Ed Sullivan Couldn’t Stand These 9 Evil Performers, He Made It Obvious 

Ed Sullivan Couldn’t Stand These 9 Evil Performers, He Made It Obvious 

 

 

Ed Sullivan couldn’t stand these nine evil performers. And unlike his usual stiff professionalism on Toast of the Town, he made it obvious. For 23 years, starting in 1948,  Ed Sullivan brought America’s biggest stars into living rooms every Sunday night from CBS Studio 50.

 His awkward delivery became iconic. But behind that carefully maintained facade at the Ed Sullivan Theater, Sullivan witnessed behavior that went far beyond typical Hollywood ego, including Bing Crosby’s child abuse and Frank Sinatra’s violent outbursts. According to producers like Marlo Lewis and crew members who worked closest to Sullivan, America’s favorite Sunday night host kept a mental list of performers he considered genuinely terrible human beings.

 Ed was incredibly professional on camera, recalled a former stage manager. But when certain performers left the building, he would sometimes tell us that person should never be around children or hold any kind of power. Sullivan’s position as the ultimate gatekeeper gave him an unparalleled perspective. Every major star had to appear on his show to reach the massive Sunday night audience.

 This meant Sullivan saw behavior carefully hidden from the public. The moments before cameras rolled at Studio 50, the treatment of crew members when the manufactured charm disappeared. Most shocking were Sullivan’s observations about the beloved Christmas Kuner, whose own son, Gary Crosby, revealed child abuse so severe it left physical scars in his 1983 memoir, Going My Own Way.

The comedy legend whose MDA teleathon charity work for disabled children masked how he tortured his staff  and America’s most beloved television star whose power was used to enforce racist discrimination that destroyed careers. These weren’t just celebrities with bad attitudes. According to Sullivan and dozens of crew members, these were genuinely destructive people hiding behind  fame.

 Abusers, predators, racists, and bullies who the industry protected for decades because they were profitable. Starting with number nine. Number nine, Sophie Tucker. The red hot mama with a cold heart. Sophie Tucker was the last of the Red Hot Mamas. A vaudeville legend whose powerful voice made her one of entertainment’s most successful performers.

 When she appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, audiences saw a beloved figure from entertainment’s golden age. But according to Sullivan Show staff, Tucker’s treatment of younger performers and minorities revealed attitudes that went beyond her era’s casual prejudices. Multiple crew members documented that Tucker demanded black performers and staff be kept away from her dressing area at the Ed Sullivan Theater.

 One stage hand recalled Tucker refusing to use a dressing room if a black performer had used it earlier that day, insisting it be thoroughly cleaned before she would enter. What made Tucker’s behavior particularly problematic was how she used her status as an entertainment elder to enforce these discriminatory practices.

  Sullivan, actively working to feature more black performers during this period, found himself managing a legend whose attitudes contradicted his show’s direction. After Tucker’s final appearance in the early 1960s, Sullivan reportedly told his producer that while he respected her entertainment contributions, he wouldn’t invite her back.

 Crew members noted Sullivan kept his introduction and closing remarks about Tucker notably brief without the warmth he typically showed veteran entertainers,  while Tucker’s discrimination was rooted in her era’s attitudes. The Rat Pack member at number eight demonstrated how silence could be its own form of evil. Number eight, Dean Martin.

 The smooth Kuner who looked away. Dean Martin was the epitome of effortless cool. The smoothvoiced Kuner whose easygoing persona made him beloved. As a key Rat Pack member alongside Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr., Martin projected laid-back charm. But according to people in the Rat Pack’s  orbit, Martin’s famous, easygoing nature had a darker side.

 His refusal to involve himself in confrontation meant he consistently looked away when those around him, particularly Sinatra, engaged in abusive or violent behavior. Multiple accounts document Martin witnessing Sinatra’s physical intimidation of staff and racist comments toward performers like Sammy Davis Jr.

, yet never challenging his friend or standing up for victims. During Sullivan show appearances at Studio 50, Sullivan’s crew noticed this pattern. Martin was unfailingly polite, but when other performers created problems, Martin would simply disappear rather than help. Dean’s philosophy seemed to be that if he didn’t see it, it didn’t concern him, recalled a former producer.

 But when you have power to stop harm and choose your own comfort instead, that’s a moral failing. Sullivan, who believed decent people stood up for those with less power, found  Martin’s passivity troubling. After one taping where another performer behaved badly and Martin shrugged and walked away, Sullivan reportedly told staff, “The man has the spine of a noodle.

” “All that charm doesn’t mean much if you won’t stand up when it matters.” While Martin looked away, the beloved TV star at number seven showed what happened when violent temper met unchecked power. Number seven, Jackie Gleason. The great one with a terrible temper. Jackie Gleason was the great one. The comedian whose portrayal of Ralph Craden in The Honeymooners made him an early television icon.

 His workingclass bluster made Ralph Craden beloved. Audiences saw a lovable loudmouth whose bark was worse than his bite. But according to people who worked with Gleason, his real temper made his on-screen threats seem tame. Multiple crew members documented explosive outbursts, physical intimidation, and an atmosphere where everyone walked on eggshells.

 Former Honeymooners crew described incidents where Gleon threw props across sets in fury, overturned furniture, and screamed at technicians with such intensity people would literally shake. What made Gleon’s behavior particularly difficult was its unpredictability. He could be charming one moment, then explode into rage the next.

  This created constant tension where crew never knew which Gleason would appear. During Sullivan show appearances at the Ed Sullivan Theater, crew learned to prepare differently when Gleason was booked. Extra staff would be assigned and veteran crew members experienced with difficult personalities would be scheduled.

 After one appearance where Gleason had a backstage outburst that left a young production assistant in tears, Sullivan called Gleason directly to address the behavior. Subsequent appearances were notably more controlled. While Gleon’s outbursts created fear, America’s favorite comedian at number six used his patriotic image to hide systematic exploitation. Number six, Bob Hope.

America’s comedian who exploited the troops. Bob Hope was America’s comedian for generations. The tireless entertainer whose USO tours brought laughter to troops in every conflict. His dedication made him a symbol of patriotic service. Americans thought of selfless dedication when they thought of Bob Hope.

 What that patriotic image concealed, according to people who worked those USO tours and his productions, was exploitation that contradicted everything his persona represented. Former USO staff revealed that while Hope was celebrated for donating his time,  he actually profited enormously through connected business deals and publicity.

While staff and musicians were underpaid or pressured to work below market rates in the name of patriotic service, people who worked on Hope’s productions documented patterns of taking credit for writer material and using his power to ensure those who created content received neither proper credit nor compensation.

 His treatment of staff included documented instances of racist and sexist material in private settings. During Hope’s many Sullivan appearances at Studio 50, Crew noticed stark contrast between his on camera warmth and backstage treatment of people working to make him look good. Sullivan, who had his own complicated relationship with Hope as a fellow television institution, nevertheless found himself increasingly troubled.

 In later years, crew members noticed Sullivan’s introductions became more peruncter, warmth replaced by professional courtesy. While Hope’s exploitation was calculated, the charity icon at number five demonstrated cruelty that shocked even people accustomed to difficult celebrities. Number five, Jerry Lewis. The charity saint who tortured his staff.

 Jerry Lewis was a comedy legend who became known for tireless work with the musculardrophe association, hosting annual MDA teleathons that raised hundreds of millions. America watched him cry genuine tears every Labor Day, proclaiming his love for his kids. But according to dozens who worked for Lewis,  the man who cried about loving children on the MDA teleathon treated adults working for him with systematic cruelty beyond typical Hollywood ego.

>>  >> Multiple accounts described deliberately humiliating employees, screaming abuse at crew for minor mistakes, and creating terror on every production he controlled. Former crew documented that Lewis refused to learn staff names, calling them, “Hey, you or only by job function.

” In one infamous incident, when a camera operator quietly coughed during a take, Lewis stopped everything and launched into a screaming tirade, calling him a professional who breathes like an amateur and demanding his removal. The operator had allergies. During Sullivan appearances at the Ed Sullivan Theater, Lewis hijacked segments, talked over Sullivan, and once reached over during broadcast to adjust Sullivan’s tie without permission.

 A calculated power move to show he could violate even the host’s personal  space. What Sullivan found disturbing was the contrast between Lewis crying on MDA teleathons and treating people like they were subhuman. After Lewis’s final appearance, Sullivan’s successor implemented an unofficial policy that Lewis wouldn’t be invited back, joining a very short list of effectively blacklisted performers.

 While Lewis abused powerless workers, America’s most beloved television star at number four used her unprecedented power to systematically enforce discrimination. Number four, Lucille Ball, America’s sweetheart  with a racist reality. Lucille Ball was America’s most beloved television star. The zany redhead whose I Love Lucy became television’s most successful  sitcom.

 Her physical comedy made her seem like America’s favorite neighbor. She was television itself pioneering beloved, seemingly harmless. But according to people who worked at Desoloo Productions and on the Lucy shows, Ball used her unprecedented power as one of the first women to own a major production company to enforce discriminatory practices beyond the industry’s problematic norms.

 Desolu Productions employment records reveal striking patterns. Despite being one of television’s most powerful studios, I Love Lucy remained almost entirely white throughout its original run. This wasn’t passive acceptance. Ball was the boss. Former Dissolu employees documented instances where Ball personally vetoed casting suggestions that would have included black performers, even in non-speaking background roles.

 What made Ball’s discrimination particularly impactful was her unique position. Unlike actresses working within studio systems, Ball owned Dissol Productions. She made final decisions on everything.  During Ball’s Sullivan appearances at Studio 50, crew noticed Ball’s warmth was reserved for cameras and people who could help her career.

Sullivan, who had fought to feature black performers on his show, found Ball’s practices troubling. While he maintained professional courtesy, Crew noted Sullivan never invited Ball to episodes with black performers. The impact of Ball’s discrimination extended beyond her shows. As one of television’s most powerful women, her choices helped normalize the exclusion of black performers from situation comedies for decades.

 While Ball’s discrimination quietly shaped an industry, the legendary kuner at number three used actual violence to enforce his will through fear. Number three,  Frank Sinatra. Old blue eyes with mob connected fists. Frank Sinatra was old blue eyes, the voice, the chairman of the board. As one of America’s biggest stars, Sinatra’s smooth sophistication made him seem like cool elegance embodied the  rat pack leader who hung with presidents represented a particular American success.

 But according to people who worked near Sinatra, that charm concealed genuine capacity for violence. Multiple accounts describe Sinatra’s organized crime connections to figures like Sam Gianana, not as colorful associations, but as actual working relationships, and his treatment of people he deemed beneath him as genuinely frightening.

 The most infamous Sullivan incident occurred during a 1970s appearance at the Ed Sullivan Theater. A floor manager gave Sinatra the standard 3-minute  warning. Sinatra, surrounded by several large men crew described as not show business types, grabbed the floor manager by his tie, pulled him close and said, “Nobody tells me when I’ve got 3 minutes. I’ll go on when I’m ready.

” The floor manager, a Korean War veteran, was visibly  shaken when Sullivan saw this on his monitor. He nearly cancelled Sinatra’s segment.  During a commercial break, when Sinatra made a disparaging comment about a female staff member, Sullivan responded coldly, “We don’t talk about my staff that way here.

” The tension was immediate with Sinatra visibly surprised anyone would challenge him. After that appearance, Sullivan told his producer, “I don’t care what his ratings are. Limit him to once a year maximum.” For Sullivan to restrict someone of Sinatra’s stature spoke volumes. While Sinatra’s danger was physical, the wholesome entertainer at number two hid predatory behavior that traumatized numerous women.

 Number two, Milton Burley. Uncle Milty who targeted young women. Milton Burl was Uncle Milty, Mr. Television, the vaudeville comedian whose show in the early 1950s sold millions of television sets. His familyfriendly slapstick made him seem like everyone’s favorite funny uncle. But according to numerous actresses and female staff members, Burley was a sexual predator whose behavior toward women was criminal.

Multiple women across different decades documented remarkably similar accounts of Burley exposing himself, making unwanted advances, and using his power to pressure women into violating situations. The pattern was consistent across Bura’s television career. Female crew members from multiple shows described warning each other when Burla was booked, trying to avoid assignments requiring close work with him, and strategizing about staying in groups and never being alone with him.

 During Burla’s Sullivan appearances at the Ed Sullivan Theater, female staff learned to request reassignment or ensure they worked in pairs.  Sullivan’s producers developed unofficial protocols to minimize female crew exposure while maintaining professional broadcast appearance. Sullivan faced a dilemma.

 Burley was ratings gold, but Sullivan had female staff to protect.  As Burley’s prominence faded in the 1960s and 70s, Sullivan’s booking of him decreased notably.  What made Burla’s behavior particularly troubling was how openly it was discussed within the industry while remaining completely hidden from the public.

  Everyone in television knew, but the conspiracy of silence protected him because he was profitable. While Bera’s predation shocked witnesses, the most trusted voice in American homes committed violence so severe, his own son revealed it in a devastating memoir. Number one, Bing Crosby, the voice of Christmas who beat his children.

 Bing Crosby was the voice of Christmas. His White Christmas became the best-selling single of all time, and his warm baritone seemed to embody home, comfort, family, and tradition. For generations, Crosby’s voice meant safety and wholesomeness. But according to Crosby’s son, Gary Crosby, in his devastating 1983 memoir, Going My Own Way, The Voice of Christmas was a child abuser who beat his sons with a belt until they bled.

 The book detailed systematic physical and emotional abuse Gary and his brothers endured throughout their childhoods.  These weren’t occasional spankings. Gary described beatings that left marks, violence that traumatized, and cruelty that shaped his entire life.  Gary Crosby documented incidents where Bing beat him with a leather belt for minor infractions, where punishment was so severe, it left Welts lasting days.

 He described an atmosphere of fear where children walked on eggshells trying to avoid triggering their father’s rage. All four sons from Crosby’s first marriage later confirmed experiencing similar treatment.  The memoir Going My Own Way also revealed Crosby’s racism. His regular use of slurs in the home that children were expected to accept as normal.

 The man who sang about white Christmases had very specific ideas about keeping things white in other contexts. During Crosby’s Sullivan appearances at Studio 50, Crew noticed striking contrast between his on camera warmth and backstage demeanor. Sullivan apparently recognized something in Crosby that troubled him.

 According to Crew, Sullivan never had the social relationship with Crosby that he maintained with other major stars. Their interactions remained strictly professional. What makes Crosby number one isn’t just the severity of his abuse or the fame that gave his betrayal such impact.  It’s the profound disconnect between image and reality.

Every Christmas, Crosby’s voice fills American homes singing about family and warmth and love. But his own sons bore scars from his violence. Nine performers, nine types of evil. From Sophie Tucker’s discrimination to Dean Martin’s complicity. From Jackie Gleason’s violence to Bob Hope’s exploitation.

 From Jerry Lewis’s cruelty to Lucille Ball’s racism. From Frank Sinatra’s genuine danger to Milton Burl’s predation, and finally to Bing Crosby’s child abuse, Ed Sullivan witnessed it all from his perch at the Ed Sullivan Theater. Sullivan’s unique position as television’s ultimate gatekeeper gave him unparalleled perspective.

 For 23 years, starting in 1948 with Toast of the Town, every major star had to appear on his show to reach America. This meant Sullivan saw the mask slip at Studio 50, witnessed behavior between performances, and recognized the gap between public images and private character. What distinguished Sullivan’s assessments was his consistency.

 He tolerated eccentricity and understood fame’s pressures. But he drew clear lines around how people treated those with less power. His simple test, how did they treat crew members at the Ed Sullivan Theater that told him everything about someone’s real character. The most sobering aspect is how effectively the industry protected these performers despite their behavior being widely known.

 As long as they were profitable, their conduct toward others didn’t matter. Sullivan’s quiet judgments represented almost the only accountability these performers faced. It wasn’t much. They still had careers, fame, wealth, but at least one powerful person in Hollywood recognized what they really were behind the smiles. Which revelation shocked you most? Share your thoughts in the comments below and subscribe for more untold stories from entertainment’s complicated