Posted on 02/27/2003 8:39:52 AM PST by John H K
Fred Rogers woke up every morning at five o'clock and prayed for nearly two hours for people he loved. He loved so many people—and so many people loved him—that I could never imagine the form his prayers took, but I knew that he prayed for me, and for my wife, and for members of my wife's family whom he had never met and whom he knew only through what I had told him in my phone calls and e-mails.
I had written about Fred for Esquire in 1998. People were always amazed when I said that Fred and I had stayed in touch after my story—that we spoke on the phone a couple of times a year, and that Fred had written me well over 100 e-mails—but once you entered into Fred's life, well, there was no doubt that he would enter into yours. He was not only the kindest man I'd ever met, but also one of the most fiercely disciplined, to the degree that he saw nothing but the good in other human beings. When he saw the good in me, he fixed on it, and there was a never a moment in which he didn't try to make me live up to it, by word, or by example, or, most often, by prayer.
It is a source of terrible regret, now that he has died, that my wife Janet never met him in person. He was, however, a member of my household, a man conversant with the names of my nieces and nephews, and with not only the names but also the temperaments of each of my dogs. His relationship with me was his relationship with us, and on Christmas Eve of this past year, I found out how strong that relationship was. Janet had received a phone call on Christmas Eve. The call was intended for me, but I was out walking the dog, and Janet answered the phone. She barely knew the person calling, but she had reason to believe that he was a friend. He was not. He was angry at me, and so he wound up attacking my wife, in the most personal terms. (Who he was, or his reason for attacking, has little to do with the outcome of this story.) Janet has lived a nearly blameless life; she has never been attacked that way, ever, especially by somebody with whom she supposed a bond, and that night, when we went to bed, she couldn't sleep. She was consumed with anger, and ill wishes, and as Christmas Eve turned to Christmas Day, she was still awake, and still tortured by what the attack had done to her own spirit. Finally, in near desperation, the thought came to her: "What would Mister Rogers do?" And the answer came, nearly as quickly: "Pray."
She prayed for the man who had attacked her. The prayers did not come easily, but at three in the morning, she prayed that he might find relief for his unhappiness—that he might still find a way to be happy. She went to sleep, and when she told me, on Christmas morning, what she had done, I went out to my office and called Fred. "How sweet of you, Tom, to share that story with me on Christmas," he said, sounding, like he always did, exactly like Mister Rogers. "How special." He never told me he was sick, and I never asked. He did, however, inform me that he was still praying for me, for Janet, and for a troubled member of our family whom he had never met. I had no doubt, then, that he was a man whose prayers were answered. I have no doubt that his prayers are answered still.
Mr. Rogers Neighborhood actually originated as a local Pittsburgh PBS show called "The Children's Corner" in 1954. Mountaineer was kind enough to transcribe the lyrics to the opening and closing themes for this show on this thread: Memories of Growing Up in the 40's and 50's (and since, even). In fond childhood memory of The Children's Corner and Mr. Rogers, I am posting the lyrics to the closing theme here:
Goodnight, God
Goodnight, God, and thank you
For this special day.Thank you, too, for helping us
at work and at our play.Thank you for our family,
for each and every friend.Forgive us, please, for everything
we've done that might offend.Keep us safe and happy, God.
Tell us what to do.Goodnight, God and thank you, God
for letting us love you.Goodnight, God and thank you, God
for letting us love you.
God bless you and rest in peace, Mr. Rogers.
Your presence will be missed, but you leave behind many, many good memories.
I still own (I made a cassette of it)of the original Mr. Rogers Neighborhood album and many of the songs enter my mind at the oddest moments. Any time I spell the word "friend" the melody of "F-R-I-E-N-D special, you are my friend, your special to me....." goes through my mind without fail.
I remember as a kid recording an episode on my old Panasonic cassette recorder and going to the piano trying to figure out what the piano player was doing at the opening of each of the shows (I didn't have a clue...). It was a very cool two fisted lick leading into the descending chord progression of "It's a Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood".
Little did I realize (until much later of course)that it was a supurb jazz player by the name of John Costa. Rogers was a fine player himself, and it's clear by listening to his wonderful songs, that he knew what he was doing.
A loss indeed.
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