Bob Newhart -- A brilliant critic of chaos in ordinary life

A salute to my favorite comic, with a confession that I forgot to ask him two key questions

In the midst of the craziness in our world right now (Yes, that was Dionysus served on a platter at the postmodern Olympics Lord’s Supper) I have not had a chance to comment on the death of my favorite comedian — Bob Newhart.

Yes, my birthday is in the middle of the Baby Boom curve, but that means that I am not old enough to own a worn copy of the stand-up comedy classic “The Button Down Mind Of Bob Newhart.” Forget comedy specials on pay-cable channels, this historic offering from Newhart was the first comedy LP to go #1 on the Billboard Top 200 list.

The mild-mannered, stammering funny many (with pitch-perfect timing) was many things to members of the various generations that loved his work. Yes, he won an 2013 Emmy for his “Big Bang Theory” work as Professor Proton, but that only put a spotlight on the real question: How in the world did he go so many years without getting one of those for his classic sit-coms? I was in college during his first sit-com series (1972-78) and I remember admiring its dry, gentle wit.

I never imagined that I would get to meet Bob Newhart, but that happened during the years when major Hollywood Studios were opening up their press-events to “religion writers” of various kinds — seeking to sell more tickets in middle America.

During an “Elf” meet and greet (near the top of the Empire State Building) I was able to have a short discussion with him of my favorite moment from “The Bob Newhart Show.” It was the “Mister Emily Hartley” episode in which Emily took an IQ test and discovered that her score was considerably higher than that of husband.

Thus, a chagrinned Bob ended up attending a banquet for certified genuses, as an outsider on the arm of his wife. A series of brilliant weirdos introduced themselves including a man who liked to demonstrate his brain power by pronouncing people’s names backwards — so that Emily Hartley became “Ylime Yeltrah.”

Of course, Bob’s name, backwards, was simply “Bob.” The genius said, “I can’t do anything with that” and walked off.

This classic sit-com moment was all about the state-of-the-art pause while members of the live audience had to think and then realize the obvious punch line that Newhart was about to deliver.

I asked Newhart if the episode was written to set up that one gag. Newhart said that the IQ idea came first, but that the “Bob” line showed up when they did a bit of research into, well, things awkward genuses might do to show off. It was a fantastic one-word gag.

I wish, now, that I had thought to ask him about the many ways that his six-decade marriage to Ginnie Newhart influenced his work and the wry, but loving banter between his characters and his on-screen wives. I mean, it was Ginnie Newhart who thought up the classic dream-sequence ending for the finale of the “Newhart” series (and that wasn’t the only blurring of the lines between those two hit sit-coms).

During his meetings with “God room” reporters during those events, Newhart also discussed why he kept this comedy clean, decade after decade. Once again, I regret not asking if this had anything to do with this Catholic faith.

To get a bigger picture on Newhart’s role in popular-culture history, let me recommend this essay — “A Comedian of Order” — by critic Titus Techera at the online journal Law & Liberty. The key: Newhart was “a beloved American figure — not merely an entertainer, but an embodiment of an important part of American character.” He was, for millions of viewers, “our last connection with mid-century America.” Here is a key thesis statement:

His early balding and somewhat melancholy eyes marked him for comedy — that is, for suffering. Bob suffered the absurdities of modern life and made the middle-class man into a dignified figure, not despite but because he was put upon. Playing his own straight man, he invented stories that would show us our own conceited ways.

Thus, Newhart constantly noted the crazy things in life — while simultaneously praising the calm, normal, loving, wholesome moments that make life worth living. Here is Techera again:

Bob received the Mark Twain Award at the Kennedy Center in 2002. He compared it to a near-death experience, his whole life flashing before his eyes. … The ordinary man likes ordinary life because it is what the name says — orderly — and because the alternative is chaos.

American freedom and its dangers are his themes. He saw what’s interesting about life the way one looks at a car crash, and he therefore saw the need for a middle-class nation to defend itself by defending its moderate character. Bob did all this in the ’60s and later, which should have earned him a reputation for a reactionary curmudgeon — it’s a testimony to his talent and skill, as well as to American love of clever entertainment, that he instead become so beloved.

There is much to enjoy, and ponder, in this fine essay. However, I will jump to the finale. You may want to read this passage more than once:

I think the great affection for and the lasting fame of Bob Newhart owes to the fact that he was something modern Americans especially need, an avuncular figure who is not in the grip of foolish passion.

Perhaps people are looking at some level for guidance, not just reassurance. It’s perhaps the best way to remember Bob — a rare mix of wit, the artistic mischief-making required for good storytelling, and a mild temper. Something for everyone to like, and therefore something to bring everyone together.

All together now: The. Alternative. Is. Chaos.

Parents! Grandparents even! May I suggest buying or renting a box of episodes of “The Bob Newhart Show” (check your local library, too). Explore them a bit and then watch two or three marriage-centered episodes with your children or grandchildren.

Why? Ask them if they spot any differences in Newhart’s husbands and wives and those of contemporary comedy.

Yes, by all means you will want to discuss why he elected for his fictional couples not to have children (while Bob and Ginnie Newhart had four kids). As he explained many times, he did that to avoid the television formula requiring waves of cheap jokes that ask the audience to laugh at bumbling fathers. Think about it.