Richard Simmons, 1948-2024
The1980s fitness icon is gone at 76.
Associated Press, “Richard Simmons, a fitness guru who mixed laughs and sweat, dies at 76“
Richard Simmons, television’s hyperactive court jester of physical fitness who built a mini-empire in his trademark tank tops and short shorts by urging the overweight to exercise and eat better, died Saturday. He turned 76 on Friday.
Simmons died at his home in Los Angeles, his publicist Tom Estey said in an email to The Associated Press. He gave no further details.
Los Angeles police and fire departments say they responded to a house — whose address the AP has matched with Simmons through public records — where a man was declared dead from natural causes.
Simmons, who had revealed a skin diagnosis in March 2024, had lately dropped out of sight, sparking speculating about his health and well-being. His death was first reported by TMZ.
Simmons was a former 268-pound teen who became a master of many media forms, sharing his hard-won weight-loss tips as host of the Emmy-winning daytime “Richard Simmons Show” and author of best-selling books and the diet plan Deal-A-Meal. He also opened exercise studios and starred exercise videos, including the wildly successful “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” line, which became a cultural phenomenon.
“My food plan and diet are just two words — common sense. With a dash of good humor,” he told The Associated Press in 1982. “I want to help people and make the world a healthier, happy place.”
Simmons embraced mass communication to get his message out, even as he eventually became the butt of jokes for his outfits and flamboyant flair. He was a sought-after guest on TV shows led by Merv Griffin, Mike Douglas and Phil Donahue. But David Letterman would prank him and Howard Stern would tease him until he cried. He was mocked in Neil Simon’s “The Goodbye Girl” on Broadway in 1993, and Eddie Murphy put on white makeup and dressed like him in “The Nutty Professor,” screaming “I’m a pony!”
Asked if he thought he could motivate people by being silly, Simmons answered, “I think there’s a time to be serious and a time to be silly. It’s knowing when to do it. I try to have a nice combination. Being silly cures depression. It catches people off guard and makes them think. But in between that silliness is a lot of seriousness that makes sense. It’s a different kind of training.”
Simmons’ daytime show was seen on 200 stations in America, as well as in Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, Japan and South America. His first book, “Never Say Diet,” was a smash best-seller.
He was known to counsel the severely obese, including Rosalie Bradford, who held records for being the world’s heaviest woman, and Michael Hebranko, who credited Simmons for helping him lose 700 pounds. Simmons put real people — chubby, balding or non-telegenic — in his exercise videos to make the fitness goals seem reachable.
Throughout his career, Simmons was a reliable critic of fad diets, always emphasizing healthy eating and exercise plans. “There’ll always be some weird thing about eating four grapes before you go to bed, or drinking a special tea, or buying this little bean from El Salvador,” he told the AP in 2005 as the Atkins diet craze swept the country. “If you watch your portions and you have a good attitude and you work out every day you’ll live longer, feel better and look terrific.”
Simmons was a native of New Orleans, a chubby boy named Milton by his parents. (He renamed himself “Richard” around the age of 10 to improve his self-image). He would tell people he ate to excess because he believed his parents liked his older brother more. He was teased by schoolmates and ballooned to almost 200 pounds.
Simmons told the AP his mother watched exercise guru Jack LaLanne’s TV show religiously when he was growing up, but he wasn’t crazy about the fitness fanatic. “I hated him,” Simmons said. “I wasn’t ready for his message because he was fit and he was healthy and he had such a positive attitude, and I was none of those things.”
Simmons always struck me as a somewhat comical figure but I think he was sincerely trying to make people’s lives better. His flamboyance made him the butt of a lot of jokes, making him more of a pop culture figure than a true fitness guru like Jack Lalane or Denise Austin and so many of his contemporaries. But that style made him a staple of the talk show circuit and surely got the word out to people who otherwise wouldn’t have been tuning in to fitness programming.
An American original if there ever was one.
Richard believed fitness was not just for slim and beautiful gym rats, but also for the very overweight and other people who, up to that time, were not represented in fitness advertising, videos, etc. That attempt to close a gap in the market was earnest and every bit as important and serious as what the late, great Lalane was doing.
An ex who was fan and buddy of Simmons took me to Richard’s class in Beverly Hills a few times before he abruptly disappeared from public life ten years ago. I recall him as a genuine person who knew his stuff; it was not just a schtick. And I noticed his clientele included both stereotypical gym bros like us and all other levels and body types (skewed heavily towards women).
Met him twice, as he was a long time friend of my wife’s from before our marriage. In our conversations he struck me as another person who hid personal pain behind a clown mask, but he was a delightful (if hyperkinetic) friend to her. RIP Mr. Simmons.
@DK:
This cannot be stated enough–he was about radical encouragement and acceptance. He also found a way to make it fun.
This is a message that needs to be pushed into every space, not just fitness.
The people who live this radical acceptance always seem like clowns, or even downright creepy, because it is so far out of the norm. But we could all probably be about 5% more accepting if we tried, and it would make the world a better place.