Sunday, May 30, 1943

Dear Diary,

Mother and Dad went to the farm last night, and they said I could have dinner at the Athletic Club today. After I ate, I revisited Bob’s old stamping grounds in 708. Of course it wasn’t nearly as much fun, not hearing Bob on the other side of that heavy door.

Monday, May 24, 1943

Dear Diary,

The Dallas Athletic Club monthly magazine came out today. There was a nice article about Bob in it. The title is “Our One and Only Bob Hope.” The first sentences were, “He came! We saw! and he completely conquered the hearts and alienated the affections of the entire personnel of the DAC…” On being asked how he liked Dallas and the Club (purely original questions) he replied: “I think Dallas is great; the Club is wonderful, and The Little Mothers’ Club should be on the road.” (Again with The Little Mothers’ Club.)

The last paragraph was a well-deserved tribute: “Besides being an outstanding person, Bob Hope is doing an outstanding job for his country – we could do with a lot more like him, but that, we fear, can never be, as he is out one and only HOPE! God took Will Rogers, but being forever an understanding and a generous God, he gave us, in his place, Bob Hope. “

Sunday, May 23, 1943

Dear Diary,

In the paper this morning there was an article that said Pat O’Brien stayed in the Little Mothers’ Club of the Dallas Athletic Club. When Bob was here (they had the same suite), he told me not to tell anyone he was staying at the Little Mothers’ Club. Now all I want to know is what is the Little Mothers’ Club, and why is it called that?

Wednesday, April 21, 1943

Dear Diary,

It took me four years, but today it finally happened! Bob played golf at the Dallas Country Club today for the benefit of the Red Cross. There was a cute show before the match started, and at that show three autographed golf balls were auctioned off at five thousand dollars each, and a song by the Ink Spots got 35 thousand. There were several other celebrities there, including Jerry Colonna and Ben Hogan. Then they started the game, which covered 18 holes and lasted about 2½ hours. Bob, as usual, pulled a gag every time he opened his mouth, which was constantly. Most of them were insulting his golf game, such as, “I have four caddies – one to carry the clubs and three to carry me. My golf bag is a little heavy. It holds 12 clubs and a stomach pump. Every time I miss a shot I take poison.” He did so darn many cute things, especially on the platform before the game, that I’d like to record it all, but I must get down to what happened to me. After the game was over, Bob really went after the money. He auctioned a song by Jerry Colonna, a trombone solo by same, four bars of “Thanks For the Memory,” (that’s all he knew), a song by his guitarist, Tony Romano, Ben Hogan’s sweater, and anything else he could get his hands on. He was selling his autograph for anywhere from $18.75 to $500. I managed to push my way up to the platform, and with a little help I got up on it. I walked up to Mr. Jester, who had sponsored the show, and told him I’d buy a $10,000 bond for Bob’s autograph. (Daddy had given me the check from the company.) He took the check to Bob, who was at the microphone, and said, “Muriel Windham has $10,000 for your autograph.” Bob said, “Ten thousand dollars! Well come right up here, Muriel.” He then repeated my name and the amount into the microphone and signed the envelope the check had been in. I didn’t see this, but Mother told me later that when I first went up, Bob acted as if he were going to kiss me, then looked down as if to say, “No, I’d better not do that.” Then he raised his hand up to my face, again as if he were going to kiss me, and again he dropped his hand. He then leaned over and said to me under his breath, “I’m staying at the Dallas Athletic Club.” After introducing Jerry Colonna’s trombone solo, Bob walked over to me and actually kissed me on the forehead! That’s what took four years but finally happened, and it was worth waiting for. Several times after that he walked over and said one or two words to me and a great many times he stood right beside me and signed autographs. Things began to get a little slow about that time, so Bob started auctioning his sweater, hat, tie, and socks. Earl Jones was on that platform, and punched Bob and said, “How about giving your shirt to this girl who bought the $10,000 bond?” Bob smiled and said, “She’s been up here, hasn’t she?” Earl said, “Yeah, but for $10,000 she ought to get more than an autograph.” Bob replied, “Shirt, heck, I’ll give her my suit!” Naturally he didn’t come through since he was already calling himself Gypsy Rose Hope. He had to put on a spare jacket to keep from catching pneumonia. He finally broke things up by announcing that he had to attend two cocktail parties, where he hoped to sell a great many more bonds. And I’ll bet he does it too. As he was going off the platform he stopped in front of me, gave me a melting look in that famous way of his, patted me on the cheek, and said, “Good-by, you.” Then and there I was determined to go home and cut my toenails, because when my toes curled up, I stabbed myself.

Now I know that five is my lucky number, since this was the fifth, and definitely the best, time I’ve seen Bob. I thought I was doing good in 1942 to see Bob twice in three months, but now I’ve seen him twice in the last three days, and I like it much better that way! It seems that every time I see him he gets cuter and I like him better, if that could be. It also seems that every time I see him it gets a little more personal (very little.) The first time, I just watched him on the stage. The second time, I watched him play golf, and got pretty close to him several times. The third time, I saw him on the stage again, but it was a longer show, and afterwards I got those pieces of a letter that Bob threw away. The fourth time, day before yesterday, I went into his bedroom, got his autograph, and talked to him later. I guess I needn’t go into what happened today.

Incidentally, I still don’t know how the score came out. However, I imagine Bob and his partner won, since Bob played pretty good golf, and since his partner was Ben Hogan.

Monday, April 19, 1943

Dear Diary,

I found out where Bob was staying down town today and went up to his room. His secretary invited us (two other girls) to come in. Bob was sitting with his chair tilted against the wall, and he was humming “I Came Here to Talk for Joe.” He gave us his autograph, and talked to us simultaneously. We were asked not to tell anyone where he was staying, and Bob added, “No, don’t tell anyone I’m staying at the Little Mothers’ Club.” (How we found out about it can be seen about six pages further on.)^[1] We promised not to tell, thanked him sweetly, and walked out. When the other girls picked me up off my knees, they left, but I hung around. Every once in a while I could hear him make a funny crack or sing something like, “Got a touch of irium on my teeth. ” When the whole gang left for Fair Park, B.J. Allen saw me and recognized me and said, “Hello there. What are you doing here, as if I didn’t know?” I said, “Just hanging around making a nuisance of myself.” She said, “Oh, no!” convincingly.

When Bob came out and got in the elevator, I stood right beside him. (It was very crowded.) I showed him the three pictures I had drawn of him. He looked at the first one I ever drew of him and said, “You know I could sue you for libel?” He laughed and showed them to Barney Dean. Barney said, “Sue her? You should pay her money!”
___

1. Here’s how I found where Bob was: We went to both hotels, and no Bob, so we tried the Athletic Club. I saw a bunch of men get in an elevator, and one of them yelled, “Come on, Barney.” I recognized Barney Dean then. I followed them to the seventh floor, but lost sight of them there. I stood near a likely looking door and waited ’till General Donovan of the 8th Service Command went in. That almost cinched it. By that time the girls had followed me up. A porter came to one of the doors of the suite carrying a suit with Bob’s name on it, so that’s when we knocked on the door.

Wednesday, August 19, 1942

Dear Diary,

I saw in the Movie – Radio Guide today that Barbara Stanwyck, Mary Pickford, Eddie Cantor, Jack Benny, and Bob Hope have taken up the cause of the “Nobody’s Children” show. Each is sponsoring the program for a number of weeks, in the hopes that by that time the show will have a permanent backer. I imagine one reason why Barbara Stanwyck is doing it is because she was an orphan too. I imagine the others are doing it just because they’re that kind of people. And thank God for that kind of people!

Mother and Daddy and I had dinner at the Athletic Club tonight.