But whither the infrastructure, the invisible scaffolding that supports this towering monument of daily ham-on-wry? What about the little guys, the names that pop up regularly in the column, accompanied by a zesty jeu d'esprit? Not on the A-list tonight at the Palace is perhaps Caen's best-known contributor, Bruce Bellingham.
"It comes as a shock to me," cracks Bellingham, currently quarantined with the flu in his Marina apartment. "The joke writers would have to come in the back way with the caterers, I'm sure. We know our place."
For 15 years, Bellingham has submitted -- for free -- one-liners to Herb Caen, a tireless task that begins each day with a pile of newspapers and flickering CNN and ends with one crisp page of "jokes du jour," promptly faxed before 9 a.m.
"You want to avoid the deluge," he says. "If you can, you sort of get in under rush hour. He gets 200 faxes a day."
Since Bellingham is under the weather, this morning he sent in material about being ill, and included a birthday message: "Just caprice, nothing topical," he says.
A regular humor contributor to the Examiner, the Los Angeles Times, and local neighborhood papers, the 44-year-old Bellingham also sells jokes to Jay Leno, but admits it is the Caen material that brings him the most notoriety. All Caen appearances are the pride of Bellingham's mother, who tracks each item and carefully preserves it.
"There are hundreds," he admits. "There's three scrapbooks, I think, filled with stuff."
Bellingham first picked up Caen 25 years ago, upon moving here from New Jersey.
"My first thought was, 'Who are all these people?' And I wondered, 'How soon can I be one of them?' " He pauses. "I'm kidding ... I'm half kidding."
His first Caen item appeared while Bellingham worked as desk editor for KCBS radio. One day he thought, Why not? He typed up a few witticisms, mailed them off, and a tradition was born.
"It was during the Tammy Faye/Jim Bakker scandal, which was broken by a [North Carolina] newspaper called the Charlotte Observer. And I think the line I wrote was, 'Jim Bakker says, "Hush hush, sweet Charlotte Observer." ' He liked that."
It was a match like no other, as Bellingham soon became a recurring character in the Caen menagerie that grew to include Ed Moose, drag nun Sister Boom Boom, Willie Brown, and the mysterious Strange de Jim.
"One of the first items I got in the column was on the occasion of the 49ers going to the Super Bowl," recalls the joke-slinger. "I said I went into the Chestnut Street Grill, a crowded saloon in the Marina, and while everyone was held in rapture at the television sets hanging over the bar, I said to the bartender, 'Would you mind switching the channel? I don't want to miss Nova this afternoon.' I knew it was a good line because I could hear it stolen, one by one, down the bar. Herb loved that. In fact, for several years in a row I would write variations, and he'd print it anyway. Just because he quote, loves saloon humor, unquote."
And unlike the perverse relationship explored in the 1957 film Sweet Smell of Success -- wherein a sniveling press agent named Sidney Falco (Tony Curtis) willingly humiliates himself to supply items for the powerfully evil New York columnist J.J. Hunsecker (Burt Lancaster) -- the Bellingham-Caen dance is much more friendly, even paternal.
"He might make fun of me a little bit in the paper -- 'Bellingham's a nut, he sends me five items a day' -- but his version of 'nut' is a bit of an anachronistic definition. In his generation, I think 'nut' was a nice term, and I think the translation might be 'character.' Our generation, a nut is someone like Lee Harvey Oswald."
For many years the two never met, communicating solely through the mail, with Bellingham sending off material and receiving occasional responses, until one day he bumped into Caen's assistant, Carole Vernier, at Original Joe's. The voice was matched with the face, and Bellingham eventually met the man himself. They now occasionally get together for lunch.
"He's formidable," says Bellingham. "He's imposing in his own way. I always feel bad after we have lunch. I felt like sort of, a sputtering fool, you know, because he's very glib. One pun after another."
How has it affected his life, appearing so often in the column?
"It's very good for me lately because I just recorded an audiotape called Bellingham on San Francisco, modestly enough, and it turns out that my name has great cachet, mostly because it's in Herb Caen all the time."
Bellingham is graciously forthcoming about what constitutes an ideal Caen item.
"He loves a great turn of phrase. He loves topical jokes, he loves saloon humor, as we mentioned. Fax them to him, that's my recommendation."
After Chronicle Books published a Caen collection a few years back, someone had the idea to invite all of the columnist's regular contributors to the book signing at Trader Vic's. And there, among hundreds of fans and friends, Bellingham came face to face with his peers.
"A real mixed group," he remembers, "but mostly people who were interested in writing or public relations or advertising. They look like normal people." He stops, then adds, "Some of them."
Caen has had thousands of sources over the years, but very few have gained entrance into the inner circle as Bruce Bellingham has. An occasional visit to Caen's office would be a field trip most item-peddlers could only dream of. To Bellingham, it's just another casual opportunity to drop off material and say hello.
"In fact, last Thursday he came out and he said, 'Ah, there you are,' and he walked over and pointed out my name in the next day's column. What a fun game!"
Address all correspondence to: Slap Shots, c/o SF Weekly, 425 Brannan, San Francisco, CA 94107; phone: (415) 536-8152; e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org. By Jack Boulware