I just love Ann-Margret – she is such a warm, sweet and classy woman.
Known for her fiery beauty and undeniable talent, she captured hearts on and off the screen, famously dating Elvis Presley and standing out as one of the few Hollywood stars who truly supported our Vietnam troops.
Yet, despite her iconic career and public admiration, she believes her greatest achievement lies elsewhere…
I just love Ann-Margret – she is such a warm, sweet and classy woman.
Known for her fiery beauty and undeniable talent, she captured hearts on and off the screen, famously dating Elvis Presley and standing out as one of the few Hollywood stars who truly supported our Vietnam troops.
Yet, despite her iconic career and public admiration, she believes her greatest achievement lies elsewhere…
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Perhaps it’s my deep connection to Sweden, but I must say Ann-Margret is a personal favorite. She’s simply incredible and all her work speaks for itself. With her delightful humor and genuine charm, she continues to captivate and inspire.
And her timeless beauty is natural and unpretentious, unlike so many in Hollywood.
As recently as last year, the Swedish-American actress and singer released her debut rock album, Born to Be Wild, as reported by The New York Times.
To say that Ann-Margret has experienced it all would be an understatement. The iconic, two-time Oscar nominee, born up north in Sweden, made her mark with memorable roles in the 1960s classics Bye Bye Birdie and Viva Las Vegas.
You can read about her electric romance with Elvis Presley here, but the truth is, he was never the man of her life.
Meeting Roger Smith
Even though she dated stars like Eddie Fisher and Elvis Presley, it was Roger Smith who ultimately won Ann-Margret’s heart.
The strikingly handsome, dark-haired actor had made a name for himself with standout roles in hits like 77 Sunset Strip and Mister Roberts. As a quintessential Hollywood heartthrob, he was used to effortlessly winning over women.
But Ann-Margret was not easily swayed.
“Every other woman I met was falling all over me,” he remembered. “But this innocent, fresh-faced beauty only spoke to me when I spoke to her and the rest of the time ignored me.”
The couple first crossed paths in the 1960s, naturally meeting through their Hollywood careers. However, it wasn’t until 1965 that they began dating seriously.
Some reports suggest that Roger initially invited the Swedish star to one of his performances at a San Francisco club. But he also had another trick up his sleeve.
He knew that Ann-Margret was a passionate motorcycle enthusiast. She loved riding and had several bikes at home, along with an entire wardrobe of motorcycle gear.
”When I first started going out with her, there were a lot of guys hanging around. But they didn’t ride motorcycles. So I figured if I had one, it would help. So I bought one and we went out ridning together. It helped,” he told NEA.
By their third date, Ann-Margret was certain that Roger Smith was the man she had always been searching for.
“I knew he would protect me. I knew that I could depend on him. I sensed it completely,” she told People in 2017.
Tears of sadness
The couple tied the knot in 1967 and their marriage was everything Ann-Margret could dream of. But few knows that their union got off to a bad start. During their wedding ceremony in Las Vegas, in a ”cigarette-smoke-filled room at the Riviera Hotel”, the Bye Bye Birdie star started to cry.
”This is not the way I envisioned my wedding,” Ann-Margret told People and added: ”I think everyone thought I was pregnant because I was crying though the whole thing. But we did it.”
Thankfully, the traumatic wedding experience didn’t matter in the end.
Soon, Roger Smith took on the role of his wife’s manager. He believed in her, admired her, and sacrificed his own acting career to support her. Roger felt that Ann-Margret had more “raw talent” than he did, and he wanted to be close to her.
“Now in Roger I’ve found all the men I need rolled into one — a father, a friend, a lover, a manager, a businessman,” the actress told Rex Reed in 1972.
“It’s perfect for me. I couldn’t exist without a strong man.”
Smith helped Ann-Margret redefine her career played a pivotal role in guiding her away from the ”sex kitten” persona, understanding that she needed to evolve beyond that to maintain a lasting presence in Hollywood. His strategic decisions allowed Ann-Margret to embrace more complex roles, which ultimately led to her breakout performance in Carnal Knowledge in 1971.
By supporting her in what she wanted, Roger Smith found he liked himself much better. Being with Ann-Margret mattered more to him than all his childhood dreams of becoming a famous actor.
”When I met Ann-Margret, I felt happy for the first time in my life,” Smith told New York. ”Once I found Ann-Margret, I couldn’t stand to be without her and, surprisingly, she couldn’t stand to be without me.”
Substance abuse & injury
Throughout their long marriage, Ann-Margret and Roger Smith were incredibly close, both personally and professionally. They experienced high peaks together but also faced significant challenges. For example, Ann-Margret grappled with substance abuse and a life-altering injury.
The Viva Las Vegas star During parts of the 1970s, the Viva Las Vegas star struggled with an addiction to pills and alcohol, finding it difficult to separate fantasy from reality.
In 1972, she suffered a devastating fall from a 22-foot platform while performing in Lake Tahoe, Nevada, breaking nearly every bone in her face. Before a shocked audience at the Sahara Hotel, Ann-Margret fell into an orchestra pit, narrowly escaping death.
She underwent facial reconstructive surgery, requiring her mouth to be wired shut and a strict liquid diet to help her recover. But as if by a miracle, Ann-Margret made a remarkable recovery. But just 10 days and 59 stitches after the terrifying accident, she made a triumphant return to the stage, riding her gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle and roaring back to the spotlight with her signature flair.
Her husband, Roger Smith, also played a crucial role in her recovery. When the accident happened, he piloted a stolen plane from Burbank, California, and rushed her to surgeons at the UCLA Medical Center, ensuring she received immediate care.
Roger Smith illness
Ann-Margret’s marriage to Roger Smith took a dramatic turn in 1980 when he was diagnosed with myasthenia gravis, an incurable neuromuscular disease. The illness often left Smith unable to even get out of bed in the mornings. Traveling across the country was out of the question, and the disease affected the couple both personally and professionally. Smith, who was the mastermind behind managing Ann-Margret’s career, had to step back due to his health.
By 1985, Smith’s illness went into remission, allowing Ann-Margret to reignite her nightclub career. Smith supported her as she returned to the spotlight, helping her revive her popular Las Vegas shows. For a while, things looked brighter.
When Roger Smith’s symptoms eased, the couple made one final attempt to have children of their own. Before that, Ann-Margret had lovingly embraced her role as stepmother to his three children from a previous marriage.
Sadly, Ann-Margret’s biological clock was ticking faster, and despite consulting numerous fertility experts, they were unable to conceive. They did everything they could, but never had children together — a fact the actress has said is one of the greatest disappointments of her life.
Cause of death
Ann-Margret and Roger Smith remained together until his death in 2017.
The beloved actor and manager passed away at age 84 at Sherman Oaks Hospital in Sherman Oaks, Los Angeles, from complications related to myasthenia gravis.
Before his death, he had also struggled with Parkinson’s disease for many years.
His condition meant that Ann-Margret had to take a break from work to care for him. She showed total commitment to her partner during his lengthy illness.
”I kept saying no, no to everything because I was taking care of him. If you’re a spouse, if one of you has a broken wing, the other takes over,” she said.
Ann-Margret was, of course, heartbroken after her husband’s passing. Yet, she managed to find something positive and she managed to move on with her life.
”When I look back at my life, I am most proud of my marriage,” Ann-Margret told Closer Weekly. “We both wanted it to work. And it did work. We were together night and day. We loved each other and we were always in each other’s corner.”
That New York photo
To truly appreciate the love story of Ann-Margret and Roger Smith, just look at a photo taken on January 1, 1985, in New York.
It captured the Hollywood couple radiating elegance and charm at a high-profile event, showing them both at the height of their careers. But this image is more than just a glamorous snapshot. Roger’s steady gaze and Ann-Margret’s serene presence reflect their deep bond, both personally and professionally.
The rich green curtains in the background give the photo a royal feel, making it a true portrait of Hollywood royalty. What makes this picture even more powerful is that you can see the signs of Roger’s battle with illness. Though not yet fully overtaken by his condition, there’s a quiet awareness of what’s to come. Despite this, the image stands as a beautiful testament to their enduring love.
It’s more than just a memory—it’s a moment frozen in time that celebrates their strength, elegance, and the legacy they built together.
Share this story with someone who appreciates timeless love, and let’s remember how this remarkable couple faced life’s challenges with grace.
I Opened My Garage to a Homeless Woman—You Won’t Believe What I Found When I Walked In Unannounced
When a rich man, who feels emotionally distant, gives shelter to Lexi, a homeless woman, he becomes intrigued by her strength. Their unexpected friendship starts to grow—until one day he walks into his garage without knocking and finds something shocking. Who is Lexi really, and what is she hiding?
I had everything money could buy: a big house, fancy cars, and more wealth than I could ever use in a lifetime. Yet, inside, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t fill.
I had never had a family since women always seemed to want me only for the money I got from my parents. At sixty-one, I often wished I had made different choices.
I tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, trying to shake off the familiar weight on my chest. That’s when I spotted a messy woman bent over a trash can.
I slowed the car, unsure why I even bothered. People like her were everywhere, right? But there was something about the way she moved, her thin arms digging through the garbage with a grim determination that tugged at something inside me.
She looked fragile but fierce, like she was holding on to life by sheer willpower.
Before I knew it, I had pulled over. The engine hummed as I rolled down the window, watching her from the safety of my car.
She looked up, startled. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might run. But she didn’t. Instead, she straightened up, brushing her hands on her faded jeans.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to me. I wasn’t the kind of person to talk to strangers or invite trouble into my life.
“You offering?” There was a sharpness in her voice, but also a tiredness, like she’d heard every empty promise before.
“I don’t know.” The words tumbled out before I could think. I stepped out of the car. “I just saw you there, and it didn’t seem right.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on mine. “What’s not right is life.” She let out a bitter laugh. “And cheating, no-good husbands in particular. But you don’t seem like someone who knows much about that.”
I winced, even though I knew she was right.
“Maybe not.” I paused, unsure how to continue. “Do you have a place to go tonight?”
She hesitated, her eyes darting away for a second before locking back onto mine. “No.”
The word hung in the air between us. That was all I needed to hear.
“Look, I have a garage. It’s more like a guest house. You could stay there until you get back on your feet.”
I expected her to laugh in my face, to tell me to go away. But instead, she blinked at me, the edges of her tough exterior starting to crack.
“I don’t take charity,” she said, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable.
“It’s not charity,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “It’s just a place to stay. No strings attached.”
“Okay. Just for a night,” she replied. “I’m Lexi, by the way.”
The drive back to my house was quiet. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.
When we arrived, I led her to the garage-turned-guest-house. It wasn’t fancy, but it was enough for someone to live in.
“You can stay here,” I said, pointing to the small space. “There’s food in the fridge, too.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Over the next few days, Lexi stayed in the garage, but we saw each other for meals. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something about her pulled at me.
Maybe it was how she kept going despite everything life threw at her, or perhaps the loneliness in her eyes, which mirrored my own. Maybe it was just the simple fact that I didn’t feel so alone anymore.
One night, as we sat across from each other at dinner, she began to open up.
“I used to be an artist,” she said softly. “Well, I tried to be. I had a small gallery, a few shows… but it all fell apart.”
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious.
She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Life happened. My husband left me for a younger woman he got pregnant and kicked me out. My whole life unraveled after that.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
She shrugged. “It’s in the past.”
But I could tell it wasn’t, not really. The pain was still there, just below the surface. I knew that feeling all too well.
As the days passed, I found myself looking forward to our conversations.
Lexi had a sharp wit and a biting sense of humor that cut through the gloom of my empty house. Slowly, the hollow space inside me seemed to shrink.
It all changed one afternoon. I had been rushing around, trying to find the air pump for one of my cars. I barged into the garage without knocking, expecting to grab it quickly and leave. But what I saw stopped me cold.
There, spread across the floor, were dozens of paintings. Of me.
Or rather, grotesque versions of me. One painting showed me with chains around my neck, another with blood pouring from my eyes. In the corner, there was one of me lying in a casket.
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This was how she saw me? After everything I’d done for her?
I backed out of the room before she noticed me, my heart pounding.
That night, as we sat down for dinner, I couldn’t shake the images from my mind. Whenever I looked at Lexi, all I could see were those horrific portraits.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Lexi,” I said, my voice tight. “What are those paintings?”
Her fork clattered to the plate. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw them,” I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. “The paintings of me. The chains, the blood, the coffin. What the hell is that?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see those,” she stammered.
“Well, I did,” I said coldly. “Is that how you see me? As some monster?”
“No, it’s not that.” She wiped her eyes, her voice shaky. “I was just… angry. I’ve lost everything, and you have so much. It wasn’t fair, and I couldn’t help it. I needed to let it out.”
“So you painted me like a villain?” I asked sharply.
She nodded, shame etched on her face. “I’m sorry.”
I sat back, letting the silence stretch between us. I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to understand. But I couldn’t.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said flatly.
Lexi’s eyes widened. “Wait, please—”
“No,” I interrupted. “It’s over. You need to leave.”
The next morning, I helped her pack her things and drove her to a nearby shelter. She didn’t say much, and neither did I. Before she stepped out of the car, I handed her a few hundred dollars.
She hesitated but then took the money with trembling hands.
Weeks passed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. Not just because of the disturbing paintings, but because of what we had before. There had been warmth and connection — something I hadn’t felt in years.
Then, one day, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a painting, but this one was different. It wasn’t grotesque or twisted. It was a serene portrait of me, captured with a peace I hadn’t known I possessed.
Tucked inside the package was a note with Lexi’s name and phone number scrawled at the bottom.
My finger hovered over the call button, my heart beating faster than it had in years. Getting worked up over a phone call felt silly, but there was so much more riding on it than I wanted to admit.
I swallowed hard and hit “Call” before I could second-guess myself. It rang twice before she picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was hesitant, like she sensed it could only be me.
I cleared my throat. “Lexi. It’s me. I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I figured I owed you something better than… those other paintings.”
“You didn’t owe me anything, Lexi. I wasn’t exactly fair to you, either.”
“You had every right to be upset.” Her voice was steadier now. “What I painted — those were things I needed to get out of me, but they weren’t really about you. You were just… there. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Lexi. I forgave you the moment I saw that painting.”
Her breath hitched. “You did?”
“I did,” I said, and I meant it. It wasn’t just the painting that had changed my mind; it was the feeling that I had let something meaningful slip away because I was too scared to face my pain. “And… well, I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe we could talk. Maybe over dinner? If you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d really like that.”
We made plans to meet in a few days. Lexi told me she used the money I gave her to buy new clothes and get a job. She was planning to move into an apartment when she got her first paycheck.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having dinner with Lexi again.
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