His mother had said, “Whenever you are scared. Always look for the helpers. They’ll be there. No matter how bad things are, there are always people willing to help.”
Anthony
Breznican, a senior writer at Entertainment Weekly once experienced a lifetime
encounter with Fred Rogers that will restore your faith in humanity. Breznican,
like Rogers, hails from Pittsburgh. And like most of us, he grew up watching
Mr. Rogers. And then he outgrew him. Until he needed his kindness again, when
he was in college.
“As I got
older, I lost touch with the show, (which ran until 2001). But one day in
college, I rediscovered it. I was having a hard time. The future seemed dark. I
was struggling. Lonely. Dealing with a lot of broken pieces, and not adjusting
well. I went to Pitt and devoted everything I had to a school paper; hoping it
would propel me into some kind of worthwhile future.
It was easy
to feel hopeless. During one season of my life it was especially bad. Walking
out of my dorm, I heard familiar music.
‘Won’t you
be my neighbor?’
The TV was
playing in the common room. Mr. Rogers was asking me what I do with the mad I
feel. I had lots of ‘mad’ stored up. Still do. It feels so silly to say, but I
stood mesmerized. His program felt like a cool hand on my head. I left feeling
better.”
Then, days
later something amazing happened. Breznican went to step into an elevator. The
doors opened, and he found himself looking into the face of Mr. Rogers.
Breznican kept it together at first. The two just nodded at each other. But
when Mr. Rogers began to walk away, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to say
something.
“The doors
open. He lets me go out first. I step out, but turn around.
‘Mr. Rogers,
I don’t mean to bother you. But I just want to say, Thanks.’
He smiles,
but this probably happens to him every ten feet all day long.
‘Did you
grow up as one of my neighbors?’
I felt like
crying.
‘Yeah. I
did.’
With this,
Mr. Rogers opened his arms, lifting his satchel, for a hug.
‘It’s good
to see you again, neighbor.’
I got to hug
Mr. Rogers! This is about the time we both began crying.”
But this story
is about to get even better.
“We chatted
a few minutes. Then Mr. Rogers started to walk away. After he had taken a
couple of steps, I said in a kind of rambling rush that I’d stumbled on the
show recently when I really needed it. So, I said, ‘Thanks’ for that. Mr.
Rogers paused, and motioned towards the window, and sat down on the ledge.
This is what
set Mr. Rogers apart. No one else would have done this. He says,
“Do you want
to tell me what is upsetting you?”
So, I sat
down. I told him my grandfather had just died. He was one of the good things I
had. I felt lost. Brokenhearted. I like to think I didn’t go on and on, but
pretty soon he was talking to me about his granddad, and a boat the old man had
given to him as a kid.
Mr. Rogers
asked how long ago my Pap had died. It had been a couple of months. His
grandfather was obviously gone for decades. He still wished the old man was
here, and wished he still had the boat.
‘You never
really stop missing the people you love,’ Mr. Rogers said.
That boat
had been a gift from his grandfather for something. Maybe good grades;
something important. Rogers didn’t have the boat anymore, but he had given him
his ethic for work.
‘Things,
really important things that people leave with us are with us always.’
By this
time, I’m sure my eyes looked like stewed tomatoes. Finally, I said, ‘thank
you,’ and I apologized if I had made him late for an appointment.
‘Sometimes
you’re right where you need to be,’ he said.
Mr. Rogers
was there for me. So, here’s my story on the 50th anniversary of his
program for anyone who needs him now. I never saw him again. But that quote
about people who are there for you when you’re scared? That’s authentic. That’s
who he was. For real.”
Mr. Rogers
died in 2003. When Breznican heard the news, he sat down at his computer, and
cried. Not over the loss of a celebrity, but a neighbor.
Thank you
for being one of those helpers, Mr. Rogers. We hope that somewhere, you’re in a
boat with your grandpa again.
Allison Carter, USA Today
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