At the height of her career in 1973, Cher attended the Academy Awards ceremony alongside her then-husband Sonny Bono.
Photographers eagerly snapped away, thinking they’d captured the perfect moment. But little did they know, the real story was unfolding before their eyes..
Cher dazzled and captivated all the cameras at the 1973 Academy Awards, stealing the spotlight with her bold dress. Sporting something that wouldn’t be out of place on their own television show, Cher wore the first of many memorable Cher Oscar outfits.
The night Hollywood erupted
But before we dive into her unforgettable appearance, we need to start with another moment from that night — one that made Hollywood boil over with emotion.
To be honest, the 45th Academy Awards in 1973 is mostly remembered as one of the most controversial moments in Oscar history, due to the courageous act of a young woman named Sacheen Littlefeather.
She wasn’t a famous actress or a household name, but she forever changed the conversation in Hollywood when she walked onto the stage that night.
Clad in a traditional buckskin dress and moccasins, her long dark hair adorned with Native-style beadwork, Littlefeather stepped into the spotlight not to accept an award but to refuse one.
She was there on behalf of Marlon Brando, who had won the Best Actor award for his role in The Godfather – but chose to decline it as a protest against Hollywood’s treatment of Native Americans.
”I was distressed”
The audience in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion was caught off guard, torn between applause and boos as Littlefeather explained Brando’s decision.
Some even booed her.
Littlefeather was supposed to read a 739-word statement, but the Oscars producer threatened to have her physically removed and arrested if she went over 60 seconds.
Under this pressure, she delivered a shortened version of the speech, and as she left the stage, some audience members mocked her with tomahawk chop gestures.
”I was distressed that people should have booed and whistled and stomped, even though perhaps it was directed at myself,” Brando later told Dick Cavett.
But the fury didn’t stop there.
Reportedly, Hollywood’s biggest stars were visibly divided. John Wayne is said to have been waiting backstage, restrained by six security guards to keep him from confronting Littlefeather. Though this account has been debated, the intense reactions from other presenters were undeniable.
Clint Eastwood’s accused of racism
Later that evening, just before announcing the Best Actress winner, Raquel Welch quipped, ”I hope the winner doesn’t have a cause.”
When Clint Eastwood took the stage to present the Best Picture award, he joked about doing it ”on behalf of all the cowboys shot in John Ford Westerns over the years.” The veteran actor has since faced accusations of racism for that comment.
Meanwhile, Michael Caine, who co-hosted the event, criticized Brando for ”letting some poor little Indian girl take the boos” instead of ”standing up and doing it himself.”
It’s easy to look back on that night as a sign of how far we still had to go.
For many, Littlefeather’s bravery wasn’t fully understood until decades later. On YouTube, comments beneath clips of her speech are filled with praise.
One user wrote, “People said that Will Smith slapping Chris Rock is the most disgusting moment in Oscar history, but they never saw a Native American woman defending her people’s rights getting booed by actors and actresses. That was the most disgusting moment in Oscar history.”
An ethnic fraud?
Yet, the story of Sacheen Littlefeather, born Maria Louise Cruz in 1946, doesn’t end with her iconic moment at the Oscars.
Shortly after her passing in 2022 from breast cancer, a new chapter unfolded that would challenge the narrative she had crafted over the years.
Her sisters stepped forward, asserting that Littlefeather had fabricated her Native American ancestry. Rosalind Cruz, her sister, revealed that Littlefeather believed it would be more “prestigious” to identify as Native American rather than embrace their Hispanic roots. According to the sisters, their father was of Spanish-Mexican descent, not Apache and Yaqui as Littlefeather had claimed.
Rosalind Cruz also dismissed her sister’s claim that she received the name Littlefeather from her dad after dancing before him while holding a single feather aloft.
“That she danced in front of my father and always wore a feather in her hair, in her head? And that’s when my father called her ‘Littlefeather?’ That’s another fantasy,” Cruz told San Fransisco Chronicle.
New research
As the 50th anniversary of her groundbreaking Oscar moment approached, her sisters reiterated their stance, insisting that Littlefeather was a fraud.
However, just as this narrative began to solidify, new research emerged on March 6, 2024, suggesting that Littlefeather may indeed have had Indigenous Mexican roots.
While we may not have the final word on this debate, this new perspective undeniably casts a different light on that historic Oscar moment and the ongoing fight for representation in Hollywood.
The iconic Cher outfit
Alright, folks, let’s move on to Cher!
Younger generations may not fully grasp the incredible phenomenon that Sonny & Cher were during their heyday. They were massive — absolutely massive!
And Cher, of course, has continued to dazzle and entertain countless new audiences over the years.
But in 1973, Cher was just 27 years old when she attended the Academy Awards alongside her then-husband, Sonny Bono. The couple was there to present the award for Best Original Song, because who better to hand out musical accolades than a duo who knows a thing or two about hitting all the right notes.
That night, amidst many stunning celebrities, Cher radiated with an unparalleled brilliance. Dressed in a daring outfit and rocking hoop earrings, Cher instantly became a fashion icon, proving that sometimes all you need is a bold look and a bit of attitude to make history. Her striking ensemble was designed by Bob Mackie, Hollywood’s premier designer at the time.
He had been dressing Cher since 1967, when she made a guest appearance on The Carol Burnett Show. “We hit it off right off the bat,” Mackie recalled to Variety, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Gold chiffon pajama
Cher always turned to Mackie for special occasions, and the 1973 Oscars were no exception. Back then, Cher was a size 6 with a beautifully trim midriff.
“She likes to emphasize that,” Mackie told Daily News the day after the event.
He crafted a stunning gold chiffon pajama set for her, featuring a bare midriff and flowing Oriental sleeves.
Cher’s long hair cascaded loosely, accentuating the intricate gold Byzantine embroidery, her exposed midriff, and the elegant sleeves that grazed the floor.
At that time, Cher and Sonny had reached the pinnacle of the entertainment industry. Their records sold in the millions, and they were one of the most sought-after acts for concerts and nightclub engagements.
Their comedy hour on CBS was immensely popular, it used to air every Wednesday at 8 PM — truly a “royal jewel” in the CBS crown.
But did all that fame and success really shine through when they strutted down the red carpet that spring evening in 1973? It’s tough to say! What we do know today definitely puts a new spin on that unforgettable night.
Cracks in the facade
Just days before the 1973 Oscars, several newspapers published articles highlighting the declining ratings for The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour.
Competing against popular shows like Sanford and Son on NBC and The Brady Bunch, their program struggled to achieve the heights it once enjoyed in previous seasons.
While these type of bad ratings would typically lead to immediate cancellations for many shows, CBS executives had a special affection for Sonny and Cher’s program.
They were allowed to continue, largely because the couple was seen as easy to work with. But was it really smooth sailing between Cher and Sonny?
The answer is no.
Walked off stage
The couple’s marriage added a layer of natural friction to their show, but by 1973, that tension was becoming increasingly problematic. Sonny, twelve years Cher’s senior, had faced many challenges before reaching stardom. While Cher could effortlessly shine on stage and in front of the camera, Sonny often played the role of the domineering boss behind the scenes.
One notable incident occurred when Cher famously walked off stage during a performance in Las Vegas, exclaiming, “Who needs you?”
Despite the turmoil, they managed to maintain their relationship. According to The Washington Post, Sonny even gifted Cher a new car to keep the peace, and life at their Beverly Hills mansion continued as usual.
However, that moment in Vegas hinted at a deeper issue. Cher had become the undeniable star of the duo, capable of launching a successful solo career if she chose to. In hindsight, it’s haunting to look at the pictures from that fateful Oscars night, knowing what lay beneath their glamorous facade.
In fact, Cher and Sonny had been grappling with marital problems since late 1972, but they put on a brave face for the cameras, maintaining appearances until 1974.
Cher later described her husband as a “watered-down Svengali,” who tightly controlled their careers and lives with an iron fist. While they were dazzling audiences and making headlines, their personal lives were anything but picture-perfect.
Looking at the iconic images of Cher and Sonny at the Oscars in 1973, it’s a stark reminder for us that sometimes, the most dazzling moments are merely a cover for the cracks beneath the surface.
A huge womanizer
After their much-publicized divorce, it was revealed that Sonny Bono had been notoriously unfaithful — but Cher? Well, she was blissfully unaware.
Just look at the picture below of Cher, shimmering in a dazzling outfit with a smile that could light up the Hollywood sign.
It’s hard to imagine that behind the scenes, Sonny was more interested in creating a harem than harmonizing in a heartfelt duet.
Cher once said, “Stardom made Sonny a huge womanizer. One woman, or even five, was not enough for him. I found all this out afterward. I asked him, ‘How did you manage the logistics?’”
”I was trusting and faithful with him. The truth is, I’m not so sure we should’ve ever been husband and wife.”
Today, Cher, 78, continues to enchant audiences with her talent and charisma.She remains a powerful force in the entertainment industry.
As for Sonny, he left this world in 1998 after a tragic skiing acciden
Looking at that iconic snapshot from 1973, it’s easy to be mesmerized by Cher and Sonny, radiating confidence and glamour as they stood on top of the world.
But the truth?
Their relationship was quietly unraveling, and we had no idea. It’s fascinating, in hindsight, to see how their dazzling smiles masked the turmoil beneath.
Cher’s brilliant smile reminds us that even in the brightest moments, life can be complex and unpredictable. It’s a beautiful testament to her strength and the resilience that has defined her journey
Our Late Father Left Me Only an Apiary While My Sister Took the House and Shut Me Out, but One Beehive Hid a Game-Changing Secret — Story of the Day
I lost everything in one day—my job, my home, and then my father. At his will reading, my sister took the house and shut me out. I was left with nothing but an old apiary… and a secret I never saw coming.
Routine. That was the foundation of my life. I stocked shelves, greeted customers with a polite smile, and memorized who always bought which brand of cereal or how often they ran out of milk.
At the end of every shift, I counted my wages, setting aside a little each week without a clear purpose. It was more a habit than a plan.
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And then, in a single day, everything crumbled like a dry cookie between careless fingers.
“We’re making cuts, Adele,” my manager said. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t wait for a response. There was nothing to discuss. I took off my name tag and placed it on the counter.
I walked home silently, but as soon as I reached my apartment building, something felt off. The front door was unlocked, and a faint trace of unfamiliar female perfume lingered in the air.
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My boyfriend, Ethan, stood beside my suitcase in the living room.
“Oh, you’re home. We need to talk.”
“I am listening.”
“Adele, you’re a great person, really. But I feel like I’m… evolving. And you’re just… staying the same.”
“Oh, I see,” I muttered.
“I need someone who pushes me to be better,” he added, glancing toward the window.
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That “someone” was currently waiting outside in his car.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. The city felt enormous, and suddenly, I had nowhere to go. Then my phone rang.
“I’m calling about Mr. Howard. I’m very sorry, but he has passed away.”
Mr. Howard. That’s what they called him. But to me, he was Dad. And just like that, my route was set.
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In half an hour, I bought a bus ticket and left the city behind, heading to the place where my childhood had been rewritten. Howard had never been my father by blood. He had been my father by choice.
When I was almost grown, after years of drifting through foster care, he and my adoptive mother took me in. I wasn’t a cute, wide-eyed toddler who would easily mold into a family. I was a teenager.
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But they loved me anyway. They taught me what home felt like. And finally, that home was gone. My mother had passed away a year ago. And then… my father had followed.
I was an orphan again.
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***
The funeral service was quiet. I stood in the back, too consumed by grief to acknowledge the sharp glances my adoptive sister, Synthia, kept throwing my way. She wasn’t happy I was еhere, but I didn’t care.
After the service, I went straight to the lawyer’s office, expecting nothing more than a few tools from Dad’s garage, something small to remember him by.
The lawyer unfolded the will.
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“As per the last testament of Mr. Howard, his residence, including all belongings within, is to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
Synthia smirked as if she had just won something she always knew was hers. Then, the lawyer continued.
“The apiary, including all its contents, is hereby granted to my other daughter Adele.”
“Excuse me?”
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“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated. “As per Mr. Howard’s request, Adele is to take ownership of the land, its hives, and any proceeds from future honey production. Furthermore, she has the right to reside on the property as long as she maintains and cares for the beekeeping operation.”
Synthia let out a short, bitter laugh.
“You’re joking.”
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“It’s all outlined in the document.” The lawyer held up the papers.
Synthia’s gaze sliced through me. “You? Taking care of bees? You don’t even know how to keep a houseplant alive, let alone an entire apiary.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said finally, though my voice lacked conviction.
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“Fine. You want to stay? You can have your damn bees. But don’t think you’re moving into the house.”
“What?”
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live on this property? Then you’ll take what you’ve been given.”
A slow dread crept into my stomach.
“And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
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“There’s a perfectly good barn out back. Consider it part of your new rustic lifestyle.”
I could have fought her. Could have argued. But I had nowhere else to go. I had lost my job. My life. My father. And even though I was supposed to have a place there, I was treated like a stranger.
“Fine.”
Synthia let out another laugh, standing up and grabbing her purse.
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“Well, I hope you like the smell of hay.”
That evening, I carried my bag toward the barn. The scent of dry hay and earth greeted me as I stepped inside. Somewhere outside, chickens clucked, settling in for the night.
The sounds of the farm surrounded me. I found a corner, dropped my bag, and sank onto the straw.
The tears came silently, hot streaks against my cheeks. I had nothing left. But I wasn’t going to leave. I was going to stay. I was going to fight.
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***
The nights were still cold, even as spring stretched its fingers across the land. So, in the morning, I walked into town and spent the last of my savings on a small tent. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
When I arrived back at the estate, dragging the box behind me, Synthia was standing on the porch. She watched as I unpacked the metal rods and fabric, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“This is hilarious,” she said, leaning against the wooden railing. “You’re really doing this? Playing the rugged farm girl now?”
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I ignored her and continued setting up.
I remembered the camping trips I used to take with Dad: how he had shown me how to build a fire pit, set up a proper shelter, and store food safely outdoors. Those memories fueled me at that moment.
I gathered stones from the edge of the property and built a small fire ring. I set up a simple outdoor cooking area using an old iron grate I found in the barn. It wasn’t a house. But it was a home.
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Synthia, watching the whole time, shook her head.
“Springtime camping is one thing, Adele. But what’s your plan when it gets colder?”
I didn’t take the bait. I had bigger things to worry about.
That afternoon, I met Greg, the beekeeper my father had worked with for years. I had been told he was the one who had maintained the apiary after Dad passed, but I hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet.
Greg was standing by the hives when I approached. He frowned when he saw me.
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“Oh, it’s you.”
“I need your help,” I said, straight to the point. “I want to learn how to keep the bees.”
Greg let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You?”
He eyed me up and down, taking in my entire existence that screamed city girl.
“No offense, but do you even know how to approach a hive without getting stung to death?”
I straightened my shoulders. “Not yet. But I’m willing to learn.”
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“Yeah? And what makes you think you’ll last?”
I could feel Synthia’s voice echoing in my head, her constant sneers, her dismissive laughter.
“Because I don’t have a choice.”
Greg, to my surprise, let out a low chuckle.
“Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
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Learning was harder than I had expected.
I had to get past my fear of the bees first—the way they swarmed, the low hum of their bodies vibrating through the air. The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands trembled so badly that Greg had to redo the straps for me.
“Relax,” Greg said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great. Just what I needed.”
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He laughed at that.
“If you don’t want them to sting you, don’t act like prey.”
Over the next few weeks, Greg taught me everything: how to install foundation sheets into the frames, inspect a hive without disturbing the colony, and spot the queen among thousands of identical bees.
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Some days, I was exhausted before noon. My body ached from carrying the heavy frames. I smelled like smoke and sweat and earth. And yet, I had a purpose.
That evening, the air smelled wrong.
I had just stepped onto the property, my arms full of groceries, when a sharp, acrid scent curled into my nostrils.
Smoke. Oh, no! My beehives…
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***
The fire was raging, orange tongues licking at the darkening sky. Flames crawled over the dry grass, consuming everything in their path.
My tent was in ruins, its fabric curling and melting under the heat. The fire had devoured everything inside—my clothes, bedding, the last remnants of what I had managed to build for myself.
But my eyes locked on the beehives.
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They were close to the flames, the thick smoke drifting in their direction. If the fire reached them…
No. I wouldn’t let that happen. I grabbed a bucket beside the well and ran toward the fire, but…
“Adele! Get back!”
Greg.
I turned to see him sprinting across the field. A second later, others followed—neighbors, local farmers, even the older man from the general store. They carried shovels, buckets, and anything they could find.
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I barely had time to process what was happening before they moved into action.
“Get the sand!” Greg barked.
And I realized some people were dragging heavy sacks of dry dirt from the barn. They tore them open and started smothering the fire, throwing sand over the flames, cutting off their air.
My lungs burned from the smoke, but I kept going. We worked together until the flames finally died.
I turned toward the house. Synthia stood on the balcony, watching.
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She hadn’t lifted a single finger to help. I turned away.
The beehives were safe. But my home was gone.
Greg approached, wiping the soot from his forehead. His gaze drifted toward the window where Synthia had stood just moments ago.
“Kid, you don’t have the safest neighborhood. I’d recommend harvesting that honey sooner rather than later.”
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We washed our hands, shook off the exhaustion, and, without another word, got to work.
I lifted the wooden frame from the hive, brushing off the few bees still crawling across the surface. The combs were full, golden, glistening in the soft evening light.
And then I saw it. A small, yellowed envelope was wedged between the wax panels. My breath caught. Carefully, I pulled it free and read the words scrawled across the front.
“For Adele.”
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I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Inside, folded neatly, was a second will. That was the actual will. I began to read.
“My dearest Adele,
If you are reading this, then you have done exactly what I hoped—you stayed. You fought. You proved, not to me, but to yourself, that you are stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for.
I wanted to leave you this home openly, but I knew I wouldn’t get the chance. Synthia would never allow it. She has always believed that blood is the only thing that makes a family. But you and I both know better.
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I didn’t have time to file this will officially, but I knew exactly where to place it—somewhere only you would find it. I hid it in the very thing she despises most, the one thing she would never touch. I knew that if you chose to stay and see this through, you would earn what was always meant to be yours.
Adele, this house was never just walls and a roof—it was a promise. A promise that you could always have a place where you belong.
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As my final wish, I leave you everything. The house, the land, the beekeeping estate—everything now belongs to you. Make it a home. Make it yours.
With all my love,
Dad”
The house had always been mine.
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That evening, when Greg and I finished harvesting the honey, I walked up the house’s front steps for the first time. Synthia sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea. I placed the will on the table in front of her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked after reading.
“Dad hid it in the beehives. He knew you’d try to take everything, so he ensured you wouldn’t find it.”
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For the first time since I arrived, she had nothing to say.
“You can stay,” I said, and she looked up at me, startled. “But we run this place together. We either learn to live like a family or don’t live here at all.”
Synthia scoffed, setting the will down. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
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Then, finally, she leaned back in her chair, exhaling a slow, tired laugh.
“Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
The days passed, and life slowly took shape. I sold my first jars of honey, watching my hard work finally pay off. Synthia took care of the house, keeping it in order while I tended to the bees. And Greg became a friend, someone to sit with on the porch at sunset, sharing quiet moments and stories about the day.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When I told my husband I was pregnant, he froze. When he saw the ultrasound, he panicked. The following day, he was gone—no calls, no trace. But I wasn’t about to just let him disappear. I needed answers… and payback.
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