By Lee Cataluna
Advertiser Columnist

I know I'm not the only one who felt this way, but when I heard the news of James Grant Benton's passing, I felt like I lost a friend.

Not like I knew him or anything, though I guess I could say I worked with him on a couple of different projects; but to say I knew him would be overstating it. Put it this way, I can only refer to him by his whole name "James Grant Benton," and not "James" or "Jimmy" the way people who really knew him might speak of him ... like when you hear interviews where actors call Robert Redford or Robert DeNiro "Bob" like they're close ... I didn't know him in a "Jimmy" or a "Bob" kind of way. Just another adoring fan.

James Grant Benton has been called an icon, an originator, a legend. None of those words are too big. In fact, they're not big enough.

He and his Booga Booga brethren gave life to a new art form. They gave us a fresh way of looking at ourselves and commenting on our culture. He even rewrote Shakespeare and made it ours.

No one else could say the word "gangy," as in "OK, gangy, this is it!" in a way that made you feel like you were part of the gangy.

He could write and deliver ping-pong dialogue better than the best Aaron Sorkin script, and he could take a great joke and keep building on it, as in this exchange from a Booga Booga piece where he played both characters:

Delores: Just between you and me, eh, professor, my sister is really ugly.

Professor: How ugly is she?

Delores: Put it this way, yeah, if my sister was on one plate with one fish, you wouldn't know the difference.

Professor: Hmm ... what kind of fish?

Delores: Oh. A tilapia

Professor: That's too bad. She'd stand a better chance with a mullet.

He had perfect pitch in imitating local characters, as when he portrayed high school student government sergeant-at-arms Turmoil Dela Cruz leading a school assembly:

"Ah pledge a malegeance, to da flag ..."

And he had that wonderful gravelly voice that could make even mundane words hop like drops of water on a frying pan.

James Grant Benton could say "oh" in fifty different ways, and put a whole world of meaning into each one.

But one of the most amazing things about him was that, even though he was a local legend, he was nice to people. Regular people. People who knew him only through his work.

On the day he died, as the news traveled to different circles, I heard so many people who knew him only in the sort of way I knew him recall how he had treated them.

Someone who had worked on the crew of one of his shows, a photographer who had taken pictures of him, a fan who saw him perform and went up to say mahalo afterwards, a reporter who interviewed him once — they all said the same thing. He connected with people in a most sincere way. He took the time to talk story, not just chit-chat or say an empty "howzit." He made you feel like an equal, not just another fawning insignificant fan.

It sounds so simple, but in a world of jaded celebrities and unapproachable local heroes, James Grant Benton was a nice guy.

He didn't get too big-head for his fans; and though he will be most remembered for making crowds scream with laughter, there are many fans who will cherish memories of how he had a warm smile just for them.

Reach Lee Cataluna at 535-8172 or lcataluna@honoluluadvertiser.com.