How Bob Newhart, one-time failed Chicago accountant, became one of America’s most-loved comedians

Bob Newhart’s face did not age well.

But in the deepening lines, hollowing cheeks and weary eyes, audiences were reminded of what had always made his comedy so irresistible, so universal: a look that said, “I can’t believe I’m having to deal with this crap.”

That silent comedy is a big part of why the Oak Park-born, Cubs-loving, failed accountant endured as one of America’s most-loved comedians for more than six decades.

Newhart’s life in comedy is now meticulously chronicled in “Bob Newhart: The Life and Laughter of an American Treasure” ($28, Citadel; out Oct. 23).

“That was the genius of Bob Newhart, who managed to stay ‘in vogue’ throughout his long career … because he appealed to so many different segments of society without ever altering the ingredients that were mixed into his recipe for success — that magical mélange of humility, gentle humor, and grace that endeared him to his admirers,” writes the book’s author, Michael Seth Starr, a former New York Post reporter and columnist who has penned biographies of numerous celebrities, including Ringo Starr, William Shatner and Rodney Dangerfield.

Pull up the classic Newhart stage monologue online, and the imagined phone conversation between a PR man begging the president not to tweak his soon-to-be-delivered Gettysburg Address (“You changed four score and seven to eighty-seven?”) feels as fresh and hilarious as the day it was written.

The same can be said of Professor Proton in “The Big Bang Theory,” or as Dr. Robert Hartley, a Chicago-based psychologist in “The Bob Newhart Show.” In all of those, he’s essentially the same stuttering, twitchy and often befuddled everyman character — and one that never got old.

Newhart was born in Oak Park and grew up on the West Side, went to St. Ignatius High School (now College Prep) and earned a bachelor’s degree in management (with an emphasis in accounting) from Loyola University Chicago. While in college, he dabbled in theater and wrote humorous sketches.

Newhart had Chicago to thank for a series of dreary jobs — in accounting and behind the counter at the Illinois State Compensation Board — that would later help him connect with everyday people and feel their pain.

And, Starr writes, he got a big boost from Chicago DJ Dan Sorkin who, in the late 1950s, saw something fresh and very funny in a young Newhart.

“He came along at a time when he wasn’t telling the mother-in-law jokes. He wasn’t a stand-up comedian per se, like Rodney Dangerfield or Don Rickles, who could fire off [jokes] rat-a-tat-tat. He told stories or he told interactions, and these had never been heard before in the comedy world,” Starr said during a recent chat with the Sun-Times.

Gail Starr

Newhart’s friendship with Sorkin led to appearances on the DJ’s radio show, as well as the chance to perform some of his routines, including the Abe Lincoln one, at the Chicago Emmy Awards.

He would go on to sign with Warner Bros., then in desperate need of a new talent to keep its flailing recording division afloat. Newhart’s first comedy album, “The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart,” shot to the top of the Billboard charts, as did the comedian’s follow-up album. By the end of 1961, he was in demand, doing nightclub shows across the United States and appearing frequently on national TV, including “The Ed Sullivan Show” and “The Tonight Show Starring Jack Paar.”

He starred in two top-rated TV sitcoms, “The Bob Newhart Show,” and “Newhart.”

Younger audiences perhaps know him as Will Ferrell’s adoptive father in the movie “Elf,” which Roger Ebert called, “one of those rare Christmas comedies that has a heart, a brain and a wicked sense of humor, and it charms the socks right off the mantelpiece.”

©2003 Alan Markfield, New Line Productions

Newhart was a bit of an oddity in the comedy world, in that his material didn’t come from a tortured childhood. He married only once to Ginnie Quinn, a Catholic girl whom comedian Buddy Hackett introduced to Newhart. They were married for 60 years.

Newhart was also generous with this time, said Starr, who interviewed him several times through the years.

“He really was like the person you saw up on the screen,” Starr said. “He was very accessible for a comedian of his stature.”

Newhart died on July 18, 2024, at age 94. Ten years earlier, he was on NPR and the interviewer asked him if he had any regrets about his career.

“No, I’ve lived in an incredible time,” he said. “I’ve lived in the days of Johnny Carson, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin — incredibly rewarding times. … I could never look on my life as a failure. It’s far beyond anything I ever thought I would attain.”