Bobby Sherman, '60s teen idol, dead at 81
Bobby Sherman, whose winsome smile and fashionable shaggy mop top helped make him into a teen idol in the 1960s and '70s with bubblegum pop hits like Little Woman and Julie, Do Ya Love Me, has died. He was 81.
His wife, Brigitte Poublon, announced the death Tuesday and family friend John Stamos posted her message on Instagram: 'Bobby left this world holding my hand — just as he held up our life with love, courage, and unwavering grace.' Sherman revealed he had Stage 4 cancer earlier this year.
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Sherman was a squeaky-clean regular on the covers of Tiger Beat and Sixteen magazines, often with hair over his eyes and a choker on his neck. His face was printed on lunchboxes, cereal boxes and posters that hung on the bedroom walls of his adoring fans. He landed at No. 8 in TV Guide's list of 'TV's 25 Greatest Teen Idols.'
He was part of a lineage of teen heartthrobs who emerged as mass-market, youth-oriented magazines and TV took off, connecting fresh-scrubbed Ricky Nelson in the 1950s to David Cassidy in the '70s, all the way to Justin Bieber in the 2000s.
Sherman had four Top 10 hits on the Billboard Hot 100 chart — Little Woman, Julie, Do Ya Love Me, Easy Come, Easy Go, and La La La (If I Had You). He had six albums on the Billboard 200 chart, including Here Comes Bobby, which spent 48 weeks on the album chart, peaking at No. 10. His career got its jump start when he was cast in the ABC rock 'n' roll show Shindig! in the mid-'60s. Later, he starred in two television series — Here Come the Brides (1968-70) and Getting Together (1971).
Admirers from Hollywood took to social media to honour Sherman, with actor Patricia Heaton posting on X: 'Hey all my 70s peeps, let's take a minute to remember our heartthrob Bobby Sherman' and Lorenzo Lamas recalling listening to Sherman's Easy Come, Easy Go on the school bus as a kid.
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RIP #BobbySherman an actor/ entertainer with a very long and storied career that loved his fans. He was an accomplished EMT later in life and helped to train LAPD in CPR and lifesaving methods. I remember listening to 'Easy Come Easy Go' on the school bus as a kid. pic.twitter.com/RmNm6MTUEl
— Lorenzo Lamas (@lorenzolamas) June 24, 2025
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After the limelight moved on, Sherman became a certified medical emergency technician and instructor for the Los Angeles Police Department, teaching police recruits first aid and CPR. He donated his salary.
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'A lot of times, people say, 'Well, if you could go back and change things, what would you do?'' he told The Tulsa World in 1997. 'And I don't think I'd change a thing — except to maybe be a little bit more aware of it, because I probably could've relished the fun of it a little more. It was a lot of work. It was a lot of blood, sweat and tears. But it was the best of times.'
A life-changing Hollywood party
Sherman, with sky blue eyes and dimples, grew up in the San Fernando Valley, singing Ricky Nelson songs and performing with a high-school rock band.
'I was brought up in a fairly strict family,' he told the Sunday News newspaper in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, in 1998. 'Law and order were important. Respect your fellow neighbor, remember other people's feelings. I was the kind of boy who didn't do things just to be mischievous.'
He was studying child psychology at a community college in 1964 when his girlfriend took him to a Hollywood party, which would change his life. He stepped onstage and sang with the band. Afterward, guests Jane Fonda, Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo asked him who his agent was. They took his number and, a few days later, an agent called him and set him up with Shindig!
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Sherman hit true teen idol status in 1968, when he appeared in Here Come the Brides, a comedy-adventure set in boom town Seattle in the 1870s. He sang the show's theme song, Seattle, and starred as young logger Jeremy Bolt, often at loggerheads with brother, played by David Soul. It lasted two seasons.
Following the series, Sherman starred in Getting Together, a spinoff of The Partridge Family, about a songwriter struggling to make it in the music business. He became the first performer to star in three TV series before the age of 30. That television exposure soon translated into a fruitful recording career: His first single, Little Woman, earned a gold record in 1969.
'While the rest of the world seemed jumbled up and threatening, Sherman's smiling visage beamed from the bedroom walls of hundreds of thousands of teen-age girls, a reassuring totem against the riots, drugs, war protests and free love that raged outside,' The Tulsa World said in 1997.
His movies included Wild In Streets, He is My Brother and Get Crazy.
From music to medicine
Sherman pulled back from his celebrity career after several years of a frantic schedule, telling The Washington Post: 'I'd film five days a week, get on a plane on a Friday night and go someplace for matinee and evening shows Saturday and Sunday, then get on a plane and go back to the studio to start filming again. It was so hectic for three years that I didn't know what home was.'
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Sherman's pivot to becoming an emergency medical technician in 1988 was born out of a longtime fascination with medicine. Sherman said that affinity blossomed when he raised his sons with his first wife, Patti Carnel. They would get scrapes and bloody noses and he became the family's first-aid provider. So he started learning basic first aid and cardiopulmonary resuscitation from the Red Cross.
'If I see an accident, I feel compelled to stop and give aid even if I'm in my own car,' he told the St. Petersburg Times. 'I carry equipment with me. And there's not a better feeling than the one you get from helping somebody out. I would recommend it to everybody.'
In addition to his work with the Los Angeles Police Department, he was a reserve deputy with the San Bernardino County Sheriff's Department, working security at the courthouse. Sherman estimated that, as a paramedic, he helped five women deliver babies in the backseats of cars or other impromptu locations.
In one case, he helped deliver a baby on the sidewalk and, after the birth, the new mother asked Sherman's partner what his name was. 'When he told her Bobby, she named the baby Roberta. I was glad he didn't tell her my name was Sherman,' he told the St. Petersburg Times in 1997.
The teen idols grow up
He was named LAPD's Reserve Officer of the Year for 1999 and received the FBI's Exceptional Service Award and the 'Twice a Citizen' Award by the Los Angeles County Reserve Foundation.
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In a speech on the floor of the U.S. House of Representatives in 2004, then-Rep. Howard McKeon wrote: 'Bobby is a stellar example of the statement 'to protect and serve.' We can only say a simple and heartfelt thank you to Bobby Sherman and to all the men and women who courageously protect and serve the citizens of America.'
Later, Sherman would join the 1990s-era Teen Idols Tour with former 1960s heartthrobs Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones of the Monkees and Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits.
The Chicago Sun-Times in 1998 described one of Sherman's performances: 'Dressed to kill in black leather pants and white shirt, he was showered with roses and teddy bears as he started things off with Easy Come, Easy Go. As he signed scores of autographs at the foot of the stage, it was quickly draped by female fans of every conceivable age group.'
Sherman also co-founded the Brigitte and Bobby Sherman Children's Foundation in Ghana, which provides education, health, and welfare programs to children in need.
He is survived by two sons, Christopher and Tyler, and his wife.
'Even in his final days, he stayed strong for me. That's who Bobby was — brave, gentle, and full of light,' Poublon wrote.
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CBC
2 days ago
- CBC
From Bobby Sherman to Bieber, the mixed fortunes of teen idols
It's very likely that news of Bobby Sherman's death on Tuesday was met with pangs of nostalgia among boomers, particularly women, and blank stares among many whose generation contains one of the last three letters of the alphabet. Sherman's wife, Brigitte Poublon, announced his death at 81, after it had been revealed last year that he had Stage 4 cancer. By the late 1980s, the singer-actor was largely absent from the spotlight, but the years that followed included serving as an emergency medical technician. Sherman's second act was by all accounts a positive example for any celebrity who once experienced white-hot fame, including the relatively small number considered teen idols — a list that includes Canadian Justin Bieber. Bieber, 31, does not appear to be enjoying his fairly extended break from his career. In recent months, there have been health issues, social media posts that have hinted at drug use, and reports of financial issues, which he has denied. A pop phenomenon How big was Sherman at one point? In 1972, he had to call a news conference to explain pesky new details previously unknown to his devoted teen audience — that he had wed his first wife 14 months earlier, who at the time of their marriage was about six months' pregnant with their first child. Also, the marriage licence said he was — gasp! — 28 years old, not 25 as the public had been told. Coincidentally or not, Sherman released his final album in 1972 and also saw one of his last big television roles end that year — in a Partridge Family spinoff called Getting Together, which lasted 14 episodes. The very last, the short-lived Sanchez of Bel Air i n 1986, was one of USA Network's first scripted shows. Fellow former teen idol Donny Osmond pays tribute: But Sherman burned brightly for at least a half-decade, which is why TV Guide ranked him eighth in its 2005 list of the greatest teen idols of all time. He burst onto the scene with 42 appearances on the music show Shindig between 1964 and 1966, a time in which Flip, Tiger Beat and Teen Beat magazines also emerged. 16 Magazine, which debuted in 1957 with perhaps the original teen idol — Elvis Presley — on its cover, went all-in on the fresh-faced likes of Sherman, David Cassidy and Donny Osmond in the early 1970s, veering sharply away from late-1960s coverage that included bands like the Doors. Sherman appeared on lunchboxes, cereal boxes and posters, and other products bearing his name. "I received my Bobby Sherman Love Beads kit just in time to make two groovy necklaces for birthday presents! It saved my life," one girl gushes in an ad for the keepsake. It was Flip that revealed Sherman's "secret" marriage, sounding crestfallen in the process. "Over and over again Bobby has sworn to us and to his fans that he would tell the world if and when he got married," per the unnamed writer for the magazine. For the record, Sherman said at the 1972 newser that he was shielding his wife, Patti, from the spotlight, as an earlier pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage. "There was never a time when he wasn't open and gracious and, you know, just so excited about his life," Tiger Beat's editor at the time, Ann Moses, told Remind Magazine in comments published this week. "He was always just the most down-to-earth.... I want to say 'non-star.' He never acted like a star, even though he was on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine for two years straight." Teen idol pivots to service The work Sherman produced didn't particularly resonate through the ages. There were two seasons and 52 episodes of Here Come the Brides, and while that comedy-western did make it to syndication, it didn't have the staying power in reruns of The Partridge Family or The Brady Bunch. As well, if you're listening to an oldies station today, you're more likely to hear David Cassidy singing I Think I Love You for the Partridge Family or Donny Osmond covering Paul Anka's Puppy Love than any of Sherman's four top 10 Billboard hits — Little Woman, Julie, Do Ya Love Me, Easy Come, Easy Go and La La La (If I Had You). Generally speaking, the music of the teen idols of yesteryear is devalued by programmers and tastemakers. The late music writer Tom Hibbert, writing somewhat cruelly about Cassidy in 1983, could have just as easily been speaking of Sherman. "The music had been secondary to swoony looks and hints of sex, and while some might remember those alluring eyes glinting from the LP cover or the TV screen, few were likely to recall the vacuous, bland and essentially worthless records Cassidy left behind," Hibbert wrote in the History of Rock. Cassidy and fellow Tiger Beat heartthrob Leif Garrett are among those who struggled after their stars dimmed. Sherman appears to have been a nice guy who didn't finish last in that regard. He became an emergency medical technician in 1988 and later an instructor for the Los Angeles Police Department, teaching police recruits first aid and CPR. By 1998, he had helped five women deliver babies in the back seats of cars or other unplanned locations, he told a reporter. Sherman also co-founded a children's foundation in Ghana with his second wife. Bieber, an idle idol Sherman's death comes amid weeks of what US Weekly has characterized as "undeniably chaotic and cryptic" social media posts from Justin Bieber. "People keep telling me to heal … don't you think if I could have fixed myself I would have already? I know I'm broken," he said in one of more than 20 posts on Father's Day. Bieber also appeared on Tiger Beat's cover several times (its newsstand publication stopped in 2018), but the comparisons to Sherman only go so far, even aside from the radically different times. Sherman, by all accounts, came from a stable family background and had no burning ambition to be in showbiz. He went to college and caught his big break singing at a star-studded private party in Hollywood at the ripe old age of 23. Bieber was born to teen parents who split up, and while not necessarily groomed for the stage, his path to stardom was supercharged when music executive Scooter Braun discovered some of his singing videos uploaded to YouTube. Bieber was barely 13 when he headed to the U.S. to record. Anka, famous since 1957, when he was 16, once told CBC he shuddered at what young performers contend with in the 21st century, with gossip websites, camera phones and social media. "Back then, I learned from my failures more than my successes, and I was allowed to do that in a time where they weren't watching you," he said. It's not clear if Bieber wants his previous level of fame, to be entirely clear of the spotlight, or something in between. But Sherman and Anka — who happens to be on tour this coming weekend in Virginia — demonstrate that whichever way, life goes on.
Global News
3 days ago
- Global News
Bobby Sherman, '60s teen idol, dead at 81
Bobby Sherman, whose winsome smile and fashionable shaggy mop top helped make him into a teen idol in the 1960s and '70s with bubblegum pop hits like Little Woman and Julie, Do Ya Love Me, has died. He was 81. His wife, Brigitte Poublon, announced the death Tuesday and family friend John Stamos posted her message on Instagram: 'Bobby left this world holding my hand — just as he held up our life with love, courage, and unwavering grace.' Sherman revealed he had Stage 4 cancer earlier this year. Story continues below advertisement Sherman was a squeaky-clean regular on the covers of Tiger Beat and Sixteen magazines, often with hair over his eyes and a choker on his neck. His face was printed on lunchboxes, cereal boxes and posters that hung on the bedroom walls of his adoring fans. He landed at No. 8 in TV Guide's list of 'TV's 25 Greatest Teen Idols.' He was part of a lineage of teen heartthrobs who emerged as mass-market, youth-oriented magazines and TV took off, connecting fresh-scrubbed Ricky Nelson in the 1950s to David Cassidy in the '70s, all the way to Justin Bieber in the 2000s. Sherman had four Top 10 hits on the Billboard Hot 100 chart — Little Woman, Julie, Do Ya Love Me, Easy Come, Easy Go, and La La La (If I Had You). He had six albums on the Billboard 200 chart, including Here Comes Bobby, which spent 48 weeks on the album chart, peaking at No. 10. His career got its jump start when he was cast in the ABC rock 'n' roll show Shindig! in the mid-'60s. Later, he starred in two television series — Here Come the Brides (1968-70) and Getting Together (1971). Admirers from Hollywood took to social media to honour Sherman, with actor Patricia Heaton posting on X: 'Hey all my 70s peeps, let's take a minute to remember our heartthrob Bobby Sherman' and Lorenzo Lamas recalling listening to Sherman's Easy Come, Easy Go on the school bus as a kid. Story continues below advertisement RIP #BobbySherman an actor/ entertainer with a very long and storied career that loved his fans. He was an accomplished EMT later in life and helped to train LAPD in CPR and lifesaving methods. I remember listening to 'Easy Come Easy Go' on the school bus as a kid. — Lorenzo Lamas (@lorenzolamas) June 24, 2025 Story continues below advertisement After the limelight moved on, Sherman became a certified medical emergency technician and instructor for the Los Angeles Police Department, teaching police recruits first aid and CPR. He donated his salary. Get breaking National news For news impacting Canada and around the world, sign up for breaking news alerts delivered directly to you when they happen. Sign up for breaking National newsletter Sign Up By providing your email address, you have read and agree to Global News' Terms and Conditions and Privacy Policy 'A lot of times, people say, 'Well, if you could go back and change things, what would you do?'' he told The Tulsa World in 1997. 'And I don't think I'd change a thing — except to maybe be a little bit more aware of it, because I probably could've relished the fun of it a little more. It was a lot of work. It was a lot of blood, sweat and tears. But it was the best of times.' A life-changing Hollywood party Sherman, with sky blue eyes and dimples, grew up in the San Fernando Valley, singing Ricky Nelson songs and performing with a high-school rock band. 'I was brought up in a fairly strict family,' he told the Sunday News newspaper in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, in 1998. 'Law and order were important. Respect your fellow neighbor, remember other people's feelings. I was the kind of boy who didn't do things just to be mischievous.' He was studying child psychology at a community college in 1964 when his girlfriend took him to a Hollywood party, which would change his life. He stepped onstage and sang with the band. Afterward, guests Jane Fonda, Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo asked him who his agent was. They took his number and, a few days later, an agent called him and set him up with Shindig! Story continues below advertisement Sherman hit true teen idol status in 1968, when he appeared in Here Come the Brides, a comedy-adventure set in boom town Seattle in the 1870s. He sang the show's theme song, Seattle, and starred as young logger Jeremy Bolt, often at loggerheads with brother, played by David Soul. It lasted two seasons. Following the series, Sherman starred in Getting Together, a spinoff of The Partridge Family, about a songwriter struggling to make it in the music business. He became the first performer to star in three TV series before the age of 30. That television exposure soon translated into a fruitful recording career: His first single, Little Woman, earned a gold record in 1969. 'While the rest of the world seemed jumbled up and threatening, Sherman's smiling visage beamed from the bedroom walls of hundreds of thousands of teen-age girls, a reassuring totem against the riots, drugs, war protests and free love that raged outside,' The Tulsa World said in 1997. His movies included Wild In Streets, He is My Brother and Get Crazy. From music to medicine Sherman pulled back from his celebrity career after several years of a frantic schedule, telling The Washington Post: 'I'd film five days a week, get on a plane on a Friday night and go someplace for matinee and evening shows Saturday and Sunday, then get on a plane and go back to the studio to start filming again. It was so hectic for three years that I didn't know what home was.' Story continues below advertisement Sherman's pivot to becoming an emergency medical technician in 1988 was born out of a longtime fascination with medicine. Sherman said that affinity blossomed when he raised his sons with his first wife, Patti Carnel. They would get scrapes and bloody noses and he became the family's first-aid provider. So he started learning basic first aid and cardiopulmonary resuscitation from the Red Cross. 'If I see an accident, I feel compelled to stop and give aid even if I'm in my own car,' he told the St. Petersburg Times. 'I carry equipment with me. And there's not a better feeling than the one you get from helping somebody out. I would recommend it to everybody.' In addition to his work with the Los Angeles Police Department, he was a reserve deputy with the San Bernardino County Sheriff's Department, working security at the courthouse. Sherman estimated that, as a paramedic, he helped five women deliver babies in the backseats of cars or other impromptu locations. In one case, he helped deliver a baby on the sidewalk and, after the birth, the new mother asked Sherman's partner what his name was. 'When he told her Bobby, she named the baby Roberta. I was glad he didn't tell her my name was Sherman,' he told the St. Petersburg Times in 1997. The teen idols grow up He was named LAPD's Reserve Officer of the Year for 1999 and received the FBI's Exceptional Service Award and the 'Twice a Citizen' Award by the Los Angeles County Reserve Foundation. Story continues below advertisement In a speech on the floor of the U.S. House of Representatives in 2004, then-Rep. Howard McKeon wrote: 'Bobby is a stellar example of the statement 'to protect and serve.' We can only say a simple and heartfelt thank you to Bobby Sherman and to all the men and women who courageously protect and serve the citizens of America.' Later, Sherman would join the 1990s-era Teen Idols Tour with former 1960s heartthrobs Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones of the Monkees and Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits. The Chicago Sun-Times in 1998 described one of Sherman's performances: 'Dressed to kill in black leather pants and white shirt, he was showered with roses and teddy bears as he started things off with Easy Come, Easy Go. As he signed scores of autographs at the foot of the stage, it was quickly draped by female fans of every conceivable age group.' Sherman also co-founded the Brigitte and Bobby Sherman Children's Foundation in Ghana, which provides education, health, and welfare programs to children in need. He is survived by two sons, Christopher and Tyler, and his wife. 'Even in his final days, he stayed strong for me. That's who Bobby was — brave, gentle, and full of light,' Poublon wrote.
Winnipeg Free Press
3 days ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Elton John, Bread, black coffee and thou
Opinion I can still see us sprawled out on our bedroom's shag carpet, mesmerized by the record label going round and round. We had one of those portable suitcase record players and there would be albums spread out on the floor. Don't Shoot Me I'm Only the Piano Player. Me age seven, you 17. Elderberry Wine. Blues for Baby and Me. Daniel. Pam Frampton photo This rose in columnist Pam Frampton's garden was planted in memory of her sister, Barbie. They named you Barbara Ann after the famous Canadian figure skater, but a love of the limelight didn't come with the name. You were shy. Reserved. The opposite of your other sisters in many ways. You had dad's looks and Mom's brown eyes. You loved Ringo, Robin Gibb, Bernie Taupin. You never fell for the frontman. We pored over the liner notes that came with Don't Shoot Me; loved the pictures of Elton and Bernie walking together. I fantasized about them coming to our small town in outport Newfoundland, but I knew it wouldn't happen. They would've had a hard time finding us. There weren't even street names then. We were in the yellow house on the hill, across from Ern Warren's store. I loved your quiet passion for music, and I was so glad you shared that side of you with me. You weren't a fangirl, just someone who knew what she liked. You didn't gush about it or collect Tiger Beat posters. We shared a twin bed. Not long before Don't Shoot Me was released, I was the bed-wetter who would wake in the night and leave you behind in the damp spot to go and climb in between our parents. You never complained. You'd just get up in the dark — not wanting to wake our other two sisters in their twin bed — fumble for your glasses and get a clean towel to lay in the space where I had been. The sheets would be changed in the morning. I often think of how you came into the world in the midst of tragedy, Barbie. Born breech in the terrible dark days after our grandfather's schooner was reported overdue. Then wreckage was found. Mom said they had to break your little arm to get you out. She brought you home with your arm in a sling and the whole family under a dark cloud of shock and grief. When you grew up and had a family of your own, I would go and spend the night with you sometimes; your husband away working and you on your own with a small child. I loved hearing your quiet voice, your measured cadence so much like our Dad's. I missed you then, much as I did those years you were away at university. Those weekends when you would come home; the nights we would whisper after dark in our little bed, and I would beg you to tell me every single detail about university classes, dining hall cuisine and residence life. You took your coffee black then — the heights of sophistication to my 10-year-old self. Soon, I was doing the same. As we grew up, we grew apart. You lived much the way our parents had, with daily life revolving around the church and the table. Bake sales and turkey teas. Cherry cake at Christmas. Making bread and berry-picking and hanging clothes on the line in the salt air. You loved simple pleasures and God and your family. When your cancer came back and you ran out of options, the world turned upside down. I took a day off work and my husband and I filled a box with provisions and drove out to see you — a rotisserie chicken, dark chocolate brownies, muffins, a bottle of wine, a bouquet of flowers, a frozen beef roast, crackers, cheese, a salad. I don't know what I was thinking but I wanted to feed you, as if you would magically regain your appetite and your health. I thought of the lyrics to the song by Bread that you always loved: 'I would give anything I own I'd give up my life, my heart, my home I would give everything I own Just to have you back again.' I told you that was how I felt. 'I know,' you said. But there was nothing to be done. When you died five years ago, I closed your brown eyes. It was the last thing I could do for you. On the anniversary of your passing, my husband and I found that Bread song on YouTube and played it in your honour. And then I sat alone and played another song we loved all those years ago. 'And it's all over now Don't you worry no more Weekday Mornings A quick glance at the news for the upcoming day. Gonna go west to the sea The Greyhound is swaying And the radio is playing Some blues for baby and me.' Pam Frampton lives in St. John's. Email pamelajframpton@ | X: @Pam_Frampton | Bluesky: @ Pam Frampton Pam Frampton is a columnist for the Free Press. She has worked in print media since 1990 and has been offering up her opinions for more than 20 years. Read more about Pam. Pam's columns are built on facts, but offer her personal views through arguments and analysis. Every column Pam produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
