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■ A fellow who has made us all his stooges becomes a much more human being seen through Bing's eyes — a husband who is deeply in love and a demon golfer who will stop at nothing to win
■ Mr. and Mrs. Bob Hope like to attend fights. Bing says Mrs. Hope's the beauty of the family and we agree with him. but Bob —
THERE should be a law against this Hope fellow. He's dangerous. He's a menace. No one's safe from his glib tongue. And try as you will to match wits with him, he always gets the best of everybody and everything.
Take his recent personal appearance tour.
The world was in a turmoil. Across the seas armies marched, bombs wiped out cities, nations fell. Over here war tension mounted, the government launched gigantic preparations for national defense. In Hollywood, options dropped like plummets and studio executives lay awake nights trying to solve the problem of the diminishing foreign market.
Yet all this time Bob and his troupe played to capacity crowds. Box office records crashed in Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit and half a dozen other cities.
And look what Hope has done to me. He's out-talked me in pictures, on the stage, and on the radio; even when he's made guest appearances at my race track at Del Mar. He even stole my trombone player from me. One day Jerry Colonna was in
my band, and the next thing I knew he loomed up on Hope's program.
Now, they rate me a pretty good golfer in these parts. I've been two times champion of Lakeside, and not ashamed of it. Bob is a fair player. But even at golf he can outtalk and out-handicap me into losing to him! Remember that charity match we played with Ruby Keeler and Paulette Goddard? Well, Ruby is one of the best golfers in the state of California. Paulette, on the other hand, has plenty on the ball in looks and talent but prior to that match, she had had only six golfing lessons. Hope, naturally, took the arrangements in hand, and Paulette and I found ourselves teamed against him and Ruby. Guess who won!
I call Bob "Honey Boy," the name dating back to the old-time minstrel shows. The idea came to me the first time he played a minstrel man, in black face, at a clambake of our Westwood Marching and Chowder Club. These are a bunch of talented boys and girls from pictures and radio — about a hundred of them — who get (Continued on page 72)
JANUARY. 1941
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