Mr. Rogers was such a wonderful man, and the real deal. I was living in Pittsburgh when he died. I used to walk past his house, though I don't actually know which one it is--only the street he lived on, which is how I know I used to walk by it. I'm told he walked from there across the Carnegie Mellon campus to WQED every day, though by the time I was there they were no longer filming and I never saw him. But on the day he died, as I was walking into campus, I met a friend of mine from Germany. He asked how I was, and I said I was sad because Mr. Rogers had died. Dirk didn't know who that was, of course, so I explained. The next day when I saw him he told me he'd watched the tribute to him last night on PBS. He hadn't fully believed me, he said, but watching that tribute showed him what an amazing man Fred Rogers was.
When the biography came out, I read it eagerly. Everything he did for the show and in most of his life was intentional and part of who he was. He's a modern-day saint if you ask me.
I made sure to find his shoes in the Smithsonian American History Museum when we were there just now. I remember seeing one of his sweaters there long ago, but all I found this time was the sneakers. Still. I think of him too when I need a dose of patience and intentionality.
I absolutely agree—with everything you wrote. One of my favorite moments involving him is something I still show in my public speaking classes. He was being honored with a lifetime achievement award at the Emmys, and as he stood there, he asked everyone to remember the special people in their lives, the ones that had helped to bring them to this very moment. And he said he would be silent as they did so. The camera panned across the audience, and people had tears on their cheeks. On awards shows, people sometimes try to say as much as they can—to get it all out. He chose to be silent—and it moved the crowd to tears. I use the clip to explore the power of silence. Next time I get to DC, I’ll have to seek out his shoes : ). Thank you for this lovely meditation on him.
Birdie does embody the Tasmanian Devil at times! Love this.
I hadn't thought of that, but yes, absolutely : ).
Yes. Yes.
And what a great lesson on silence for your students.
Mr. Rogers was such a wonderful man, and the real deal. I was living in Pittsburgh when he died. I used to walk past his house, though I don't actually know which one it is--only the street he lived on, which is how I know I used to walk by it. I'm told he walked from there across the Carnegie Mellon campus to WQED every day, though by the time I was there they were no longer filming and I never saw him. But on the day he died, as I was walking into campus, I met a friend of mine from Germany. He asked how I was, and I said I was sad because Mr. Rogers had died. Dirk didn't know who that was, of course, so I explained. The next day when I saw him he told me he'd watched the tribute to him last night on PBS. He hadn't fully believed me, he said, but watching that tribute showed him what an amazing man Fred Rogers was.
When the biography came out, I read it eagerly. Everything he did for the show and in most of his life was intentional and part of who he was. He's a modern-day saint if you ask me.
I made sure to find his shoes in the Smithsonian American History Museum when we were there just now. I remember seeing one of his sweaters there long ago, but all I found this time was the sneakers. Still. I think of him too when I need a dose of patience and intentionality.
I absolutely agree—with everything you wrote. One of my favorite moments involving him is something I still show in my public speaking classes. He was being honored with a lifetime achievement award at the Emmys, and as he stood there, he asked everyone to remember the special people in their lives, the ones that had helped to bring them to this very moment. And he said he would be silent as they did so. The camera panned across the audience, and people had tears on their cheeks. On awards shows, people sometimes try to say as much as they can—to get it all out. He chose to be silent—and it moved the crowd to tears. I use the clip to explore the power of silence. Next time I get to DC, I’ll have to seek out his shoes : ). Thank you for this lovely meditation on him.