Four-year-old Leslie Townes Hope emigrated from England to Cleveland, changed his name to Bob when schoolboys made fun of his name, became a boxer, a vaudeville and Broadway star, a radio legend, a film success (especially with Bing Crosby), a TV tradition, a friend of presidents and paupers, a beacon of hope and a reminder of home for GIs from World War II to the Persian Gulf. It was no coincidence that he lived to be 100. Laughter is the fountain of youth. Pneumonia ended Bob Hope’s life on Sunday. His is a story of how an immigrant defined, as much if not more than anyone else, the popular culture of America for decades. It was always a little jarring to recollect that he wasn’t born here. But he was born with something that developed into a remarkably smooth self-confidence that never strayed into hucksterism. The self-effacing “ski nose,” Mr. Hope once said of his career as a pugilist, “I was on more canvases than Picasso.” The joke was the thing. It was delivered with style and grace and impeccable timing. It was easy for Hope to make fun of Hope. Wasn’t he the funniest guy around? There is so much to say that it is rather pointless to try to cover it all. The press obituaries are long, but still incomplete. So pick your favorite thing about him and celebrate a life. And if you care to, thank Bob Hope for the memory.

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