After leaving behind his successful career as the host of late-night talk shows, Jay Leno launched a web series on nbc.com (2015 to 2022) about cars.
Jay Leno’s Garage, now appearing to more than 3.7 million subscribers on YouTube, allows the comedian to share his passion for cars and bikes with his audience.
In November 2022, the former Tonight Show host was badly burned when a fire broke out in his Burbank, California garage.
“I got some serious burns from a gasoline fire.” Leno told Variety at the time “I am OK. Just need a week or two to get back on my feet.”
According to reports, the now 74-year-old man was working under a car when the fire sparked. He suffered third degree burns on his face and got a new left ear after losing his first one to the fire.
Unfortunately, his luck didn’t get any better.
Only two months after the fire, he suffered a broken collarbone, two cracked ribs and two cracked kneecaps in a motorcycle accident.
‘Treats Mavis like gold’
Despite his body breaking down with aging, passion-related accidents and high cholesterol, the one thing that holds strong in his life is his love for Mavis, who he married in 1980.
“I always tell guys when they meet a woman, ‘Marry your conscience. Marry someone who’s the person you wish you could be and it works out okay.” Leno tells People of his enduring love with Mavis, now 77.
After 45 years together, the childless couple started facing some hardships.
Mavis was diagnosed with dementia and her condition is rapidly declining.
In April 2024, Leno was granted a conservatorship over his wife’s estate by a Los Angeles Superior Court judge who ruled the measure was “necessary and appropriate.”
According to court documents obtained by Entertainment Tonight, “Mavis has been progressively losing capacity and orientation to space and time for several years.”
The filing also says and “Jay is fully capable of continuing support for Mavis’ physical and financial needs, as he has throughout their marriage,” but her “current condition renders her incapable of executing the estate plan.”
Included in the documents is a statement from her neurologist Dr. Cohen: “Sometimes [Mavis] does not know her husband, Jay, nor her date of birth.”
Cohen, Mavis’ attending doctor at Cedars Sinai, adds that Leno “loves his wife very much” and “treats [Mavis] like gold.”
‘No one lives forever’
Only months later, In Touch reports that Leno is now preparing for his own death, making end-of-life arrangements so his fortunes are delivered to the rightful beneficiaries.
The filing reads: “No one lives forever, and the actions taken by Mr. Leno are reasonable and necessary for his and Mavis’ protection. Mavis does not object to the petition and in my opinion consents to it. Mr. Leno is her protector, and she trusts him. This estate planning is in her best interest and protects her interests.”
Leno’s latest filing details provisions for Mavis’ care and discloses that the couple intends to stay in their home “for as long as reasonably possible,” using their money for “assistance from household employees or caregivers as may be necessary.”
If Leno dies first, “the estate will divide into the Leno Marital Trust…it will have the Leno Collection and any real property housing Leno Collection. It will be irrevocable, and the survivor receives all income, plus principal for reasonable support. After the survivor’s death, after-tax balance will be distributed, along with the Leno Trust to JDM.”
The Leno Collection is Leno’s collection of automobiles and motorcycles, that’s valued at more than $52 million, and any real property.
Leno also instructed the JDM Foundation, a charity he launched in 1988, to open a museum with his automobile collection, and he’s already named the three initial directors.
In addition, Leno is leaving $7 million to Mavis’ brother Rikki Nicholson, who lives next door, and to his nephew Richard Leno.
The court-appointed official said Leno’s amendments to the trust will likely be approved.
It’s hard to imagine a world without Jay Leno! Please let us know what you think and then share this story so we can send Leno and Mavis a lot of love!
AT 78, I SOLD EVERYTHING I HAD AND BOUGHT ONE WAY TICKET TO SEE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE – IN THE PLANE, MY DREAM WAS CRUSHED
The worn leather of the suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of regret, of guilt gnawing at my soul. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life. Forty years since my own stupidity had torn us apart.
I glanced at the address scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. 123 Maple Street, Willow Creek, Ohio. It felt like a destination in a dream, a place I had only ever dared to imagine.
The plane ride was a blur. My mind raced, a whirlwind of memories and “what ifs.” What would she look like now? Would she still have that mischievous glint in her eyes, that infectious laugh that used to fill our small apartment? Would she recognize me, this old man, weathered by time and regret?
As the plane began its descent, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles white. My chest felt tight, a burning sensation spreading through my lungs. Voices, muffled and distant, seemed to come from far away.
“Sir, are you alright?”
I tried to respond, but only a strangled gasp escaped my lips. The world tilted, then plunged into darkness.
When I awoke, I was in a sterile white room, the smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils. A blurry image of concerned faces swam into view – a nurse, a doctor, a young woman with kind eyes.
“Where… where am I?” I croaked, my voice weak and raspy.
“You’re at St. Jude’s Hospital, sir,” the young woman said gently. “You suffered a heart attack. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Heart attack. The words echoed in my mind, a stark reminder of my mortality. But a different thought, more urgent, pushed its way to the forefront. Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” I rasped, my voice hoarse. “Is she… is she here?”
The young woman hesitated, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. “I… I don’t know, sir. Who is Elizabeth?”
My heart sank. Had I imagined it? Had the years of loneliness and regret twisted my mind, creating a fantasy, a desperate hope?
Days turned into weeks. I spent my recovery in the hospital, haunted by the uncertainty. The doctors assured me that I was stable, but the fear of losing consciousness again, of never seeing Elizabeth, lingered.
One afternoon, as I sat by the window, watching the world go by, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. A woman, her hair streaked with silver, her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was more beautiful than I remembered, her face etched with the lines of time, yet her smile was the same, the same smile that had captivated me all those years ago.
“Arthur,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It was her. Elizabeth.
She rushed towards me, her arms open wide. I held her close, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of lavender, a scent that transported me back to a time of youthful dreams and endless possibilities.
“I never stopped loving you, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped waiting.”
And in that moment, I knew that despite the years that had passed, despite the pain and the regret, love, true love, had a way of finding its way back home.
As we held each other, the world seemed to melt away. The years of separation, the loneliness, the fear – all of it seemed insignificant compared to the joy of holding her in my arms once more. We had lost so much time, but we still had now. And that, I realized, was all that truly mattered. The worn leather of my suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of longing, of regret, of a life lived in a perpetual twilight. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life, the woman whose laughter still echoed in the empty chambers of my heart.
I remembered the day vividly. The rain was coming down in sheets, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. We were arguing, a petty disagreement blown out of proportion by youthful pride and stubbornness. I had stormed out, my words echoing in the rain-slicked street. “Fine,” I had spat, “I don’t need you!”
I hadn’t meant it. Not really. But the words hung heavy in the air, a cruel echo of my own anger. I walked for hours, the rain washing away my pride and replacing it with a growing dread. When I finally returned, the lights in our small apartment were off. I called her name, my voice cracking with fear, but there was no answer.
The police found her car abandoned by the river, a chilling testament to the storm that had raged within me. The search parties, the endless waiting, the gnawing uncertainty – it had aged me beyond my years. The vibrant hues of life had faded, replaced by a monotonous grey.
Then, a miracle. A letter, tucked amongst a pile of bills and advertisements, a faded envelope bearing a familiar handwriting. “I’ve been thinking of you,” it read.
The words, simple yet profound, ignited a fire within me. Hope, a fragile ember that had long since been extinguished, flickered back to life. I devoured every letter, each one a precious piece of her, a glimpse into the life she had built. I learned about her children, her grandchildren, her passions, her joys, and her sorrows. And with each letter, the ache in my heart lessened, replaced by a yearning so intense it almost consumed me.
Then, the invitation. “Come,” it read, “Come see me.”
She had included her address.
And so, here I was, 78 years old, sitting on a plane, my hands trembling, my heart pounding like a drum against my ribs. I hadn’t flown in decades. The world outside the window, a blur of clouds and sky, mirrored the chaos within me.
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in my chest. I gasped for air, my vision blurring. Voices, distant and muffled, filled my ears. “Sir, are you alright?” “We need to get him some air!”
Panic clawed at my throat. Not now. Not when I was finally this close.
Then, through the haze, I saw her face. Her eyes, the same shade of hazel as mine, wide with concern.
“John?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
And in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The pain, the fear, the decades of longing – they all faded away. All that remained was her. Elizabeth.
Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring her face. But I knew. I knew it was her.
And as I slipped into unconsciousness, I whispered her name, a silent prayer, a love song carried on the wind.
I woke up in a hospital room, the scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils. Elizabeth sat beside me, her hand gently clasped in mine.
“You gave me quite a scare,” she said, her voice soft as a summer breeze.
I managed a weak smile. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
And as I looked at her, at the lines etched on her face, the silver strands in her hair, I knew that this was just the beginning. We had forty years to catch up on, to rediscover the love we had lost. Forty years to make up for the time we had wasted.
And as I held her hand, I knew that this time, nothing would ever tear us apart again.
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