4105
Pt. 1
‘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 I didn’t grow up watching “Mr.
Rogers’ Neighborhood,” but then again, its inception was in 1968, a year after
I graduated from high school; (so the likelihood that I would have devoted much
time to the program was almost nil).
In the last few moments I did a Google search, and discovered
that the television show aired for a grand total of (drum roll) 33 years, and
only went off the air in 2001; a fateful year for this country, and two years
before his passing.
It occurs to me that “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” was on
television for the same amount of time that Jesus lived, and moved and breathed
on the earth. I have never heard anyone expound on this bit of information.
Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. But then, I don’t believe in coincidences.
Oh, I remember seeing snippets of Fred Rogers’ program, and honestly,
it did little or nothing for me at the time. Obviously, the show was geared
towards little children; the humor, the skits, the puppets, the guests. And
“Bro. Fred’s” voice and mannerisms always struck me as a bit effeminate.
Speaking of the foregoing prefix before his name, many people
were unaware that Mr. Rogers was actually Rev. Rogers. For you see, Fred was an
ordained Presbyterian minister, and to my knowledge, he possessed a calling
unlike any other; before or since. Interestingly enough, he had been specially
commissioned by his church to host “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” for the little
boys and girls of America.
I have written about Mr. Rogers in the past, having previously
read a poignant story of which he was the subject. And come to think about it,
I only have “given him the time of day” the past couple of years; (a full
decade and a half after his death).
Pt. 2
As I have inferred, I love a particular story I read about Mr.
Rogers. I am including that story here.
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 on someone’s TV.”
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)
Pt. 3
There is a new movie out with Tom Hanks called, “A Beautiful
Day in the Neighborhood.” And since I had previously written about Mister
Rogers, (a blog that is not included here) I had more than a passing interest
in seeing the movie.
Admittedly, I feel a little guilty going to a movie alone
these days, as my wife is staying with our grandson, while our daughter is
spending a month in Nepal, (yes, Nepal) engaged in doing social work with an
NGO there. (But, admittedly, the guilt wasn’t potent enough to preclude me from
following through with my plan last night).
Well, so I got dressed, and drove the ten or twelve minutes
which separated me from the local theater in time for the first Friday evening
premier showing. However, when I arrived, I discovered that the parking lot was
full to overflowing, and I surmised that I didn’t want any part of sitting
“bunched up” against a person on my left and one on my right, and a theater
packed out like sardines in a can. As a result, I had no sooner drove into the
“asphalt jungle” that I turned around and drove out of it.
Having arrived home, and put on my jogging shorts and muscle
shirt, I debated whether I would “take in” the 10:30pm showing of the movie. I
was tired, and I knew my ambition would, no doubt, progressively wane in the
two hours which separated me from the process of redressing, getting in the
car, and heading back to the theater.
However, as a counselor I tell my clients that there’s a great
substitute for ambition, since ambition is little more than an emotion. The
substitute? A decision. After all, anything good must be done “on purpose.”
Only wrecks happen by accident. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist that little
teaching).
Pt. 4
Thus, I made a premeditated decision to take in the late
movie. I realized that the theater would be “blown out” on Saturday, and I
would find myself in exactly “the same boat” as I experienced the first time
that I drove up to the theater.
Throwing my street clothes back on, I walked out the door at
9:55pm, and retraced my route of two hours earlier. Ten minutes later I drove
into… an almost empty parking lot, and, as you might expect, I wasn’t
complaining.
Exiting the car, I walked the twenty yards which separated me
from my quest; the box office window. And as I stepped up to the young lady in
the booth, and she looked expectantly at me, waiting for me to announce the
movie of my choice, I almost involuntarily began to sing.
(Yeah, I did).
“It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood…”
And then, the slightest bit self-conscious, I mused,
“I bet lots of folks have walked up to you tonight singing
that song.”
To which “Anna” replied,
“Ummm. Nope, you’re the first one!”
(Now, I really did feel like a fool. LOL).
Having purchased my ticket, I walked through the front door
and into the lobby, had my ticket punched by the attendant, walked to the candy
counter, asked for a senior popcorn and coke, paid for my goodies, and
proceeded to theater number three; down the hallway, second door on the right.
Pt. 5
Walking into the theater, I found it to be very dark, very
quiet, and …very empty.
As a matter of fact, I was the only human being in the whole
place! And, as I always do, I climbed the steps of the amphitheater to the top,
walked to the middle of the row of seats, and plopped down, dead center;
setting my drink in the right holder, and my wallet, and cell phone in the left
one. (I am one of those guys who doesn’t like to carry stuff in my pockets.
Even when I go to a restaurant, I immediately set the obtrusive items on the
table).
Be that as it may, I sat “all by my lonely” on the top row of
the theater, as the commercials for upcoming movies ran for 15 plus minutes.
However, finally, finally the opening credits of “A Beautiful Day in the
Neighborhood” flickered onto the screen.
And as you might imagine, the first scene had a fairly
believable Tom Hanks, portraying Mr. Rogers, walking through the door of his
“play room,” opening a nearby closet, exchanging his suit coat for a red
sweater, and taking off his street shoes, and replacing them with sneakers.
To be fair, I thought the well-known actor’s attempt to
replicate Mr. Rogers’ voice was slightly contrived, (but perhaps only
slightly). At the same time, he looked enough like “the real McCoy” for this
audience of one to settle in, and absorb the plot and implications of the
movie.
And without absolutely spoiling it for you, suffice it to say
that the plot centered around a fella named Tom Junod, (though he assumes a
different name in the film), an Esquire magazine journalist, and his
relationship with Mr. Rogers; (which all began when the former contacted the
latter for an interview).
Ultimately, this interview was titled, “Can You Say…Hero?” and
became the feature story for the November 1998 issue of Esquire magazine, and
featured (there’s that word again) the beaming image of Mr. Rogers on the
cover.
Pt. 6
And again, without giving away anything, Mr. Rogers made a
profound difference in Tom Junod’s life, and for that matter, the life of his
entire family. He made a difference in many lives that God set in his pathway.
There was an exchange in the movie in which our “hero” is
speaking on the phone with the foregoing journalist, and he says,
“Do you know who the most important person in my life is,
Tom?”
And perhaps Junod merely responded with, “Who?”
And with a twinkle in his eye, and a slight catch in his
characteristic voice, Mr. Rogers replies,
“Well, at this very moment, Tom, you are the most important
person in my life!”
I think that’s how he made you feel. Yes, I think that’s how
he made you feel. As if for that moment in time, you were the only person who
really mattered to him.
I felt very much this way when I paraphrased the Book of
Philippians; (years before I paraphrased the entire New Testament). It was as
if I was given the wherewithal to walk into Paul’s Roman cell, and sit down
beside him, and talk with him about his life, and impact and suffering, to know
him as my friend and brother, and to realize his compassion and joy in spite of
the circumstances which surrounded him.
Following is a poignant reminiscence from an article about Mr.
Rogers.
“Every morning,
when he swims, he steps on a scale in his bathing suit and his bathing cap and
his goggles, and the scale tells him he weighs 143 pounds. This has happened so
many times that Mister Rogers has come to see that number as a gift, as a
destiny fulfilled, because, as he says,
‘the number 143
means I love you. It takes one letter to say I, and four letters to say love,
and three letters to say you. One hundred and forty-three. I love you. Isn't
that wonderful?’”
Pt. 7
And now, the movie finally drew to a close, and I hesitated to
leave. After stuffing my wallet and cell phone back into my pockets, I ambled
down the long flight of steps, and paused to see if any actual footage of the
“real” Mister Rogers would appear on the screen. And, in fact, it did.
There he was standing in his element, in his little “play
room” with his puppets, and lighting up his little world with that memorable
smile.
Now, I walked down the long hallway which led out of the very
dark, very quiet and… very empty theater. And as I walked out the door, and
into the lobby of the place, I could still hear the closing song as it trailed
off behind me.
It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood
A beautiful day for a neighbor
Could you be mine?
Would you be mine?
Let's make the most of this beautiful day
Since we're together, might as well say
Would you be my, could you be my
Won't you be my neighbor?
A lone security guard greeted me, as I neared the exit of
the building. The lights were turned down low. No one was behind the candy
counter, and the ushers were, by now, heating up their TV dinners, or turning
in for the night.
And now, I pushed open the exit door, and stepped out into
the street. And a penetrating moment of sadness suddenly overwhelmed me.
I
can’t really account for why I experienced that fleeting emotion. Perhaps it
had something to do with the poignancy of losing anyone so singular as this man
happened to be, and who had impacted several generations of children.
Children
who ultimately became fathers and mothers, and subsequently, grandfathers and
grandmothers; while their own children and grandchildren continued to be
entertained by the same humble little man; who to children presented as an
adult, and who to adults seemed almost childlike.
So much like the journalist, I felt almost as if I had been
granted my own personal interview with Mister Rogers. After all, I had been the
only human being within fifty feet in any direction, and I experienced a
strange sensation that this man had set aside a bit of his valuable time, as he
did with countless other people during his lifetime… for me.
And perhaps during those few moments which he granted me, I
was, indeed, the most important person in his life.
*Tom Hanks was recently informed that he and Mister Rogers
are 6th cousins. No wonder they look alike.
By William McDonald, PhD
No comments:
Post a Comment