
May is basically the VIP lounge of months: warm, sunny, and not yet mosquito season. People born in May are annoyingly charming about it, too.
So let’s celebrate the folks who make us believe in backyard barbecues and fresh starts. They were born to bask in the glow of spring — and they want you to know it.
Eleanor Tomlinson has a knack for bringing period dramas to life with warmth and spark, most famously as Demelza in Poldark, where she stole hearts, traded banter with Aidan Turner, and made 18th-century Cornwall look impossibly romantic. She’s since taken on everything from fantasy adventures to modern dramas, proving she’s just as comfortable with a sword as she is with a sharp comeback. With her striking red hair and captivating screen presence, Eleanor lights up every scene she’s in. Her birthday should be celebrated with a windswept coastal walk, a roaring fire, and maybe a toast in a rustic tavern — Demelza style.
May 19, 1992, in London, England
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There are comedians who gently stroll into Hollywood, and then there’s Jamie Kennedy — a man who arrived like somebody who drank three energy drinks, memorized every horror movie ever made, and decided embarrassment was merely a suggestion. Whether he’s dodging masked killers in Scream, pulling outrageous pranks on unsuspecting people, or proudly leaning into over-the-top comedy, Kennedy built a career on being loud, fearless, and just unpredictable enough to keep audiences wondering what he’ll do next. Somewhere between stand-up comedy, sketch shows, and cult comedy films, Jamie Kennedy became one of those instantly recognizable faces from late-1990s and early-2000s entertainment. And honestly, once you’ve heard Randy Meeks explain the rules of horror movies, you never quite forget it.
May 25, 1970, in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania
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Bob Saget was America’s TV dad, the guy who somehow made raising three kids (plus Uncle Jesse and Joey) look easy on Full House. Off-screen — and on stage — he was just as beloved, though his stand-up comedy proved he had a much edgier sense of humor than Danny Tanner ever did. Saget also spent years as the host of America’s Funniest Home Videos, long before we had TikTok, making him the original curator of viral laughs. His passing in 2022 left a hole in comedy and in fans’ hearts, but his work still makes people smile — which might be the best legacy of all. His birthday should be celebrated with laughter, reruns, and maybe a heartfelt “You got it, dude.”
May 17, 1956, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
January 9, 2022, in Grande Lakes, Florida
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If Bobby Cannavale walks into a scene, you don’t check your phone. You lean in. He has that rare ability to make you slightly nervous even when he’s smiling — like you’re not entirely sure whether he’s about to deliver a heartfelt confession or flip a table. That’s range. Some actors chew scenery. Cannavale seasons it.
May 3, 1970, in Union City, New Jersey
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Engelbert Humperdinck sounds less like a pop star and more like a man who owns a castle and insists on proper table manners—but then he opens his mouth to sing, and suddenly the room melts. He’s been charming audiences for decades with a voice smoother than a well-aged Scotch and a name you don’t forget, even if you can’t quite believe it’s real.
May 2, 1936, in Madras (now Chennai), India
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Hank Williams Jr. was practically born with a cowboy hat on and a guitar in his hand — which makes sense when your dad is country music royalty. Rather than just ride on the family name, Hank Jr. cranked up the volume, mixed in some rock ‘n’ roll, and carved out his own boot-stompin’ legacy. Known for hits like Family Tradition and All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight, he brought a little rebellion to Nashville and made Monday Night Football sound like the rowdiest honky-tonk in town. With a voice that sounds like it’s been marinated in whiskey and campfire smoke, Hank Jr. is still out there doing what he does best: making music that makes you want to sing along, kick back, and maybe pour yourself something strong.
May 26, 1949, in Shreveport, Louisiana
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Ray Stevenson was one of those actors who made every role bigger just by walking into the frame — a true scene-stealer with a commanding presence. Whether he was swinging a sword as Titus Pullo in Rome, wielding a hammer in Thor, or playing the Punisher with a glare that could stop traffic, Stevenson brought a rare mix of grit and charm to the screen. He had that old-school tough-guy energy, the kind that made you believe he could lead a legion into battle or drink you under the table — possibly both on the same day. His passing in 2023 was a real loss for fans of powerhouse performances, but his work lives on, larger than life, just like he was.
May 25, 1964, in Lisburn, Northern Ireland
May 21, 2023, in Ischia, Italy
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Some television characters fade into the background. Melissa McBride’s Carol Peletier started there, then steadily became the person everyone trusted to save the day, make the hard choices, and occasionally terrify absolutely everyone standing nearby. McBride’s extraordinary ability to turn quiet determination into unforgettable strength helped transform her from supporting player into one of The Walking Dead’s most respected survivors—proving that underestimating the quiet ones is usually a very bad idea.
May 23, 1965, in Lexington, Kentucky
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Hunter Parrish is proof that being the “good kid” can still get you noticed in Hollywood. Best known as Silas Botwin on Weeds, he somehow managed to be the voice of reason in a family that made its living selling, well… let’s just say “organic products.” He’s also tackled Broadway in Spring Awakening and Godspell, proving he can sing, dance, and probably charm the socks off the audience in the cheap seats. Basically, if you need a clean-cut guy with a mischievous grin, Hunter’s your man.
May 13, 1987, in Richmond, Virginia
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Long before jump scares and masked maniacs started doing all the heavy lifting, Vincent Price proved that true terror could be delivered with impeccable diction, arched eyebrows, and the sort of smile that suggested he knew exactly where the bodies were buried. He was horror with class, menace with manners, and perhaps the only man who could sound both charming and deeply unsettling while discussing fine art or haunted mansions. With Price, fear wasn’t just frightening—it was stylish.
May 27, 1911, in St. Louis, Missouri
October 25, 1993, in Los Angeles, California
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Some performers pick a lane and stay in it. Amber Tamblyn looked at all the lanes—acting, writing, directing, poetry—and decided to take all of them at once, preferably at full speed. She’s the kind of talent who can break your heart in a dramatic scene, make you laugh in the next, and then casually publish a book of poetry just to keep things interesting.
May 14, 1983, in Santa Monica, California
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Debra Winger lit up the screen in the 1980s with performances that were equal parts strength and vulnerability, earning her a place among Hollywood’s most respected leading ladies. From Urban Cowboy to Terms of Endearment to An Officer and a Gentleman, she delivered some of the decade’s most unforgettable performances — and picked up a few Oscar nominations along the way. Known for her fierce independence and thoughtful approach to roles, Winger has always brought depth and authenticity to every character she plays. Her birthday deserves a celebration with champagne, heartfelt toasts, and maybe a ride off into the sunset — Richard Gere optional.
May 16, 1955, in Cleveland Heights, Ohio
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Pam Grier is the undisputed queen of ‘70s cool — the original action heroine who could take down a room full of bad guys without spilling her drink or messing up her afro. Long before Marvel decided women could be superheroes, Pam was already saving the day in movies like Coffy and Foxy Brown, delivering roundhouse kicks and one-liners with equal precision. She practically invented the idea that a woman could be both glamorous and absolutely terrifying — and honestly, the world still hasn’t caught up. Even Quentin Tarantino knew what was up when he made her the centerpiece of Jackie Brown, giving us a reminder that Pam Grier could outclass, outshoot, and outsmart everyone in the room — and look flawless doing it. If Hollywood had any sense, they’d make her the president in every action movie. World peace would be achieved in under 90 minutes, with a killer soundtrack to boot.
May 26, 1949, in Winston-Salem, North Carolina
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Adele doesn’t just sing songs—she hands you a memory, reminds you of someone you’d almost forgotten, and then politely wrecks your evening in the best possible way. You don’t listen to Adele casually… you prepare for it.
May 5, 1988, in London, England
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Khary Payton has one of the most recognizable voices in animation — and one of the most commanding presences on screen. Fans know him as King Ezekiel from The Walking Dead, the dreadlocked, tiger-owning leader who somehow made a post-apocalyptic world feel a little more regal. But long before he was ruling over the Kingdom, Khary was voicing the ever-energetic Cyborg on Teen Titans and Teen Titans Go!, making “Booyah!” a permanent part of the cartoon lexicon. Whether he’s leading survivors or cracking jokes in the recording booth, Khary brings charisma to every role. His birthday should be celebrated with cake, a royal decree, and maybe a giant CGI tiger just to keep things dramatic.
May 16, 1972, in Augusta, Georgia
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Some actors arrive in Hollywood looking polished, glamorous, and ready for superstardom. Jake Johnson arrived looking like he had just argued with a parking meter and forgotten where he left his coffee. Somehow, that worked perfectly. With his permanently exhausted charm, sarcastic delivery, and ability to make confusion look heroic, Johnson became the patron saint of people who are trying their best but would also really like to sit down for a minute.
May 28, 1978, in Evanston, Illinois
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Somewhere between a brilliant professor, an awkward tech wizard, and a man who looks perpetually concerned about unnecessary social interaction, Richard Ayoade carved out one of comedy’s most distinctive careers. Armed with dry wit sharper than most people’s entire personality and a delivery so perfectly deadpan it could confuse small animals, Ayoade turned intellectual awkwardness into an art form—proving that sometimes the funniest person in the room is also the one least interested in being there.
May 23, 1977, in Hammersmith, England
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Henry Cavill is the rare combination of action hero and unapologetic nerd—equally comfortable saving the world on screen or assembling a high-end gaming PC at home. Somewhere out there, Clark Kent is quietly impressed.
May 5, 1983, on the island of Jersey in the Channel Islands
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Jonathan Tucker approaches acting the way most people approach a Navy SEAL mission—meticulous preparation, physical intensity, and absolutely no fear of emotional heavy lifting. He’s the guy who will train like an MMA fighter, read five philosophy books, and still show up on set before anyone else—probably already warmed up and terrifyingly focused. If Hollywood had a “Most Likely to Outwork Everyone” award, Tucker would win it, thank the crew, then go do another set of push-ups just to stay sharp.
May 31, 1982, in Boston, Massachusetts
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Harry S. Truman had the rare ability to walk into a room full of big egos, complicated problems, and world-altering decisions—and handle it all like a man deciding which fence needed fixing first. No drama, no grand speeches for the sake of it, just a steady look and a mindset that said, “Alright, let’s get on with it.” He didn’t try to sound impressive—he tried to be effective, which, as it turns out, is a much rarer talent.
May 8, 1884, in Lamar, Missouri
December 26, 1972, in Kansas City, Missouri
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Leo Sayer doesn’t just perform a song—he attacks it like it owes him money. The hair’s flying, the feet are moving, and somewhere along the way you realize you’ve gone from politely listening to fully invested in whatever joyful chaos is happening on stage. He’s the kind of performer who makes you think, “I should probably stay seated”… and then two seconds later you’re tapping your foot, clapping along, and wondering how a grown adult has that much energy left in the tank.
May 21, 1948, in Shoreham-by-Sea, England
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On September 14, 1814, lawyer Francis Scott Key was inspired to write the poem that eventually became the lyrics of the United States national anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner.” During the War of 1812, British forces had captured Washington, D.C., and burned several major public buildings before turning their attention toward Baltimore. Key became involved after his friend, physician William Beanes, was taken prisoner by the British. He helped negotiate Beanes' release, but because the Americans had learned details of the planned attack, they were required to remain with the British fleet until the assault on Baltimore was completed.
From aboard a vessel in the Patapsco River, Key watched as British ships bombarded Fort McHenry through the night of September 13 and into the morning of September 14. When daylight came, the enormous American flag flying above the fort was still visible, showing that the defenders had held their position and the British attack had failed. Moved by the sight, Key began writing verses that became a four-stanza poem titled “Defence of Fort M'Henry.” It was soon published and sung to the melody of “To Anacreon in Heaven,” a British song composed by John Stafford Smith. Over time, Key's poem became better known by the title of its opening imagery, “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Key, born August 1, 1779, in Maryland, was a prominent lawyer who later served as U.S. attorney for the District of Columbia. His song became increasingly associated with patriotic and official occasions, and President Woodrow Wilson directed that it be played at appropriate military and naval ceremonies in 1916. Congress formally designated “The Star-Spangled Banner” as the national anthem, with President Herbert Hoover signing the measure into law on March 3, 1931. Key did not live to see what became of his composition; he died on January 11, 1843, decades before his hastily written verses became the official musical symbol of the United States.
On September 14, 1964, Kellogg's introduced the toaster pastry that would become Pop-Tarts, although the company was not the first to announce the idea. Rival Post had already publicized plans for a shelf-stable, fruit-filled pastry called Country Squares but revealed the concept before the product was ready for widespread sale. Kellogg's recognized the opportunity and moved quickly, turning to William “Bill” Post, then working at the Hekman Biscuit Company in Michigan, to help develop a pastry that could survive both the supermarket shelf and a trip through the family toaster. Post and his team experimented with dough, fillings and production methods, with his children reportedly serving as enthusiastic taste testers along the way.
Kellogg's initially considered calling its creation Fruit Scones before settling on the far more memorable Pop-Tarts, a name that played nicely with the popularity of Pop Art during the 1960s. The original unfrosted pastries appeared in four flavors—strawberry, blueberry, brown sugar cinnamon and apple currant—and the early test market was enormously successful. Demand quickly outran supply, forcing Kellogg's to publish advertisements apologizing to customers because it had run out. Frosting arrived a few years later after the company developed a version capable of surviving toaster temperatures without melting into a sugary disaster, followed by sprinkles, additional flavors and Milton the Toaster, an animated mascot who helped promote the increasingly popular breakfast treat.
What began as a hurried response to a competitor became one of Kellogg's most recognizable products. William Post is frequently described as the inventor of Pop-Tarts, although he always emphasized that their creation was a team effort, and Kellogg's has also credited company executive William “Doc” Thompson and the people involved in developing the product. Over the following decades, Pop-Tarts expanded far beyond those original four flavors and became as much a snack as a breakfast food. Billions are now sold annually—a remarkable outcome for something that began with a few people looking at two pieces of dough with filling between them and essentially asking, “Do you reckon we can put this in a toaster?”
On September 14, 1974, Eric Clapton reached No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 with “I Shot the Sheriff,” a song written and recorded the previous year by Bob Marley and the Wailers for their album Burnin'. It became the only No. 1 single of Clapton's career in the United States, but the man singing it had been surprisingly uncomfortable about releasing it. Clapton admired Marley's original and understood reggae well enough to worry that his own recording didn't capture what made the music special. He later recalled thinking that his version shouldn't even be included on his album 461 Ocean Boulevard, much less released as a single, because he felt it wasn't fair to Marley and that his interpretation had given the song too much of a white rock feel. His American bandmates were considerably more enthusiastic, and eventually Clapton allowed himself to be persuaded.
His concern became even more understandable when the record took off. Marley's version had already been released, but Clapton's recording suddenly carried the song onto mainstream American radio and all the way to the top of the chart. Clapton subsequently spoke with Marley and was relieved to discover that the songwriter appeared pleased with what he had done. Marley later recalled that Clapton had asked him about the meaning of the song, while Clapton remembered struggling to understand parts of Marley's explanation. Whatever uncertainty remained about the interpretation, there seemed to be no lasting uncertainty about Marley's acceptance of the cover.
The irony was that the recording Clapton worried might unfairly overshadow Bob Marley ultimately helped bring enormous attention to him. Island Records founder Chris Blackwell later described Clapton's cover as a major breakthrough for Marley, because one of rock's biggest stars had effectively pointed his enormous audience toward the Jamaican songwriter whose work he admired. The official Bob Marley history similarly credits Clapton's recording with significantly increasing Marley's international profile. So while September 14, 1974, marks Eric Clapton reaching No. 1, the longer story belongs to both musicians: Clapton received the biggest American single of his career from a Bob Marley song, while millions of listeners who heard Clapton's version were given a reason to discover the man who had written it in the first place.
On September 14, 1982, Princess Grace of Monaco died at the age of 52, one day after suffering serious injuries when the car she was driving left a steep mountain road above Monaco. Her youngest daughter, Princess Stéphanie, was traveling with her and survived. Before becoming European royalty, Princess Grace had been Grace Kelly of Philadelphia, one of Hollywood's most celebrated stars of the 1950s. In a remarkably brief film career, she became known for an elegant screen presence that made her particularly memorable in Alfred Hitchcock's Dial M for Murder, Rear Window and To Catch a Thief. She also starred opposite Gary Cooper in High Noon and won the Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance alongside Bing Crosby in The Country Girl.
Born in Philadelphia on November 12, 1929, Kelly studied acting at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York and supported herself through modeling and television work while pursuing stage roles. After appearing on Broadway and making her way into motion pictures, her rise was extraordinarily rapid. By the middle of the 1950s she was one of Hollywood's leading actresses, working with stars including James Stewart, Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Ava Gardner and Frank Sinatra. Yet at the height of that success, Kelly walked away from Hollywood. After meeting Prince Rainier III of Monaco in 1955, she married him in an elaborate ceremony the following April and became Princess Grace. Her final feature film, the musical High Society, was released in 1956, bringing an acting career of only a few years to a close.
Princess Grace and Prince Rainier had three children—Caroline, Albert and Stéphanie—and she spent the remainder of her life carrying out royal and charitable duties in Monaco. On September 13, 1982, while driving home with Stéphanie, Grace lost control of her Rover on the winding road near Monaco and the vehicle plunged down a steep slope. Early reports attributed the crash to a stroke suffered while she was driving, although the precise circumstances surrounding the accident have remained the subject of discussion. Stéphanie escaped with injuries, but Grace suffered devastating trauma and died the following day. Her death prompted mourning far beyond the tiny principality she had made her home, closing an extraordinary life that had taken her from Philadelphia to Broadway, from Hollywood stardom and an Academy Award to becoming one of the world's most recognizable princesses.
On September 14, 1994, Major League Baseball officially canceled the remainder of its season, including the postseason and World Series, after a players' strike that had begun on August 12 showed no sign of ending. It was an extraordinary moment for America's pastime: for the first time since 1904, there would be no World Series, and for the first time since the championship series began in 1903, its cancellation resulted from a labor dispute. At the center of the conflict were long-running disagreements between team owners and the Major League Baseball Players Association over salaries, revenue sharing, free agency and the owners' desire for a salary cap. Acting commissioner Bud Selig finally called off the remainder of the season with hundreds of regular-season games already lost.
The cancellation was particularly painful because the 1994 season had been producing some remarkable baseball. The Montreal Expos owned the best record in the majors at 74–40 and appeared capable of making the deepest postseason run in franchise history, while the New York Yankees led the American League East at 70–43. Individual achievements disappeared with the schedule as well. San Francisco's Matt Williams had already hit 43 home runs and Seattle's Ken Griffey Jr. had 40, giving both a chance to challenge Roger Maris' then-record of 61 in a season. Perhaps the most tantalizing unfinished story belonged to San Diego Padres great Tony Gwynn, who was batting .394 when play stopped and pursuing something no major leaguer had accomplished since Ted Williams hit .406 in 1941.
The dispute continued through the winter and into the following spring, with replacement players even appearing during 1995 spring training before a federal court injunction helped bring the strike to an end on April 2. Regular major-league players returned and the 1995 season eventually began, but the damage was considerable. Attendance suffered, fans expressed anger at both players and owners, and many people within baseball later described the canceled World Series as a lasting scar on the sport. There was no champion, no postseason heroics and no opportunity to discover whether Montreal could complete its remarkable season, whether Gwynn could reach .400, or whether Williams or Griffey could catch Maris. The 1994 season simply stopped—and baseball was left forever wondering how one of its most promising years might have ended.