The 42nd Academy Awards in 1970 was a night filled with glamor, but one star undoubtedly shone brighter than all the others.
At just 38, Elizabeth Taylor was at the height of her beauty, and her fabulous gown and the world-famous diamond sparkling around her neck made the night special.
However, behind the scenes, a heartbreaking loss threatened to overshadow proceedings…
Looking back at old Oscars ceremonies is like stepping into a time machine that whisks you away to an era filled with glamor and grace. Honestly, the stars of that time had more class in their little fingers than many of today’s so-called celebrities combined.
I can’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over me. It’s bittersweet to gaze upon these iconic figures, so many of whom are no longer with us. To me, it serves as a stark reminder of how fleeting life truly is — a short, beautiful journey we should cherish every moment of.
An historic night
The 1970 Academy Awards was a memorable evening for many reasons, most notably its lack of an official host.
It also marked a groundbreaking moment in Oscars history, as it was the first ceremony broadcast via satellite to an international audience.
One of the night’s most iconic moments was Cary Grant receiving the Academy Honorary Award. The audience erupted into thunderous applause, a heartfelt tribute to his timeless appeal and remarkable legacy in film.
On the other hand, John Wayne’s acceptance speech for Best Actor for his role in True Grit also stole the emotional spotlight. The legendary American icon delivered a humble and gracious speech, showcasing his genuine appreciation for the honor.
Yet, the evening wasn’t without its controversies. Many still debate that the biggest robbery in Oscars history occurred when Dustin Hoffman was overlooked for his breathtaking performance in Midnight Cowboy. Many might argue that John Wayne received the statue for his long and loyal service to the film industry, and perhaps there’s some truth to that as well.
Sinatra saved Cary Grant
Looking back at the archives, it’s clear that Cary Grant played a starring role during the 1970 Oscars. As the legendary actor took the stage to accept the Academy Honorary Award, he naturally expected some applause — a simple courtesy.
When the audience gave him a standing ovation, he was on the verge of tears.
”When everyone stood up, I was all at sea. I thought for a moment I was seeing things. I was so taken aback that I don’t know how I delivered my acceptance speech,” he later recalled.
Grant was on the brink of breaking down, overcome by the emotion of the moment. But just then, he spotted Frank Sinatra in the crowd, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous spark, and that quick glance was all it took to steady him.
”It pulled me together,” Grant said.
Elizabeth Taylor’s entrance
But let’s be honest, the real star of the 1970 Oscars wasn’t Cary Grant, Dustin Hoffman, or even John Wayne. As remarkable as they were, it was a 38-year-old beauty who truly stole the spotlight, captivating everyone at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in Los Angeles, California.
When Elizabeth Taylor stepped onto the stage to present the award for Best Picture, her entrance was nothing short of mesmerizing.
Her kindness and generosity contrasted sharply with the cutthroat nature of Hollywood. “Liz Taylor, no one ever as beautiful,” people would say, and it was true.
There was a genuine aura about her that drew people in.
Dressed in a stunning gown that hugged her tiny waist and highlighted her natural beauty — sans the heavy tan that was popular at the time — she left everyone in awe at 42nd Academy Awards.
And with her world-famous 69-carat Cartier diamond sparkling around her neck, it was clear that Elizabeth was not just an actress; she was an icon.
The truth about her diamond
Looking closely at the photos of Taylor from that night, it’s hard not to be captivated by the magnificent jewel around her neck.
Yet, few may know the story behind this iconic piece of jewelry. The Taylor-Burton Diamond, which glittered so beautifully against her skin, wasn’t just a glamorous accessory — it was a symbol of love, determination, and a bit of Hollywood drama.
Just days before April 7, 1970, the date of that year’s Oscars, the press was buzzing with anticipation, speculating on what Elizabeth Taylor would wear to the glamorous event.
Rumors swirled that she planned to dazzle the audience with her million-dollar diamond, newly set in a stunning necklace. For the privilege of showcasing this gem, Taylor reportedly paid a $2,500 insurance premium to three Australian companies — equivalent to about $20,250 today.
This iconic piece, known as the Taylor–Burton Diamond, weighed in at a breathtaking 68 carats and was a gift from her husband, actor Richard Burton.
A raving maniac
The original rough diamond, discovered in 1966 at the Premier Mine in South Africa, weighed 241 carats. Burton acquired the diamond during a visit to London, though not without a fight. Initially, the jeweller manufacturer Cartier had won the diamond at auction for a record-breaking $1,050,000, leaving Burton as the underbidder.
Furious over his loss, Burton turned into a raving maniac.
”I was going to get that diamond if it cost me my life or 2 million dollars, whichever was greater,” he declared.
Elizabeth, however, remained calm.
”Elizabeth was as sweet as only she could be and protested that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t mind if she didn’t have it, that there was much more in life than baubles, that she would manage with what she had,” Burton later wrote in his diary.
The day after the auction, Burton spent hours at a payphone in his London hotel, working with his lawyers to secure the funds to buy the diamond from Cartier — no matter the cost.
Their determination paid off, and the following day, the diamond was officially theirs for $1.1 million.
”I wanted that diamond because it is incomparably lovely … and it should be on the loveliest woman in the world,” Burton later said, cementing this iconic gem’s place in Hollywood history.
Bob Hope joke about Elizabeth Taylor
Comedian Bob Hope led some of the humorous presentation of films and actors nominated for the 42nd Academy Awards, bringing his signature wit to the evening.
As he acknowledged the distinguished guests in attendance, he quipped about Taylor, saying, ”I know Miss Taylor is here. I saw a Brinks truck parked outside.”
Richard Burton couldn’t help but chuckle at the clever nod to his wife’s exquisite collection of jewels.
The truth about her dress
The moment Elizabeth Taylor stepped onto the red carpet at the 1970 Academy Awards, it was as if time stood still.
The first thing that captured attention was the stunning color of her dress: a mesmerizing cornflower blue that danced between violet and lilac hues with every shift in the light — and the hundreds of flashing cameras capturing her every move.
The dress wasn’t just a piece of fabric; it was a masterpiece designed by Edith Head, meant to accentuate every inch of Taylor’s radiance.
For starters, the color choice wasn’t a coincidence. Designed by the iconic Edith Head, the gown’s shade was carefully selected to match Taylor’s own mesmerizing eyes. Taylor herself collaborated with Head, seeking an updated version of the dress she wore in the 1951 film A Place in the Sun.
The gown was more than just a fashion statement; it was a work of art. The plunging neckline perfectly framed the Taylor-Burton diamond, allowing the necklace to shine while accentuating her newly slim figure.
“It is designed to show off Elizabeth’s new, thin figure. It’s a soft, floaty, romantic chiffon. Over it, she has a soft, stole-cape to the floor in chiffon with a hood,” Edith Head told AP.
It was a look that would become etched in Oscars history, forever tied to the elegance and allure of Elizabeth Taylor.
Took a 10 minute bath
On the day of the event, Taylor’s beauty routine was reportedly refreshingly simple.
The celebrated movie star didn’t follow an elaborate skincare regimen; instead, she used a basic drugstore moisturizer.
Although she enjoyed doing her own makeup, she worked with a professional makeup artist for important occasions like the Oscars. Taylor favored a sheer foundation and soft blush, often using cake eyeliner for her eyes. Interestingly, she never wore false lashes, as she was naturally blessed with a double set of lashes.
”Elizabeth took a 10 minute bath at the end of her makeup application, to help set her makeup and relax a bit before the event,” a rep for House of Taylor told AOL.
Cried backstage
The celebrated star, one of the last of classical Hollywood cinema, had an important role during the 1970 Oscars — she was there to present the coveted Best Picture award.
However, chaos reigned behind the scenes.
Moments before her appearance, Richard Burton had just suffered a heartbreaking defeat, losing the Best Actor award to John Wayne. This marked the sixth time Burton had been nominated without clinching the iconic golden statuette, and the news hit Taylor like a thunderclap.
Devastated, she broke down in tears backstage, with witnesses recounting how the makeup artist had to rush to refresh her look before she could take the stage.
When she finally stepped onto the stage, her composure was shaky. You could see it in her eyes. As she appeared, a hush fell over the audience; you could hear a pin drop.
Despite her professionalism, the heaviness of her husband’s loss was clear as she announced the winner for Best Picture.
The man she loved had faced yet another loss, and it weighed heavily on her heart.
After-party
In his diary, Burton captures the essence of that magical night:
“Wednesday 8th: We went to the party afterward and sat with George Cukor, the Pecks, and the Chandlers (owners of the LA Times), but we were surrounded by scores of photographers who, to my delight, paid little attention to anyone else, including the winners. Barbra Streisand, who fancies herself a big star, was completely eclipsed.”
A glance at the countless photographs of Taylor from that unforgettable night makes it abundantly clear — she was the undeniable center of attention.
At the after-party, the actress and her husband was surrounded by a constellation of celebrities. Flashbulbs lit up their table like fireworks.
It was as if the paparazzi were also spellbound, struggling to focus on their task as they recognized the sheer magnitude of the moment. No longer were they mere photographers capturing dreams for glossy magazines; they found themselves entranced by the vision before them.
Many would argue that the greatest star of the 20th century shone brightest on that unforgettable night. On her left ring finger glittered yet another extravagant gift from her husband — the stunning 33.19-carat Krupp diamond ring, capturing the essence of her iconic allure.
So how did this magical night end for Taylor and her entourage?
”We got out with a great difficulty because of the hordes of photographers, visiting Gig Young, who won best supporting actor, en route, who was stoned but sweet. Hawn won the supporting actress, also as predicted. We couldn’t find Duke Wayne so came home, [. . .] Later still came Wayne himself also very drunk but, in his foul-mouthed way very affable,” Burton wrote in his diary.
As the curtains fell on the 1970 Oscars, one thing was abundantly clear: Elizabeth Taylor was the undeniable star of the night. She encapsulated everything that was magical about Hollywood in the 1970s: beauty, talent, and an unyielding spirit that transcended the screen.
Reflecting on her charisma and humility, it feels entirely fitting to celebrate her in this way. She was not just a phenomenal actress but a remarkable human being who captured the hearts of many.
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Our Late Father Left Me Only an Apiary While My Sister Took the House and Shut Me Out, but One Beehive Hid a Game-Changing Secret — Story of the Day
I lost everything in one day—my job, my home, and then my father. At his will reading, my sister took the house and shut me out. I was left with nothing but an old apiary… and a secret I never saw coming.
Routine. That was the foundation of my life. I stocked shelves, greeted customers with a polite smile, and memorized who always bought which brand of cereal or how often they ran out of milk.
At the end of every shift, I counted my wages, setting aside a little each week without a clear purpose. It was more a habit than a plan.
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And then, in a single day, everything crumbled like a dry cookie between careless fingers.
“We’re making cuts, Adele,” my manager said. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t wait for a response. There was nothing to discuss. I took off my name tag and placed it on the counter.
I walked home silently, but as soon as I reached my apartment building, something felt off. The front door was unlocked, and a faint trace of unfamiliar female perfume lingered in the air.
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My boyfriend, Ethan, stood beside my suitcase in the living room.
“Oh, you’re home. We need to talk.”
“I am listening.”
“Adele, you’re a great person, really. But I feel like I’m… evolving. And you’re just… staying the same.”
“Oh, I see,” I muttered.
“I need someone who pushes me to be better,” he added, glancing toward the window.
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That “someone” was currently waiting outside in his car.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. The city felt enormous, and suddenly, I had nowhere to go. Then my phone rang.
“I’m calling about Mr. Howard. I’m very sorry, but he has passed away.”
Mr. Howard. That’s what they called him. But to me, he was Dad. And just like that, my route was set.
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In half an hour, I bought a bus ticket and left the city behind, heading to the place where my childhood had been rewritten. Howard had never been my father by blood. He had been my father by choice.
When I was almost grown, after years of drifting through foster care, he and my adoptive mother took me in. I wasn’t a cute, wide-eyed toddler who would easily mold into a family. I was a teenager.
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But they loved me anyway. They taught me what home felt like. And finally, that home was gone. My mother had passed away a year ago. And then… my father had followed.
I was an orphan again.
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***
The funeral service was quiet. I stood in the back, too consumed by grief to acknowledge the sharp glances my adoptive sister, Synthia, kept throwing my way. She wasn’t happy I was еhere, but I didn’t care.
After the service, I went straight to the lawyer’s office, expecting nothing more than a few tools from Dad’s garage, something small to remember him by.
The lawyer unfolded the will.
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“As per the last testament of Mr. Howard, his residence, including all belongings within, is to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
Synthia smirked as if she had just won something she always knew was hers. Then, the lawyer continued.
“The apiary, including all its contents, is hereby granted to my other daughter Adele.”
“Excuse me?”
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“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated. “As per Mr. Howard’s request, Adele is to take ownership of the land, its hives, and any proceeds from future honey production. Furthermore, she has the right to reside on the property as long as she maintains and cares for the beekeeping operation.”
Synthia let out a short, bitter laugh.
“You’re joking.”
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“It’s all outlined in the document.” The lawyer held up the papers.
Synthia’s gaze sliced through me. “You? Taking care of bees? You don’t even know how to keep a houseplant alive, let alone an entire apiary.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said finally, though my voice lacked conviction.
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“Fine. You want to stay? You can have your damn bees. But don’t think you’re moving into the house.”
“What?”
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live on this property? Then you’ll take what you’ve been given.”
A slow dread crept into my stomach.
“And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
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“There’s a perfectly good barn out back. Consider it part of your new rustic lifestyle.”
I could have fought her. Could have argued. But I had nowhere else to go. I had lost my job. My life. My father. And even though I was supposed to have a place there, I was treated like a stranger.
“Fine.”
Synthia let out another laugh, standing up and grabbing her purse.
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“Well, I hope you like the smell of hay.”
That evening, I carried my bag toward the barn. The scent of dry hay and earth greeted me as I stepped inside. Somewhere outside, chickens clucked, settling in for the night.
The sounds of the farm surrounded me. I found a corner, dropped my bag, and sank onto the straw.
The tears came silently, hot streaks against my cheeks. I had nothing left. But I wasn’t going to leave. I was going to stay. I was going to fight.
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***
The nights were still cold, even as spring stretched its fingers across the land. So, in the morning, I walked into town and spent the last of my savings on a small tent. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
When I arrived back at the estate, dragging the box behind me, Synthia was standing on the porch. She watched as I unpacked the metal rods and fabric, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“This is hilarious,” she said, leaning against the wooden railing. “You’re really doing this? Playing the rugged farm girl now?”
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I ignored her and continued setting up.
I remembered the camping trips I used to take with Dad: how he had shown me how to build a fire pit, set up a proper shelter, and store food safely outdoors. Those memories fueled me at that moment.
I gathered stones from the edge of the property and built a small fire ring. I set up a simple outdoor cooking area using an old iron grate I found in the barn. It wasn’t a house. But it was a home.
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Synthia, watching the whole time, shook her head.
“Springtime camping is one thing, Adele. But what’s your plan when it gets colder?”
I didn’t take the bait. I had bigger things to worry about.
That afternoon, I met Greg, the beekeeper my father had worked with for years. I had been told he was the one who had maintained the apiary after Dad passed, but I hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet.
Greg was standing by the hives when I approached. He frowned when he saw me.
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“Oh, it’s you.”
“I need your help,” I said, straight to the point. “I want to learn how to keep the bees.”
Greg let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You?”
He eyed me up and down, taking in my entire existence that screamed city girl.
“No offense, but do you even know how to approach a hive without getting stung to death?”
I straightened my shoulders. “Not yet. But I’m willing to learn.”
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“Yeah? And what makes you think you’ll last?”
I could feel Synthia’s voice echoing in my head, her constant sneers, her dismissive laughter.
“Because I don’t have a choice.”
Greg, to my surprise, let out a low chuckle.
“Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
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Learning was harder than I had expected.
I had to get past my fear of the bees first—the way they swarmed, the low hum of their bodies vibrating through the air. The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands trembled so badly that Greg had to redo the straps for me.
“Relax,” Greg said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great. Just what I needed.”
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He laughed at that.
“If you don’t want them to sting you, don’t act like prey.”
Over the next few weeks, Greg taught me everything: how to install foundation sheets into the frames, inspect a hive without disturbing the colony, and spot the queen among thousands of identical bees.
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Some days, I was exhausted before noon. My body ached from carrying the heavy frames. I smelled like smoke and sweat and earth. And yet, I had a purpose.
That evening, the air smelled wrong.
I had just stepped onto the property, my arms full of groceries, when a sharp, acrid scent curled into my nostrils.
Smoke. Oh, no! My beehives…
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***
The fire was raging, orange tongues licking at the darkening sky. Flames crawled over the dry grass, consuming everything in their path.
My tent was in ruins, its fabric curling and melting under the heat. The fire had devoured everything inside—my clothes, bedding, the last remnants of what I had managed to build for myself.
But my eyes locked on the beehives.
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They were close to the flames, the thick smoke drifting in their direction. If the fire reached them…
No. I wouldn’t let that happen. I grabbed a bucket beside the well and ran toward the fire, but…
“Adele! Get back!”
Greg.
I turned to see him sprinting across the field. A second later, others followed—neighbors, local farmers, even the older man from the general store. They carried shovels, buckets, and anything they could find.
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I barely had time to process what was happening before they moved into action.
“Get the sand!” Greg barked.
And I realized some people were dragging heavy sacks of dry dirt from the barn. They tore them open and started smothering the fire, throwing sand over the flames, cutting off their air.
My lungs burned from the smoke, but I kept going. We worked together until the flames finally died.
I turned toward the house. Synthia stood on the balcony, watching.
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She hadn’t lifted a single finger to help. I turned away.
The beehives were safe. But my home was gone.
Greg approached, wiping the soot from his forehead. His gaze drifted toward the window where Synthia had stood just moments ago.
“Kid, you don’t have the safest neighborhood. I’d recommend harvesting that honey sooner rather than later.”
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We washed our hands, shook off the exhaustion, and, without another word, got to work.
I lifted the wooden frame from the hive, brushing off the few bees still crawling across the surface. The combs were full, golden, glistening in the soft evening light.
And then I saw it. A small, yellowed envelope was wedged between the wax panels. My breath caught. Carefully, I pulled it free and read the words scrawled across the front.
“For Adele.”
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I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Inside, folded neatly, was a second will. That was the actual will. I began to read.
“My dearest Adele,
If you are reading this, then you have done exactly what I hoped—you stayed. You fought. You proved, not to me, but to yourself, that you are stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for.
I wanted to leave you this home openly, but I knew I wouldn’t get the chance. Synthia would never allow it. She has always believed that blood is the only thing that makes a family. But you and I both know better.
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I didn’t have time to file this will officially, but I knew exactly where to place it—somewhere only you would find it. I hid it in the very thing she despises most, the one thing she would never touch. I knew that if you chose to stay and see this through, you would earn what was always meant to be yours.
Adele, this house was never just walls and a roof—it was a promise. A promise that you could always have a place where you belong.
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As my final wish, I leave you everything. The house, the land, the beekeeping estate—everything now belongs to you. Make it a home. Make it yours.
With all my love,
Dad”
The house had always been mine.
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That evening, when Greg and I finished harvesting the honey, I walked up the house’s front steps for the first time. Synthia sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea. I placed the will on the table in front of her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked after reading.
“Dad hid it in the beehives. He knew you’d try to take everything, so he ensured you wouldn’t find it.”
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For the first time since I arrived, she had nothing to say.
“You can stay,” I said, and she looked up at me, startled. “But we run this place together. We either learn to live like a family or don’t live here at all.”
Synthia scoffed, setting the will down. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
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Then, finally, she leaned back in her chair, exhaling a slow, tired laugh.
“Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
The days passed, and life slowly took shape. I sold my first jars of honey, watching my hard work finally pay off. Synthia took care of the house, keeping it in order while I tended to the bees. And Greg became a friend, someone to sit with on the porch at sunset, sharing quiet moments and stories about the day.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When I told my husband I was pregnant, he froze. When he saw the ultrasound, he panicked. The following day, he was gone—no calls, no trace. But I wasn’t about to just let him disappear. I needed answers… and payback.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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