Bye Bob: Saying Farewell to Comedy Legend Bob Newhart

Bob Newhart was the recording industry’s first comedy superstar. Newhart, who passed away today at the age of 94, took home the Grammy for Record of the Year in 1961, beating out lightweights like Frank Sinatra and Harry Belafonte. He also took home 1961’s Comedy Album of the Year for his second album, recorded hastily after his first, The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart, occupied the #1 spot on the Billboard charts for 17 of 18 weeks that summer and fall.

My parents owned both of those albums, and I wore them out as I studied their uproarious rhythms. Because Newhart’s comic persona was so mild-mannered and unassuming, it’s easy to forget what an out-of-the-box maverick he was in his heyday. Newhart didn’t spew stale one-liners like Catskills comics of a previous generation—instead, he created elaborate, one-sided conversations (often with a pantomimed phone in hand) with dead Presidents, craven advertising executives, and terrible student drivers. What he didn’t say was as funny or funnier than what he did — our own button-down minds were active participants in the comedy.

My Cracked colleague Brian Van Hooker names Newhart as his all-time favorite comedian. “Those one-sided phone calls taught me more about comedic timing than anything else ever could,” he said. “For those only vaguely familiar with his stand-up, I recommend “Abe Lincoln vs Madison Avenue” as his best bit and for those already familiar and looking for a deep cut, give George & Leo another shot (it’s on YouTube).”

Newhart made an indelible mark in sitcom history, first with six sparkling seasons of The Bob Newhart Show (and its hilarious “Hi, Bob!” drinking game) then 8 seasons of Newhart (with the greatest series finale in television history). Less successful but still funny was Bob, continuing to find ways to shorthand his show titles even further. 

Along with best pal Don Rickles (what an unlikely pair!), Newhart continued to perform stand-up well into his later years. “Performing stand-up comedy is a narcotic that I need — even if I only do it a few times a year,” he said. “All the traveling and taking my shoes off in airports is inconvenient, but to me it’s worth it because I can make people laugh.”

For a new generation of comedy fans, of course, he will forever be Papa Elf, the man who really deserved Will Ferrell’s love in 2003’s Elf. 

In his memoir, I Shouldn’t Be Doing This: And Other Things That Strike Me As Funny, Newhart mused about endings—for television comedies and other things. “The real end, of course, is death,” he wrote. “I’ve been there, too, and not just figuratively onstage. It happened on ER when I played a character named Ben Hollander for three episodes in 2003. It was my first intentionally dramatic role on television.”

“Comedy can help us make it past something very painful, like death. Laughter gives us distance. It allows us to step back from an event over which we have no control, deal with it, and then move on with our lives. That’s what comedians do,” Newhart wrote. “They help people get past pain.”

We’ll miss you, Bob. It’s nice to know you’re always a one-sided phone conversation away.