John Ashton, famous for playing Detective John Taggart in the “Beverly Hills Cop” movies, has sadly passed away at the age of 76. Now, his family has a special request.
Keep reading to learn more.
John Ashton died peacefully in Ft. Collins, Colorado, this past Thursday. His family and friends are heartbroken over his loss.
He passed away after bravely fighting cancer, according to his representative, Alan Somers. Somers shared that Ashton’s legacy is one of “love, dedication, and service,” and his family will continue to celebrate his life. He is survived by his wife, children, grandchildren, siblings, and more.
To honor the late actor’s life and legacy, the family is asking for donations to be made to Pathways Hospice Care in his memory.
Ashton was a well-known name in Hollywood for over 50 years, lighting up screens with more than 200 film, TV, and stage performances. While fans loved many of his roles, it was his portrayal of the straight-laced detective alongside Eddie Murphy’s wild cop character, Axel Foley, that made him a household name.
Ashton’s character, Detective Billy Rosewood, provided the perfect contrast to his co-star’s character, adding energy and humor to the films.
The film was a major success and established Ashton’s name in Hollywood. In July of this year, “Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F” premiered. In an interview, Ashton revealed that the film had taken 20 years to make before finally being released.
He mentioned there was a lot of uncertainty surrounding the film, to the point that he had given up on the idea and moved on to other projects. By the time he received a call about the film, he was already working on another project in Chicago.
After finishing his film, he went to L.A. to meet director Mark Molloy. Ashton knew that the film could only move forward if Murphy approved the script.
He said he knew he could fully commit to the project when Murphy greenlit the script and Jerry Bruckheimer joined as a producer.
In addition to his iconic role in “Beverly Hills Cop,” Ashton also had notable appearances in the show “M*A*S*H” and played Eric Stoltz’s father in the John Hughes comedy-drama “Some Kind of Wonderful.”
He started his career at a young age, with his first professional role in a production of “Othello” at the Hartford Stage Company. He later toured the world in various theater productions.
Ashton received great recognition for his acting, including an LA Method Fest award for Best Supporting Actor for his role in “Once Upon a River.”
He also appeared in several films, including “Death in Texas” (2020), “American Christmas” (2019), and “My Little Baby” (2019), among others.
Beyond his career, he was a devoted family man. He leaves behind his wife of 24 years, Robin Hoye, and his children, Michelle and Michael Thomas Ashton.
He is also survived by his stepchildren, Courtney Donovan, Lindsay Curcio, and Ashley Hoye, as well as his grandson Henry, his sisters Sharon Ann Ashton and Linda Jean Ashton, and his brother Edward Richard Ashton.
The Ring and the Revelation
I had planned it for months. Every extra shift, every skipped luxury, every penny saved went towards that little box. It wasn’t the biggest diamond, I knew that. But it was elegant, minimalist, exactly what I thought she’d appreciate. It felt like us – understated, genuine, built on something real, not flashy. I was so proud of it, so proud of the effort, so hopeful for the future it represented.
The moment arrived, the words tumbled out, earnest and heartfelt. I opened the box, my heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and pure, unadulterated love. And then, she looked at it. Not at me, not at the significance of the gesture, but at the ring itself.
Her reaction wasn’t joy, or tears, or even surprise. It was a dismissive glance, a slight frown, and then, she took the box from my hand and tossed it aside. “The diamond is too small,” she said, as if commenting on a minor imperfection in a piece of furniture.
My world tilted. The air left my lungs. Broken. That’s the only word that comes close. I felt utterly broken, exposed, and profoundly helpless. All the effort, all the love, all the hope – reduced to the size of a stone. It wasn’t just the ring she had rejected; it felt like she had rejected me, the part of me that had worked so hard, that loved her enough to offer everything I had. Her words, her casual dismissal, crushed me in a way I hadn’t thought possible.
I don’t remember exactly what I said, or if I said anything at all. I just remember the feeling of numb disbelief as I bent down, picked the small, rejected symbol of my love from the floor, and walked out.
Now, days later, my phone is a constant buzz. Her name flashes across the screen, message after message, call after call. She wants the ring back. Her ring, she calls it.
But honestly? Looking at the ring now, it doesn’t represent a future together anymore. It represents that moment, that crushing realization, the feeling of being utterly unseen and unappreciated. The desire, the hope, the love I felt in that moment of proposal – it’s gone. Washed away by the cold, hard truth of a diamond that was “too small.” I’m not interested anymore. Not in the ring, and not in trying to rebuild something that shattered so completely over something so superficial.
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