When Loni Anderson sashayed into America’s living rooms as Jennifer Marlowe on WKRP in Cincinnati, she didn’t just steal the show. She redefined what a TV bombshell could be. With her platinum blonde hair, sparkling dimples, and a wit sharp enough to slice through the static of a flagging Ohio radio station, Anderson, who died this week at 79, became an icon of glamour and grit. For us, children of the ‘90s, she was more than a sitcom star. She was a voice in our childhoods and a comedic anchor in our adolescence, leaving an indelible mark on screens big and small.
Born Loni Kaye Anderson on Aug. 5, 1945, in St. Paul, Minnesota, she grew up far from Hollywood’s spotlight, the daughter of an environmental chemist and a former model. Her early charisma shone through when she was crowned Queen of the Valentine’s Day Winter Formal in 1963 at Alexander Ramsey High School, a hint of the pop culture royalty she’d become. But stardom wasn’t immediate. After a brief marriage at 19 to Bruce Hasselberg, which produced her daughter Deidra, Anderson balanced single motherhood with studies at the University of Minnesota, even teaching to pay the bills. Acting was her true calling, and she honed her craft in local theater, tackling roles in Born Yesterday and Can-Can with a spark that foreshadowed her future.
Her big break came in 1978 with WKRP in Cincinnati, in which she played Jennifer Marlowe, a receptionist who was anything but “just” a receptionist. Anderson insisted on making Jennifer the smartest person in the room, using her charm to navigate a male-dominated world while never letting her looks define her. The role earned her two Emmy nominations and three Golden Globe nods, cementing her as a trailblazer. “I never thought I’d be Loni Anderson, sex symbol,” she told Fox News in 2021, “but I embrace it.” She turned a potential stereotype into a feminist archetype, delivering lines like “Well, Mr. Mayor … a lot of turkeys don’t make it through Thanksgiving!” with comedic precision that left audiences howling.
Anderson’s voice as Flo, the soulful collie in 1989’s All Dogs Go to Heaven, was my generation’s first brush with her magic. That animated classic, a VHS staple, was for many of us one of our first exposures to movies, its jazzy tunes and bittersweet story etching themselves into our memories. Flo’s warm, maternal presence — voiced with Anderson’s signature heart and humor — comforted us through countless viewings, making her a fixture of our childhoods. We didn’t know then that the voice belonged to a sitcom legend, but her charm resonated deeply, guiding us through a tale of redemption and doggy heaven.
Anderson’s career extended beyond WKRP. She starred in TV movies such as White Hot: The Mysterious Murder of Thelma Todd (1991), portraying the tragic starlet with depth, and took guest roles on Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Melrose Place. Her personal life kept her in the headlines, notably her marriage to Burt Reynolds, whom she met on the set of Stroker Ace (1983). Their 1988 wedding was a tabloid spectacle, complete with a seven-carat diamond, but the 1994 divorce was messy, as detailed in her 1995 memoir, My Life in High Heels. “You have to do it warts and all,” she wrote, showcasing her resilience. She found lasting love with musician Bob Flick in 2008, a union that endured until death.
For my generation, Anderson bookended the ‘90s with a role that hit home: Barbara Butabi in 1998’s A Night at the Roxbury. Playing the exasperated mother to Will Ferrell and Chris Kattan’s head-bobbing brothers, she delivered deadpan lines that grounded the film’s absurdity. I’ll confess — Roxbury is a secret favorite of mine, a guilty pleasure now out in the open. Her performance helped make it a cult classic for us teenagers, laughing through late-night viewings. She was the cool, sharp mother we all wished for, rolling her eyes at our nonsense.
EDWIN J. FEULNER JR., 1941-2025
In her later years, Anderson embraced her legacy with grace. In 2023, she joined Morgan Fairchild in Lifetime’s Ladies of the ’80s: A Divas Christmas, a nostalgic nod to her enduring appeal. Fairchild called her “the sweetest, most gracious lady,” a sentiment echoed by costars like Barbara Eden, who praised her wit and work ethic. Anderson championed causes like COPD awareness, inspired by her parents’ struggles, and was a devoted mother to Deidra and her adopted son, Quinton, from her marriage to Reynolds.
Loni Anderson blended glamour with grit, giving my generation comfort and laughs and audiences of all generations a masterclass in charm and wit. Her legacy shines through in every quip and dimpled smile, a reminder of a star who owned every room. “I’ve always believed you should live with no regrets,” she once told People magazine, “because life’s too short to look back.” And with that, Loni Anderson exits the stage, still fabulous, still unforgettable.
Daniel Ross Goodman is a Washington Examiner contributing writer, the author of three books, and the Allen and Joan Bildner Visiting Scholar at Rutgers University.