Happy Birthday, Mister Rogers
Mister Rogers was born on March 20, 1928 and died on February 27, 2003. I met him knee-to-knee in 1993 and felt special when I helped him mark his 25 years on PBS.
Mr. Rogers makes longevity look like kids stuff
Chicago Tribune, February 21, 1993
There's not a puppet or a pair of sneakers in the room, but there's no mistaking him. His dark suit coat, bow tie and glasses give him a erudite, professorial look, and he's turning gray at 64.
But it's him all right: Mister Rogers, a.k.a. Fred Rogers, owner/operator of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood," icon of American culture, patron saint of children's television and the first human video-friend of millions of the under-30 generation.
In the unlikely case you've not been hit by the current P.R. barrage, Mister Rogers is also the longest running act on national public television. Two days ago (Feb. 19) marked 25 years on PBS-that's longer than Big Bird and Bill Buckley Jr.
Rogers is sitting in a tiny, cluttered side office at public station WQED, the only address "the Neighborhood" has ever had. In his famous child-friendly voice, he explains how his basic ideas about how to treat children, and how to help them accept themselves and their feelings, have not changed much.
"They've become more informed through the years," he says in his Pittsburgh accent. "But I think children want to know they are loved, and that they are capable of loving and that they will be taken care of. I think they want to know that the people they live with will be honest with them."
If it sounds very simple, it's because it is, he says, pointing across the room to a picture frame containing his core phrase. It's written in French and comes from "The Little Prince"— translated it says, "What is essential is invisible to the eye."
In fact, he continues, as though he's just thought of it for the first time, just for your sake, "I think some of my greatest teachers, Bill, have been people who maybe the world would consider the least.
"People who have had mental retardation, or people who are physically not worldly attractive. People who've had great struggles with their health. Those who seem to be the most challenged seem to have the most to teach me."
He speaks carefully, slowly, asking almost as many questions as he answers. He doesn't preach or break into song, though he does slip into a high Daniel the Striped Tiger voice after someone delivers a puppet to him.
He's critical of television, yet admits he watches virtually nothing on it, not even PBS. He's never seen a second of MTV. He raves about how much "Sesame Street" has improved since its early years. Did he ever see "Pee-wee's Playhouse"? Only enough to know that the furniture talked.
He fondly recalls the times that young Michael Keaton-a local product whose career made a stop as the trolley operator on the "Neighborhood" long before he became Batman-stuffed the fronts of his shoes with paper. He also slipped an inflatable woman doll into his closet.
"Just when I was about to leave and sing the `Good Feeling' song, I opened the door and here was this woman standing there. But those are the kinds of things that really make it fun to be in the studio. You can't be serious all the time. Oh gracious. It's hard enough. It's a job."
Rogers, who grew up a wealthy, sickly, pudgy boy who was overprotected by his mother and fond of music and puppets, threw away a promising career at NBC in 1953 to become program manager at infant public station WQED, where he also wrote songs and worked puppets behind the scenes for a local children's show he co-created.
He studied child development in graduate school, then became an ordained Presbyterian minister, making his mission children's television. It wasn't until the mid 1960s, when he was making a pilot of a children's show in Toronto, that he was persuaded to come out from behind the scenes and stand in front of the camera.
Since 1968, more than 700 half-hour episodes of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" have been created for PBS on a set that never seems to change.
Program No. 1532 is archetypal.
It aired in Pittsburgh on Dec. 22. It's the one where Mister Rogers makes a wind chime from bells. Then he gets a musical visit from a jazz violinist. Then he checks out a low-tech factory where drinking straws are made. Then he talks about how you should feel if you don't have any grandparents.
It was made in 1984, but the "Neighborhood" is timeless. Whatever the subject—war, death or getting your first haircut—each show looks, sounds and feels like the next.
And, of course, they religiously deliver the Mister Rogers anthem of self-esteem: Each of you out there is special. Whoever you are and no matter what you look like on the outside, it's your insides that count.
A reverential spread in Life magazine late last year declared that it's now become hip to love Mister Rogers. Maybe. But his unabashed nerdism became a national late-night joke at the turn of the '80s.
Carson and Letterman snickered at him. Eddie Murphy parodied him on "Saturday Night Live" with his "Mister Robinson's Neighborhood," a routine Rogers was virtually oblivious to at the time and that he now says he thought "was very funny" and done with true affection.
The jokes didn't hurt Mister Rogers a bit. Can you say, "National Icon"? He's carried on 300 public stations a day and one of his sweaters hangs in the Smithsonian. He's beloved by the child development industry.
Who else on earth could have been picked to introduce President-to-be Clinton to the country's children on the Disney Channel's inauguration eve special? Earlier this year he was being drooled over on "Arsenio Hall," a talk-show he'd never seen before.
Those high-profile media appearances were untypical. Normally, he and his wife Joanne lead a quiet, disciplined, slow-lane life in Pittsburgh. They listen to Beethoven, dote on their 4-year-old grandson Alexander and don't go to Steelers games.
"Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" shows look simple.
But for every minute of air time, there are about three hours of studio work. He makes only 15 new half-hour shows a year, but there plans for specials on racism and projects aimed at helping smaller, more limited audiences, such as children with cancer.
His nonprofit production company Family Communications Inc. sells a range of Mister Rogers' books, cassettes, T-shirts and a $40 wood replica of the trolley.
He thinks his life's work has made a real difference. "We hear from people who grew up with the `Neighborhood' who are now parents. What interests me is that there were some people who used to make fun of it when they were teenagers or in their early 20s, and now, as they watch with their children, they are able to see what we're doing."
He hopes everyone out there knows that he's tried his best to understand what the developmental needs of children are.
"But," he says, "I hope they also know there is nobody who can take the place of their moms or dads. That no electronic image, no matter how wonderful it is, can ever begin to take the place of a caring human being."
So, Fred Rogers has no regrets that he grew up to become Mister Rogers the National Icon, and not a big director at NBC? Are you kidding?
"Can you imagine the joy of being able to use all of your talents in one package?"
Mister Rogers, RIP
Pittsburgh Tribune-Review
Friday, February 28, 2003
In 1993, when Fred Rogers was 64 and already had a sweater hanging in the Smithsonian, he took to the road to celebrate his 25-year run as the icon-in-residence of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood."
Leaving the quiet, slow-lane life he and wife Joanne were living in Pittsburgh, Rogers embarked on a high-profile cross-country media tour that included stops at the Disney Channel and "Arsenio!," a late-night show he'd never seen before.
Back home, Rogers entertained a parade of journalists from around the world that trekked to WQED's studios to interview him in his tiny, cluttered office.
He'd greet each writer and make each one feel just as special as the last, answering their questions slowly and carefully, and usually asking as many questions as they did.
Rogers told the writers he didn't hate the television medium, but he was critical of it, and he wished its famous hypnotic powers could be used in better, less crude ways.
He not only said he had never watched a second of MTV, he admitted he watched virtually no television at all -- not even the good stuff on PBS.
He told them his annual salary was $80,000 -- much less than half of what WQED's top execs were making at the time, he said.
And he told them about the practical jokes a young Michael Keaton had pulled on him when the future Batman worked as the trolley operator on the "Neighborhood" before he went to Hollywood.
Once, Rogers said, Keaton surprised him by stuffing the fronts of his famous shoes with newspaper. Another time, Keaton slipped an inflatable woman doll in his closet.
Both pranks made Rogers laugh, he said, saying they were examples of things that made "it really fun to be in the studio. You can't be serious all the time. Oh, gracious. It's hard enough. It's a job."
Rogers, who made nearly 900 half-hour shows in his long career, was only making about 15 new shows a year in the early 1990s.
Like all of his timeless shows, they were complicated productions. Each minute of air-time, he said, represented about three hours of in-studio work.
That attention to detail was worth every minute, Rogers said. He knew it was part of the reason "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" had such an influence on generations of kids who watched him as they grew up.
"We hear from people who grew up with the 'Neighborhood' who are now parents," he said.
"What interests me is that there were some people who used to make fun of it when they were teenagers or in their early 20s, and now, as they watch with their children, they are able to see what we're doing."
As a young man, Rogers had hopes of becoming a director at NBC. But after 25 years in his own Neighborhood, he had no regrets.
"Can you imagine the joy of being able to use all your talents in one package? Everything that's been given to me -- music and writing and any kind of drama, a love for kids -- how could I have ever managed to ever put that into a professional identity better than this? It's been wonderful."