CHAPTER 15 - CHAPTER 16

1. C H A P T E R 15 - Made In Japan

Webster defines parody as "a writing in which the language or style of an author is imitated or mimicked, especially for comic effect; a feeble or ridiculous imitation." One could also add "the lifeblood of every Bob Hope Show." Feeble imitations, as Webster so aptly described them, were the Comedy Factory's stock-in-trade. As soon as a television series had clawed its way to the top of the Nielsen charts or a movie's box office gross had skyrocketed, it became a sure candidate for inclusion in the factory's sketch mill. Over the years, the silver screen provided grist for take offs on Casablanca, Mutiny on the Bounty, The Great Escape, Rain, Coal Miner's Daughter, Tootsie, E.T. the Extraterrestrial, Reds, Star Wars and Superman, among others. The small screen gave us sendups that included Happy Days, Charlie's Angels, The Dukes of Hazzard, Fantasy Island, 60 Minutes, Shogun, Dallas, M*A*S*H, The Golden Girls and Cheers. In addition, whenever possible we poked fun at TV commercials, game shows, TV news, tabloid shows and soap operas. In 1981, ABC had captured critical raves and millions of viewers with its mini-series, Shogun, about an English seafarer (Richard Chamberlain) who becomes Japan's first Samurai warrior and later, a Shogun. Of course, with its richness of tradition, period sets and colorful costumes, it was a perfect vehicle for our transplanted Englishman. The Comedy Factory's version would be called "Son of Shogun" and star Bruce Jenner, Merlin Olsen, Loni Anderson, Barbara Eden and Linda Evans. The sketch opens with Loni, Barbara and Linda having tea in the Shogun's palace.

BARBARA: Just think. Today, the Shogun will choose one of
us to be his wife.
LINDA: No, not one of us -- me. I have what it takes to be first lady: a charge account at Bloomingdale's.

Long before the O. J. Simpson trial, Bloomingdale's was getting plenty of free air time. We used it whenever we needed a pricy retail shopping reference.

BARBARA: I will be his choice. The Shogun is an ex naval man and I have the best navel, although you never got
to see it on I Dream of Jeannie.
LINDA: Before nightfall, one of us will be chosen first lady
and be able to wear beautiful red kimonos designed by
Oscar de la Renta-Rickshaw.

During Ronald Reagan's first term, Nancy Reagan was criticized for wearing exorbitantly priced, custom fitted designer gowns----red was her favorite color----without paying for them. Later, she was challenged by the IRS for listing them on her income tax return as charitable deductions. Probably her version of the trickle down theory.

Aside from providing the show with eight to twelve minutes of jokes, Hope sketches were also excuses to get our star into outlandish costumes. The more exaggerated an outfit was, the better he liked it. In many ways, he was like a little kid who was given a chance to raid his parents' closet. He took absolute delight in dressing as someone else, especially historical characters. Completely outfitted as George Washington, King Arthur, Robin Hood or Pope John Paul II, he'd strut up and down the halls of Studio C where we taped, popping into the guests' dressing rooms so they could get a preview of his finery before they gathered on stage to do the show.Several weeks prior to taping, Warden Neil, head of the NBC Wardrobe Department would call me to find out which sketch ideas Hope had approved so he could begin designing the appropriate costumes. He'd usually prepare two or three versions in various color combinations to give Hope a choice. For Son of Shogun, Warden went all out, dressing Hope as authentically as Richard Chamberlain had been in the original mini-series. Camera pans to the Shogun's chamber.

HOPE: Today, I must interview three beautiful women who
wish to marry me. It's a dirty job, but someone must
do it. (calls off) Houseboy, send in first candidate.

(Linda enters carrying a tray piled with plates of food)
LINDA: I will make a good wife for you because of my
cooking.
HOPE: What are we waiting for? Let's start cooking.
LINDA (pulls away): The quickest way to a man's heart is
through his stomach.
HOPE: Would you consider an alternate route?
LINDA: Do you think I'm as pretty as my two rivals?
HOPE: I'd put you up against them any time, but first, I'll
put you up against me.

The comedy factory developed an entire lexicon of these "boy-trying-to-seduce-girl" wisecracks from which we could draw as needed. For a costar as glamorous as Linda, we used three in a row. In our intricately-crafted plot (okay, so I'm biased), a palace defector (Merlin Olsen) is plotting to assassinate the Shogun disguised as his houseboy:

HOPE (suspicious): Where's my regular houseboy?
MERLIN: He take day off to make transistor housegirl.

Judging from the dialects, the comedy factory was required to attend the Charlie Chan School of Far East Dialog and few seem to have graduated. Merlin leaves and Hope sits on the floor and begins eating:

HOPE: Ah, my favorite, raw octopus. I like food
you can arm-wrestle with.

Whether referred to in monologues or sketches, Hope was always partial to food that did something. In China, his Peking Duck was so fresh, when he bit into it, it flew out the window.

After barely avoiding injury from an exploding chopstick, Hope decides he'd better be more alert during his remaining fiancee auditions:

BARBARA: Good afternoon, Your Highness. I am Princess
Barbara-san and I'm here to dance my way into your heart.
HOPE: Be my guest. It'll be a tight fit, but I'm sure there's room enough in there for both of us.
BARBARA: When you see me dance, you will lose your head
over me.
HOPE: Oh, please. It's so hard to get parts.

(Her accompanist begins to play and Barbara dances sensuously)
HOPE: Wow. Never seen so many moving parts. Hope
Japanese never try to miniaturize that.
BARBARA: Do you feel rays of love radiating from my body?
HOPE: Not yet, but I sure like your radiator.

Mechanical comparisons to the female anatomy abound in Hope sketches. In a sketch at the Air Force Academy, Loni Anderson's kisses set off his afterburners. It turns out that Barbara's accompanist is an assassin in jazz man's clothing and uses the strings on his instrument to shoot a poison arrow at the Shogun. He barely misses and is chased off as Loni arrives for her interview:

LONI: God afternoon, Honorable Shogun. I'm Princess
Loni-san.
HOPE: Oooooo, assassin must have been successful. I think
Shogun just arrive in heaven!
LONI: Shogun like what he sees?
HOPE: Like it? Figure make Mount Fuji look like Little League
pitcher's mound. But why are your feet so small?
LONI: They're bound.
HOPE: Bound for where? Mind if I aim them toward my
boudoir?

Never mind that foot-binding is strictly a Chinese custom. In Hope sketches, cultural accuracy always took a back seat to the laugh meter.

LONI: I am a student of the art of passion. I show you exotic
oriental love techniques.
HOPE: Oh, boy! I'm going to be made in Japan!

This line had the Standards and Practices boys at NBC working their blue pencils with a fury, but not even they possessed enough power to deny the Shogun. It aired as written and performed. An attempt to subdivide the Shogun's cranium with a samurai sword quickly puts Merlin in sword-to-sword combat with the transplanted Englishman:

MERLIN: I kill you, English devil!
HOPE: But I'm only half English.
MERLIN: Then I kill you only from the waist up!

The reemergence of the three girls with a large mallet soon sends the traitor to honorable ancestor-land and the Shogun, so touched by their heroism, bequeaths his troth to the entire trio of lovelies. (Hey, he's a Shogun.)
The sketch got good reviews from the critics, but the best news was that James Clavell, the author of Shogun, didn't sue.

And here are Bob and Loni Anderson in "Son of Shogun":


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SUPERIORMAN

In 1979, Superman starring Christopher Reeves and Margot Kidder had been leaping tall box office grosses in a single bound so, faster than a speeding bullet, the comedy factory decided it would be a perfect parody for Hope & Company as part of a one hour special entitled "Hope, Women & Song" taped at the Ambassador Auditorium in Pasadena, California. Entitled "Superiorman," the sketch featured Pat Boone and Debbie Boone, Sammy Davis, Jr. and Debbie Reynolds. Sharing writing credit with us were producer Buz Kohan and Bob Arnott.

(Dr. Mad Doctor -- Pat -- in his mad scientist's laboratory with
his nurse -- daughter Debbie)
PAT (holding bubbling beaker): I've done it! My dream
has come true! After tomorrow, I'll control the
whole world!
DEBBIE (skeptical): Gee, you don't look like an Arab.

PAT: Laugh if you will, but this time I'm going to (aside
to the audience) Listen carefully, this is the plot --
I'm going to make an exact duplicate of Superiorman
and soon will have a whole army of Superiormen to
do my bidding!

This is an interesting sketch opening in several respects. In a very few lines, Pat has set up the entire storyline. We know all we need to except how he intends to carry out his wicked plan. Secondly, Pat speaks directly to the audience, imparting important information. In the theater this is called "breaking the fourth wall," the imaginary plane that separates the audience from the performers on stage. Hope and Crosby were among the first to use the device on the screen successfully. Today, you see it in some of Woody Allen's films. It's tricky, though, because if the actors become too chummy with the audience, the audience will stop making believe that the actors are the characters they're playing. In the broad farces that were Hope sketches, it always added an additional sense of fun if used sparingly. Next, Pat explains that he'll lure Superiorman to his laboratory using the man of steel's girlfriend, Daily Meteor reporter Lois Inane (Debbie Reynolds) as bait. He's invited Lois to visit his lab for an exclusive interview. Debbie arrives and is shown in:

REYNOLDS: Hi. I'm Lois Inane and you must be Doctor
Mad.
PAT: Yes, but if you prefer, you can be mad and I'll be
Lois. But I warn you, if I'm Lois, I'll be mad...
(points to large badge that says PRESS)
Do I dare?
REYNOLDS: I'll have you know I'm a respected member
of the Fourth Estate. I'm honest, fair-minded, impartial
and never ask loaded questions. Now let's get started.
When did you first become a weird Commie Fascist pinko?

Well before the arrival of tabloid journalism, newspaper reporters ranked somewhere between politicians, lawyers and used car salesmen on the public's mistrust-o-meter. Carefully, the doctor attempts to gain Lois's confidence:

PAT: My dear, will you join me in a drink?
DEBBIE (takes glass): Do you think we can both fit in there?
(takes a sip) Umm, that's good. What's in it?
PAT: Three parts gin, two parts vermouth and ninety-nine parts
nitroglycerine.
REYNOLDS (gulps) You mean?
PAT: Yes! Tap dancing is definitely out! You are mine now!
REYNOLDS: Where, oh where, is Superiorman when I need
him?
(Suddenly, Hope, dressed in Superiorman tights and cape
crashes through the wall)

This is a prime example of the late, dramatic entrance that Hope always preferred. But note how much has gone on and how many laughs his costars have collected before he arrives on the scene. Not many comedians were willing to allow guests so much screen time----Milton Berle, for example, would have died first. Likewise Sid Caesar and Red Skelton. Only Jack Benny comes to mind as equally generous with the laughs.

HOPE: What seems to be the problem here?
REYNOLDS: He made me drink nitroglycerine against my
will and now I'm completely in his power.
HOPE: Well, what am I supposed to do?
REYNOLDS (to audience): I ask for Superiorman and I get
Truman Capote.
HOPE: Doctor, release Miss Inane immediately!
PAT: I've got her now and you'll never get your hands on her!
HOPE: Big deal. I wasn't doing very well even before you came along.

It's interesting to note that even as the strongest man in the world, Hope is careful to stay within his well-defined character as the ready, willing and able----but never allowed to----lover. In every road picture, it was Bing, you'll recall, who got the girl.

HOPE: Okay. I know when I'm licked. Let her go and I'll
do anything you want.
PAT: Anything? Could you get them to re-release April Love
on that planet of yours?
HOPE: Are you kidding? Up there, nostalgia is a felony.

An incurable plugger himself, Hope was always willing to allow guests the opportunity to recall a past triumph----as long, that is, as the line in which it appeared got a laugh. With Lois as his hostage, the doctor orders Hope to step into his newly-perfected cloning machine:

HOPE: I'm not wearing my drip-dry suit so be sure to put me
on a lukewarm rinse cycle.

The comedy factory loved to write lines for Hope that made the multimillionaire appear to be familiar with the mundane tasks of life. In reality, he probably hadn't laid eyes on a Maytag in fifty years and wouldn't have known a rinse cycle from fluff dry, but the audience always seemed to pick up on the irony of these references. Hope once asked writer Gig Henry what Formica, a word that began appearing in submitted jokes, was. Gig said, "Fake wood, Bob, but don't worry----you'll never own any of it." I once gave Hope a joke that went: "I can't wait for the Shah of Iran to become my neighbor in Palm Springs. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to while we're both taking out the garbage." But back to our story. With much fanfare, Pat secures the giant lock on the door of the cloning machine and furiously presses a series of buttons which flash as the machine shakes violently. Finally, the flashing subsides, Pat opens the door and out steps Sammy Davis, Jr., dressed in the same costume as Hope's. Hope steps out and stands beside him:

PAT: It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Little Richard!
HOPE: Unbelievable! It's me right down to the last detail!
SAMMY: What's shakin', Bro? Slip me a high five, Jack!
HOPE: And he even talks like me.
REYNOLDS: Wait! How can we be sure which is the real Superiorman and which is the copy?
PAT: You're right. I can't tell which is my arch enemy and
which is my arch support.
SAMMY: You mean you can't tell which one is the cloner
and which is the clonee?

Sammy made this line literally sing with a delivery that fell somewhere between the Kingfish and his "Here come d' judge" on "Laugh In."

HOPE: I'm the real Superiorman and I can prove it.
SAMMY: Oh, yeah? Can you do this?
(He performs a soft-shoe, tapping madly)
HOPE: He must have been in the rhythm section while I was
in line for x-ray vision.
(He tries to duplicate Sammy's dance and fails)
SAMMY: You call that dancing?
HOPE: If you spent years leaping from tall buildings, you'd
have flat feet, too.

All during rehearsal, Hope would ruin this gag by dancing too well. It was like asking Doc Severensen to blow sour notes. It took concentrated effort for a former vaudeville hoofer to fake clumsiness. Next, Hope challenges Sammy to an x-ray vision contest by identifying the contents of Pat's locked wall safe:

SAMMY (squints): I see. . . five Twinkies. . . seven tubes of
white shoe polish. . . and --
(Pat throws himself against the wall)
PAT: No! No!
SAMMY: -- a copy of Playboy Magazine!
DEBBIE: I don't believe it! You degenerate!
REYNOLDS: Criminal!
SAMMY: Lecher!
HOPE: Sickie!

Exposed as the personification of evil that he's become, the deranged doctor now must reap the evil of his own diabolical invention. He's forced into the machine by Hope and Sammy as Lois and nurse Debbie work the controls. Cloning complete, the door is opened and Pat has been replaced by a six-foot tall bottle of milk. Both "Son of Shogun" and "Superiorman" are typical of the Hope sketches that the Comedy Factory had been churning out for over five decades. While they may have lacked the sophistication of those featured on "Your Show of Shows" or the early "Saturday Night Live,"they contained the element of silliness that Hope's comedy style required----a style that served him well throughout his career.

Chapter 16 - The Curtain Falls

As the 1980's drew to a close, Hope had gradually begun to show his age. It came as a shock to those who had worked with him, many of whom had come to believe that he would defy the normal ravages of time forever. In what seemed a remarkably short period, he went from someone who had perennially appeared to be twenty years younger to a certified octogenarian. More distressing still, there were increasing signs that the mental acuity that had allowed him to maintain almost total control of his life and his career for so long had begun to fail him. On the telephone, he'd often become confused; he'd repeat himself or he'd interrupt the conversation to ask, "What did I call you about?" But most alarming of all, he began having trouble remembering the stage act that he had been performing for over fifty years. Strutting across the footlights in the midst of a joke or a song, his mind would suddenly short-circuit and the screen of his mind would go blank. Trying to conceal his confusion from the audience, he'd wander over to Geoff Clarkson, his longtime pianist and music arranger and whisper, "Where am I? Have I done the joke about the two Aggies in the bar yet?" No youngster himself, Geoff had been accompanying Hope on the road for years and was programmed to listen only for his specific cue lines. Otherwise, while Hope delivered jokes the pianist and composer ("Home") had heard countless times, Geoff would be thinking about other things. Now he realized that he'd have to start paying attention. Unfortunately, even with Geoff helping him stay on track, Hope began delivering abbreviated performances, sometimes leaving his prepared material entirely to take questions from the audience. But this ploy didn't work very well either, since he couldn't hear the questions and often guessed at what was being asked. His answers would sound non-sensical as though coming from an unbalanced mind. Before long, promoters who had paid Hope's standard performance fee of $50,000 to $80,000 began demanding refunds. Some threatened legal action. So it was that before the decade of the nineties had barely begun, Hope's days of performing live on stage came to a sad, totally involuntary end.

Throughout his career, Hope had enjoyed remarkably good health. In 1963, he received laser treatments for corneal blood clots which threatened the sight in his left eye. Following the treatments, he compensated for his weak eye by relying on the good one. Now, almost thirty years later, his overworked right eye became cloudy, giving him the sensation, as he described it, "... of being in a smoky room." Over the years, as the right eye gradually became weaker, Barney McNulty printed the cue cards in larger and larger type until the lettering was almost a foot tall. An average joke could require four cards and they had to be stacked on a heavy-duty, specially-designed easel. Ultimately, though, Hope had difficulty making out the cards no matter how large the letters. With his sight and his hearing failing simultaneously, he often appeared disoriented and confused. His television monologues became a technological nightmare to get on tape as he stumbled over lines, slurred his words or came to a dead stop mid-sentence when the cards drifted out of focus and he couldn't rely on his memory to finish a line. The very act of starring in and personally overseeing every facet of his specials which for so long had been such a pleasure, became a chore, not only for Hope but for those around him who were watching an American icon display the inevitable signs of aging. Staffers who had been with him for decades began to feel, as I often did, like corner men administering to a once-great boxing champ who had taken on several bouts too many. It came as no surprise that, as his worsening health problems prevented him from supervising the details of production, the overall quality of the specials began to decline. In 1990, we were taping a sketch in which he was cast as the Sheriff of Nottingham opposite Tom Arnold's Robin Hood and Roseanne's Maid Marion. The stage was darkened for Hope's entrance when suddenly, within hearing range of the audience, he yelled to Linda Hope who was standing nearby, "Linda! Linda!" As she slid over to him behind the scenery, he whispered, "Why am I carrying this bow?" Linda reminded him of the archery contest he'd rehearsed that afternoon. "What archery contest?" he asked meekly.

He sometimes appeared helpless. During the taping of a 1992 spring special in Columbus, Ohio guest Barbara Bush offered to read him his lines when he couldn't see the cue cards after she realized that unless she helped him, taping her five minute segment would take hours. Later, when he appeared as a guest on Bob Costas's late-night talk show, he couldn't hear Bob's questions even though giant speakers had been placed beside his chair. The resulting interview had to be scrapped. Hope's final, fully-staffed regular season special entitled "Bob Hope's America----Red, White and Beautiful" aired on May 17, 1992 and, based on the physical discomforts that he was obviously experiencing, the assumption of those close to him was that it would be his last. The following season, NBC honored him with a three hour special entitled "Bob Hope, The First Ninety Years" that was hosted by Johnny Carson. Hope played a passive role on the show, mostly applauding the acts that had come to pay homage to him----George Burns, Milton Berle, Angela Lansbury, Whoopi Goldberg, Chevy Chase and Walter Cronkite among them. Again, everyone connected with it assumed that the special would be Hope's farewell to a remarkable career on television. Sad to say, it would not. Ironically, his fifty-year reign as NBC's longest running radio and television star which for so long had been such a blessing ultimately became a curse. The network, fearing adverse public reaction were they to do otherwise, allowed him to continue appearing on the screen. Rick Ludwin, a vice president at NBC who had been the network's liaison to the show for years----appearing on several of our specials as himself----admitted to me privately that no one in the executive suite dared suggest pulling the plug on someone who had been one of their giants----least of all entertainment chief Warren Littlefield who wasn't even born when Hope signed his first contract with the peacock network.

During 1993 and 1994, NBC aired several specials produced by Linda Hope which were primarily compilations of clips from past shows. No longer able to walk without assistance, Hope could only be shown sitting down or on the arm of a guest, most of whom had to prompt him for his lines. With Hope now completely unable to oversee any phase of production, the shows appeared haphazard and uneven. Many of those on whom he had relied to carry out his orders were no longer around. His longtime manager/producer Elliott Kozak had been gone since 1991. His trusted production coordinator, Sil Carranchini had died. Likewise lighting director Lon Stucky and casting supervisor Onnie Morrow. His musical director, Bob Alberti, had retired and wardrobe man Warden Neil had moved on. Between the shoddy production values and Hope's steadily declining health, many of the old-timers who'd been with him in his prime found the specials particularly difficult to watch. The audience at home must have shared their discomfort, too, as one special managed to finish 77th in the Neilsen ratings and another had to be shelved as unairable. Referring to one of the shows, David Letterman told an interviewer for Rolling Stone Magazine, ". . . it was tough to watch. If it had been a funeral you would've preferred the coffin be closed." Indeed, the twilight of Hope's TV career was beginning to border on the macabre. Meanwhile, Public relations man Ward Grant worked overtime denying rumors that his boss was at death's door, while NBC cheerily announced that there would be no 1995 Christmas special "in order to allow Mr. Hope to concentrate his efforts on upcoming specials."

On July 30, 1996, the tabloid magazine Star ran a photo of a frail and shockingly aged Hope on its cover with the headline: "Bob Hope Tragedy. He's Gone Blind, Deaf and Needs Your Prayers." In the cover story by Deidre Hall and Beverly Williston, Hope is described during a visit to Milton Berle's eighty-eighth birthday party as "a virtually helpless invalid [who] has to be led around by the hand." Within days, NBC dispatched former sitcom actor Tony Danza to deny the grim picture that the article had painted. Danza also announced that he would co-host with Hope an election year special that would air in the fall. A new producer was named to replace Linda Hope. Two weeks later, the Globe followed up the Star's revelations with yet another disturbing cover story on Hope's rapidly deteriorating health. Entitled "Bob Hope's Tragic Last Wish," the article by Diane Albright quoted unnamed friends describing him as "almost ready for the final curtain," "feeling that the end is near" and ". . .knocking himself out to attend tributes and birthday parties of his oldest and dearest friends, telling them this could be the last time they're together." Another long-time pal was quoted as saying, "Everyone close to Bob feels he may be running out of time. They fear he may not see next Christmas." The article, complete with family photos of happier times past, went on to detail "Frail Bob Hope's last wish: to co-star with his gorgeous dream girl, Sharon Stone." Describing his excitement at the prospect, the author quotes him as saying, "I've had every hot screen siren in the last sixty years on stage or overseas with me----everyone but Marilyn Monroe, who tragically died before I could book her----and Sharon Stone. I can't get Marilyn back, but I haven't given up hope of getting Sharon." The author then concludes that "Friends hope Sharon doesn't take too long to make up her mind." The article had the distinct aroma of press agentry wafting about it, since at this point Hope couldn't have distinguished Sharon Stone from Oliver Stone.

Billed as Hope's farewell to NBC after a sixty year association, the network took out full page ads in the Hollywood trade papers and the Los Angeles Times to trumpet "Laughing With The Presidents" which aired on November 23, 1996. The Washington Post's television critic Tom Shales wrote of the hour long show: "It has to rank as one of the strangest TV specials in years. The star of it barely moves, barely speaks, and seems at best semi-conscious. . . The special is more than mortifying and the fact that Bill and Hillary Clinton, George and Barbara Bush and Gerald and Betty Ford were dragged into it seems unfortunate. . . Of course, despite America's fixation with youth, living to a ripe old age is anything but a disgrace. But the comedian's abilities as a performer have dimmed now almost to the point of invisibility. The few lines he does have on the special are recited mechanically. Hope is mortal and therefor cannot spring eternal. . . For some time Hope's specials have been tributes to Hope mounted by Hope's own production company. . . When the inevitable strains of 'Thanks For the Memory' sneak in near the end of the show, one can't help thinking that, perhaps, after all these years, Hope has now been thanked enough."

At long last, Hope would be off of television for good, his final appearance placing a feeble 44th in the Neilsen ratings. To most who knew him well and revered his talent, the final scenes in his truly remarkable life turned out to be as unsettling as any that Stephen King could have conjured up. The honors continued to pour in. The Navy christened their largest ship the USNS Bob Hope; the Air Force christened one of their new C-17 bombers "The Spirit of Bob Hope"; and in October, 1997, President Clinton signed a bill naming Bob Hope an honorary veteran, the nation's first. Ironically, he may have had a premonition that crippling old age would not present him in his finest hour. Back in 1981, he had flown to Washington to present a Lifetime Achievement Medal to five star General Omar Bradley who was then eighty-eight and in frail health. The presentation at the Kennedy Center received extensive coverage by the news departments of all three networks and after Hope returned from the capital, I told him how stirring the presentation had appeared on television. "Maybe," he replied, "but they didn't warn me that he'd be in a wheelchair paralyzed and completely helpless. He looked pathetic." The old warrior, totally incapacitated by a stroke, could barely manage a smile as Hope pinned the medal on his dress blue uniform. Even so, I assured him, it had been a touching and heartwarming presentation. "Yeah," he said, "I just hope that never happens to me."

Unfortunately, his worst fears came to pass in ways he couldn't possibly have imagined. Hope's unprecedented tenure as the elder member of TV's royal family may have ended in pathos, but nothing could detract from the real joy of his truly remarkable career captured in the lyrics of a song he sang at the conclusion of a 1978 tribute to vaudeville's Palace Theater. Sitting on a stool backstage, he dedicated the song, written by Sol Weinstein, to the memory of the performer he credited with inspiring him to enter show business, Charlie Chaplin. As the credits began to roll behind him, he sang:


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Bob Hope died on July 27, 2003 at the age of 100. The world of entertainment will not soon see his like again.


THE END

(c) Copyright 2006 Robert L.Mills (All Rights Reserved)