A beloved 1970s TV star, known for her vibrant charm, faced a life-altering brain tumor that left her blind in one eye and derailed her rising career. Yet, through resilience and passion, she soared back to the stage, proving her spirit was unstoppable.
Born on February 20, 1946, in Texas, Sally Duncan was a natural performer from childhood. At 20, she moved to New York City, living in a women’s theater hostel for $30 a week. “I landed gigs fast,” she recalled. “Not everyone gets that lucky.” Her quirky charm shone in commercials, like a memorable spot for Pacific Bank, paving the way for Broadway roles and Tony nods by her mid-20s.
In 1970, CBS cast her as Jenny Blake in the sitcom Bright Lights, playing a small-town actress navigating the commercial world. Her infectious energy earned an Emmy nod, but as the first season wrapped, alarming symptoms—crippling headaches and vision like “looking through fog”—halted her rise.
Doctors brushed off her concerns as stress, but Sally pushed for answers. “I knew something was wrong,” she later said. With no MRIs available, she faced exploratory brain surgery in October 1970 at UCLA Medical Center. The 12-hour procedure revealed a benign tumor pressing on her right optic nerve, which was severed, leaving her permanently blind in that eye.
“They cracked my skull open,” Sally shared. “I’ve got scars and staples to prove it.” She wore a wig for months to hide the marks and debunked rumors of a glass eye: “It’s my eye, just not working.” The surgery also stole her depth perception, making simple tasks like pouring coffee a challenge. “It hit me hard,” she admitted. “I realized I wasn’t invincible.”
Bright Lights ended after 13 episodes, and though Sally returned in 1971 with The Jenny Blake Show, her TV career slowed. “My eye drifts in photos,” she noted. “It probably cost me roles.” The physical and emotional toll was undeniable, but her love for performing endured.
The stage became her sanctuary. In the late 1970s, Sally’s iconic role as Wendy in Peter Pan captivated audiences. Critics raved about her “weightless grace,” a triumph made sweeter by her challenges. Despite fatigue and vision issues, she commanded the spotlight with unyielding spirit.
Offstage, Sally battled private struggles. “I’ve always leaned toward darkness,” she confessed, describing lifelong depression. Medication helps, but she’s candid about tough days: “Sometimes, getting up feels impossible.” Her husband, choreographer Tom Ellis, whom she married in 1981, calls her “deeply sensitive,” absorbing others’ emotions to a fault. Their two sons, now in their 40s, gave her purpose. “My boys pulled me through,” she said.
Now in her late 70s, Sally lives in Connecticut with Tom, their bond as playful as ever. “We tried dancing last month,” she laughed. “Our bodies protested!” Tom teased, “I grab her for a spin, and she shoves me off.” Auditions are behind her—“I hated them anyway”—but her legacy endures.
Sally’s honesty about her health, from brain surgery to mental health, defines her as much as her roles. She transformed a career setback into a stage triumph, proving resilience is her true superpower.
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