He Could’ve Read the Last Writes

How could Bob Hope, the comic master, blow this one? What was he thinking when he told people he wasn’t dead?

If I’ve told Bob once, I’ve told him a thousand times: “Quit being so darn serious all the time. Lighten up.”

Last Friday, Hope got the kind of chance that doesn’t come along too often. And what did he do? He played it straight.

An Arizona congressman announced to the country from the floor of the U.S. Congress that Hope had died.

When contacted soon after, Hope denied it. Given the credibility he had built up over the years, that pretty much settled the issue.

In that unguarded moment of honesty, however, ol’ Bob lost an opportunity most of us would die for. Who among us wouldn’t want to attend our own funeral? Visit our own grave site?

In Hope’s case, it would have been 100 times better than that. He could have watched a special on his life on “Nightline.” Tributes would have poured in from around the world. He could have seen his name on the front page of every major newspaper in the country, if not the world. He could have been sipping an iced tea while watching TV and hearing of his place in the pantheon of 20th century personalities. His movies would have been rerun for at least 48 hours.

And best of all, Hope could have read his own obituary in the newspaper.

Be honest. Are you telling me you wouldn’t want to read your own obit? We all would, but the way the game is played, no one gets to.

Technology, however, almost let Hope slip in the side door.

It’s no big secret that major newspapers and wire services have a repository of obituaries for famous people. Just in case. Depending on how famous you are, the stories are written in exhaustive detail, leaving gaps only for the last-minute particulars, such as time and place and cause of death. Throw in a few quotes from friends and, boom, the story is ready to go.

Hope’s pre-written obit mistakenly made its way onto a Web site. Someone saw it and passed it on to the congressman who announced it to the world, via C-SPAN. On the spot, other congressmen went to the microphone and extolled Hope. One lauded him for bringing “so much joy and happiness to this planet.” He went on to praise Hope as “a great American and a great world figure.”

And that was just the first few minutes!

It seems to me that Hope could have, let’s say, laid low for the next few days. Would any of us have begrudged him, after all he’s done for humanity?

You think Frank Sinatra wouldn’t have enjoyed the coverage of his death last month? Sure, he was on the cover of lots of magazines over the years, but it’s one thing to read stories about yourself when you’re alive. They have a whole different slant when you’re dead. Suddenly, instead of a tabloid subject, you’re part of history. And as Sinatra would have discovered, people tend to be much nicer to you when you’re dead. To have yourself validated as one of the premier cultural figures of the century, as Sinatra was, would be a nice going-away present.

What about Peter Finch, the actor who won an Oscar in 1977 for “Network”? It’s just too bad he received the honor posthumously because he died a couple months before the Academy Awards presentation. He probably thought he did a good job in “Network,” but he died not knowing just how good.

And John Lennon? He never got the satisfaction of seeing his last recordings reach the Top 10 before he was killed in 1980.

Hope almost pulled off the ultimate con, outsmarting the Grim Reaper. Had he stayed dead, he would have been overwhelmed by the tributes. It’s an inescapable truth that post-mortems are enjoyed only by the living. The person actually being honored always has the worst seat in the house.

I’ll bet Bob Hope belatedly realizes that. Is it too late for Hope to fire his publicist for confirming that his client was still alive? If he had to do it all over again, I wonder if he’d be so quick to debunk reports of his demise. At 95, and with a lifetime of achievement behind him, Hope deserved a peek at his place in history.

It must be grand to realize, once and for all, that you’re going down in history. It must be euphoric to know before you actually die that the world will never forget you.

If anyone finds Elvis, please ask him how it feels.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com