John Stamos Begged to Leave ‘Full House’ and Rejected ‘Nip/Tuck’ After Rebecca Romijn Called It ‘Demeaning to Women,’ New Memoir Reveals

Stamos writes about his relationship with Lori Loughlin, claiming that they once had a date and made out at Haunted Mansion at Disneyland — something she doesn’t remember. At the 1983 Daytime Emmys, Laughlin introduced the category that Stamos was nominated in. When she read for the role of Aunt Becky, Stamos liked her but thought Jesse would go for “someone harder, edgier.” Soon, that went out the window as he felt the connection and they became close friends.

In 2019, he’d heard rumblings about her involvement in a college admissions scandal and called her to ask if everything was okay.

Stamos writes, “‘Oh that, yeah, I’m not sure,’ she answers so casually as if I just asked her if Nicky and Alex finished all their vegetables. ‘I have seen some emails lately from lawyers to Moss, but I stay out of it.’ Before I can process her response, I notice an odd clicking sound on the phone line. When I asked her about it, she again adopts her laissez-faire tone. ‘Oh, they may be bugging my phone.’ CLICK — I hang up as fast as I can. Then, switching on the news, the story breaks big time. I immediately text Lori, ‘Are you watching the news?’ ‘No, why?’ An FBI agent is announcing the largest college admissions scandal ever handled by the Department of Justice, involving bribes to prestigious colleges for falsified student
acceptances. ‘Turn on the TV Lori, now! There’s a big press conference happening.’ She asks, ‘What channel?’ I text back in all caps: ‘EVERY CHANNEL!'”

Loughlin’s family moved into Stamos’ neighborhood soon after and their families became closer than ever. He applauded her for taking the blame and owning the fact that she made a mistake.

“No matter how hard she was hit, how desperate everyone was to cancel her and throw her in with the pile of brutal criminals, she stood fast, protecting her daughters from the mud hurled at them day after day after day,” he writes. “When it came time for her to face the consequences, I watched Lori embrace her responsibility, fulfill the legal requirements with her husband, and dust herself off with unwavering determination. What struck me most was her sheer grit and her ability to gather the pieces of her shattered world and rebuild.”

Stamos previously revealed he tried to get the Olsen twins fired when they were 11 months old. In his book, he goes into detail about the day he told the show’s creator, “It’s either me or them. They’re not going to work out. They’ll ruin this show and my career.” He writes that a new pair of twins were brought in who were “quiet, calm, and homely as hell,” and he quickly asked to bring back the girls — who were waiting backstage.

He ended up loving them and learning that “Mary-Kate is stronger in the emotional scenes, Ashley scores in the comedic ones.” (He also writes that Elizabeth Olsen visited the set and “she quickly becomes my new favorite Olsen.”)

But Bob Saget was jealous of Stamos’ relationship with the Olsens — and Stamos didn’t even think Saget was right for the role since he was a comedian, not an actor. Saget, Stamos says, was also jealous of how close he’d become with Dave Coulier.

“Bob is the humblest egomaniac I’ve ever met, but he undercuts his narcissism by being so damn lovable. A walking contradiction, he makes up for his self-inflicted insecurity by being a self-inflicted aggrandizer,” he writes Stamos. “I know Bob is wickedly talented. I just don’t tell it to his face at this point. But If I want to learn anything about comedy, I need to study Bob… Bob and I tolerate each other and attempt to avoid interfering with each other’s creative processes, though it can be challenging.”

Eventually, Stamos, Saget and Coulier bonded when all three of their sisters got sick around the same time and they realized the importance of family: “Bob, Dave, and I are no longer three guys who work on the same show; we are brothers worried about amazing women slipping away from us,” he writes. “All the fear, fighting for family, and frustration of loss has pummeled down some of our pettiness on the set. We’re seeing not only what is important in our own relationships with each other, but also our relationships with the fans out there who are struggling with issues of life and death.”

Before he was Uncle Jesse, Stamos was playing Uncle “Adam” and wasn’t happy about it. During the first table reading, Jodie Sweetin was getting all the laughs.

“The final scene calls for the whole cast to gather around a baby’s crib and sing the theme song to ‘The Flintstones.’ By the time we get to ‘Have a Yabba-Dabba-Doo Time,’ I’m having a Yabba-Dabba-Don’t Time. The reading ends, thank God, and I head to the lobby as fast as I can, avoiding everyone babbling how great the reading went. I dig through my pockets for change. I jam a quarter into a pay phone, get my agent on the line, and gently suggest, “Get me the fuck off this show!'” he writes. “I’m dying to pull the rip cord on this family-friendly hell, but I’ll fulfill my contractual obligation to shoot the pilot. Keep it professional. The thing will crash and burn faster than my reputation, and I hope I can salvage some dignity with my next project. For now, stay cool. Control what you can control.”

The show was initially met with not-so-great ratings. After the first season, Stamos’ agents called him to tell him he may get his wish. He told them that he’s had a change of heart as the cast is becoming his family.

“Then my agent says, ‘Okay, so there was an idea discussed, but we’re not sure you’re going to like it.’ ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘They’re talking about putting one of ABC’s biggest hits as your lead-in over the summer reruns, but . . .’ ‘But what?'” writes Stamos. “With that simple strategy, ‘Full House’ lands in the top ten throughout the summer. We find an audience and they follow us to season two.”

In an earlier chapter, Stamos claims that he walked in on his first real girlfriend, Teri Copley, in bed with Tony Danza. But sometimes things come full circle.

He writes, “If you would have told me the day I walked into that room and caught my true love in bed with another guy that his show, ‘Who’s the Boss?,’ would launch Full House into a bona fide hit, making me a household name . . . Well, what can I say? Thanks, Tony Danza.”

Stamos’ first audition was for “General Hospital” and he landed the role of Blackie Parrish — which later turned into a series regular part that he’d play for 139 episodes. At first, he was paid $400 an episode — “and if I happen to stay on longer, $450.”

After 10 years on the show, he was ready to leave. Producer Gloria Monty took him to lunch and, after a run-in with Dean Martin (who told him to “get out while you can”), he told the producer he wanted to leave and do a sitcom. She responded, “You know, if you leave, dear, you’ll never work in this town again.”

In 1985, Stamos’ family watched the news about the case of Richard Ramirez. His mom’s best friend and former editor of “Tiger Beat” magazine, Doreen Lioy, was there and whispered to Stamos’ mother, “He has that little boy quality that Johnny has. Don’t you think there’s something… captivating about him?”

She went on to fall in love with Ramirez — he recalls Lioy saying, “He’s Rudolph Valentino, Mick Jagger, and the Boogeyman all rolled into one. I love him.” — and asked Doreen to be her matron of honor. Stamos’ father stepped in and cut off any communication between them.

After an acting class at Beverly Hills Playhouse, a teacher’s assistant gave Stamos a book and said, “I think it will open your eyes to some amazing things,” asking him to come meet a group to discuss it the next day. He sifted through the book and then attended the meeting at the Church of Scientology Celebrity Centre International.

“She takes me into a weird little office where a weird little man shows me a weird little machine that has a bunch of knobs, levers and gauges to measure my weird little soul. All I can think about is the Wayback Machine from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show deployed by the genius beagle, Mr. Peabody, and his adopted human boy, Sherman, to time travel through different dimensions,” writes Stamos. “‘This is an important religious artifact,’ Mia shares. ‘It monitors the psyche, mind, and spirit.’ I’m handed two round things that look like cans. I put one to my ear and the other to my mouth and mimic talking into an old-timey telephone. ‘Hello, there.’ Mia suppresses her irritation with me, and the weird little man gives her a withering look. He pinches me on the hand. Ouch. I pinch him back.

“He begins to question me about committing crimes, asks if I have negative thoughts about Scientology or L. Ron Hubbard, and probes into some strange sex inquiries. The Wayback Machine needle jumps up and down erratically. There are hushed whispers in the corner, and Mia looks disappointed. I am whisked out of the room and sent on my merry way. Apparently, I’m not Scientology material. Darn it.”

After losing his mother in 2014, Stamos said he began “managing my emotions like a chemist,” writing about processing the five stages of grief: “1. Denial: Gamma-hydroxybutyrate (or GHB) to stay lean and deny time the way Hollywood likes it. 2. Anger: An antidepressant to take the mad away. 3. Bargaining: Please, please, please let me sleep, Ambien. 4. Depression: Women to take the sad away. 5. Acceptance: When all else fails, pour a stiff drink, set sail for nowhere, fall overboard, drown.”

In 2015, he was driving to The Palms to meet Saget when he eventually pulled over and blacked out. Police found him “slumped in my seat like a scarecrow.” When he later woke up in the hospital, Saget was at his side. He was booked for a misdemeanor DUI and went to rehab in Utah.

In multiple chapters, Stamos writes about his up-and-down relationship with Rebecca Romijn, whom he was married to from 1998 to 2005. While they started out fully compatible, as her career continued to take off, his wavered a bit.

He recalled meeting Ryan Murphy for the first time and being pitched “‘Charlie’s Angels’ but with hookers,” which he passed on. Later, he got sent another offer for a series set to air on “a brand-new network called FX.”

“The show sounds daring and edgy. Exactly what I need. I pass on ‘Charlie’s Hookers,’ but I know Ryan is the real deal, and I should take this offer seriously,” writes Stamos. “I let Rebecca read the script. ‘It’s demeaning to women,’ she says dismissively. I think there’s more to the show, but we talk it out and I turn down ‘Nip/Tuck.'”

“Little by little, I start to second-guess my instincts, short sell my abilities, take fewer risks, and get lost in my marriage,” he continues. And he’s gutted by the split. “I never knew I could be so angry and hate-filled toward another human being, much less one I had been dedicated to for a decade.”

During a mediation session, the pair’s manager said Romijn should reimburse him for the joint taxes he’d paid. “‘To be fair, she should probably only pay about half, so —’ I explode. All that pent-up rage and sadness I’ve been stuffing rises to the surface, ‘Fair? Fair? Fuck fair! You wanna know what she did to me?'” Stamos recalls, being reminded that this is a negotiation. He responds, “Negotiate my balls!”

Romijn told the manager, “Give him everything I owe him,” and agreed to let him be the one to file.

Stamos recalls meeting Alanis Morisette when she was dating Coulier and then, down the line, his costar calling him to alert him that he thought “Jagged Little Pill” was about him. He played the album over the phone for Stamos.

“As we both listen, he says solemnly, ‘My God, John, I must have really hurt that girl.’ He is going through each lyric with me, and his memories flood out. ‘Listen to this song ‘Right Through You,’ there’s a line that goes ‘Your shake is like a fish.’ I used to tell her to dead fish me, and we’d do this limp handshake. A lot of familiar stuff in here,'” writes Stamos. “It’s one of the most recognizable albums of the 1990s, an anthem for female anger and empowerment. If you would have told me the guy doing Popeye impressions on ‘Full House’ was also Mr. Duplicity, the guy you hate to bug in the middle of dinner, I’d have laughed hard enough and long enough to service the show with enough canned laughter for five hundred episodes.”

The second-to-last chapter of Stamos’ book walks readers through the day he found out that Saget had died in January 2022, receiving a call from his publicist, alerting him to the TMZ story and then a text from Candace Cameron Bure. Then Kelly Rizzo, Saget’s wife called.

He’s then tasked with making calls of his own, alerting Coulier and Loughlin.

“’Dave, Bob Saget is dead.’ Not sure why I have to use his last name. Dave knows I’m not calling to tell him Bob Hope died,” he writes. “I call Lori, who’s on the eighth hole of Lake View Country Club golfing with her husband. ‘Bob is dead, Lori.’ She tells me later she dropped to her knees like me.”

He continues, “When you lose a best friend, you lose a piece of your history. I feel lost. That’s not a good thing for me. In the past, feeling stripped of someone I loved made me want to join them. No way I’d ever try to overdose or blow my brains out, but I have a history of wanting that bad feeling of emptiness to go away fast. Not this time. No drugs, no booze, no bullshit.”

Later, a bunch of friends and family gathered at the home Saget shared with wife Rizzo.

Upon entering the house, they solemnly talk and cry together. “Then, out of nowhere, we hear this tinny version of John Mayer’s ‘Heartbreak Warfare.’ Lori and Candace dive for Candace’s purse and run to the
kitchen with it. It’s Candace’s ringtone, and she’s embarrassed because John Mayer is there, grieving along with the rest of us,” Stamos writes. “First real laugh of the night.”