When Cynthia Rhodes wasn’t “Staying Alive” on the dance floor with John Travolta, she was “Dirty Dancing” with Patrick Swayze.
Rhodes, who will turn 67 in November 2023, had a great career with famous dance movies from the 1980s. However, she chose to step away from the spotlight at the height of her fame.
Keep reading to find out why this talented actress, singer, and dancer retired so early!
Cynthia Rhodes was born in Nashville, Tennessee. She started her acting career with a small role in the 1980 musical fantasy film **Xanadu**, which starred the late Olivia Newton-John and Gene Kelly.
Her role as Tina Tech, a dancer in the 1983 film **Flashdance**, led to a bigger part later that year as John Travolta’s love interest in **Staying Alive**, the sequel to **Saturday Night Fever**, directed by Sylvester Stallone.
In 1987, she played her most famous role as Penny Johnson, a dance instructor at a resort hotel in **Dirty Dancing**.
In her role as Penny, Cynthia Rhodes shows off her amazing dance skills with graceful and flashy Mambo moves alongside the late Patrick Swayze. She also shares some very emotional and heartbreaking scenes with him.
Rhodes described her character Penny as having an “edge.” Penny both charmed and shocked viewers as she dealt with a difficult storyline involving a botched illegal abortion.
The film includes a socially relevant subplot about reproductive rights, with Rhodes at the center of it all. This helped position the three lead characters—Swayze as Johnny, Jennifer Grey as Baby, and Rhodes as Penny—for stardom.
“She’s from South Philly and she’s had a rough life,” Rhodes said about her character. “She’s got a sweetness about her, but it’s hidden because she’s been through a lot, and she has sort of put up a wall.” Rhodes added, “In the end, I think she finally realizes that life does go on.”
Life went on for Cynthia Rhodes, but not in the way her fans hoped.
After training for ten hours a day to prepare for her role as Penny, Rhodes found dancing to be “really hard.” She shared, “That’s why I keep saying I’m never going to dance again. I’m tired of dancing. My bones are hurting, and my back hurts all the time.” She added, “Every time I say, ‘That’s it, I don’t want to dance anymore,’ I get another film. I’m not going to turn down work! I feel very fortunate to be in films that involve dancing. But I just want a chance to do some dramatic work without dancing. Just give me a straight acting part.”
In the same year that *Dirty Dancing* was released, the 31-year-old Rhodes, who had many role options and admirers, appeared in the music video for “Don’t Mean Nothing” by Richard Marx. He is also known for the song “Right Here Waiting,” which was famously written for Rhodes in 1989.
In 1989, Rhodes married the Grammy Award-winning singer Richard Marx, and the couple welcomed their first child, Brandon, in 1990. They later had two more sons, Lucas in 1992 and Jesse in 1994.
According to Marx, Rhodes, who had previously trained for the Olympics, decided to retire in 1990 to focus on raising their children. He mentioned that this choice was also due to the “intense physical pain” her dance moves caused her.
“I thought, ‘This won’t last; she’s definitely going to want to come back to work and do films.’ But she found fulfillment in being a mom that completely overshadowed any desire she had to make movies,” Marx, now 59, explained. “Even if you’re her biggest fan, as good as you think she was as a dancer, singer, or actress, you should see her as a mom.”
Rhodes, who began dancing at just three years old, found that she was much happier being a mom and giving her body the rest it needed.
“The thing was, I used to never be sore. In fact, I was a gymnast. Now it’s frustrating… I never used to stretch, but now I have to stretch before I dance. I love to dance, but if I never did it again, I wouldn’t be sorry,” Rhodes said.
Since then, she hasn’t looked back. The last time she appeared on screen was in the 1991 film *Curse of the Crystal Eye.*
The former Hollywood starlet divorced Marx in 2014, and he married MTV’s first Latina host, Daisy Fuentes, the following year.
As for her sons, all three are following in the footsteps of their famous parents. Brandon is now a music producer and singer, while Lucas has made a name for himself as a singer and actor, appearing in TV series like *The Chicago Code*, *The Mob Doctor*, *Chicago P.D.*, and *Parenthood*. The youngest son, Jesse, has joined a metal band and is working on his own music.
Dancing requires a high level of athleticism, so while we miss seeing Cynthia Rhodes, we completely understand why she chose to leave Hollywood.
What are your favorite films featuring her?
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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