Bob Hope: 1903-2003
by Claire Zulkey

Bob Hope has died. Hope is best known for crafting such timeless, hysterical, gems as:

"Here's how long I've been on NBC: When I began, TV Guide had only one page."

"I'm tired. I've been digging a bomb shelter under my cellar but I can't quit now. The tunnel almost reaches Hedy Lamarr's house."

"I have it on good authority that [Senator Joseph] McCarthy is going to disclose the names of 2 million communists. He has just got his hands on the Moscow telephone directory."

OK, so maybe you don't find Bob Hope's jokes funny. But much like rock fans must pay homage to the Beach Boys for their musical influence, those serious about comedy should recognize Hope for making comedy what it is today.

In terms of comedy, Hope cemented a style that's familiar six nights a week, from Conan to Jay to Dave to "Saturday Night Live." "The word is 'monologue,'" George Burns told the Chicago Tribune in 1993. The self-conscious, desperate, egotistical solo routine, the almost doomed mission to get the audience to laugh at your jokes and at the same time prep them for further hilarity, was honed by Hope, who also cemented the role of comedy writers. When was the last time you heard of today's late night kings writing all their own material?

Hope also passed along the tradition of the comic as a straight-man-cum-asshole. In NBC's tribute to Hope on his 100th birthday, Conan O'Brien claimed that the "cowardly, backtracking, fast-talking, slick character" Hope perfected on radio and in his early movies is probably the most imitated persona in comedy. And persistently so, as well, as that snide style has appeared everywhere, from Chevy Chase to Dennis Miller and Craig Kilborn. If the audience doesn't like one joke, you've got 20 more to pepper them with. If they still don't like it, make fun of yourself or claim that you're smarter than your audience.

But as easy as it is to canonize a deceased war horse like Hope, it's important to remember his more important legacy: making comedy an American institution. Hope helped create the church of comedy. Whenever you see a memorial to a fallen comic, when NBC cranks out another retrospective on 50 years of hilarity, or when you read another article on how "The Daily Show" affects political polls, look to Hope. With his legendary trips to entertain American troops at home and abroad, from World War II to Desert Storm, he showed that comedians are not merely entertainers. They have an informal appointment to make people laugh on the heels of tragic times, when laughter is most needed, a role exemplified after Sept. 11 by the careful yet heralded return of "Saturday Night Live" and The Onion.

On long car trips during my youth, my parents borrowed old-time (maybe it should be old-tyme, by now?) radio programs from the library. We spent the hours listening primarily to Jack Benny. Frequently, Hope would come on the program, and his sly, snide, nasal, machine-gun jokes often played foil to Benny's more self-deprecating style. Sure, Benny was the first to tell us that he was cheap or a crummy violin player, but Hope would remind him of it.

I enjoyed Hope's routines, but at this moment, I cannot recall a single joke that made me laugh out loud. And young people should not be forced to appreciate a genre they don't identify with or find particularly amusing. But they should appreciate Hope's mark on American comedy scene, and think of him the next time they laugh — or, more importantly, need a laugh.

E-mail Claire Zulkey at clairezulkey@hotmail.com.