INTRODUCTION
The narrative of Barry Manilow’s ascent to global superstardom is often presented as a relentless, solitary climb toward the charts, but the bedrock of his career rests upon a difficult, intimate sacrifice made in the mid-1960s. Before the “Fanilows,” the Grammys, and the record-breaking residencies, there was Susan Deixler—the “perfect wife” of Manilow’s Brooklyn youth. As the 82-year-old icon navigates the definitive dates of his 2026 “The Last Sunrise” tour, the story of his first marriage has evolved into a sophisticated study of how ambition requires the clearing of emotional debt. While Manilow eventually sought the annulment to pursue his “wondrous musical adventure,” it was Susan’s decision to release him from his vows that provided the psychological clearance for his historic career.
THE DETAILED STORY
To the world, the dissolution of Barry and Susan’s two-year marriage in 1966 was a footnote in a biography dominated by platinum records. However, for those examining the architecture of his legacy, the moment of their separation is a paradigm of tragic grace. Living in a modest New York apartment, the couple faced the inevitable friction between a standard domestic life and the nocturnal demands of a rising musician. Manilow has been candid in his 1987 autobiography, Sweet Life, about his inability to be a “proper husband” while his soul was tethered to off-Broadway pits and jingle recording sessions. The sacrifice Susan made was not merely a legal one; it was the acceptance that the man she loved belonged to a world she could not enter.

The nuance of this departure is best captured in a single, concrete detail from their separation. Initially, the heartbreak was sharp; Susan reportedly told Manilow he could take nothing but his clothes from their shared home. Yet, in a gesture that defined the depth of her character, she eventually relented, allowing him to take the one instrument that could facilitate his escape: his piano. By permitting him to walk out with the tools of his trade, she effectively funded his future with her own silence and solitude. This act of letting go was the definitive “green light” for the “Mandy” and “Copacabana” eras to begin.
In 2026, as Manilow prepares for his final Florida performances following a successful pulmonary recovery, the resonance of Susan’s sacrifice lingers in the quietest moments of his setlist. Although she has remained a private citizen, serving as a dedicated community leader in California for over thirty years, her infrequent public comments reflect a sophisticated lack of bitterness. “I’m happy for him,” she stated in 2015, dismissing their union as “ancient history.” This authoritative closure suggests that Susan Deixler did more than just accept Barry’s departure—she validated it. In the high-stakes world of narrative pop, her legacy is the foundational silence upon which his entire symphony was built.
