On the eighty-five Bob Hope TV specials I co-wrote between 1977 and 1992, the occupant of the Oval Office received more monologue exposure than any other single topic, save maybe celebrity scandals or taxes. Scarcely a one was delivered without several references — more commonly four or five — to the chief executive, his family, his trips, his state visitors, and his ongoing hand-to-hand combat with Congress.  How did he get away with it?  Here's a sampling from fifteen years of presidential humor.

When I joined the writing staff, Jimmy Carter had been holding the lease on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue for a little over a year, and while he had managed to defuse hot spots in the Middle East, he was saddled with his very own domestic time-bomb that ticked throughout his term and threatened to go off at any time — most often without notice. Brother Billy was a nightmare for a president, but a dream-come-true for comedy writers:

"The biggest problem at the White House right now is Billy's mouth, and they're really getting desperate. Yesterday, they hired Mr. Whipple to come in and stuff it with Charmin."

Billy owned a small garage and gas station in Plains, Georgia — the Carters' home town — that for a short time doubled as headquarters for his first and only plunge into the distilled spirits business --- Billy Beer:

"How about brother Billy starting his own beer company? He did his brother one better. He figured out a way to spread gas without going into politics."

Christmas in the Carter household unfailingly provided us plenty of colorful and unique Yuletide references:

"Brother Billy will play Santa again this year, and I hope he gets it right this time. Last year, he climbed down the chimney and hid eggs in the White House lawn."

1979 had barely gotten underway when the Russians decided to turn Afghanistan into their own version of Vietnam:

"When the president called Brezhnev on the hot line for an explanation, Brezhnev said, "You'll have to speak louder— I'm in a tank!"

U.S.-Soviet relations were strained even further when Carter decided to boycott the 1980 Olympic games being held in Moscow:

"Boy, that took a lot of guts. Without the Olympic Games, this country will have to face the future without Wheaties."

Back home, domestic problems continued to dog the Carter administration with a burgeoning national debt becoming more unwieldy by the minute:

"Mr. Carter predicts a year of economic misery ahead. I told my wife, Dolores, we'd have to tighten our belts and she said, "Good, tomorrow I'll go down to Gucci and buy one."

As it turned out, Carter's biggest problem was the threat of unemployment — his. The November election loomed large on the political horizon, and for awhile he hid out, conserving his political strength, but ultimately he had to mix it up with the Gipper:

"Hey, did you watch the debate between Carter and Reagan or, as it was otherwise known, Ultrabrite versus Brylcreme?"

But the election's outcome was never in doubt. The voters were ready for "Morning in America:"

"Talk about Santa arriving early. Ronald Reagan woke up one morning and found the whole country stuffed in his stocking."

But the Reagans barely had time to unpack when the former 20-mule team cowpoke caught John Hinckley's real-life bullet. As soon as it was certain that he was out of danger, we demonstrated that it's possible to put a fun spin on a deadly serious topic:

"Can you believe all the jokes Reagan's been cracking since the shooting? The latest theory is that the bullet passed through Henny Youngman."

While Jimmy Carter had recognized Red China, Nancy Reagan knew chipped, out-of-style china when she saw it:

"Nancy paid a thousand dollars a setting for new dinnerware. She had to. It hadn't been replaced since Ike, and it was getting embarrassing serving state dinners in mess kits."

Maybe it fell somewhat short of Milan, but fashion was back in the capital:

"Nancy has expensive tastes, but I think it was her parents' fault. When she was a baby, they'd tickle her on the chin and say "Gucci, Gucci, Gucci."

A spring visit to the colonies by Britain's Queen Elizabeth provided the Reagans their first opportunity to show off a film couple's version of Hollywood-style pomp and circumstance:

"Queen Elizabeth stopped by the Reagans' ranch during her visit, and there was some confusion about bowing, which I thought was ridiculous. I know Nancy, and she doesn't care if the Queen bows or not."

Reagan's age wasn't the issue it would become sixteen years later for Bob Dole, and later yet for John McCain. But Reagan did turn seventy-two while in office:

"The president has finally been outfitted with a hearing aid. I was relieved. When I first saw it, I thought he was bugged."

With his new hearing aid, Reagan had a volume control he could use to turn down the din coming from Fritz Mondale, Gary Hart and Jesse Jackson as he prepared to face his bid for reelection in 1984:

"Reagan says if he's not reelected, he'll return to acting. Boy, if that's not a surefire way to get votes, what is?"

Fritz Mondale and running-mate Geraldine Ferraro spent most of the campaign looking for the beef; and on Election Day, the votes seemed to be missing, too. With no help from the William Morris Agency, Reagan's option was picked up for another four years of foreign policy headaches and Pennsylvania Avenue Christmases:

"The Reagans have a beautiful Christmas display on the White House lawn designed by Justice Sandra Day O'Conner. It's their first Nativity scene with three wise women."

By this time, Ronnie had developed a close relationship with conservative British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher that would last well after both were turned out to pasture.

"They have a lot in common. They're both conservatives, she still refers to the U.S. as ‘"The Colonies," and he still remembers when they were."

The Reagans were about to spend their first Christmas with a cover-up scandal that pointed due north—-directly toward Ollie:

"Ronnie and Nancy looked out the window this morning and thought they spotted the three Wise Men, but it just turned out to be another Iran-Contra investigating committee."

The scandal deepened daily, accompanied by repeated denials, and after a long campaign reportedly engineered by the first lady, White House Chief-of-Staff Donald Regan was given the presidential heave-ho:

"This Easter, the kids found all the eggs in about five minutes because the White House gardener had cut the grass too short. But that's understandable. Don Regan has only had the job for a few weeks."

Meanwhile, in the Soviet Union, Mikhail Gorbachev was emerging as a new style Communist-Bloc leader — handsome, well-dressed and possessed of a Kremlin first — a wife who could hold her own in Vogue Magazine. Naturally, the Reagans were captivated by the Iron Curtain's mirror image of themselves, and before long, Ronnie and Gorby were exchanging nuke intel between toasts:

"Gorby asked Reagan how Star Wars was coming along, and Reagan said 'I think the Joan Collins divorce is almost final'."

All across the nation, the problem of drug abuse was beginning to exact a heavy toll, and Nancy latched onto the issue as the customary "first-lady good cause." She dubbed her campaign "Just Say No," and Ronnie was one of the first volunteers to be tested:

"I won't say where the president left his sample, but he had to finish up the jelly beans first."

Reagan found himself with an empty seat on the Supreme Court, but was having as much trouble filling it as George Bush would four years later when he'd try to convince Congress that Clarence Thomas was a Thurgood Marshall clone. Reagan's first failed nominee was Robert Bork, a Draconian federal judge whose conservative legal arguments made Torquemada look like Clarence Darrow. His next attempt fared no better. David Ginsberg came up "tilt!" after Senate investigators discovered that in college, he'd sampled some happy weed and had inhaled. All of this prompted Hope to open his 1987 Christmas show with this couplet:

"Reagan hopes his Christmas wish will come true any minute; he wants his empty Supreme Court seat to have a fanny in it."

Soon thereafter, Santa delivered Anthony Kennedy, a judge whose squeaky-clean credentials made Tiny Tim look like the Son of Sam:

"Reagan has nominated Anthony Kennedy to the Supreme Court. Did you ever think you'd hear Reagan saying nice things about a Kennedy?"

But Reagan's eight-year run of top billing at the Oval Office was drawing to a close, and his hand-picked successor, George H. W. Bush, was anxious to take over for the star. The only obstacle standing between Bush and the Oval Office was a diminutive former Massachusetts governor of Greek descent with a penchant for piloting tanks:

"So far, Bush is having problems figuring out Dukakis's campaign strategy. He said, 'It's all Greek to me'."

Along with Dukakis, Bush was also fighting a wimpy image he had acquired as Reagan's gofer-in-waiting. A more macho spin on his Eastern seaboard privileged youth as the son of Ambassador Prescott Bush was needed:

"Bush is trying to sound more like one of the guys. He just hired a New York cab driver as a diction coach."

Bush's choice of a running-mate didn't help much, either. Dan Quayle, an obscure senator from Indiana whose privileged background matched Bush's, had the look of a Boy Scout still collecting merit badges:

"He's only forty-one. I have golf balls older than that... I don't know where he's been, but last month, more people spotted Elvis."

We would miss the Reagans who seldom let us down when it came to producing joke fodder, but we would get to take one parting shot:

"Following Bush's inaugural ball, the Reagans headed for California. At least that's what it said on the side of their U-Haul trailer."

From day one, Bush proved to be a whirlwind of activity. When not flying to meet with foreign leaders (he'd later regurgitate on the Japanese prime minister), he could be found working up a sweat playing horseshoes, getting in a round of speed golf (18 holes in an hour and a half ) or terrorizing the staid Kennebunkporters in his ocean-going speedboat:

"Did you see that picture of Bush in the paper piloting his speedboat? I didn't know Barbara could row that fast."

Having witnessed Reagan's two Supreme Court misfires, George was determined that his first nominee would be so bland and colorless, people would think he wasn't there. Judge David Souter, a lifelong bachelor who lived with his mother and read a lot, fit the requirements to tee:

"David Souter was so proud to be nominated, he told reporters he felt five feet tall... Of course, the FBI has been investigating his past life, and so far, they haven't turned up any evidence that he had one."

Souter was confirmed without objection, but the following year, Bush would nominate a federal judge with a somewhat less than stellar legal record — rated "unqualified" by the American Bar Association — Clarence Thomas. Sen. Arlen Spector would later admit that he'd been duped into approving Thomas, which he termed "the biggest mistake" of his political career. As of this printing, Clarence has yet to speak from the bench during oral arguments.

Despite his court nomination woes, things looked rosy for Bush. For a while, it seemed as if "Operation Desert Storm" would mean "Operation Second Term:"

"Every time one of Saddam Hussein's Scuds went up in flames, George Bush went up in the polls."

But somewhere between the Middle East sand dunes and the voting booth, Americans became distracted by an ex-governor of Arkansas who didn't know "Stormin' Norman" from a Florida hurricane, and the Bushes would spend their final Christmas surrounded by thirty grandchildren:

"At the White House Christmas party, there's never been so much pushing, shoving and screaming to meet Santa. Barbara Bush finally had to step in and tell Dan Quayle he'd have to wait in line like everyone else."

Hope would refer to the Clintons on several of his farewell specials, but he was older, mellower, and his Oval Office barbs had dulled --- and the jokes had lost their bite.

Hope's presidential jousting had begun with F.D.R. ("The only thing we have to fear... is your act.") and continued throughout the administrations of Harry Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, Jack Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush and Clinton. That's a remarkable achievement by any standard. Since the founding of the republic, no humorist had mined so much laughter from the foibles of her leaders over such an extensive chunk of her history. It's a record that Hope could rest assured would never be broken.





Excerpted from THE LAUGH MAKERS: A Behind-the-Scenes Tribute to Bob Hope's Incredible Gag Writers (c) 2009 by Robert L. Mills and published by Bear Manor Media.

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