Hannah Thornton's essay: Pursuing a Century of Hope

Editor's note: This is the essay that was key to Hannah Thornton winning a $10,000 Bob Hope Band Scholarship.

For every era that humans walk planet earth, the social and technological culture is shaped not by time, but by the people who lead the way through change and development. We did not invent the telegraph because time rolled by; it was invented because of the genius of Samuel Morse. Slavery was not abolished because it died away; the actions of many leaders united and changed the world. Culture is not shaped merely by the passage of years, but rather by the existence of leaders, those of us who take the first steps in the new direction. Bob Hope was not an inventor or a politician, but he shaped the culture of the world with his booming personality and globally renowned humor. It takes a man of great confidence, charisma, and individuality to wield an instrument as lighthearted as humor to change lives.

From 1903 to 2003, Bob Hope walked the surface of this world, entertaining soldiers at war, bringing smiles to viewers worldwide, influencing what comedy is today, helping others, spreading joy, donating, leading, and inspiring. He, through humor and charity, shaped the comedic and humanitarian culture of the twentieth, and now twenty-first, century. A man born in 1903 left such a sparkling print on our world that in 2016, 113 years later, a 17-year-old kid scrambling to figure her life out has been selected to write an essay concerning his impact. How can I, a kid who has lived 83 fewer years than Bob Hope, possibly reflect the inspiring characteristics of this man? The answer is I cannot, not to the extent, at least, that he exhibited those traits. Bob Hope shaped the culture of our world and changed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, and I have just begun my journey to change lives. What I can do, however, is highlight the life of Hope, copy it, and paste it into this world today, holding his actions as ideals alongside the life of a 17-year-old drum major.

If Bob Hope and I, two human beings setting out to change the world, were alive at the same time, would we be at all alike? Would we get along? Would we agree, disagree, butt heads, be friends?

I see him sitting down beside me as I give myself a brutal paper cut while trying to stuff handouts into my Office Max backpack. His pinstripe suit and neatly adjusted necktie make me fidget and stare down sheepishly at the holes in my hand-me-down sneakers. Nonetheless his pose of ease and his kind eyes soothe me instantaneously. He asks me what I'm doing, sitting all alone in a semidark cafeteria after school hours.

"I'm writing an essay," I tell Mr. Hope, too exhausted from years of sleep deprivation to wonder how exactly it is that he is before me right now.

His eyes twinkle, and he folds his hands on the crumb-smeared cafeteria table. I explain to him the prompt, and how I have created seven Venn diagrams comparing and contrasting the comedic wizard Bob Hope to the 17-year-old high school drum major Hannah Thornton, and the most I have come up with is that conducting is like "hand dancing." Mr. Hope ambitiously raises his eyebrows and gets to his feet. I wonder absent-mindedly if he can tell that stress consumes me, and 1 wait anxiously to see how he will work his Bob Hope magic and ease my woes. All he does, however, is dance. I crumple with embarrassment as he extends an arm to invite me along with him; I have never danced in front of a stranger willingly, and I certainly never planned on starting today. "Mr. Hope," I tell him desperately as I climb to my feet in my holey sneakers, "I can't dance."

He does not smile, but there is a warm, utterly confident stirring in his eyes that shows no sway in his expectations. "Where's the leader in you?" he asks simply, and I blanch at his words. He is right. I can get up and talk to an audience of parents and volunteers through a microphone; of course I can do a little dance.

"What's this conducting thing you do?" he asks before I can make a fool out of myself. He snaps his fingers, and an early Beatles tune comes spitting from the speakers framing the cafeteria corners.

So thus, I show Mr. Hope exactly how I conduct the marching band. Nervously, I lift my elbows and cup my fingers over my ears to demonstrate the correct hand position. He mimics my motions patiently, and then we stand with our arms at the ready and together find the beat. He conducts along for a moment, all the while making cunning remarks about how the music reminds him of his Broadway stage moments from all those years ago. I glide my hands in the air as I'm used to, though my eyes are enormous; I can hardly believe he is comparing his Broadway performances to my conducting. "I'm hardly a musician anymore," I tell him. "I'm just a conductor."

"You think someone who isn't a musician can be a conductor?" He scoffs, and I grin. Mr. Hope resumes his dance, striking impressive moves in time to "Love Me Do" as I conduct. I watch with awe; he's moving his limbs with musicality that responds to the song, just as I stylistically move my hands to show what I want to hear.

"See?" He says simply, and his smile is knowing, like he is slowly unearthing an artifact he's known was there all along. "I bet you play instruments, too."

"Well, I love the trumpet and French horn ..."

"You sure do." His eyes glow proudly. "You've got all this musicality under your belt, multiple instruments, and the knowledge of a conductor, but you have a blank essay?" He clucks his tongue. "Shame, shame."

"Well, I ..." I slowly smile, and I duck my nose toward the tile floor. "Musicality isn't your only trait, Mr. Hope. You're hilarious. You literally invented stand-up comedy monologues, and all those movies with Crosby still get people laughing today."

Mr. Hope raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment; I chuckle at his lack of denial. "What was that you said about hilarious? Remember in May, when a room of kids could hardly stop laughing at your case in front of a crowd?"

I stumble like he has pushed me, then I shake my head as though I've got water in my ears. "How do you know about that?"

"I think you're forgetting," he says with that grin, "how many people you make smile every day."

I don't know what to say, and my face glows a faint pink at the realization that while his words are flattering, they are not lies.

"A true leader knows how to be human, relaxed, and silly as much as she knows how to be strong," Mr. Hope tells me as "Love Me Do" comes to an end and the song changes to a Beach Boys tune. I find myself squeezing my limbs to my sides to resist the urge to dance. "Now you can argue a lot of things with me, Miss Thornton, but you can't argue that you aren't a leader."

"I'm a leader," I admit with a content smile. "I know that much. I suppose I was picked for this position."

"No one forced your band director into sticking you up on the podium," Bob Hope agreed, adjusting his necktie and tapping his feet to the tune. "Let's practice. I'll say how I'm a leader, and you'll mirror it with a similar example of your own."

He left no option for refusal, and I was in no hurry to decline his help. My heart was soaring in the presence of the charismatic, personable, brilliant man himself. Mr. Hope cleared his throat and recited modestly, "I made the decision to travel across the world during World War II and entertain homesick soldiers."

I swallowed nervously; I knew about that one. I'd never left the country, much less served soldiers during a war. Soon enough, however, my mind cleared and I offered, "I made the decision to stay after school one day to talk to a band member for over an hour, talking to her and reminding her that her stresses will all be worked out soon."

His face crinkles into a kind smile, but he makes no move to speak. He knows I have more.

"I made the decision to thank a group of volunteers who helped feed the band one day," I said a bit shyly. "Others loudly followed my lead soon after."

He nodded very slowly and with a nostalgic blink, as though we were reflecting on our childhood memories together.

"I yell the assignment that we're about to march during rehearsal, just in case people forget it." I chew my lip, deep in thought. "I've reprinted so much lost sheet music it isn't even funny, but that's another story."

"That is leadership, though," Mr. Hope says with a shake of his head. "Hannah, if someone feels they can approach you and trust you to solve their issues, that makes you a dependable young lady. That says more about you than you know."

"I guess you're right," I murmur, slightly dazed.

"You are powerful. That shows, from the way you conduct to the trust your peers put in you to print their music."

I can hardly believe Mr. Hope is describing my power here in a semidark cafeteria as he wears a pinstripe suit and necktie. I'm enjoying myself far too much to question it, however.

"Would you mind giving me another example?" I ask him, trying not to sound too pushy. "That was actually incredibly insightful."

"Let's see." He leans against the ocher brick wall behind us and gazes at the fluorescent lights glowing far above our heads. "I bought war bonds, and encouraged many others to buy war bonds, in an effort to support the soldiers."

"Oh," I say with a nod, for my example is recent. "I drove around the city buying decorations for the band room, and then I took posters home and painted designs. Not because anyone asked me to, but because no one else was going to do it."

He nodded vigorously, like he was proud of me for spewing my true feelings. I felt like jumping up and down and doing some squats; I was discovering our common ground, and I felt as though I had wings. Mr. Hope spread hands like he was anticipating elaboration and proceeded to say, "As a celebrity, I have had dedicated fans throughout my years. I'm always sure to be kind to them and give them all the love and support they give me."

"I don't have fans!" I protest, hanging my jaw at this challenge.

"Broaden your mind."

"Well ... people who appreciate me in the band sometimes tell me that I'm, uh, pretty awesome," I admit, flushing slightly at the uncomfortable statement and then managing a shy grin. "I'm always very conscious about being as kind as I can be to ... well, everyone, but especially those people. I owe them the same level of respect they give me."

"Beautifully said."

"Thank you."

There's a pause as he watches the cogs turn behind my eyes. Then he smiles because he sees my hand twitch unconsciously toward my notebook on the cafeteria table. "It seems you've been inspired," he observes.

"You're inspirational," I say simply, quietly, and I smile shyly again.

He returns the smile and pushes off the ocher brick wall. I glow with pride as he sticks out his hand to shake mine, and then he says, "I think that's another thing we have in common, Miss Thornton."

Again, I don't know what to say to thank him. I sputter for a moment, shaking his hand and watching desperately as the conversation frays and wears down in my silence, and he laughs kindly. His voice is higher now, conclusive, like he's bidding a fond farewell. "Pave the road for those behind you. Leading is difficult, but following isn't easy, either. Remember that."

"Thank you," I manage to say, and tightness clenches my throat. Oh, no, not the shaky voice again. "Thank you for paving the road for me. I'll do everything in my power to perpetuate the standard of leadership you created."

He bows his head slightly, smiles one last time, and turns to depart through the cafeteria doors.

Great leaders share countless traits; however, it is irrelevant whether one leader is male or female, one old and one young, one Hispanic, one Asian, one African-American, or any race or ethnicity. It does not matter who the leader is paving the road for. All great leaders are followed, and all great leaders make conscious decisions, small and big, every single day, heightening their credibility and strengthening others' faith in them. My name is Hannah Thornton, and I'm a 17-year-old girl gazing at leaders like Bob Hope with awe and admiration. On the other hand, I'm also a drum major, a role model, a giver, an approachable friend, a musician, a charitable young adult and someone who aspires each day to change the world for the better. Without phenomenal leaders like Mr. Hope paving the road to excellence before me, I would never have found the courage to walk this journey to guide and help others. One day, I hope others find themselves gazing upon the road I've paved with similar aspirations.