Kup's Chicago - Irv Kupcinet [38]
I’ve been watching Bob perform for years. So much has been written about him that it’s difficult to talk about him without repeating what has been said. But I’ll pass on a few personal observations. Bob is one of the most relaxed persons in show business – the Perry Como of the comics. I’ve seen him doze off, no matter how great the pressures, at the drop of a quip (his own). I’ve seen him asleep in planes, tents, igloos, golf locker rooms, and Japanese bathhouses. And then I’ve watched him bounce up to do a month’s quota of shows in a single day – and top it off by visiting all the night spots on Tokyo’s Ginza before beginning a new round of appearances the next morning. He is always in excellent physical condition, thanks to golf and an intelligent schedule of planned exertions, including bending exercises twice a day. He never overeats. And he insists on being thoroughly prepared for whatever he is to do. Although he can ad-lib with the best, he appears only after committing a long list of gags to memory. His collection of jokes – reportedly more than three million gags, neatly filed in cabinets – is probably the largest of any comedian’s.
Year in, year out, when a charity needs help, Ol’ Ski Nose is among the quickest to respond. Tirelessly he plays benefits for hospitals, for the Red Cross, for medical research, for fellow entertainers in need, for underprivileged kids – you name it. No matter that he must pay his staff to help produce a lively routine for each appearance; Bob cheerfully foots the bills. His is one of the biggest hearts in Hollywood. His theme song, “Thanks for the Memory,” well expresses the sentiments of anyone who has known him.
Finally, I must stop at a comer of the entertainment beat that will always be special for Chicagoans: Radio-TV. There is something about radio – bigtime radio, as it was in the days before TV – that evokes an irresistible nostalgia. Since Chicago was radio’s real home, we feel that nostalgia especially sharply here. The great network radio shows are gone now, and so is much of network TV to which Chicago contributed an incomparable, original, creative spirit. Yet we’re still the home of five TV channels, some thirty AM outlets, and nearly two dozen FM stations. And the Chicago broadcasting beat is still packed with famous performers.
One of the most remarkable is the ol’ Breakfast Clubber, Don McNeill. “You have no future in radio,” he was once told at a station in Milwaukee. Now The Breakfast Club, nearing its thirtieth anniversary, is the longest-running show in broadcasting. It even got McNeill “nominated” for President – a 1948 gag. A smiling, personable performer, McNeill has come through the most turbulent period in our entertainment history, merely by being himself. As is proved by the hundreds of letters that flow into his Madison Street office every week, he is not only liked by his audience – he is loved.
So much good old-fashioned corn is featured on the show that one of McNeill’s most important attributes is frequently overlooked: He is an astute judge of talent. A partial roll call of those he “discovered” and helped to success includes Fibber McGee and Molly (Jim and Marian Jordan), Sam (“Fiction and Fact”) Cowling, Fran Allison, Alice (“Champagne Lady”) Lon, Homer and Jethro, Johnny Desmond, and even Jack Paar, a onetime vacation replacement.
A stay-at-homer (he and wife Kay live in suburban Winnetka), Don is the father of three sons, Tom, Don, Jr., and Bob. One of the tribulations of fame to which they all had to adjust was evident when the boys were playing basketball at New Trier High School. Each time one of the young McNeills appeared on the court, the entire crowd would break into the chant, “Good morning, Breakfast Clubbers.” Several years ago McNeill built a summer place on a forty-five-acre estate near Barrington, Illinois, “Himself’s Hideaway,” complete with a lake stocked with fish. But typical