Anson Williams, known as Warren “Potsie” Weber from “Happy Days,” revealed he just got married at 73.
His friend he often calls “brother,” who was also his series co-star, served as his best man during the ceremony.
After beating cancer, he devoted his life to his family and lives in a small farm town.
Anson Williams is most popularly known for starring as Warren “Potsie” Weber in the American sitcom, “Happy Days”—a somewhat gullible yet good-hearted singer who entertained the audience throughout the show’s 11 seasons.
The iconic role became integral to Williams’ career and earned him three Golden Globe Award nominations for Best Series, Miniseries, or TV Film, and Best Supporting Actor. But recently, the actor has been in the news for a completely different reason.
Williams, 73, is a happily married man after tying the knot with Sharon MaHarry on Saturday, May 6, 2023. The lovely and dreamy wedding ceremony occurred in his own yard, marking an important milestone in the actor’s life.
In addition to a rocky love life, Williams endured a harrowing health battle.
The TV icon looked dapper in a black suit, which he paired with a light blue dress shirt and a gray patterned tie. He also wore a boutonniere on the jacket’s lapel and finished his look with black spectacles.
On the other hand, Williams’ bride looked stunning in a full-sleeve floor-length lace gown comprising a boat neck and full skirt. She let her short blonde tresses down, with some of her hair pinned away from her face, and held a lovely flower bouquet.
The newlyweds beamed joyfully as they eternalized their love surrounded by their loved ones. Williams, who once ran for mayor of Ojai but was unsuccessful, wed MaHarry at a private residence in the seaside town of Los Angeles.
The couple’s wedding ceremony took place in the groom’s lush green and spacious yard, adorned with colossal flower and plant pots. Bright lights were hung from trees to create a mesmerizing effect and make the occasion even more special.
Friends and family watched in awe as MaHarry’s daughter walked her down the aisle to marry the love of her life. A romantic tune played in the background as the bride and groom vowed to stay together for the rest of their lives.
According to his Facebook profile, Williams got engaged to MaHarry on April 3. Throughout the ceremony, he wore a bright, warm smile that perfectly encapsulated his happiness. Williams’ best man was none other than his series co-star, Don Most, who played Ralph Malph on “Happy Days.”
The two men share a phenomenal bond that dates back to their time on the show. Williams considers Most a great friend and refers to him as his “brother.” The duo’s heartwarming connection has stayed strong over the years.
When Williams shared photos from his big day on social media, many fans noticed Most’s presence and left messages of appreciation and support for him and the newlyweds.
“Congratulations!!! What a beautiful bride and I love your best man! He’s still got it!” wrote one user. “Anson you both look amazing. I haven’t [seen] you smile like that in a long while. God Bless you both,” commented another netizen.
Meanwhile, the happy groom, who couldn’t contain his excitement while looking at his gorgeous bride, captioned his Facebook post, “A magical moment in time.”
Williams was said to have met his better half in the winter of his life and knew she was the one meant for him. After surviving a terrifying health ordeal and seeing his marriage of 30 years come to an end, he still believes, “It’s never too late to get it right!”
MaHarry has been running a successful career as a seasoned real estate agent and has also dabbled in advertising and writing. She holds a degree in English from Roanoke College in Salem, Virginia.
Earlier, she served as the senior vice president and creative director at Young and Rubicam Advertising Agency in New York. She has also written the book, “Crazy Mama: A Memoir of Love and Madness.” She has one daughter, Lindsay, who works as a journalist in Los Angeles.
Williams married MaHarry in Ojai, California, a small town where he moved in 2011 to enjoy a quiet, peaceful life. Talking about his decision to leave Los Angeles at the time, the “Melrose Place” alum expressed how he wanted his kids to live in a fail-safe community.
Back then, he only went to Ojai occasionally or on weekends but fell in love with its people and ambiance. Gradually, Williams started visiting the place more often with his family and moved there permanently.
In addition to falling in love with Ojai’s loving community and safe environment, the place reportedly offered Williams a tranquil respite from his personal woes. He further mentioned:
“I owe a lot to Ojai for that, for my health, my sanity, and the ability to move forward.”
Williams has been married twice before—he tied the knot with Lorrie Mahaffey in 1978 and called it quits in 1986. His second marriage was to Jackie Gerkens, and after staying together for over three decades and sharing five kids, there was trouble in paradise for the duo. Initially, they broke up but changed their minds soon after and decided to give their relationship another chance.
The duo first ventured on the divorce road in September 2019; however, a month later, Williams was reportedly in court to file for a dismissal. However, nine months later, things turned odd, and the couple finally divorced in 2020.
In addition to a rocky love life, Williams endured a harrowing health battle. A little before Christmas 2016, he received his Stage 2 colon cancer diagnosis.
Soon afterward, he had two surgeries and stayed in the hospital for three weeks. Not only did he emerge victorious in his battle against the life-threatening condition, but he also gained a new perspective on life.
After understanding his purpose for living, Williams said he developed a newfound love and appreciation for his family, including his children and grandchildren. He expressed:
“I always knew I loved them, and they were important, but now it’s at a whole new level.”
Today, Williams is a doting grandfather to four grandkids and a married man, and we hope he continues to celebrate life and create precious memories!
Neighbor Kept Knocking Over My Trash Bins – After 3 HOA Fines, I Taught Him a Lesson in Politeness
When Elise’s trash bins became the target of her bitter neighbor’s antics, she was ready for a fight. But instead of confrontation, she served up banana bread and kindness. What began as a quiet war turned into an unexpected friendship, proving that sometimes, the best revenge is compassion.
When my husband, James, passed away two years ago, I thought I’d weathered the worst storm of my life. Raising three boys, Jason (14), Luke (12), and little Noah (9), on my own wasn’t easy. But we’d eventually found our rhythm.
The house buzzed with the sound of schoolwork being explained, sibling banter, and an endless rotation of chores. We kept the garden alive, argued over who had dish duty, and made a life together that was equal parts chaotic and beautiful.
Things were finally steady. Manageable.
Until the neighbor decided to wage war on my trash bins.
At first, I thought it was the wind or a stray dog. Every trash day, I’d wake up to see the bins overturned, their contents scattered across the street like confetti.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered the next time I saw it. “Not again.”
I’d have no choice but to grab a pair of gloves, a broom, new trash bags, and start cleaning up before the Home Owners Association could swoop in with another fine.
Three fines in two months. The HOA weren’t playing fair. In fact, they’d made it very clear that they weren’t taking my excuses anymore.
But one Tuesday morning, coffee steaming in my hand, I caught him red-handed. From my living room window, I watched as my neighbor, Edwin, a 65-year-old man who lived alone, strolled across the street.
He didn’t even hesitate. With one swift motion, he tipped over my bins and shuffled back to his house like nothing had happened.
My blood boiled.
I was halfway to grabbing my shoes when Noah bounded down the stairs, asking for help with his math homework.
“Mom, please! It’s just two questions. Remember we were talking about it when you were doing dinner last night and we said we’d come back to it but we didn’t,” he rambled.
“Of course, come on,” I said. “I’ll get you some orange juice, and then we can work on that quickly.”
Homework first, trash war later.
The following week, I stood guard.
This time, I was ready.
And sure enough, there he was at 7:04 a.m., knocking the bins down with a strange sort of satisfaction before retreating inside.
That was it. Enough was enough.
I stormed across the street, adrenaline pumping. His porch was stark, no welcome mat, no potted plants, just peeling paint and drawn blinds. I raised my fist to knock, but something stopped me.
The quiet. The stillness of it all.
I hesitated, hand frozen mid-air. What was I even going to say?
“Stop knocking over my bins, you old lunatic?”
Would that even fix anything?
I went home, fuming but thoughtful. What kind of person gets up at the crack of dawn just to mess with their neighbor?
Someone angry. Someone lonely. Someone in pain, maybe?
“You’re just going to let him get away with it?” Jason asked that night, arms crossed and clearly ready to fight for me. “He’s walking all over us, Mom.”
“I’m not letting him get away with anything, love,” I replied, tapping the side of the mixing bowl as I stirred. “I’m showing him that there’s a better way.”
“And when baked goods don’t work, Mom?” Jason asked, eyeing the banana bread batter in the bowl.
“Then, my little love, I’ll set you on him. Do we have a deal?”
My son grinned and then nodded.
But it was during dinner prep, while I was putting together a lasagna, that I thought… instead of fighting fire with fire, what if I fought with something… unexpected?
The next week, I didn’t stand guard.
Instead, I baked.
Banana bread first, specifically James’ favorite recipe. The smell brought back memories I hadn’t let myself linger on in a long time. I wrapped the loaf in foil, tied it with a piece of twine, and left it on Edwin’s porch.
No note, no explanation. Just bread.
For a few days, the banana bread sat untouched on his porch. The bins stayed upright, but I still wasn’t sure what was going through his head.
The next morning, the foil-wrapped loaf was gone. A good sign, maybe.
Emboldened, I doubled down.
A casserole followed the banana bread. Then a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
Days turned into weeks, and not once did I see him open the door or acknowledge the food. But he didn’t tip the bins again, either.
“Mom, you’re going soft,” Jason said one evening, eyeing the plate of cookies I was about to deliver.
“No, I’m not,” I replied, slipping on my sneakers. “I’m being strategic.”
The cookies did the trick. That Saturday, as I placed them on the porch, the door creaked open.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I turned to find him peering out, his face lined with age and what looked like years of solitude. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.
“I made too many cookies,” I said, holding up the plate like a peace offering.
He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed.
“Fine. Come in.”
The inside of his house was dim but surprisingly tidy. Bookshelves lined every wall, stacked high with novels, photo albums, and other trinkets. He motioned for me to sit on the worn sofa, and after a moment of awkward silence, he spoke.
“My wife passed four years ago,” he began, his voice halting. “Cancer. After that, my kids… well, they moved on with their lives. Haven’t seen much of them since.”
I nodded, letting him take his time.
“I’d see you with your boys,” he continued. “Laughing, helping each other. It… hurt. Made me angry, even though it wasn’t your fault. Tipping the bins was stupid, I know. I just didn’t know what to do with it all.”
“You don’t just walk over to your neighbors and tell them you’re miserable,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not how I was raised. You bottle it up and deal with it.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and I felt my frustration melt away. This wasn’t about trash bins. It was about grief. About loneliness.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his head bowed.
“I forgive you,” I replied, meaning every word.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said.
“Elise,” I said. “And I know you’re Edwin. My husband mentioned you once or twice.”
Then, I invited him to join my Saturday book club at the library. He looked at me like I’d suggested he jump off a bridge.
“Book club? With strangers!”
“They’re not strangers,” I said. “Not really. They’re neighbors. Friends you haven’t met yet.”
It took some convincing, but the following Saturday, Edwin shuffled into the library, hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t say much that first meeting, but he listened.
By the third, he was recommending novels and trading jokes with the other members.
The real turning point came when one of the ladies, Victoria, a spry widow in her seventies, invited him to her weekly bridge game. He accepted.
From then on, he wasn’t just my cranky neighbor. He was Edwin, the guy who brought homemade scones to book club and always had a dry one-liner up his sleeve.
The bins stayed upright. The HOA fines stopped.
And Edwin? He wasn’t alone anymore.
One evening, as I watched him laughing with Victoria and the other bridge players on her porch, Jason came up beside me.
“Guess you weren’t soft after all,” he said, grinning.
“No,” I said, smiling as I ruffled his hair. “Sometimes, the best revenge is just a little kindness.”
And in that moment, I realized something: We weren’t just helping Edwin heal. He was helping us, too.
The first time Edwin came over for dinner, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He showed up holding a bottle of sparkling cider like it was a rare treasure. His shirt was freshly ironed, but he still tugged at the collar as if it might strangle him at any moment.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said warmly.
He shrugged, his lips twitching into something that resembled a smile.
“Didn’t want to come empty-handed, Elise,” he said. “It’s polite.”
The boys were setting the table, Noah carefully placing forks, Luke arranging the glasses, and Jason lighting a candle in the center. They glanced at Edwin curiously, a little wary.
Dinner was simple but comforting: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots, with a loaf of crusty bread and gravy on the side. It wasn’t fancy, but it was one of James’ favorite meals. It was something that always brought warmth to the table, no matter how chaotic the day had been.
“Smells good in here,” Edwin said as he sat down, his eyes darting around like he was trying to take in every detail of the room.
“Mom’s chicken is famous in our family,” Noah piped up proudly, scooping a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “She makes it the best.”
“High praise,” Edwin said, glancing at me.
We all settled in, and for a while, the only sound was the clink of forks and knives against plates. But soon, the boys started peppering Edwin with questions.
“Do you like chicken or steak better?” Luke asked.
“Chicken,” Edwin replied after a moment of thought. “But only if it’s cooked as well as this.”
Noah giggled.
“What’s your favorite book? Mom says you like to read a lot.”
“That’s a tough one,” Edwin said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe To Kill a Mockingbird. Or Moby Dick.”
Jason, always the skeptic, raised an eyebrow.
“You actually finished Moby Dick?”
That made Edwin laugh, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to surprise even him.
“I won’t lie. It took me a year.”
By dessert, apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, Edwin had relaxed completely. The boys were swapping stories about school, and he was chuckling along, even teasing Jason about his upcoming math test.
As I cleared the plates, I glanced over to see Edwin helping Noah cut his pie into bite-sized pieces, patiently showing him the best way to balance the ice cream on the fork. It was such a tender moment, and my heart squeezed a little.
When dinner was over and the boys ran off to finish homework, Edwin lingered in the kitchen, drying dishes as I washed them.
“You have a good family,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” I replied, handing him a plate to dry. “And you’re welcome here anytime. You know that, right?”
He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“I do now.”
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