MARY TYLER MOORE TRULY HATED HIM MORE THAN ANYONE — AND HER SECRET LIST OF HOLLYWOOD ENEMIES IS DARKER THAN ANYONE EVER KNEW

Mary Tyler Moore spent her life dazzling America with grace, intelligence, comedic genius, and an almost impossibly polished charm. She broke barriers for women on television. She reinvented the sitcom. She became a symbol of independence long before feminism was fashionable. But behind the sparkle of her iconic smile and those bright, expressive eyes, there lived a very different Mary — one who endured betrayal, bruised egos, icy rivalries, secret resentments, and the harshest side of Hollywood’s glittering machinery. And as she entered the final years of her life, Mary did something she had never dared to do publicly: she named the five actors she truly hated. Not disliked. Not “found difficult.”
She hated them.

And at the very top of that list was one man — one co-star — whom she later admitted she despised “more than anyone else” she ever worked with.

To understand how shocking this revelation was, you have to remember who Mary Tyler Moore was. Born in 1936 in Brooklyn to an ordinary middle-class family, Mary was never destined for Hollywood royalty. She was quiet, introverted, watchful, almost painfully shy as a child. But dance unlocked something inside her — discipline, freedom, expression, ambition. That spark carried her through anonymous commercial work, small TV appearances, and eventually straight into one of the most beloved roles in American television history: Laura Petrie on The Dick Van Dyke Show.

It was here that Mary became America’s sweetheart — the witty, stylish, modern wife who could match Dick Van Dyke joke for joke, step for step, heart for heart. But what the world didn’t know was that behind the effortless comedy and crisp professionalism, Mary was climbing through a minefield of egos, insecurities, and rivalries that would follow her for decades.

The first name on Mary’s secret “hate list” was Rosemary, her co-star on The Dick Van Dyke Show. On screen, they looked like a harmonious comedic ensemble. Off-screen, Rosemary was fire — loud, sharp, competitive, and fiercely protective of her status as a long-established performer. Mary was younger, prettier, fresher, and quickly becoming the face of the show. Rosemary saw it. She hated it. And she made sure Mary felt it.

According to Mary’s confidant Glenn Corbett, Rosemary constantly reminded Mary that she had been in show business longer, was more experienced, and “knew the ropes.” Every rehearsal became a battlefield of subtle jabs and power plays. Mary remained professional — she always did — but she never forgot how Rosemary treated her. It wounded her. It hardened her. And decades later, she finally admitted that Rosemary was the first person in Hollywood she ever truly hated.

The second name shocked everyone who knew Mary: James Garner. Known publicly as one of Hollywood’s charming gentlemen, Garner’s relaxed, cynical, almost careless approach to acting rubbed Mary the wrong way. She found his jokes dismissive, his attitude disrespectful, his energy competitive in ways that clashed against her meticulous, perfectionist nature. Garner thrived on spontaneity; Mary thrived on precision. The result? An unspoken animosity that lingered long after their attempted collaboration failed to ignite. In private, she said she “couldn’t stand him.”

But those first two names were nothing compared to the man Mary later admitted she despised “more than anyone.”

That man was Ted Knight.

To fans, Ted Knight was the lovable, pompous, hilariously clueless Ted Baxter on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. He played a buffoon; audiences adored him. But behind the scenes, Ted was deeply insecure, moody, and hypersensitive, especially about being overshadowed. And Mary Tyler Moore — the star of the entire series — overshadowed him constantly.

According to Glenn Corbett, Mary confided that Ted’s insecurity made him unpredictable. He would brood for hours, snap at cast members, erupt over small notes, and retreat into silent resentment whenever Mary received praise. He envied her talent. He envied her effortless ability to steal a scene. He envied how much the writers adored her. And envy, in Hollywood, always turns toxic.

Ted Knight reportedly saw Mary as both a rival and a threat — and Mary saw right through him.

She tried kindness. It didn’t help.
She tried professionalism. It infuriated him.
She tried boundaries. He pushed harder.

Mary later admitted she dreaded working with him at times. His insecurity created tension so thick it infected the entire set. And though they delivered some of the most iconic comedy ever filmed, Mary kept a quiet, painful truth buried deep inside: She hated him. More than anyone.

Fourth on her list was another surprising name: Dick Van Dyke himself. No, Mary didn’t hate him the way she hated Ted Knight — not even close. But in her final years, she admitted something she had always avoided saying publicly: Dick Van Dyke sometimes dismissed her contributions, overshadowed her ideas, and unintentionally made her feel small during the early seasons of their show. He was charismatic, chaotic, brilliant — but also overwhelming. Mary had to fight harder than anyone realized just to be taken seriously. She didn’t hate him forever. But she hated how he made her feel in those early days. And she carried that scar.

The fifth and final name on Mary’s hate list remained the most mysterious — an unnamed film actor she worked with during her mid-career transition into dramatic roles. All Mary ever said, according to Corbett, was that he was “cruel,” “patronizing,” and “determined to humiliate her on set.” She never spoke his name publicly. Not once. Which made the confession even darker, even more unsettling. Hollywood insiders have speculated for years — Elvis? A Broadway colleague? A co-star from Ordinary People?
Mary took the name to her grave.

But the revelation of this secret list wasn’t about gossip. It was about truth.

Mary Tyler Moore spent her entire life being America’s sweetheart — a beacon of positivity, professionalism, and kindness. She bore tragedy with dignity. She lost her son. She battled diabetes and alcoholism. She endured the brutality of Hollywood in an era when women were expected to stay smiling, stay pretty, stay quiet.

For decades, Mary did what she was “supposed” to do — let the insults slide, swallow her anger, forgive the unworthy, and maintain the illusion of perfect harmony.

But as she aged, as her body failed, as she reflected on a lifetime of battles fought in silence, Mary finally told the truth: she did have enemies. She did have rivals. She did feel hatred — real hatred — toward the people who made her early career more painful than it ever needed to be.

It wasn’t a scandal. It was humanity.

Mary Tyler Moore was not just a perfect smile.
She was a woman who worked harder than anyone to earn respect.
She was a woman who fought quietly against condescension and cruelty.
She was a woman who endured the worst of Hollywood before she ever tasted the best of it.
And she was a woman who finally allowed herself to acknowledge the cost.

Her list wasn’t vindictive. It was honest.
And the fact she hid it for so long only proves how deeply she cared about kindness, even when the world didn’t return it.

In the end, Mary Tyler Moore will always be remembered for her talent, her trailblazing bravery, her iconic roles, and her ability to inspire generations of women to take control of their own lives.

But now we know something else about her:
Behind that legendary smile was a woman who finally chose to speak her truth — and to name, without apology, the people who made her Hollywood journey harder than it ever should have been.

And among them, Ted Knight stands as the man she “hated more than anyone,” the one shadow she carried quietly throughout a career spent in the brightest spotlight.

Mary Tyler Moore changed the world.
And even in exposing the darkness she endured, she left behind a lesson as powerful as any scene she ever played:

Kindness can coexist with honesty —
and even America’s sweetheart had a breaking point.