Wally Maynard Cox was found dead in his Los Angeles home on February 15, 1973. He was forty-eight years old. The official cause was a heart attack brought on by coronary occlusion. He had wanted no funeral, and his ashes were scattered at sea.
Later reports claimed they were instead mixed with the ashes of his lifelong friend Marlon Brando and the actor Sam Gilman, and dispersed over Death Valley. The man the world knew as Wally Cox was a beloved American comedian whose high-pitched, gentle voice and thick-rimmed glasses had made him a household name. But the path that led to that quiet, solitary end began decades earlier in the industrial heart of Detroit. Cox was born on December 6, 1924.
His early childhood was marked by upheaval when his parents divorced, leaving him to be raised by his mother, the mystery writer Eleanor Blake, along with his younger sister. When he was ten, the family moved to Evanston, Illinois. There he met the boy next door, a spirited child named Marlon Brando. The two formed an instant friendship that would endure for the rest of their lives, sharing secrets and mischief amid the chaos of Cox’s peripatetic childhood.
The family continued to move, spending time in New York City before returning to Detroit, where Cox graduated from high school. As World War II raged, the family settled once again in New York. Cox briefly attended the City College of New York before enlisting in the U. S.
Army, though his service lasted only four months. Back in civilian life, he enrolled at New York University while supporting his ailing mother and sister by handcrafting and selling jewelry from a tiny shop. To unwind, he performed offbeat comedy monologues at parties, quirky tales that soon earned him bookings at nightclubs, beginning with the Village Vanguard in 1948. By then, his old friend Marlon Brando had become his roommate and was urging him to refine his craft under the legendary acting teacher Stella Adler.
Cox’s big break came in 1949 on CBS radio’s Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts. His routine, a mumbled punk kid story capped with a yodeling song, nearly won the night and earned him a record deal. He moved into Broadway revues, nightclubs, and early television variety shows. In 1952, Cox starred as a shy teacher in the hit NBC sitcom Mr.
Peepers. The show ran for three successful years and made him a star. He went on to provide the voice of the heroic cartoon character Underdog, becoming the voice behind the famous line, “There’s no need to fear; Underdog is here. ” He was a regular on Hollywood Squares and took on memorable film roles, including a preacher in Spencer’s Mountain and a sonar operator in The Bedford Incident in 1964.
He even appeared in Marilyn Monroe’s unfinished final film, Something’s Got to Give, in 1962, and guest-starred on classic television shows like The Twilight Zone, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Lost in Space. But the on-screen image of the pedantic, high-pitched fellow behind thick glasses was a facade. Off camera, Cox was adventurous and athletic, often working in his own workshop. He wired his own home and, on one appearance on I’ve Got a Secret, surprised viewers by racing around assembling furniture with unexpected physicality.
His personal life was a tapestry of love and loss. He married three times and had two children. Through it all, his deepest connection remained with Marlon Brando. Their childhood friendship endured the trials of fame, and over the years they were roommates, confidants, and more.
Rumors swirled about the intensity of their bond. Brando once told a journalist, “If Wally had been a woman, I would have married him and we would have lived happily ever after. ” On another occasion, he told a different reporter that Wally was the love of his life. Cox’s life ended far too soon.
His death, alone in his Bair, Los Angeles home, came as a shock to friends and fans alike. He requested no funeral, and the disposition of his ashes became the subject of later reports that he was joined in death with the two men closest to him, his ashes mixed with those of Brando and Sam Gilman and scattered over Death Valley. The quiet comedian who had made millions laugh left a legacy that stretched from the radio waves of the late 1940s through the golden age of television.
His voice, his gentle humor, and his unlikely friendship with one of Hollywood’s most intense stars remained intertwined long after his passing.