The best neighbor I never met

The neighborhood Fred loved

Unlike most of my friends (and neighbors) in Boston, where I live today, I didn't grow up with Fred Rogers—I was too old, and geographically too remote.

     But within weeks of my arrival in the United States, Fred had become a benign and familiar figure to me. I could imitate his soft sing-song voice and instantly recognize his stretched cardigans and lace-up sneakers.

     I had also grown to love his red neighborhood trolley and the way he would sit down at the piano and explain that the modulations of life faced by children are often as difficult as modulating from the key of F to F-sharp. He was deeply and tirelessly committed to helping young people navigate such modulations. And he was always concerned to make goodness attractive.
     I realized that there was a spiritual dimension to Fred’s work. He didn't need to put on a funny hat to have a relationship with a child—to reach right into their hearts. And he never forgot how vulnerable they were. As he put it, “Children need to hear you say, ‘I like you just as you are!’”

     More recently, my grasp of the Rogers phenomenon has been strengthened by a 93-minute documentary by Morgan Neville on circuit in our cinemas, Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

     The movie blends nostalgia with a stirring appeal for civility in a nation (and sometimes even families) buffeted by political and social change.

      Twenty-five years ago, I spent part of each summer with friends on the island of Nantucket, where Fred also had a house, and I smile wryly at the way I found myself studying the faces I passed on Main Street in the hope of catching a glimpse of the famous man.

     I never spotted him, but over the years I steadily gained respect for the way his low-tech Public Television programs became a cultural force for good in communities across the country. Most important, his sincerity and wisdom were never restricted to overcoming children’s fears and insecurities. Parents watched him, too—though they didn't always admit it!

     I was privileged to chat with Fred’s wife of more than 50 years, Joanne, shortly after Fred’s passing. In an interview for the Christian Science Sentinel, she encouraged me to get hold of a little book of Fred’s sayings, The World According to Mister Rogers, and, read aloud to me one of her favorite passages—which has since become one of my favorites.

     “In the external scheme of things, shining moments are as brief as the twinkling of an eye, yet such twinklings are what eternity is made of—moments when we human beings can say, ‘I love you,’ ‘I'm proud of you,’ ‘I forgive you,’ ‘I'm grateful for you.’ That's what eternity is made of: invisible, imperishable, good stuff.”

     Whenever I read that last sentence," said Joanne, "I can still hear his voice. The ‘good stuff’ is so like him.” 

     And how right, Joanne was! I didn’t catch up with Fred, yet he remains the closest, friendliest, neighbor I never met.