Good Morning.
I channel surfed while waiting for election returns this past Tuesday and landed on PBS that was airing a tribute to Mister Rogers. I freely admit that I was a fan of the nerdy, mild-mannered man in his cardigan sweater, boring tie, and blue sneakers who sang really fruity songs. As I watched the tribute, I even shed a tear. I miss him.
Mister Rogers tackled subjects that many parents swept under the rug. He talked about divorce, the death of a pet, and all manner of illness. He interviewed Margaret Hamilton who played the wicked old witch in The Wizard of Oz and made her not as scary by showing how the make-up artists transformed her into a cackling green hag. He chatted with Itzhak Perlman, the renowned violinist who has walked with braces since a bout with polio as a child. The message there was that a kid can do a bunch of good things even if bad stuff happens along the way. Rogers, a music lover, often had musicians on his show like Wynton Marsalis and Yo Yo Ma, one black, one Chinese, both brilliant, no problem. He showcased all kinds of celebrity talent like Peggy Fleming and Julia Child because he believed that not only did everyone have a gift, everyone was a gift, imagine such a thing.
A memorable segment was when he literally cuddled with a gorilla who understood sign language. Another was when he showed a dog having her puppies that probably raised a few parental eyebrows but hey, you're not talking about it so he did and made life giving by any creature a normal and noble endeavor. He visited all kinds of places where various products were being made or sold and treated every business owner with respect. Everybody he had on the show in any capacity was his neighbor, such a silly, soft-hearted word, but there you have it. Mr. McFeeley, the mailman, dropped by every day and was a friend, not just someone who delivered the bills.
Fred also had all those puppets, King Friday, Lady Elaine Fairchild, Henrietta Pussycat, and Daniel Striped Tiger to name but a few of the make believe characters that sprang from the man's unlimited imagination and also from his mouth because he did all of the voices. He had obviously nurtured his inner child very well indeed and knew exactly how a four-year-old would feel in virtually any circumstance. It was just fine to be a city kid in New York or a farm kid in Nebraska, and both were entitled to be safe and happy. It was also okay to be afraid and worried and sad and ticked off from time to time.
There wasn't a drop of materialism or phoniness anywhere in Mister Rogers' neighborhood. His only change of wardrobe was a different sweater and his mode of transportation was a trolley the size of a shoebox. The guy was a saint. He did more to help American kids than anyone before him or since, but public broadcasting is, once again, ripe for the Congressional chopping block. My solution is to make these insensitive would-be choppers sit themselves down and watch a few episodes of the show. They might learn something.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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