Heather Thomas, known for her role alongside Lee Majors in *The Fall Guy*, turned 66 on September 8. She was on track for a very successful Hollywood career.
However, after the show’s finale, her mother appeared on set, and Thomas rushed to the hospital, thinking her father had an emergency. But when she arrived at the Santa Monica hospital, her family and friends told her that her father, Leon, was fine—it was her they were worried about.
This marked the start of a new chapter in the 28-year-old’s life, which would change both her personal life and career.
Read on to find out what happened to the famous 1980s pinup girl!
Heather Thomas had talent and natural beauty that compared to stars like Farrah Fawcett and Heather Locklear. She was born to be in the spotlight.
At just 14, she hosted an NBC show called *Talking with a Giant*, where she and other teens interviewed celebrities.
Wanting more, Thomas studied film and theater at UCLA, aiming to be an actor, director, and writer. Before she graduated, she appeared in a short-lived comedy series called *Co-Ed Fever* in 1979.
In 1980, Thomas, who was born in Connecticut, landed her first major role in *The Fall Guy*. She played Jody Banks, a stuntwoman and bounty hunter, alongside Lee Majors, who was famous for his role in *The Six Million Dollar Man*.
Her role made her popular, especially among male viewers, who saw her as a sex symbol. Thomas had mixed feelings about this label.
“There’s a kind of condescension that comes with it,” she told *People*. “You fit the stereotype of the blonde bimbo. But at the time, I was just having fun.”
Unfortunately, Thomas’s fun also involved drugs, a habit that began before her role as Jody Banks.
She revealed that her drug use started in sixth grade to help keep her grades up. “I was taking acid and getting straight A’s. I thought it was mind-expanding,” Thomas said.
As Heather Thomas grew older, the drugs she used also changed.
While studying at UCLA, Thomas started using cocaine. By 1981, just one year into her role on *The Fall Guy*, her drug problems got worse.
Feeling pressure to live up to her image as a sex symbol, the 5-foot-7 actress became obsessed with her weight. She began taking Lasix, a diuretic that can cause extreme tiredness.
To fight the tiredness, she used more cocaine to stay energized.
“At first, I loved the drug. I felt like I was getting a lot out of it. It kept me awake all night, and I could still work the next day,” she said, but claimed she never used it on set. “Cocaine isn’t accepted on sets. It’s no longer cool. It’s just a personal nightmare.”
However, a source close to Thomas told *People* that her drug use was hurting her career. “People knew Heather had a problem,” the source said.
Thomas’s weight dropped from 125 to 105 pounds, and she began falling asleep between scenes. She admitted, “Sometimes, I was in a mini coma.”
One day, she passed out in front of her co-star, Lee Majors. He contacted her manager, who then called her mother.
After the final episode of *The Fall Guy* was filmed, Thomas’s mother, Gladdy Ryder, showed up on set and told her that her father was in the hospital.
Thomas rushed to St. John’s Hospital, but when she arrived, she was met by her family and friends. They were there to admit her into a three-week drug rehabilitation program.
“That day was a big relief for me,” Thomas said. When she checked into detox, she had pneumonia, scarred lungs, and inflamed kidneys. “I’d been on a roller coaster, and I wanted to get off. If my family hadn’t stepped in, I probably would have kept going until I lost my job or died.”
She also said, “The doctors told me I should have been dead three years ago.”
Determined to recover, Thomas surrounded herself with people who supported her goal of staying drug-free. That’s when she met Allan Rosenthal, co-founder of Cocaine Anonymous, and married him when she was 28. They divorced in September 1986.
That same month, Thomas was hit by a car while crossing the street, leaving her with serious injuries to both legs.
After detox, divorce, and surgery to repair major damage in one of her legs, Heather Thomas returned to acting with smaller roles in TV series. She also appeared in movies like *Cyclone* in 1987 and the 1990 Canadian film *Red Blooded American Girl* with Christopher Plummer.
With her struggles behind her, Thomas started fresh in the 1990s. While working to revive her career, she married entertainment lawyer Skip Brittenham in 1992. She became a stepmother to his two daughters, Kristina and Shauna, and gave birth to her only biological child, daughter India Rose, in June 2000.
Talking about her decision to step away from acting, Thomas said, “I had about 45 restraining orders, and I was on everything from a toilet seat cover to an ashtray. Then I fell in love, had two little girls, and decided to give up acting to write for a while.”
In 2017, Thomas made a brief comeback in the movie *Girltrash: All Night Long*, one of her 26 acting credits.
However, Thomas has focused mostly on writing. She said it wasn’t a lack of roles that drove her away from acting but the constant threat of stalkers invading her privacy. “One guy climbed over the fence with a knife. I had two little girls who needed raising, so that was that. Now, I think I’m old enough that people won’t bother me as much.”
Today, Thomas is also involved in activism. She has served on the boards of the Rape Foundation and the Amazon Conservation Team.
Identifying as a feminist, which some find surprising for a former sex symbol, Thomas explained how she embraced both roles.
“When I was younger, I did what people told me. But as I got older, I didn’t compromise myself. I wanted power and freedom, and my career gave me that. I don’t think being a feminist means you should be ashamed of your body,” she said.
It’s unfortunate that Heather Thomas wasn’t able to fully revive her acting career, but we’re glad she got the help she needed and is now on a lifelong journey of recovery.
The 1980s had so many great shows, and we loved watching her as Jody Banks in *The Fall Guy* alongside Lee Majors, the Six Million Dollar Man!
We’d love to hear your thoughts about Heather Thomas and her journey to recovery!
My Neighbor Drove over My Lawn Every Day as a Shortcut to Her Yard
After her divorce, Hayley pours her heart into the perfect lawn, until her entitled neighbor starts driving over it like it’s a shortcut to nowhere. What begins as a petty turf war turns into something deeper: a fierce, funny, and satisfying reclamation of boundaries, dignity, and self-worth.
After my divorce, I didn’t just want a fresh start. I needed it.
That’s how I ended up in a quiet cul-de-sac in a different state, in a house with a white porch swing and a lawn I could call my own.
A house with a white porch swing | Source: Midjourney
I poured my heartbreak into that yard. I planted roses from my late grandma’s clippings. I lined the walkways with solar lights that flickered to life like fireflies. I mowed every Saturday, named my mower “Benny,” and drank sweet tea on the steps like I’d been doing it my whole life.
I was 30, newly single, and desperate for peace.
A smiling woman sitting on a porch | Source: Midjourney
Then came Sabrina.
You’d hear her before you saw her. Her heels clicking like gunshots against concrete, voice louder than her Lexus engine. She was in her late 40s, always in something tight and glossy, and never without a phone pressed to her ear.
She lived in the corner house across the loop. Her husband, Seth, though I wouldn’t learn his name until much later, was the quiet type.
I never saw him drive. Just her. Always her.
A woman standing next to her car | Source: Midjourney
The first time I saw tire tracks through my lawn, I thought it was a fluke. Maybe a delivery guy cutting a corner during his route. But then it happened again. And again.
I got up early one morning and caught her in the act, her SUV swinging wide and slicing clean through my flowerbed like it was a damn racetrack. I flagged her down, waving like a madwoman in pajama pants.
“Hey! Could you not cut across the lawn like that? I just planted lilies there! Come on!”
A flowerbed of beautiful lilies | Source: Midjourney
She leaned out the window, sunglasses perched high, lips curled in a smile so tight it could cut glass.
“Oh honey, your flowers will grow back! I’m just in a rush sometimes.”
Then, just like that, she was gone.
Her SUV disappeared around the corner, tires leaving fresh scars across the soil I’d spent hours softening, planting, grooming. The scent of crushed roses lingered in the air, floral and faintly bitter, like perfume sprayed on a goodbye letter.
A car on the road | Source: Midjourney
I stood frozen on the porch, heart pounding in that familiar, helpless rhythm. I wasn’t just angry, I was dismantled.
Not again.
I’d already lost so much. The marriage. The future I’d clung to like a blueprint. And just when I’d started to rebuild something beautiful, something mine, someone decided it was convenient to tear it up with their Michelin tires and manicured entitlement.
An upset woman sitting outside | Source: Midjourney
This yard was my sanctuary. My therapy. My way of proving to myself that I could nurture something, even if I hadn’t been enough for someone else to stay.
And she drove over it like it was a patch of weeds.
I tried to be civil. I did what any good neighbor would. I bought big, beautiful decorative rocks. The type that was polished, heavy, and meant to say please respect this space. I placed them carefully, like guards at the edge of a kingdom I was learning to protect.
A pile of rocks on a lawn | Source: Midjourney
The next morning? Two were shoved aside like toys and a rose stem split down the middle.
That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t about flowers. This was about me.
And I’d been invisible long enough. So, I stopped being nice.
A damaged rose bush | Source: Midjourney
Phase One: Operation Spike Strip (But Made Legal)
I gave her chances. I gave her grace. I gave her decorative rocks. But the message wasn’t sinking in.
So I got creative.
I drove out to a local feed store, the kind that smells like hay and old wood, and picked up three rolls of chicken wire mesh. Eco-friendly. Subtle. But when laid just beneath the surface of a soft lawn?
A close up of chicken wire mesh | Source: Midjourney
It bites.
I came home and worked in the early evening light, the same time she usually thundered in like a one-woman parade. I wore gloves. I dug carefully. I laid that wire with the precision of a woman who’s been underestimated one too many times.
I smoothed the soil back over like nothing ever happened. To the average eye? It was just a freshly groomed yard.
A woman working in her garden | Source: Midjourney
To a woman who doesn’t respect boundaries? It was a trap waiting to be triggered.
Two days later, I was on the porch with my tea when I heard it.
A loud crunch.
The kind of sound that makes your shoulders tense and your heart quietly hum with justice. Sabrina’s SUV jerked to a stop mid-lawn, one tire hissing its surrender.
A cup of tea on a porch | Source: Midjourney
Sabrina flung the door open like the drama queen she was, stilettos stabbing into my flowerbed as she examined the deflation.
“What did you do to my car?!” she screamed, her eyes wild.
I took a slow, syrupy sip from my mug.
A close up of an annoyed woman | Source: Midjourney
“Oh no… was that the lawn again? Thought your tires were tougher than my roses.”
She stood there, seething. And all I could think was: Good.
She stormed off in a flurry of clicks and curses. But I wasn’t done. Not even close. There was so much more to come.
A woman leaning against her door and smiling | Source: Midjourney
Phase Two: The Petty Paper Trail
The next morning, I found a letter taped to my front door, flapping in the breeze like a threat dressed in Times New Roman.
It was from Sabrina’s lawyer.
Apparently, I’d “intentionally sabotaged shared property” and “posed a safety hazard.”
Shared property? My yard?
A letter taped to a front door | Source: Midjourney
I stood there barefoot on the porch, still in my sleep shirt and leggings. I reread the letter three times just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. It was laughable. But laughter wasn’t what came first, it was rage.
Slow, steady, delicious rage.
You want to play legal games, Sabrina? Fine by me.
I called the county before my coffee even got cold. I booked a land survey that same afternoon. Two days later, there were stakes and bright-orange flags marking every inch of my property like a war zone.
A woman sitting at her kitchen counter | Source: Midjourney
Turns out, her property line didn’t even brush mine. She’d been trespassing for weeks.
So, I started gathering receipts. I went full-librarian-on-a-mission mode.
I pulled every photo I’d taken. Snapshots of roses in bloom, then snapped in half. Sabrina’s SUV parked mid-lawn. Her stilettos crossing my mulch like it was a runway. One image had her mid-stride, phone to ear, not a care in the world.
An older woman talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
I printed them all and put them into a folder. I slid in a copy of the survey, the report I filed, not to press charges, just to get it on record. The paper trail was clean, legal, and satisfyingly thick.
I mailed it to her lawyer. Certified. Tracked. With a little note inside:
“Respect goes both ways.”
Three days later, the claim was dropped. Just like that. No apology. No confrontation. But still, Sabrina didn’t stop.
And that?
That was her final mistake.
An envelope on a table | Source: Midjourney
Phase Three: The “Welcome Mat” Finale
If chicken wire couldn’t stop her and legal letters didn’t humble my annoying neighbor, then it was time for something with a little more… flair.
I scoured the internet until I found it. A motion-activated sprinkler system designed to ward off deer and raccoons but with the power of a small fire hydrant.
It didn’t mist. It attacked.
An open laptop on a kitchen counter | Source: Midjourney
I buried it low in the spot she always cut across, hidden beneath a fresh layer of mulch and daisies. Wired it up. I did a test run and got blasted so hard I lost a flip-flop. It was perfect.
The next morning, I sat behind my lace curtains with a mug of coffee and fresh buttery croissants. I had the patience of a woman who’d been underestimated for far too long.
Right on schedule, her white Lexus turned into the cul-de-sac and swerved over my lawn like it always had, confident, careless, and completely unprepared.
Fresh croissants on a plate | Source: Midjourney
And then… fwoosh!
The sprinkler exploded to life with the fury of a thousand garden hoses. First her front wheel. Then the open passenger window. Then a glorious 360 spin that drenched the entire side of her SUV.
Sabrina screamed. The car screeched to a stop. She threw her door open and jumped out, soaked, makeup running like melting wax.
I didn’t laugh. I howled. Nearly spilled my coffee down my shirt.
A sprinkler system on a lawn | Source: Midjourney
She stood in my flowerbed, dripping, sputtering, mascara streaking down her cheeks like black tears of entitlement. For the first time since this all started, she looked small.
She never crossed the lawn again.
A week later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find a man, mid-50s, rumpled button-down, holding a potted lavender plant like it was a peace offering.
A man holding a potted plant | Source: Midjourney
“I’m Seth,” he said quietly. “Sabrina’s husband.”
The poor man looked like a man worn down by years of apologizing for someone else.
“She’s… spirited,” he said, offering the plant. “But you taught her a lesson I couldn’t.”
I took the plant gently.
A smiling woman standing outside | Source: Midjourney
“The sidewalk’s always available, Seth,” I smiled.
He smiled back. The kind that carried more relief than joy. Then he turned and walked away, on the pavement.
Right where he belonged.
A man walking down a side walk | Source: Midjourney
Weeks later, my lawn was blooming again.
The roses were taller than before. The daffodils had returned, delicate but defiant. The rocks still stood guard, though they didn’t need to anymore.
The chicken wire was gone. The sprinkler? Still there. Not out of spite but memory. It was a line drawn in the soil, just in case the world forgot where it ended.
A beautiful garden | Source: Midjourney
But the war was over.
I stirred a pot of marinara in my kitchen, the window cracked just enough to let in the sound of birds and distant lawnmowers. My hands moved on autopilot—garlic, basil, and a pinch of salt.
I had made this recipe a hundred times, but that night it felt different. Like muscle memory soothing something deeper.
A pot of marinara sauce on a stove | Source: Midjourney
The steam fogged the window just enough that I couldn’t quite see the tire marks that once haunted the grass. And I thought… maybe that was fitting.
Because it wasn’t really about grass.
It was about being erased. Again.
When my marriage ended, it hadn’t been with a dramatic fight or infidelity. It had been quieter. Colder. Like watching someone pack up their love in small boxes and slip out the door while I was still convincing myself things could be fixed.
A pensive woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
I had spent three years asking to be seen. To matter. To be considered.
And then I came here. To this house. To this porch. And I finally started building something just for me. Something alive. Beautiful. Soft in all the places I had gone hard to survive.
And then Sabrina… Tire tracks across my peace. High heels stomping on my healing.
A laughing older woman | Source: Midjourney
She hadn’t known that every daffodil she crushed, I had planted with hands that still shook from signing divorce papers.
That every solar light she bumped had been placed with quiet hope I’d someday fall in love with evenings again.
So maybe it looked petty. Maybe a sprinkler seemed like overkill. But it hadn’t just been about defending grass.
A close up of daffodils | Source: Midjourney
It had been about drawing a line where I hadn’t before. About learning that sometimes, being kind means being fierce. And that setting boundaries doesn’t make me crazy.
It gives me freedom.
I ladled sauce over pasta and smiled as the scent filled the kitchen.
Some things broke me. And some things, like a perfect flowerbed, or a well-aimed jet of water, brought me back.
A bowl of pasta on a kitchen counter | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
When Martha returns from a weekend away, she’s horrified to find her MIL, Gloria, has destroyed her daughter’s cherished flowerbed, replacing it with tacky garden gnomes. Furious but composed, Martha hatches a clever plan to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.
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