacGraw earned an Academy Award nomination for her role, and the film itself earned her another win and five Academy Award Nominations. She also won herself a second Golden Globe as Best Actress in a Motion Picture – Drama.
Film producer Robert Evans not only loved her on screen, he had fallen in love with her in real life, and that love was reciprocated. In 1969, the couple tied the knot, and two years later, they welcomed their son, Josh Evans.
Ali MacGraw was the hot new star of the 1970s, but her private life and marriage with Evans would soon come to an end. Steve McQueen had visited their home to ask her to star alongside him in The Getaway, and the two Hollywood stars clicked right away.
“I looked in those blue eyes, and my knees started knocking,” MacGraw recalled. “I became obsessed.”
MacGraw and McQueen had an affair, and she soon left Evans to live with the actor in Malibu, along with her son Josh.
“Steve was this very original, principled guy who didn’t seem to be part of the system, and I loved that,” she said.
Ali MacGraw – Steve McQueen
But after a while, Ali realized that Steve McQueen had his own problems. Following his father abandoning his mother, a then-14-year-old Steve was sent to a school for delinquent children. MacGraw said he never trusted women after that.
(Photo by Silver Screen Collection/Getty Images)
He didn’t like that she worked and had her own career. For a while, Ali stayed home to raise their sons. But her husband’s demands were something Ali simply couldn’t accept in the long run.
Not only that, but he’d explode if she even looked at another man. He also wanted her to sign a prenuptial agreement, promising not to ask for anything if they’d divorce. She abided by the agreement when they did divorce in 1978.
“I couldn’t even go to art class because Steve expected his ‘old lady’ to be there every night with dinner on the table,” she recalled.
“Steve’s idea of hot was not me. He liked blond bimbos, and they were always around.”
This was the start of a pretty dark time in MacGraw’s life. She arrived on set to shoot the 1978 film Convoy both drunk and high, which prompted her to quit drugs.
I Returned Home from Work to Find My Adopted Twin Daughters, 16, Had Changed the Locks and Kicked Me Out
Thirteen years ago, I adopted my late husband’s secret twin daughters after his fatal car crash revealed his double life. I gave them everything, but at sixteen, they locked me out of my home. One week later, I discovered the shocking reason for their actions.
The morning Andrew died began like any other. The sun had just started peeking through my window, painting everything in a soft, golden light that made even my shabby countertops look almost magical.
It was the last normal moment I’d have for a long, long time.
When the phone rang, I almost didn’t answer it. Who calls at 7:30 in the morning? But something, intuition maybe, made me pick up.
“Is this Ruth?” A man’s voice, formal, hesitant.
“Speaking.” I took another sip of coffee, still watching the steam dance.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Matthews with the Police Department. I’m sorry to inform you, but your husband was in an accident this morning. He didn’t survive.”
The mug slipped from my hand, shattering against the linoleum. Coffee splashed across my bare feet, but I barely felt it. “What? No, that’s… no… not my Andrew!”
“Ma’am…” The officer’s voice softened. “There’s more you need to know. There was another woman in the car who also died… and two surviving daughters. Records in our database confirm they’re Andrew’s children.”
I slid down the kitchen cabinet until I hit the floor, barely registering the coffee soaking into my robe.
The room spun around me as ten years of marriage shattered like my coffee mug. “Children?”
“Twin girls, ma’am. They’re three years old.”
Three years old. Three years of lies, of business trips and late meetings. Three years of another family living parallel to mine, just out of sight. The jerk had been living a whole other life while I’d been suffering through infertility treatments and the heartache of two miscarriages.
“Ma’am? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I was. Not really. “What… what happens to them now?”
“Their mother had no living relatives. They’re currently in emergency foster care until—”
I hung up. I couldn’t bear to hear more.
The funeral was a blur of black clothes and pitying looks. I stood there like a statue, accepting condolences from people who didn’t know whether to treat me like a grieving widow or a scorned woman.
But then I saw those two tiny figures in matching black dresses, holding hands so tightly their knuckles were white. My husband’s secret daughters.
One had her thumb in her mouth. The other was picking at the hem of her dress. They looked so lost and alone. Despite the hurt of Andrew’s betrayal, my heart went out to them.
“Those poor things,” my mother whispered beside me. “Their foster family couldn’t make it today. Can you imagine? No one here for them except the social worker.”
I watched as one twin stumbled, and her sister caught her automatically like they were two parts of the same person. Something in my chest cracked open.
“I’ll take them,” I heard myself say.
Mom turned to me, shocked.
“Ruth, honey, you can’t be serious. After what he did?”
“Look at them, Mom. They’re innocent in all this and they’re alone.”
“But—”
“I couldn’t have my own children. Maybe… maybe this is why.”
The adoption process was a nightmare of paperwork and questioning looks.
Why would I want my cheating husband’s secret children? Was I mentally stable enough? Was this some form of revenge?
But I kept fighting, and eventually, Carrie and Dana became mine.
Those first years were a dance of healing and hurting. The girls were sweet but wary as if waiting for me to change my mind. I’d catch them whispering to each other late at night, making plans for “when she sends us away.”
It broke my heart every time.
“We’re having mac and cheese again?” seven-year-old Dana asked one night, her nose wrinkled.
“It’s what we can afford this week, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “But look — I put extra cheese on yours, just how you like it.”
Carrie, always the more sensitive one, must have heard something in my voice. She elbowed her sister.
“Mac and cheese is my favorite,” she announced, though I knew it wasn’t.
By the time they turned ten, I knew I had to tell them the truth. The whole truth.
I’d practiced the words a hundred times in front of my bathroom mirror, but sitting there on my bed, watching their innocent faces, I felt like I might throw up.
“Girls,” I started, my hands trembling. “There’s something about your father and how you came to be my daughters that you need to know.”
They sat cross-legged on my faded quilt, mirror images of attention.
I told them everything about Andrew’s double life, their birth mother, and that terrible morning I got the call. I told them how my heart broke when I saw them at the funeral and how I knew then that we were meant to be together.
The silence that followed felt endless. Dana’s face had gone pale, her freckles standing out like dots of paint. Carrie’s lower lip trembled.
“So… so Dad was a liar?” Dana’s voice cracked. “He was cheating on you?”
“And our real mom…” Carrie wrapped her arms around herself. “She died because of him?”
“It was an accident, sweetheart. A terrible accident.”
“But you…” Dana’s eyes narrowed, something hard and horrible creeping into her young face. “You just took us? Like… like some kind of consolation prize?”
“No! I took you because—”
“Because you felt sorry for us?” Carrie interrupted, tears streaming now. “Because you couldn’t have your own kids?”
“I took you because I loved you the moment I saw you,” I reached for them, but they both flinched back. “You weren’t a consolation prize. You were a gift.”
“Liar!” Dana spat, jumping off the bed. “Everyone’s a liar! Come on, Carrie!”
They ran to their room and slammed the door. I heard the lock click, followed by muffled sobs and furious whispers.
The next few years were a minefield. Sometimes we’d have good days when we went on shopping trips or cuddled together on the sofa for movie nights. But whenever they got angry, the knives came out.
“At least our real mom wanted us from the start!”
“Maybe she’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you!”
Each barb found its mark with surgical precision. But they were entering their teens, so I weathered their storms, hoping they’d understand someday.
Then came that awful day shortly after the girls turned sixteen.
I came home from work and my key wouldn’t turn in the lock. Then I spotted the note taped to the door.
“We’re adults now. We need our own space. Go and live with your mom!” it read.
My suitcase sat by the door like a coffin for all my hopes. Inside, I could hear movement, but no one answered my calls or pounding. I stood there for an hour before climbing back into my car.
At Mom’s house, I paced like a caged animal.
“They’re acting out,” she said, watching me wear a path in her carpet. “Testing your love.”
“What if it’s more than that?” I stared at my silent phone. “What if they’ve finally decided I’m not worth it? That I’m just the woman who took them in out of pity?”
“Ruth, you stop that right now.” Mom grabbed my shoulders.
“You’ve been their mother in every way that matters for thirteen years. They’re hurting, yes. They’re angry about things neither of you can change. But they love you.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they’re acting exactly like you did at sixteen.” She smiled sadly. “Remember when you ran away to Aunt Sarah’s?”
I did. I’d been so angry about… what was it? Something trivial. I’d lasted three days before homesickness drove me back.
Five more days crawled by.
I called in sick to work. I barely ate. Every time my phone buzzed, I lunged for it, only to be disappointed by another spam call or a text from a concerned friend.
Then, finally, on the seventh day, I got the call I’d longed for.
“Mom?” Carrie’s voice was small and soft, like when she used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms. “Can you come home? Please?”
I drove back with my heart in my throat.
The last thing I expected when I rushed through the front door was to find my house transformed. Fresh paint coated the walls, and the floors gleamed.
“Surprise!” The girls appeared from the kitchen, grinning like they used to when they were little.
“We’ve been planning this for months,” Dana explained, bouncing on her toes. “Working at the mall, babysitting, saving everything.”
“Sorry for the mean note,” Carrie added sheepishly. “It was the only way we could think of to keep it a surprise.”
They led me to what used to be their nursery, now transformed into a beautiful home office. The walls were soft lavender, and there, by the window, hung a photo of the three of us on adoption day, all teary-eyed and smiling.
“You gave us a family, Mom,” Carrie whispered, her eyes wet. “Even though you didn’t have to, even though we were a reminder of everything that hurt. You chose us anyway, and you’ve been the best mom ever.”
I pulled my girls close, breathing in the familiar smell of their shampoo, feeling their hearts beat against mine.
“You two are the best things that have ever happened to me. You gave me a reason to keep going. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
“But we do know, Mom,” Dana said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “We’ve always known.”
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