kyburg | Alas, poor Bob...I knew him, Jim

A man of infinite jest. Class. Smarts. Reserve. If I ever learned how to handle people with careful hands, it was by watching him.

Yes, I worked with him once.

And that briefcase I opened last night? I bought it for that job - it was new the day I met him. People ask if I ever sense my departed loved ones - normally, the answer is no. I don't feel them.

But I sure as hell know they've been by. They leave stuff for me to find.

I opened that briefcase last night expecting to find Cliff stuff. I thought he was the last one to use it -

I remember even what I was wearing. Likely black loafers (Nurse-mates, I preferred comfort over fashion even then), nylons, a dove-gray skirt, woven light-pink button-down oxford shirt with a red velvet bow tie.

I was sitting in a chair on the set (we were shooting a Silver-Pages commercial) and watched as my betters were making absolute asses of themselves. Vice-Presidents following this very nice, well-groomed little grandfather-person around and around and around, trying to get his attention. Anyone with a brain could tell he just wanted a little peace but wasn't getting it.

I talked to agents and publicists then. I knew them, not their clients. And I was brought up a bit better than to walk up to a total stranger and get in their face. I would wait for a proper introduction, thank you.

I think the guy was my boss' boss' boss. Normally, they all stayed in St. Louis and my boss did all the legwork shooting commercials. Maybe the the art director and the writer came out for a shoot.

This was Bob Hope. EVERYfuckingBODY came out.

And this guy ranked me like no tomorrow. Eliot Kozak was the agent; and he and this muckamuck called Bob over and wanted to talk to him.

"Mr. Kozak?" I was sitting right there at his hip. Bob looked at me. I looked at him.

I tried to get Mr. Kozak's attention. In vain. He was busy impressing the higher up.

I looked at Bob, smiled and shrugged. They're being dorks but I'm not going to be. I like you but I'm going to do what I came here for. Period. That's why I'm here - to work.

I opened that briefcase, and got my stuff out. I'm here to give this to my boss. Not bother you.

When I looked up as they walked away, he looked back and me and smiled. It was a nice smile out of the corner of his eye. Nice job, kid.

The company did one more commercial with him - but the rules changed.

If you didn't have a chair to sit in, you couldn't be on the set. I, being the lowest of the low, didn't get a chair.

No thank you - I didn't want another repeat of being ignored again. I was totally fine with it.

And I left that job less than six months later - escaped was more like it. I would try to work in advertising one more time, then put it aside as something I didn't have to do, right alongside fast food and administrative assistant.

I had my USO research in that briefcase - if ever there was an association to be made, there it was.

It was so time, Mr. Hope. Everyone knew how bad your health had been.

Give everyone my regards and tell them I'll see them later.

And thanks...for the memories.