PROLOGUE 

Time had no longer stopped. Life began to seep in as the molecules of Dr. Sam Beckett began to reassemble into a Nobel Prize winning physicist. Sam found himself hunched over slightly being pounded on his back. Looking up he saw a khaki U.S. Army uniform standing among several soldiers and male and female civilians. All eyes were looking directly at him while laughing heartily.

“So how did the President take it?  You really put one over on him, didn’t you?” asked this fellow with wild eyes and almost as wild a mustache wearing patchless Army khakis standing next to Sam.

“The President? Of the United States?” gulped Sam as he stood up straight nervously watching the eyes that were listening intently. Laughter filled the small cabin they were in.

“You know? The guy that lent us this plane?” Mr. Mustache said as the soldiers and civilians laughed at him.

Sam looked around the plane finally feeling the vibration of the engines. He must have leaped into the middle of an impromptu performance. Scratching his head he gave a typical early leaping reply. “He took it well, I hope,” exclaimed Sam shrugging with barely a crack of a smile.

Mr. Mustache’s eyes bugged out as he twirled his mustache. “Ah, ho! Me Tarzan, YOU Jane. No, me Colonna. You, Hope!”

“Um, right? Uh! Ah-ah-ah-ah!” Sam said beating his chest in a very weak imitation of Johnny Weissmuller. . “No, me, Tarzan. And I gotta to swing outta here.”

Mr. Mustache cocked one eye to the ceiling and then looked to the small audience. “Into something funnier, I hope. No. That’s you,” he said poking Sam followed by breaking into song that concluded with several bars of off-pitch yodeling.

Sam just waved weakly to more applause as he headed toward the back of the plane. He received several more backslaps and handshakes from civilians and soldiers as Sam looked down both sides of the aisle. Judging from the makeup and liberal use of hairspray Sam figured he was in the Nineteen Sixties. Near the back of the plane Sam found his usual hideaway, which contained the throne with the flip-up seat.

“Just a minute, honey,” a sweet high-pitched voice called out to him after he knocked frantically.

Out stepped a blonde with her hair piled high on her head, deep green eyes, an Elizabeth Taylor makeover and enough curves to burn out Al’s eye sockets.

“Oh, hi boss. Just dabbing on a fresh coat,” she said winking at him.  “All yours, sugar.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile as she floated down the aisle. Entering his office Sam slammed the door behind him trying to remember if he had ever suffered from stage fright. Through the tiny round window nothing but trees flew by dotted by low white fluffy clouds. Nothing indicated what country or continent that was passing underneath him.  In the cramped little room Sam turned around and splashed water on his face from the tiny metal sink. Drying off his face he saw in the mirror a round faced middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap marked Bangkok 346^th Tactical Bombing Wing. The look of puzzlement was pure leaping Sam Beckett, but the face, chin and ski nose looked more than familiar.

Looking at the hat he realized where he was. “OK, I’m back in Viet Nam. No mistaking that, but this isn’t exactly a military mission here. Maybe it’s an airlift of mixed Americans. Maybe we’re a group of American nationals escaping the Viet Cong,” Sam said to himself cocking up one eyebrow.

He looked over his khaki military jacket and found ten stars on each shoulder and elsewhere two-dozen military patches sewn onto the front and back. On his lapel was a black-stenciled name patch that was very difficult to read backwards.

“A name. Thank God. B. O. B. H. O. P. E. Bob Hope. Bob Hope? Bob Hope?” He kept repeating the name as he ran it through his Swiss cheese memory. Many things often sounded familiar to him, but he had long lost what the memories were connection to. Finally Sam made the necessary neurological connection. “HOPE! BOB HOPE? HIM? NO! I’M SUPPOSED TO BE A COMEDIAN! Oh, Boy!”

PART ONE

A story I heard years ago was about some obscure vaudevillian that was breathing his last when a former colleague approached and asked if he was having a difficult time. “Oh no,” he replied, “Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.”  And so the old story goes. One never knows the tasks I have to accomplish after I leap into another life. Some are easy and some are hard. Easy leap; get a family through a crisis. Hard leap; doing something that scares the hell out of me. Of all the Beckets in my family, my brother Tom was the cut-up or story spinner. Katy could tell a long involved story, mess up the punch line and still get a good laugh. Little Samuel Becket was the serious student who even had trouble with knock-knock jokes. And now I had leaped into a situation that I didn’t find funny at all.

Over South Viet Nam

December 24, 1964

Leaning over the sink Sam looked up at the unhappy face in the mirror. One side of his mouth was turned down and the other one side was totally noncommittal resulting in a lopsided smile. All Sam could think about was how he could be as funny as one of America’s best-loved comedians. Trying to see if his delivery had improved he mumbled to himself, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“Because he was too scared to confront his fears after all he was chicken,” said a voice that appeared from nowhere until Al’s head stuck through the wall. “Now take my wife!  Please! Henny Youngman. Now cut that out! Jack Benny. I’m a ba-ad boy! Lou Costello. I’m a wild and crazy guy! Steve Martin. So Gracie, how’s your brother? George Burns. I never forget a face, but in your case, I’ll make an exception. Groucho Marx. Or was that Karl Marx?” he asked wildly waving his cigar, raising his eyebrows and checking his portable Ziggy link.

“Al! What’s going on here?” Sam asked quietly.

“Groucho. Definitely, Groucho,” said a confident Al as he stepped into the head dressed in a full military uniform. “See Sam. It’s not so hard to spout off a funny zinger. That is when it’s already been written.”

Knock, knock. “Hey, you OK Bob?” asked a concerned muffled voice.

Sam swung around swallowing hard. “Sure, be out in a couple!” shouted back Sam.

Al shook his head. “That’s all the funnier you can be? Bob Hope always had a wisecrack ready even without his writers at his side. Why back in 1960 he stopped at the Naval School at Patuxent River for Christmas and I’ll never forget..”

“Al! Forget about the reminiscing! We have other problems here to solve,” Sam exclaimed for the millionth time.

“Huh?” shot back Al looking over his cigar. “All right. Sorry. It’s just too exciting seeing him here or rather in the Waiting Room. You see this guy was America, home and hearth to all us military types overseas. Just like the Liberty Bell, apple pie or the miniskirt. That is until today. The time is Christmas 1964 and later today in Saigon a bomb goes off across the street from the Caravelle Hotel killing him, seventeen other USO performers and a dozen military and civilian by-standers. Ziggy gives you a 89% probability that you’re here to save the whole USO crew,” said Al squinting into his multi-colored handlink.

“Good, at least I don’t have to perform,” said Sam letting out a long sigh of relief.

Al looked at his handlink and frowned. “And he was scheduled to give a show tonight and possibly visit the Army hospital in Saigon. Sorry, Sam. It looks like ‘Its Showtime!”

Sam’s back slumped as he looked at Al in the bathroom mirror. “Any idea what I’m supposed to do in this portable Christmas album?”

Another voice interrupted Sam and Al’s conversation. ”Hey, Bobby baby? Everything OK?  Looking for Amelia Earhart in there? Ha-ha! Writing your memoirs? Ha-ha-ha!” laughed someone heartily banging on the door. “Come on out, boss!”

“Looks like we’re being evicted. Time to go take a nap, Sam my boy,” said Al pointing toward the back of the plane.

Sam reached for the handle, opened the bathroom door and found a baggy faced comic looking him straight in the face. “Say, Bobby baby? Hiding from the enemy?” he asked trying to get a rise out of Bob.

Sam put up his hand. “Don’t ask! I’m bushed. George that is,” quipped Sam trying to be his funniest.

“Huh?” asked the older comedian shaking his head and looking strangely at Sam.

“Too early, Sam,” exclaimed Al slapping his face. “Down the end on the left,” he said as he motioned toward the back of the plane. “Class is in session for absented-minded time-leaping scientists.”

Sam slowly walked toward to the far corner in the back of the plane taking a seat away from the other passengers. Looking right and then left he sat down, pulled down his baseball cap, crossed his arms and crawled into the corner looking like he had missed the last red-eye at LAX Airport.

“Now we can talk,” said Sam barely above a whisper trying to not look at Al.

“Fine with me, big guy,” Al said as he pushed a few buttons on his handlink and descended sitting next to Sam. “All those office visits to the men’s room are enough to send me straight to Verbena’s couch. I have these dreams of me as this dirty old man shuffling from rest room to rest room looking for the perfect stall. But enough of my psychological hang-ups. What does your mind remember about Bob Hope and his talents and performance abilities?”

Sam thought for a moment peering through his hazy store of memories. Biting his upper lip he replied, “Bits and pieces. My father used to love to watch him. Never missed one of his television specials or his movies. I guess the jokes he told at the beginning of his television show were the funniest,” remembered Sam trying to not look at Al.

Al eyes lit up. “Bingo! Not bad at all for the Swiss cheese champion of the leaping set. That was his trademark and what you need to rely on here among out boys in green. And blue and white. The term you forgot was monologue. He could.. Let’s see,” wondered Al looking over his colorful little friend. “He could deliver up to eight jokes a minute. Let’s hope you just get a few laughs. Don’t worry! These soldiers and sailors want to see anything from home. Even you, Sam. Why I remember seeing Bob Hope at Patuxent River years ago. He was visiting there with the actresses Jayne Mansfield. A looker and a half. Long blonde hair, hips that never stopped moving, a cute sexy purr and the biggest pair of …”

Sam stopped his simulated sleep and gave Al a look that would shame a sailor on leave.

Al stopped, looked shocked for a moment and quickly recovered. “Eyes. She had the biggest set of eyes I ever saw back in my pre-matrimonial days. And they think I have the dirty mind. Really Sam. All right, back to the comedy of Bob Hope. He had a certain finesse in the telling of topical jokes and snappy comebacks. He’d look comfortable whether the audience liked the joke or not. You have to take in the audience like it’s a long lost uncle and make them feel part of the family.  Just tell jokes like you’re roasting an old friend and everyone in the room already knows all his foibles and faults. Now all you need is his timing or a facsimile of it. When telling his jokes he always had a setup and a payoff. He started with a setup or explanation followed by the funny line. One-liners were never your forte, Sam. I’m the funny one of our duo,” Al gaffed taking a long slow puff. “Anyway. Let’s see, try something like ‘Ziggy really has a terrific memory. Why the zoo depends upon her if one of their elephants forgets something.’ See?” Al threw up his hands looking for applause that never came.

Sam looked toward the ceiling of the plane wishing that he was in some other leap somewhere else. Anywhere!

“All right so that wasn’t so good. Do you know any other funny holograms that can help you out?  Let’s try something he really did say. He’s a good one. ‘I have a wonderful make-up crew. They're the same people restoring the Statue of Liberty’. Or ‘I do benefits for all religions. I'd hate to blow the hereafter on a technicality.’ See. Setup. Payoff. Setup. Payoff.” Al explained talking very quickly with his hands and cigar. “Now it’s your turn to turn a phrase or rather my stomach.”

Sam thought for a minute, took a deep breath and said, “Where I grew up our town was so small that our plumber also cleaned out the root canals.” Sam cocked up on eyebrow looking for some approval from Al.

Al never broke is frozen grin. “Um. That was more Johnny Carson and his one-liners. Maybe, you should try with a little more lilt in your voice. Remember. Setup. Payoff.”

Looking discouraged Sam tried again. “Um. How about those crazy time-leaping leapers? Two of them approached me and one said he was my grandfather while the other guy thought that onetime he had been my mother.”

Al shook his head. “Ah, yea. This is not going to work. Look Sam you need major comedic input here. I’ll act as your chief writer with the help of Ziggy’s vast databank of quips and funny sayings. Just repeat everything I say. As long as its entertainment these guys will appreciate it. They’d even laugh if you were to stick a banana in your ear.”

“Bob Hope did that?” asked Sam with a blank expression across his face.

Al looked up from his handlink. ”No, no, no. That would have been in Burlesque. Hope was straight vaudeville all the way. Hey, who is that cutie?”

One lonely little script girl dressed in a tan jumpsuit ran down the aisle carrying a stack of scripts. She stopped next to Sam breathing heavily.

“Hey, take it easy there,” said Sam smiling and taking the scripts from her. Sam offered her a seat that she gladly took displacing Al from his holographic position. Al walked through the seat and stood directly behind Sam and the young lady.

She finished with several deep breaths and finally calmed down. “Sorry, Mr. Hope. I’m just a little nervous. We’ll be landing soon and I just didn’t make enough duplicates of the changes for tonight’s show. I’m just one shy,” she said batting her beautiful violet-colored eyes.

“One shy little bun warmer. She can heat up in my oven anytime,” remarked Al taking a puff from his cigar while looking over his latest data update from Ziggy.

Sam smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you can Xerox an extra copy or two when we get to the airport,” said Sam quite confidently while restacking her multicolored scripts into a tall neat pile.

A look of confusion crossed her cute baby-doll face. ”Do what?” she asked scratching her head. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about Mr. Hope.”

Al looked up from his handlink with a sour face. “Sam. You’re a bit ahead of the time curve here. Again. She just finished typing the whole script and didn’t put in enough sheets of carbon paper in her typewriter. You know, that stuff that leaves all those ugly black streaks on your copies. The black carbon gets on everything? You never stood waiting around the Xerox machine because your secretary made all your copies back here at PQL. She never even heard of that!”

“Oh yeah. Xerox. That’s that new machine where they photograph the paper in a jiffy,” she said as her eyes opened wide as if shouting ‘Eureka!’  “I don’t think we’ll find any of those machines here in South Vietnam, Mr. Hope.”

“And maybe she’s smarter than I gave her credit for,” mumbled Al as he went back to his cigar.

Sam nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right. Don’t worry about the extra script. Someone will just have to double up. It’s not a problem. I mean, don’t fret over it.  You’re doing a great job. Maybe things will be easier for you someday,” said Sam looking away quite embarrassed.

The girl stood up taking the scripts from Sam. “Yea, sure. Someday. Think nothing of it. And believe I don’t mean to be a problem,” she said walking away absent-mindedly chewing on a pencil.

Al looked at her not liking the expression on her face. “Hm?” Checking on his handlink he moaned and reported back to Sam. “That was Betty Jean Dempsey. She doesn’t forget about your little comment here. When she gets back home she dumps half the money her grandmother left her into Xerox stock and makes a bundle. Later she marries a real estate broker and today they both own half the city of Descartes, Nebraska. SAM! You did it again!” he yelled turning off his handlink with a rather loud F sharp tone.

Sam looked quite uncomfortable trying to wiggle his way back to sleep. “Well, I am here to help people out!” said Sam quietly said to Al.

Al looking directly at Sam who had closed his eyes tight. ”Yea, but can’t you drop just a couple of stock tips with Beth and give us a chance to.. Oh, forget it. It would never occur to a Boy Scout like you. You know, we’re all underpaid Government employees here. Just get some sleep. We’ll be in Saigon in an hour. I need to check on a few things,” he said as he pushed a button on his handlink too hard and the Imaging Chamber door opened and then closed again.

“Why can’t we just have a doorknob on this thing? Bye, Sam,” exclaimed Al as he disappeared through the bright light that momentarily lit up the inside of the Air Force transport and then disappeared as quickly.

PART TWO

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate NM

Pounding noises come from inside the Waiting Room as the real McCoy was tracing the contours of the walls. White as a sheet, Bob Hope called out to anyone who would listen.

“Hey, let me out of here! Come on, guys. Open up! This isn’t funny! Where in hell am I? The North Vietnamese must have captured me. Is that it? Then I’m in enemy territory! They’re going to torture me! They may want me to tell them the combination of the safe at the Friar’s Club. But I’ll hold out. I can take the pain. Pain? What am I saying? No, that’s not it! That can’t be it. I hope. Then where am I? How did I get here? White walls? Maybe this is a hospital. I’m here for observation. Yea, yea. That’s it. I had a nervous breakdown. No windows. No mirrors. Then I must be I’m on TV. Yea, yea. That’s it! Make sure you get my good side. Hello, Mr. And Mrs. America. This is Bob ‘Straight from the Looney Bin’ Hope saying: “Getting good clothing in here is really a racket, I need call my tailor to adjust my straight jacket.” Hello? No applause. Nuts. I’ll have to talk to my agent. Maybe it’s his doing. I’ve been booked into small places before, but this is ridiculous. It’s like Peoria after dark. Irving?  Irving Fein! What have you done to me? What if it’d not him? Then who? Maybe its all Sinatra’s doing. No, he’d have his friends take care of me. Or Benny? No, he’d stick me in his vault on bread and water. Crosby! It’s got to be him! Not only did he always get the girl, but he also locks me up without my makeup mirror! HELP! HELP!” Bob cried pounding on the far side of the Waiting Room wall.

“Whoosh!” A strange noise caused Bob to spin around and see Admiral Calavicci walk in walking in wearing a chartreuse smoking jacket, orange pants and a dashing purple cravat. 

“Yipes! I’m in Edith Head’s hell! Stay back. Stay back! It might be catching!” Bob said backing into the farthest corner.

Al pulled out a cigar, lit it and chuckled; “Now that’s a new one though I have looked like the devil at times.”

“And where do you think you’re heading? The cover of Vogue? You must be one of the other inmates! Or maybe you got lost in ZsaZsa’s closet!” Bob quipped alternately shifting from one foot to another quickly.

Al finished getting a good glow on his cigar. “This is indeed a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Hope. Please don’t be afraid. You aren’t crazy and this is not an alien spaceship. You have accidentally gotten involved in this government project.”

Bob looked around the room once again. “That explains it. Low bidder. The CIA must be working with the IRS. I paid my taxes!” he exclaimed and then Bob looked down at his feet. “Well, most of them!”

“Easy there, Mr. Hope.  We’re not with either of those institutions. This is a secret Government scientific project. You are no longer in your time. It’s not 1964 here. You see, you’re in the future,” replied Al explaining to what seemed like his hundred millionth leaping visitor. 

“Future? Like next week? Get me a phone. I need to call Dolores. No, I need to call my agent. Scratch that. Get me my broker,” Bob exclaimed as his eyes lit up.

Al smiled inwardly looking at the dollar signs in Bob Hope’s eyes. “I’m sorry but you’re here incognito while our operative has replaced you. Everyone there thinks he’s you while you now look like him. Take a look at yourself in the table!” Al said inviting him over to the mirror.

Bob Hope’s eyes lit up as he saw the face of Sam Beckett looking back at him. “Great Scott! I’m ruined. I’ve had a nose job. All the extra hair is nice, but look at that puss. I couldn’t get a laugh if Colonna covered me with blueberry pie,” screamed Bob grabbing both sides of his face.

“That hallucination is only temporary. When you return everything will be back to normal. If not better,” explained Al in a calmer than usual voice though he thought “God willing; everything will be better.”

Bob swung around looking at Al. ”That’s easy for you to say. You look like one of the munchkins from the Wizard of Oz!”

Al stopped for a moment without changing his expression. “Ah, yea. In the meantime, you have some time to pass so I how about a set of my favorite clubs?” said Al who opened the door and motioned to the MP in the hallway. 

“Clubs? Nightclubs? Dancing girls? Maybe there is something to this place after all,” replied Bob as his eyes lit up again. “I can try out some new material. Or would it be old material here? Who cares? Do they still do the Lindy?”

Al looked up with one of his exasperated looks usually reserved for Sam. “No. GOLF clubs. I know you’re quite the amateur connoisseur of the sport. Care to practice your putt?”

A big smile came to Bob’s face as he stepped over to the clubs. “Now you’re talking! Give me a ball. My, that is an interesting putter. Looks like it got caught in the garbage disposal. Ah, yes. The smell of fine aluminum clubs. I remember playing Gable on the back nine at Pebble Beach.” Bob dropped a ball onto the floor and walked to the center of the room. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

PART THREE

Tan Son Nhut Airbase

Saigon, South Viet Nam

December 24, 1964

At the door of the military transport Sam stepped out onto the mobile staircase into the hot tropical air to more applauding and cheering than he had ever received in either life or leap. Waving to the crowd set off another round of cheers from the American military and civilians and the local Vietnamese.  Walking down the steps and into the sea of humanity, Sam was shaking hands and receiving numerous accolades making Sam quite uncomfortable and embarrassed. Al followed him thoroughly enjoying the entire scene, as Sam had to deal with being the famous celebrity.

“Damn, it’s good to be back though I never made it passed the ports-of-call where the Hornet docked. Those crowds were five times this size all waiting for the American sailors to spend the pay we’d saved up while being at sea,” explained Al looking over the crowd. “Yes sir. Nothing like being in the American military overseas.”

Sam was carried along by the masses toward the back of an Army truck whose rear had been hastily decked out in red, white and blue bunting. A captain escorted Sam up a makeshift set of steps as Al floated up behind him.

“Looks like they rolled out the carpet for you, Sam. Give them a good show. I’ll be right behind you to help you out,” said Al looking over some possible jokes and wisecracks.

An older military officer jumped up next to Sam and shook his tired hand. Then the officer turned to the crowd of on-lookers as they became quiet.

“Mr. Hope. It’s a pleasure to meet you. The United States Air Force welcomes you to Saigon. The boys are so glad to see you and your fellow actors who are so generous to give up Christmas time with your families and come and entertain us,” explained a green suited Army officer.

Sam turned to the crowd and smiled. “Well it’s nice to be seen, General!”

Al leaned over to Sam and pointed to his shoulder insignia. “Colonel. Two birds, Sam.”

Sam tried to get into character putting on an impish grin with Al helping him out. “Well, guys! The relief troops are here. You can tell both sides to go home now. No more fighting today. Come here, girls. Men, we’d thought we bring you a little piece of home. Sort of a pin-up girl in 3-D. And no staples in the bellybuttons either. Come on ladies! R-r-ow! Great to be here. See you later! God bless you all!” Sam shouted to the GI’s to another round of applause. Sam hopped down from the truck and escorted two of his singers through the cheering soldiers, newsmen and assorted local civilians.

“Now this is what the military needed more of. Soldiers and sailors in short skirts. That happened too late for me. I was married for years by then,” said Al as he followed Sam through the crowd. Sam waved again and again heading to the military caravan that was taking them to the city and to their doom.

Al gazed at the lovely girls that accompanied Sam through the crowd. “Love that Anna Maria Alberghetti. Not only does she have those great long thin noodles she is walking on, but also she is Italian to boot. And one numero uno great looker! Whoa!” exclaimed Al as he surveyed anything that would look good in a skirt.

Sam continued to wave and smile though he was obviously distracted by Al’s feminine comments. With one hand Sam kept waving to the crowd and with the other one Sam kept motioning to Al to keep quiet.

Al continued his one-sided monologue that only Sam could hear. “That chorus girl has a world-class motion machine located in her behind. And get a look at Anita Bryant. Remember she used to push Florida citrus fruit? I’d sure like to squeeze her oranges! Oh, man!” Al cried out obviously quite overheated in the far-off Imaging Chamber.

Very quietly Sam impatiently turned to Al and yelled, “Al, quit it. Stifle yourself!”

Within earshot was Mort Lachman, one of Bob Hope’s long-time writers, who was along for the ride and support of the USO’s number one star. “Hey Bob, what’s that all about? You’re always in a good mood and you never get mad at anyone!”

Sam continued waving as he approached the waiting jeep. “Well. Some guys are always grouchy and get on your nerves. Even the thought of them drive you nuts!” explained Sam as Al reacted to new information on his handlink.

Mort slapped Sam on the back and whispered, “You got nothing to worry about. You have the entire United States’ Army here to protect you Bob. Just remember that!”

“Sure!” replied Sam as he turned and looked at Al.

Al got a very peculiar look on his face. “What the heck? Thanks again, old buddy. You’ve been tweaking history again, Sam. In a few years this guy Lachman teams up with a fellow named Lear and starts a show about a loudmouth cigar-smoking prognosticator named Archie Bunker. And your comment there becomes one of his signature phrases. Sam, just play history. Don’t be history!” complained Al shaking his head.

Sam almost reached the car when a young native gentleman opened the door for him. “Excuse me, honored sir.  I open car door for you, sir!”

“Get away, you crazy gook!” yelled on MP pushing him aside causing him to fall on the ground.

“Hey, it’s all right!” exclaimed Sam as he reached down to help him up. “Never stop a potential ticket buyer and future fan. You all right?” asked Sam.

“Yes, sir. You nice Yan-que!” he replied. “Khan Lum, thank you! Thank you!”

“You’re welcomed!” Sam replied as he got into the jeep and Mr. Lum disappeared in the crowd.

PART FOUR

Two hours later Sam sat in a crowded jeep suffering from the hot and humid weather. Behind him followed several Air Force jeeps, cars and buses containing the merry band of holiday greeters. MP’s surrounded the convoy toting machine guns and watching like they were guarding the gold at Ft. Knox.  Sam sat with the local Air Force Commander General Joseph Moore and his own comrade-in-arms Jerry Colona. Their driver was an Army sergeant from Fort Smith, Arkansas who had a habit of humming Hank Williams’ tunes. Al sat non-chantingly on the hood of the jeep doing what he did best; observing.

“OK, Sam. If this slow Saigonese traffic holds up you will miss the “as-yet-to–happen” catastrophe! My, my. I do like a lady in white!” exclaimed Al looking at a young local girl. “I spent far too much time on the Hornet!”

The driver looked around and said in a Bill Clinton twang. “Looks like it’s breaking up, General.” Their driver dropped the jeep into gear. “We’ll have you thar in no time, Mr. Hope.”

The jeep drove out from under Al leaving him suspended in midair. Several other vehicles drove through Al who no longer flinched at approaching holographic illusions.  “No time to spare. Do something, Sam!” yelled Al as he banged on the side of his handlink not liking the data that Ziggy was supplying him. In another instant he appeared to Sam traveling along with him.

Sam acting quite nervous looked around for some distraction to stall the progress of their caravan of entertainers. Unfortunately the ever-vigilant clock watching military was determined to keep to their schedule. Stopping at the next corner Sam saw a possibility. At an old-fashioned corner café left over from Saigon’s French colonial days, several American Army MP’s were having a beer and sitting around with a couple of fashionably-dressed Vietnamese cuties. Traffic was blocked entering Sam’s street where another truckload of GI’s sat and waited.

“Stop the car. Stop the car!” yelled Sam as he stood up in the jeep. After the driver hit the brakes, Sam fell forward. “Let’s see how this face is recognized is in this far-away place,” Sam mumbled to Al. Sam got out of the jeep ignoring the objections of General Moore.

Stepping into a parked sampan Sam took off his hat and waved to the soldiers. “Hey, fellow Americans! Hey, guys! How’s the chop suey? Anyone from here from the sunny coast of California?” Sam called out.

One young MP looked up. “Why look! It’s Bob Hope!” He pointed at him wildly while the whole restaurant turned to look at Sam. The truckload of Army privates looked on and also gave Sam a rousing cheer.

Squinting in the bright afternoon sun Sam blushed just a bit. “In the flesh. Uh, anybody here from California?” Al looked on with approval to help him out with his impromptu monologue.

“Yes, sir!” called out a well suntanned MP sergeant as everyone in hearing range turned to look at him.

Sam looked over with a sly look on his face as Al whispered to him. “Well I guess you’re used to Christmas without snow. We’ll have Crosby give you a few choruses of White Christmas. That’ll freeze up this place in no time! We’ll get you a blizzard yet. Anyone want a chorus of my song? Silver Bells?” Sam smiled holding out his hands. “Where else are you guys from?”

From the truck came an enthusiastic private who had heavy local twang in his voice called out, “A little piece of heaven. Amarillo, Texas!”

“President Johnson’s home state! All right! Don’t worry about your pay boys. LBJ is sinking another oil well into the north forty,” grinned Sam trying to look a bit dirty minded. “Anyone else?”

“Cleveland, Ohio, sir,” called out a corporeal who had his arm around one of the local girls. 

“My hometown! Great! No wonder Bob Fellar is having a hard time filling the stands. All the Indians fans were drafted. I can see my stock going down now,” Sam said shaking his head knowing that Bob owned a piece of the team. “Listen guys. I’m sure all you fellows signed up for the Army just like me.”

A mixture of grumbling and chuckles came from the soldiers in green. A couple of American nationals joined the audience, as did one reporter from the Chicago area.

”Come on. Let me get it out!” Sam said with a bad little boy expression on his face.  “Seriously folks. I went down to my draft board for my physical. They said I had the body of seventeen year old. Schnauzer that is. I wanted to sign up for the Army and they strongly suggested I join the Air Force. Not as a pilot; they wanted to drop me on Hanoi from a B-52.”

As the crowd gave Sam another set of laughs Al looked up from his handlink.  “Good Sam! Keep it up.”

Sam smiled a real big Beckett grin. “Why over in Da Nang I ran into an Airborne PFC. You could tell he was Airborne. He never took his parachute off. And he told me back in basic training that the first time his drill sergeant handed him a rifle he said that being the Army was just like going to Disneyland.”

Between the chuckles and the hoots, a couple of noncommittal jeers came from the guys from the corner café.

”Hey you want to be a critic, send it to Stars and Stripes. Back to my story. First this soldier thought being in the Army would be an Adventureland. Like being on a safari. Or maybe he’d end up like Davy Crockett in Frontierland. But you know the wonderful travel agency the Army is. They sent him here. You know it as Westmore-land.”

Groans could be heard after Sam invoked the name of their illustrious commander-in-chief.

From the crowd jumped up a familiar face dressed in a yellow Yankees shirt. It was Mr. Lum again. “Mr. Number One Yan-que. Number One Yan-que. Number one Am-er-i-ka,” he shouted to Sam from behind the Army truck.

“And there’s the president of my fan club. Sum Big Ham branch,” said Sam looking around for an exit. Suddenly Sam’s jeep companion with the funny mustache popped up next to Sam with a devilish look in his eye. “Hey here’s Colonel Colonna. Colonel, did you just get in from the front?”

Rolling his eyes he popped out. “Why yes! Everything is just marvelous. The clerk is a little cute girl in this kimono and the conseaire is most accommodating!”

“You’re finding all of those amenities at the front?” asked Sam throwing a funny glance at the crowd of GI’s.

Colona rolled his eyes and replied. “No, at the front desk! I NEVER left the HOTEL. Well, Mr. Hope must get back on the road.”

Sam shook his head “Please don’t say it! No!! ” He had had enough improvising with Al and couldn’t take trying to sing a funny song on top of everything else.

“Why, yes! On the Road To Saigon. Ever been there?” he asked a bit devilishly.

.

“I don’t think I ever made that picture,” exclaimed Sam at the suggestion of Al.

Al’s eyes lit up while staring. “Oh God. You made it Sam. The car bomb just went off and you don’t want the details. That’s not very funny,” moaned Al looking over his handlink.

Sam still smiling but no longer with any joy behind it held up his head. “Speaking of being on the road, I guess I MUST be on my way. Thanks guys. God bless all of you.” Sam waved and climbed down from the sampan.

“Not a bad performance,” Jerry remarked before jumping into the nearest jeep.

“Yea, but I wish I could do it for all of them once they get back home. Not everyone is going to make it there today,” said Sam as he frowned a bit and motioned to the sergeant to commence their journey.

PART FIVE

From every direction Sam heard emergency sirens. From the left and the right.  Behind him and in front of him. Sam looked over at Al who nodded in agreement telling him that it was safe to proceed. General Moore called to one of the MP’s to check on the noise and confusion.

“General, sir?” the captain said running up and saluting him. “It seems there has been an explosion at the BOQ across from our destination.”

“Very well. Instruct the convoy to take the alternate route,” the General said returning the salute and dismissing him. With a grim face he turned to Sam. “Looks like were taking the scenic route, Mr. Hope.”

After moving through the anthill-like mass of Saigon’s populace, Sam saw them approach an area that had been hastily barricaded by the Army MP’s who stood stiffly on guard. A blue haze hung close to the ground. Every first floor window was broken out in every building along the block.

”Hey, fellows? What’s the holdup?” shouted out Sam’s chauffer looking quite worried.

“Go around. The whole block’s been cordoned off. Some kind of explosion. Or you can wait. It’ll be awhile,” the corporeal called back as he waved off some others trying to get in.

“Looks like the BOQ from har, Mr. Hope,” the driver said turning to Sam. “We’ll try to get you to your ha-tel from the rear, sir.”

“Very good,” replied General Moore.

Sam exclaimed, “That’s all right. I’ll go see if I can help. I’m a doctor!”  Sam again hopped from the jeep to the objections of the General and the surprise of his comedic sidekick.

Jerry Colona looked perplexed, “Honorary at the best, I would venture to guess!”

“Sam just sit still. Hopefully you’ll leap soon. We can’t have Bob Hope running around an unsecured bombsite. Ziggy says that if..” exclaimed Al listening to Ziggy’s probabilities and outcomes. “SAM! Get back here!” Al screamed as Sam headed behind the distracted guards and ran toward the worst of the disaster site. “Ziggy, center me on Dr. Daredevil,” Al called out as he disappeared.

Reappearing Al found Sam deep among the medics looking over GI’s and civilians who had glass fragment wounds and other lacerations and abrasions. Screaming filled the air from the wounded and from the distressed by-standers. No ambulances had yet reached the scene and the medics had barely begun the triage of the wounded. Sam approached the nearest victim, an Air Force airman.

“This man needs blood,” called out Sam. “Get him some plasma. We need pressure on this wound.”

“On it’s way. We’re setting up a ward in the Caravelle ballroom. Dr. Hope?” asked the confused medic. “Aren’t you..?” he asked while beginning to apply pressure to Sam’s patient.

“Out of my element?” replied Sam still trying to produce some one-liners. “Yep. Just trying to lend a hand. Keep him warm. He’s going into shock. Clean this wound and get some bandages over here for this man!” screamed Sam.

Nearby two Vietnamese women were complaining to two American GI’s who could not understand either of the women. Sam looked on helplessly wishing he could speak the native language of the Vietnamese people.

A man in a bright yellow shirt ran over to them talking to the two distressed women and then turned to the medics. “Old woman hurt in the stomach. Girl hurt in leg,” explained the American-file Sam ran into twice earlier. Mr. Lum then followed the soldier’s instructions as they made the two women as comfortable as possible. Reassuring the two women, he did calm them down as Sam removed glass from their wounds.

“Good help, Mr. Number One American?” he asked Sam while holding the older woman’s hand.

“Number One help from Mr. Lum,” replied Sam. “Now asked them if they could tell me EXACTLY where it hurts.”

After an hour of trying to explain to the press his sudden leap into the world of medicine, Sam finally settled down quietly in his hotel room. After a cold shower, Sam propped up his feet with a cool glass of lemonade and looked up anxiously at his faithful friend and observer.

Al whacked around his favorite little toy through a series of ‘blinks’ and ‘bings’ until the appropriate information appeared. “Well, that does it Sam. Nobody in this USO troop journeys to that big vaudeville palace in the sky. At least not this week. Listen to this. In sixty-seven the Army found a Viet Cong report analyzing the weaknesses in their urban guerilla campaign. It was confirmed that this was a serious plot to kill members of your troupe. The bomb went off ten minutes before you arrived. Um, it killed two of our guys and wounded fifty Americans and thirteen Vietnamese. Well, you did save some of those guys,” Al said quietly looking down at his feet.

“Two names still ended up on that big black wall on the mall in Washington,” mused Sam stopping for a moment to remember those who died earlier in the day.

Al stood by quietly remembering a few friends that he knew listed on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

After a long contemplative sigh, Sam looked up and asked. “So what happens next?”

         Al slowly picked up his handlink and solemnly began his report. “Bob Hope continues to do annual Christmas Shows during the Viet Nam War. And he returns to do them during the Persian Gulf crisis and Operation Desert Storm!  And get this! Now he lives to be a hundred years old. And becomes a certified American institution. Among his awards he gets he becomes American’s first honorary veteran and is knighted by the Queen of England. The most decorated man of all time according to Ziggy. I’d say he does a lot of more good for a lot of more people now. These GI’s really appreciate someone that famous risking his life the same way they are risking their own just to bring them a little bit of enjoyment,” explained Al. “I should know having been one of them.”

Sam looked up. First he seemed happy about the results of his leap and then turned melancholy and shrugged his shoulders. “Now, why am I still here?”

Al looked over his handlink and shook his head. “Well, Ziggy hasn’t a clue. All these peopled saved and that’s still not enough. We can’t save everyone here! Though once you did come here and save your brother Tom.”

Sam looked perplexed again, but on a more personal level. “I have a brother? Here in Viet Nam?” asked Sam.

“Yes, Mr. Swiss Cheese Brain. But that was another leap many moons ago, Kemosabe,” explained Al looking over his data.

“Knock-knock,” came a call from the other side of the hotel room door.

“Sam, go see who it is,” said Al looking over at Sam as he kept checking on updates on his handlink.

“Maybe that’s all I still need to do here!!” shot back Sam looking a bit disgusted. It was one of the assistants to the assistants that had traveled with Sam earlier in the day.

“Hi! I was just resting. Come on in,” replied Sam escorting him into the hotel room.

“Sure, Mr. Hope. First, we’re going to go to the hospital to see some of the wounded GI’s from the explosion across the street at 1800 hours,” the fellow in the garishly colored Hawaiian shirt said looking over an overstuffed clipboard.

“Fine with me. Was anyone seriously hurt?” asked Sam sitting down next to him.

“Some of the wounded maybe heading home, but nothing life threatening. Unfortunately two of our guys were killed. Second, do you remember the young native downstairs that was helping out?” asked the fellow quietly.

“Mr. Lum. He was helping out the medics with the other non-English speaking patients,” replied Sam.

“Right! And he stayed with them all the way to the hospital. Never left their side. He seemed to be quite an Americanfile, Mr. Hope,” he said looking at him closely.

“I noticed that,” replied Sam with a bit of lilt in his voice looking over at Al.

“Well, General Moore asked if there was anything he could do for Mr. Lum. It seems he is determined to go through Ellis Island to A-mek-I-ka as he called it,” he said laughing at himself.

“So he was looking for the keys to the Golden Gate,” quipped Sam in his best Bob Hope voice.

“Exactly, but that isn’t in the purview of the United States Air Force. You know, policy and immigration. The General was wondering..” he said looking down and tapping his pencil on his clipboard.

An alarm sounded from Al’s handlink as history needed a push from the time-traveling physicist from Indiana. “Bingo, Sam! Fate wants you to help this Southeast Asian Good Samaritan out! That’s probably why you ran into him so much!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Sam calmly looking at Al with a quizzical look. Short of smuggling him home, Sam was not sure what an entertainer could do for him.

The assistant’s eyes lit up. “Thanks Mr. Hope!!” he said sounding quite happy for Mr. Lum.

“Bing. Beep. Tweet.” went Al’s handlink. “Call Justin Ferguson at the American embassy. He knows Bob Hope from his past jaunts overseas,” explained Al quieter than he needed to. “Seems he owes Bob a favor or two.”

“Check with Justin Ferguson at the embassy. He should be able to help him out,” mimicked Sam.

Eyes opened wide, his fellow trooper replied, “Thanks, Mr. Hope. I will call him immediately!” He almost ran into the door as he left Sam’s room.

“Well Sam, unless you can stop the escalation of our troops here in Nam, Ziggy says that you’ve done everything you can do. Mr. Khan Lum does get to the good old U.S. of A,” said Al smiling for only a moment.  “Unfortunately he comes back to find his family during the fall of Viet Nam in 1975 and is trapped by the Communists. They escaped on a refugee boat in 1979 with his family. Now he runs a very successful bicycle repair shop in Tarzana California. End of report. And now after all that good you’ve done here the Gods above HAVE TO let you go on your way.”

Sam got a little crazy look on his face. “No Al. Before I leap just one more little thing I need to thank you for. As Bob would say:”

”Thanks for the memory:
Of things I always forget, I’m always in your debt,
Leaping with no better friend than I have ever met,
I thank you so much.

”And thanks for the memory:
Of hand links beaten well, leapers straight from hell
And the numbers we have helped I just cannot tell
I thank you so much.

”Sometimes I feel so lonely,
Others don’t know the real me,
And when will I go home,
Is not in Ziggy’s probability.

I thank you so much.

”But, thanks for the memory:
Of all those leaping years, constant staring leers.
Been through a lot, but for once I’ve not forgot,

Al - You’re always here;
I thank you, I thank you so much.”

Al stood there rolling his cigar between two fingers with a quirky half-smile on his face looking like he was going to say something. He looked up, touched his cigar to his forehead in an informal salute and looked up to the sky.

“Take my leaper. Please!” Al said to an unseen entity as Sam burst into light blue streaks and disappeared into the space between the stardust.

EPILOGUE

His last leap began to fade from his mind the instant that Sam Beckett entered the all-encompassing, frustrating, never-ending blue dimension.  Who he had been, where the leap had taken place, even what it was he had set right was gone.  The only thing he knew for a certainty was that Whoever or Whatever was leaping him around had told him the absolute truth; the leaps had become steadily tougher and more lonely.  It didn't matter what situation he was in, or how many people he was around, the feeling of not belonging always managed to make its presence felt.  But as that thought occurred to him, yet again the time traveler felt an all too familiar feeling and he resigned himself as he was dropped into yet another life.

As the leap-in haziness faded and the world became real around him again, Sam couldn’t mistake the sensations of being held familiarly close as well as lips brushing lightly across his cheek, followed by nuzzling near his ear.  Catching a whiff of a familiar spicy aroma made him wonder. ‘Aftershave?’  Then he opened his eyes and he jumped back like he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity.  A sandy-haired teenage boy about his own height with an amorous gleam in his brown eyes and wearing some sort of team jacket stood within arm’s reach of him.

“What’s the matter Tessa?” Marvin Zang asked softly.

“Ohhh boy,” Sam whispered involuntarily.

His girlfriend’s bewildered and nervous mannerisms made him wonder for a moment. But hearing her soft, breathy, “Ohhh boy,” brought a knowing smile to Marvin’s lips as he took a step toward her and reached to catch her right hand and pull her close again.

“Ohhh boy, is right,” he said softly as he placed his hands familiarly on her hips and pulled her against him.  “For a minute I wondered if you were enjoying ‘mistletoe practice,” he murmured.  “Glad to know you are.  I know I am.  And you know what they say about ‘mistletoe practice’ don’t you?” he suggested softly as he lowered his head with the obvious intent of kissing her again.

TO BOB HOPE – HAPPY 102^nd BIRTHDAY!

MAY 29, 1903- JULY 27, 2004