It was the only dinner party I've ever attended where dessert was served in the shape of the host's face. It was a bowl of fresh raspberries topped with a thick slice of chocolate carved into the familiar signature profile of Bob Hope. Was I having dinner with the world's biggest egotist or was my host merely a national landmark?
That dinner party at Bob Hope's house in 1988 was the first thing I thought of when I heard about his death Sunday at the age of 100. The English born comedian, whose family came to the U.S. when he was 4, began his career as a vaudeville entertainer and played leading roles on Broadway in the 1930s before making his first movie, a W.C. Fields film, in 1938. It was in that movie that he introduced the song, "Thanks for the Memory," which became his theme song.
Hope made 53 movies during his career and had an unprecedented 60-year relationship with NBC, which aired his television specials. Those specials brought Hope and me together (five times briefly) when I was a TV columnist for a daily newspaper and later a syndicated columnist. Our first three "meetings" were phone interviews set up by his publicist, who was promoting Hope's TV specials.
After the first two phone interviews, I swore off Bob Hope forever. It's not that he wasn't a very nice man who was pleasant to talk with -- it was just that he was so boring. Prior to my first interview with Hope, I thought he would be funny, a laugh a minute, and that I would come away with lots of great quotes for my column. None of the above. So when the next opportunity to interview him came a year or so later, I was going to decline, but my mother convinced me that Hope was just having a bad day that first time and this time it would be different. It wasn't.
Maybe it was because I believed in the idea that you had to strike out three times before you were out, but for whatever reason, I gave Bob Hope another chance to be an interesting interview subject.
The third phone interview began without promise, but then I asked him about his very first USO show, which was at a California military camp in 1941. With that question, Bob Hope came to life. His voice became animated with excitement as he vividly described the details of that first show -- the rough jeep ride out to the airfield, his fear that his humor wouldn't be appreciated by the airmen and the overwhelmingly positive reception his jokes received. At last, I had encountered the Bob Hope of legend, the funny man who contributed more to U.S. military morale than any other person on earth. I guess it just took a trip back in time to that show that began his 50-year campaign to cheer up U.S. troops far from home during the holidays.
Hope's first overseas Christmas tour was in 1948 when he entertained GIs involved in the Berlin airlift. His most memorable shows were those for American troops during the Vietnam War, which I watched as a child and teenager and marveled that a famous person like Bob Hope would give up his own family Christmas and dodge gunfire to bring laughter into the lives of American service people.
Hope's last military show was Christmas 1990 when the 86-year-old comedian entertained the troops of Operation Desert Storm. The last time I saw Bob Hope was several years later when he came to the Television Critics Association Awards Ceremony to accept our lifetime achievement award.
But the most memorable time I spent with Mr. Hope was that 1988 dinner party at which he entertained TV critics from around the U.S. at his California home. We arrived to a spectacular set-up -- in the back-yard between the house and Hope's private golf course were white tables and chairs with striking black and white linens and decorations. Hope circulated among the crowd in a white suit, white shirt and tie and a red rose in his lapel. He was charming and jovial and during dinner, we were entertained by a song sung by Hope and his wife of 54 years, Dolores, who was a nightclub singer when they met.
The whole dinner was excellent, but the highlight of the meal was the dessert featuring individual Hope profiles carved in chocolate. My first thought was that such a dessert was just a tad egocentric, but I later softened. When you're the most beloved comedian in the world, one of America's great philanthropists and your ski-slope profile is the most recognizable in America, why not carve it in chocolate?
Thanks for the memory, Mr. Hope. I'm just sorry the chocolate melted in my scrapbook.
