Dan Haggerty, who gained widespread recognition for his portrayal of the kind mountain man with a striking beard and his bear friend Ben in the NBC television series and 1974 film “The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams,” passed away on Friday in Burbank, California. His age was 73 years.
Terry Bomar, his manager and friend, stated that spinal cancer was the cause of death.
Dan Haggerty was creating a name for himself in Hollywood as an animal handler and stuntman before landing his famous part. When a producer requested him to appear in a few opening moments for a film about a woodsman and his bear, it was his big break. The plot, which is based on a novel by Charles Sellier Jr., centers on a man who flees to the woods after being wrongfully convicted of murder, becomes friends with the local wildlife, and takes in an abandoned bear.
Haggerty accepted to do the part, but he had one requirement: he had to appear in the whole film. Despite having a relatively low budget of $165,000, the film’s remake brought in close to $30 million at the box office. Because of this popularity, a television series was created, and in February 1977, Haggerty went back to playing the character of the wild and outdoorsy wilderness guardian.
The audience responded well to the show. It lukewarms the heart, as The New York Times’ John Leonard observed in his review. A large lump in the throat and a lot of communing with nature are experienced when a man and a bear hide out in a log cabin. Haggerty won a 1978 People’s Choice Award for being the most well-liked actor in a new series because of the series’ warm and sympathetic tone, which won over a lot of viewers.
The series also yielded two follow-ups: “Legend of the Wild,” which was broadcast on television in 1978 and eventually released in theaters in 1981, and “The Capture of Grizzly Adams,” a 1982 television film in which Adams ultimately exonerates himself of the false charge.
Born in Los Angeles on November 19, 1942, Daniel Francis Haggerty had a difficult upbringing. He had a turbulent childhood, breaking out of military school several times before coming home with his actor-father in Burbank when his parents divorced when he was three years old.
Haggerty was married twice in his personal life. When he was 17, he got married to Diane Rooker, but they later got divorced. In 2008, he lost his second wife, Samantha Hilton, in a horrific motorbike accident. His children, Don, Megan, Tracy, Dylan, and Cody, survive him.
In his debut motion picture, “Muscle Beach Party” (1964), Haggerty portrayed bodybuilder Biff. After that, he played supporting parts in motorcycle and wildlife movies. He was a hippie commune member in “Easy Rider.” He also played the role off-screen, living with a variety of wild creatures he had either tamed or rescued on a small ranch in Malibu Canyon.
His expertise with animals led to positions as an animal trainer and stuntman for television shows including “Daktari” and “Tarzan.” He kept taking on parts like “Where the North Wind Blows” (1974) and “The Adventures of Frontier Fremont” (1976) that highlighted his affinity for the natural world. His love of outdoor parts brought him roles evoking Grizzly Adams to movies like “Grizzly Mountain” (1997) and “Escape to Grizzly Mountain” (2000).
Haggerty had appearances in a number of horror movies later in his career, such as “Terror Night” (1987) and “Elves” (1989). He was involved in court in 1985 and was given a 90-day jail sentence for distributing cocaine to police officers who were undercover.
Tragic incidents also occurred in his life. Haggerty suffered third-degree burns to his arms when a diner carrying a burning drink unintentionally caught his renowned beard on fire in 1977 when he was dining. Despite being admitted to the hospital and supposed to stay for a month, he left after just ten days, claiming to have expertise of curing animals.
“The first couple of days I just lay in the dark room drinking water, like a wounded wolf trying to heal myself,” he said, reflecting on his injury, to People magazine.
My Husband Went on Vacation..
I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away, but instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over my grief. Devastated, I faced the funeral alone. But when he returned, he walked into a situation he never expected—a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. I was at work when the doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and somehow, I knew what was coming. My heart sank even before I answered. Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One moment I was sitting in my cubicle, and the next I was home, fumbling with my keys, eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN muted in the background while he pretended to answer emails.“John?” My voice echoed through the house. “I need you.” He stepped into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.” I tried to speak, but the words got tangled in my throat. I reached out to him, desperate for comfort. He sighed and gave me a quick, awkward pat on the back, like he was consoling a distant acquaintance. “My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.” His grip tightened for a moment. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.” Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout?
Maybe Thai?” I nodded, numb. The next day, reality hit hard. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, notifying family, and dealing with a lifetime of memories. As I sat at the kitchen table, buried in lists, I remembered our planned vacation. “John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—” “Cancel?”
He lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Besides, I’ve already booked my golf games.” I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.” He folded the newspaper with the kind of precision that told me he was more irritated than concerned. “I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.” It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Just my husband?” “You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.” I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage. The week that followed was a blur. John occasionally offered a stiff pat on the shoulder or suggested I watch a comedy to lift my mood. But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting Instagram stories of sunsets and cocktails. “#LivingMyBestLife,” one caption read. Meanwhile, I buried my mother alone on a rainy Thursday. That night, sitting in an empty house, surrounded by untouched sympathy casseroles, something snapped inside me. I had spent years making excuses for John’s emotional absence. “He’s just not a feelings person,” I would say. “He shows his love in other ways.” But I was done pretending.I called my friend Sarah, a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? Oh, and include John’s Porsche in the deal.” “His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll lose it!” “That’s the point.” The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, watching as they circled John’s beloved car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. It was showtime. John stormed in, face flushed. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!” “Oh, that. I’m selling the house. The Porsche is a great bonus, don’t you think?”He sputtered, pulling out his phone. “This is insane! I’ll call Sarah right now!” “Go ahead,” I said sweetly. “Maybe you can tell her about your fabulous vacation. How was the beach?” Realization slowly dawned across his face. “This… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?” I stood, letting my anger finally surface. “You abandoned me when I needed you most. I’m just doing what you do: looking out for myself. After all, I’m just your wife, right?” John spent the next hour frantically trying to shoo away buyers, while begging me to reconsider. By the time Sarah texted that her friends had run out of patience, I let him off the hook—sort of. “Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car.” I paused. “This time.” He sagged with relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—” I held up my hand. “But things are going to change. I needed my husband, and you weren’t there. You’re going to start acting like a partner, or next time, the For Sale sign will be real.” He looked ashamed, finally understanding the gravity of his actions. “What can I do to make this right?” “You can start by showing up. Be a partner, not a roommate. I lost my mother, John. That kind of grief isn’t something you can fix with a vacation or a fancy dinner.” He nodded. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I want to try.” It’s not perfect now. John still struggles with emotions, but he’s going to therapy, and last week, for the first time, he asked me how I was feeling about Mom. He listened while I talked about how much I missed her calls and how I sometimes still reach for the phone, only to remember she’s not there. He even opened up a little about his own feelings. It’s progress. Baby steps. I often wonder what Mom would say about all this. I can almost hear her chuckling, shaking her head. “That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Never let them see you sweat. Just show them the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.” Because if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that strength comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s pushing through the pain, and sometimes it’s knowing when to push back.
Leave a Reply