Final years
Tom Conway's health began to fail in the mid-1950s. In 1956, he was briefly hospitalized at the UCLA Medical Center for an operation; the hospital declined to disclose details other than that the patient was "resting comfortably." Weakened eyesight and alcoholism took their toll on him in later years. A 1960 drunk-driving arrest was reported in the national press; "I can't take a drunk test -- I'm too drunk", Conway stated after crashing his vehicle into a parked car. The driver, Joe Barron, suffered back and arm injuries. The case went to trial two weeks later, where Conway pleaded innocent.
His 12-year marriage to New York model Lillian Eggers ended in divorce in 1953. His second wife Queenie Leonard divorced him in 1963 because of his drinking problem. His alcoholism also cost him his relationship with his brother George Sanders, who broke off all contact with him.
Conway's career was finally stalled by health problems. In Conway's words, "The roof caved in all of a sudden." He underwent cataract surgery in both eyes, and his mobility was affected by a swollen left ankle. In September 1965, he briefly returned to the headlines when he was living in a $2-a-day room ($60 per month, equal to $605 in 2025) in a small beachfront hotel on 23-1/2 Windward Avenue in Venice, California. His landlady was former vaudevillian Agnes Lavaty: "Tom's not bitter. He doesn't even complain that his brother George Sanders hasn't contacted him." Conway's friend, Mary Robison of Venice, notified the Santa Monica Outlook of the actor's troubles, and a reporter visited Conway. "I find myself this way after many years of making considerable amounts of money", he told the reporter, who noted, "Mr. Conway still appears well-groomed, with a mustache and neat appearance. He is 60 years old. He said Mr. Sanders knew little or nothing about his plight because they had not been close in recent years." Syndicated reporter Harold Heffernan added, "Tom thinks it's extremely doubtful the revelation of his current illness and indigence will heal the old wounds."
The immediate aftermath brought phone calls "every five minutes," in Conway's words, but none from show business colleagues with only one exception. While Conway was having lunch in the little restaurant below the hotel, "I looked up, and coming through the door was Lew Ayres, whom I hadn't seen in years and years. It was a very nice feeling." Conway commented, "I have a place where I'll be able to live, and it looks as if there may be a job in the offing for me." Ayres made payments toward Conway's rent. Gifts, contributions, and offers of aid poured in for a time, but offers only hinted at soon fell through or never came to fruition. In 1962 and 1963 he had been a guest of the Motion Picture Country Home and Hospital, a haven for retired actors, but he refused to consider living there permanently. "There you're retired completely and have to give everything up. You're simply through. It's only a question of time until I'll be well. Then I want to operate a retreat in Baja California. I think I can get backers interested. It'll be like a sleepy Mexican fishing village."
Conway estimated he had earned $900,000 in his career -- "Fairly high living. Keeping up a front."—but was now subsisting on small amounts of federal aid. His Perry Mason appearance proved to be his last; "I don't particularly want to act," he said. He lost the last of his savings -- $15,000—to swindlers in a lumber deal: "I was a victim of the old shell game."
Hospitalized at John Wesley County Hospital in Los Angeles in April 1966 after being diagnosed with a liver ailment, he lapsed into a coma in July but regained consciousness two days later. His doctor said he was "remarkably improved [and] quite chipper."
In her memoir, former sister-in-law Zsa Zsa Gabor shed some light on Conway and George Sanders, and her relationships with them:
George’s brother, Tom Conway, too, remained a part of my life. When I was married to Herbert Hutner, my fourth husband, he and Herbert became friends. George contacted us to give us the tragic news that Tom had cirrhosis of the liver and that he was dying. I was very fond of Tom and we had a family reunion. At the end of it, George said, “Here, old boy, take this $40,000. Go to Capri and die there happy.” Tom did exactly as George said, except that he didn’t die. On Capri, Tom met a German scientist who had discovered a new serum that he wanted to test. He told Tom, “Let me try it out on you since you’re dying anyhow. It may kill you or it could, conceivably, cure you.” He persuaded Tom to try it and miraculously, he was cured. George, however, was now in a difficult situation -- particularly when Tom asked him for money. His voice ringing with determination, “I’m sorry, old boy,” said George. “You’re my brother but you are supposed to be dead. I never want to see you again.” After that, Herbert and I supported Tom every time he was broke. One day, his ex-wife called and said that this time Tom was, in earnest, on his deathbed. Francesca [Gabor's daughter] and I visited him at the hospital in downtown L.A. and when we left, I gave him $200, telling him, “Tip the nurses a little bit so they’ll be good to you." The next day the hospital called me and informed me that Tom had disappeared. I found out later that he had taken my $200, gone to see his girlfriend, had gotten drunk, and then went to bed with her. Then he died, right there in her bed. I contacted George, but he was still so livid about his $40,000 and Capri that he wouldn’t help me or even show up at the morgue to identify Tom’s body.
Gabor's account has Conway dying within two days after leaving the Los Angeles hospital, which wasn't true (Conway lived another nine months and died in a Culver City hospital). A published report states that Conway, after a four-month stay in the Los Angeles hospital, was transferred to a convalescent sanitarium, where he stayed three months.
He emerged in late 1966 with new health and spirit. He had given up drinking "completely. I'm on the wagon and I find the old brain works better... [I want to develop] a couple of gimmicks I devised while lying in the hospital. I've got a million things cooking." He devised at least two original inventions: tables topped with plastic slabs containing Mexican pebbles, and a pocket-sized travel kit featuring his own blend of shaving cream requiring no water. He even contemplated a return to acting: "It'll be a cold start, but acting-wise I think I'm at my peak." His living conditions, while still modest, had also improved; he was back in Los Angeles, living in a modern, $135-a-month apartment (equal to $1,340 in 2025) on Wilshire Boulevard. He decided against installing a telephone, and greeted visitors in person.
Conway never could capitalize on his plans. His rally came to a halt three months later, when he died of liver damage at Washington Hospital in Culver City, California on Saturday, 22 April 1967, at the age of 62. His funeral was held in London, and his ashes were inurned inside a private vault at Chapel of the Pines Crematory.
Despite his up-and-down professional and personal fortunes, Conway remained optimistic until the end. In his last newspaper interview, he admitted that recent years were "pretty rough" but now things looked "pretty good. You've got to hang on, last out, and wait for the breakthrough."
