Me too.
It’s amazing to think that Bob Newhart has been my most important role model since 1960. That’s when his enduringly funny comedy album The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart made its debut. A high school junior, I memorized the routines, and when I attended Jewish youth conclaves, I nervously took the stage on talent night and performed them word-for-word. People laughed. I grew confident. And the girls — the girls — really paid attention. Comedy, I realized, was good.
It never occurred to me that I could ever become a professional comedian. I pursued a logical spiritual and vocational goal, became a rabbi, served large congregations and then, on a whim, entered Philadelphia’s “Jewish Comic of the Year Contest” in 1986, coming in third behind a chiropractor and a lawyer. It launched my surprising second career that I adore.
In nearly every interview people ask about my comedy journey, and nearly always inquire about my comedian inspirations. I look like Steve Martin, and Jackie Mason was a rabbi, but, I always explain, it was Bob Newhart whom I admired more than all the others — and not just cause we’re both named Bob.
Newhart, who started out as an accountant, was by all reports a mensch. He led an admirable personal life: a 60-year marriage as a loving husband and devoted father and grandfather. No drama. No scandals. A quiet, unassuming man despite the tempting glamour that characterized his Hollywood world.
And his comedy was unique, particularly his monologues with a telephone. Low-key yet amazingly clever. Never angry, never hurtful, never insulting (this despite his best friend being Don Rickles). Newhart’s work, including his namesake sitcoms, was just guffaw-inducing humor that is as brilliant today as it was in the 1960s. In fact, when I saw him perform years ago, he did some new material, but it was his sharing routines from his decades-old albums, which I knew by heart, that had me laughing the most.
Perhaps surprisingly, of all the many comedians I’ve watched throughout the years, it was Bob Newhart, a practicing Roman Catholic, who served as my personal model. Newhart’s stage presence was low-key, gentle, and his slight stammer made him seem even somewhat vulnerable. I suspect it was his grounding in his faith that inspired his always-respectful and yes, sweet, style of comedy.
About 10 years ago I performed at The Chautauqua Institution and learned that Newhart would be appearing the following week. I shared my admiration with my contact there, and two weeks later a signed headshot appeared in my mailbox. It’s a precious possession, exemplifying his kindness and comedic brilliance in just four clever words. He wrote, “To Rabbi Bob Newhart.” How’s that for economy?
“May his memory be a blessing,” we say. Whenever I hear the words, “The Grace L. Ferguson Airline and Storm Door Company” from one of Newhart’s routines, I chuckle.
And it’s at that moment that Bob Newhart’s memory is unquestionably a blessing.
This story was originally published on the Forward.
This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.