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For fighting men, this grimmest of wars is in one small way also the gayest. Never before have the folks who entertain the boys been so numerous or so notable; never have they worked so hard, traveled so far, risked so much. In the Middle East last week were Jack Benny, Larry Adler with his harmonica, Al Jolson with a harmonium; Ray Bolger was in the South Pacific, Judith Anderson in Hawaii. A while back Martha Raye went to the foxholes of Tunisia; and in New Guinea a show went on within earshot of the Japs. From the ranks of show business have sprung heroes and even martyrs,* but so far only one legend.
That legend is Bob Hope. It sprang up swiftly, telepathically, among U.S. servicemen in Britain this summer, traveling faster than even whirlwind Hope himself, then flew ahead of him to North Africa and Sicily, growing larger as it went. Like most legends, it represents measurable qualities in a kind of mystical blend. Hope was funny, treating hordes of soldiers to roars of laughter. He was friendly—ate with servicemen, drank with them, read their doggerel, listened to their songs. He was indefatigable, running himself ragged with five, six, seven shows a day. He was figurative—the straight link with home, the radio voice that for years had filled the living room and that in foreign parts called up its image. Hence boys whom Hope might entertain for an hour awaited him for weeks. And when he came, anonymous guys who had had no other recognition felt personally remembered.
Head & Heart. This tearing trip—about 250 camp and hospital shows in eleven weeks—was no floodlighted 100-yd. dash, but just a fast lap in a very long race. In 1941 Hope got an Oscar "for humanity," for a record-breaking 562 benefits in two years. Probably the first entertainer to work with the armed forces, Hope has also been the most frequent. Using trains, cars, trucks, tanks, jeeps, Hope has played in virtually every U.S. camp, last fall hopped off with his USO team (Singer Frances Langford, Guitarist Tony Romano, Comic Jerry Colonna) to tour Alaska. When, at the last moment, it looked as if the tour would fall through, Hope wired Lieut. General Simon B. Buckner: WE SING, DANCE, TELL STORIES; HAVE TUXEDOS; WILL TRAVEL; CAN WE PLAY YOUR CIRCUIT? They played it straight through to tiny posts in the Aleutians where men almost never get leave.
But the British circuit was tougher, with Hope & Company (Comic Jack Pepper substituting for Jerry Colonna) "resting" from camp shows by bobbing up in hospitals, dropping in on ack-ack crews, sloshing across rainswept heaths to entertain soldiers on maneuvers. Hope's gags got around so fast he had to keep changing them, and he and Scriptwriter Hal Block ground out new ones in bumpy transit, or in hotel rooms long past midnight.
There were gags of all nations. Hope joshed the British: "Churchill certainly travels; he's been in Casablanca more than Humphrey Bogart." He ragged the Scots: "That blackout's wonderful; you should see the Scotchmen running around developing film." The real show, however, was for the Yanks, and he knew what they wanted: "Were the soldiers at the last camp happy to see me! They actually got down on their knees. What a spectacle! What a tribute! What a crap game!"