Mister Rogers, Superheros & Me

Chris and I spent Friday afternoon at 826NYC, that nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting students ages 6-18 with their creative and expository writing skills you hear my talking about so much.

We pulled up to the Fifth Avenue storefront just before noon. Executive Director Scott Seeley, Development Director Jen Snow and volunteers, Emily and Anthony, were busy restocking the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Store which front the tutoring center with products like Secret Identity Kits, Liquid Courage, and Powdered Muscles.

Jen gave us a tour of the shop and the tutoring space. Then we did one-on-one interviews with her and Scott exploring the center's mission, as well as what inspired them to be a part of this great organization.

Chris checks the one-on-one show (during which I typically sit in for the interviewee)

Jen Snow shows Chris 826NYC student's work

Jen and I in our Brooklyn Superhero Supply Secret Identity Glasses

The entire operation -- from it's great publications and whimsical products to its Cape Tester and secret bookcase entrance-- demonstrates a playfullness reminiscent of the Land of Make Believe. They make learning fun, and -- by publishing beautifully-bound books, running mini-film festivals -- do an amazing job reinforcing the value of kids creativity to the kids themselves.

It was a different sort of shoot than, say, Linda Ellerbee or Susan Stamberg, one I figured I could wing. Which explains why, just a few blocks away (as I raced back to MTV for a 4pm meeting), I thought of a few things I should have asked and shots we should have gotten. In fact, I may pop by again in the coming weeks.

In general, though, 826 -- like thousands of other non-profits -- was a great place to answer the question, "So what can I do.

They're doing it every day.

Free (At First)

I found this great quote from my creative writing professor as I was pouring over some old posts from my other blog, "The Daily Journal" (which I'm relaunching in a few weeks):

"It isn't just for the product of the story or the novel, but it's actually for the experience of that bliss that you sometimes do have when you write, as you're somehow transported or elevated. So that's what keeps you going back. It comes to you free, at first, and then you have to work for it."

Like everything else I've ever done, this film has been about the experience -- the process -- as much as the outcome. In fact, the process is most of the story.

Chris is beginning to edit the film on Monday, so I was prepping some materials for him as I'll be working much of the time. I emailed him thusly:

The general conflict is that I am a PBS mind in an MTV world. This movie is road trip (or mythic journey a la Ulysses). As a proxy for our ADD audience, I try and figure out what Fred meant by "deep and simple is far more essential..." and how to apply it and manifest in my life.

To that end, I'd encourage you to do cut downs based in the attached outline arc assuming that each vignette endeavors to:

a) Flow like a conversation (when possible)
b) Establish person's relationship with Mister Rogers
c) Discern take-away message or lesson that person learned from/in relation to Mister Rogers

The bookings, the ideas -- everything came free at first. Now we're starting to work for it.

Mister Rogers, Someone Awesome & Me

Just spoke with my pal Jen Snow over at 826NYC: Game On!

Friday morning Chris and I are going to shoot city exteriors: basically me walking to work, traffic, pedestrian chaos, etc. These shots will comprise the open to the film and establish a binary for the vibe of Nantucket.

Then we'll head over to Brooklyn where Jen's going to give us a tour of the place, explain it's ethos, introduce us to a volunteer, and talk about her own connection to Mister Rogers. Should be cool, and should be our chance to demonstrate how one can manifest depth and simplicity in their own life.

Oh, and I'll be handing over a thousand dollar check on behalf of "A Family Holiday" Benefit!

Also: I'm working on booking one last interview with someone I love and admire but haven't written about here. He's a huge hero of mine. He's an amazing deep and simple storyteller. And we've exchanged a few emails.

So... my fingers are crossed we'll get to talk with him, but I'd say it's 50/50 for now. Either way, I'll have at least one great story for the blog once I hear back from him.

Mister Rogers, Bono & Me

We released "A Family Holiday" Wednesday night.

It was definately a success. The Delancey was packed. The performances were excellent (Jeff Jacobson, Flying Machines and Chris Abad were standouts). And most importantly, CD sales are already in the black. I expect to hand off a check when Chris and I visit 826NYC on Friday (more on that shoot later).

Of course, Chris was there shooting the whole thing from the front row. I'm not sure whether we'll weave a brief vignette into the film or not. The "Family Holiday" project was certainly inspired by Mister Rogers, and my attempt to find ways to manifest deep and simple in my own life.

The real question will be whether the footage is any good. I'm sure what Chris shot is gold. I'm just not sure we can cut around some of the disappointing components of the night, like that some performers embraced the "Do They Know It's Christmas" finale more than others. That is, a few of us were singing and playing our hearts out. Others were just milling about cracking jokes with one another. I have a theory about this.

I think it takes courage to demonstrate enthusiasm. It makes one vulnerable to emphatically state, through words or deeds, "I like this!" or "I believe in this!"

I think that's one of the reasons Bono takes so much guff. He stands up and stands behind for his beliefs, regardless of how uncool they are.

"These days," he says, "Everyone wants John Lennon's sunglasses, accent and swagger, but no one is prepared to take their clothes off and stand naked."

Of course, Mister Rogers was the same way, I mean, metaphorically. Heck, I'm not even sure it occurred to him whether his beliefs were cool or not. He just was. That inspired me when I met him, and continues to inspire me today.

Still, there are those who just don't feel comfortable belting out 80s pop songs (or whatever). And some of them were on stage with me Wednesday night. (Heck, some of them outright avoided the gig.) They're the same types who worry about things like credebility and cool. Which, believe me, I understand. I have to fight the impulse to worry about appearences and perceptions every day.

I decided to embraced the spirit of the occasion, though. I lept up and down, flopped around on the floor, coaxed the audience to sing along, and danced with the front row. I sang like I'd never sing again. And smiled. A lot.

I say, if you wanna sing out, sing out.

PS - If you haven't purchased the record, please do.

Mister Rogers, Jim Wallis & Me

Saturday morning found me in the kitchen well before dawn. Abbi and I had a 15k to run, so I was firing up the coffee maker and -- like so many Saturday morning's before -- listening to American Public Radio's Speaking Of Faith.

This week's guest was Reverend Jim Wallis, an Evangelical Christian writer, political activist, and founder and editor of Sojourners Magazine. He spoke with host Krista Tippet in low, patient tones. Still, standing there in the dark, I was moved by the depth and simplicity of his rousing, hushed sermon.

My hunch is that many consider his bold assertions -- like that inventing deliberately falsifying evidence to drive a nation to war should "not be forgiven" -- a bit much. I happen to think he's right on.

None of it's a surprise, though, given that he was President of Students for a Democratic Society at Michigan State. Inspired, like so many of his generation, by Ghandi and MLK, he writes, lectures and lobbies on behalf of social equity.

"How we treat the other -- the vulnerable, the poor, the enemy -- the one who's not at the table is the one we're going to be judged by."

"I want my kids to be raised in a country that values [that]" he said, "Not just the survival of the fittest."

"I love that Isaiah text where it says that your healing is tied up in your response to those who've been left out and left behind. This nation needs to be healed of it's division our deep inequality we don't know each other and we're diminished by that."

Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the Lordwill be your rear guard.

If you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.

"The big choice for us today is between hope and cynicism. Hope is not a feeling or a personality type. It's a decision. Whenever change has come it's because a people believed in that possibility before it came to be so. Hope is a decision that makes change possible. So I believe hope is the most responsible contribution the faith community can offer the world. Things can change. They have, and they will."

Of course, I immediately wanted to interview him for the film. And I may just yet.

In addition to inspiring me, though, finding Jim Wallis (who is, no doubt, huge within his circles; the guy got Edwards, Obama and Hillary on stage in June to discuss faith, values, and social justice) so serendipitously -- right place, right time -- reminded me of something I'd been thinking a few days prior.

Much as I try to wrap this whole thing -- depth and simplicity and all of the values Mister Rogers stood for and aspired to -- up in a nice 90-minute bow, this film is just the beginning. This journey will take a lifetime.

This Wednesday! A Family Holiday Benefit

Find out more and order yours here.

Mister Rogers, Jack & Me

Ask anyone. I'm not a huge fan of The Grateful Dead.

At the moment, though -- traveling seventy miles-per-hour on the Pennsylvania Turnpike some 37 miles west of Harrisburg -- "Truckin'" is kinda' doin' it for me.

Earlier, I remarked to my brother -- who is a huge Deadhead, so huge that the only CDs he brought on this trip are The Dead -- that, while Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir can clearly sing, there's something grating about their voices. And I'm not about to retract that.

But cruising through the Allegheny Mountains in the dark after a long weekend of standing in the cold looking through a camera's viewfinder, eating sporadically and sleeping even more so, Jerry and Bob's well-worn, time-tested harmonies seem just about right.

Sometimes the lights all shinin' on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it's occurred to me
What a long strange trip it's been

I remain surprised and amazed at the journey that Mister Rogers (inadvertently) began by (inadvertently, presumably) initiating this "Mister Rogers & Me" project.

This morning found Chris and I wandering the Children's Museum of Pittsburgh with its Marketing Director, Bill Schlageter.

The Museum has been home to "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" exhibit since 1998. Developed in partnership with FCI, it replicates the show's set -- it's all there: King Friday's castle, X the Owl's tree -- but in a hands-on way. Kids can be on or behind the camera, drive trolley, put on their own puppet show, or play Mister Rogers' piano.

Picture Picture's there too. We watched a video on the making of the exhibit narrated by David Newell. There was Mister Rogers wearing an overcoat and glasses, standing next to Bill Isler and smiling.

Mister Rogers' spirit was everywhere. And smiling.

Still -- and I've felt this way numerous times throughout the making of this film -- his absence was palpable too.

Puppets from The Land of Make Believe stood in glass cases in the hallway next to the exhibit. And while it was exciting and even moving to see the real Daniel Striped Tiger and King Friday, it made me sad to see them staring back at me all glassy-eyed, lifeless and dusty.

I miss Mister Rogers, and often wish he was here to help Chris and me. I think he would have let us shoot him in Nantucket as I'd originally wished. You may recall that I'd been scribbling "Write Mister Rogers" on my daily To Do list for weeks prior to his death. If I'd only been half as confident or assertive then, we may have captured some of the magic I experienced first hand that September afternoon in 2001.

That's not how it unfolded, though. Or, I believe, how it was intended to unfold.

Instead, Chris and I -- and David Newell, Bill Isler, Amy Hollingsworth and all of the people he inspired in some small way -- are left to carry the message.

Heck, I shouldn't even put us amongst that list. We're not building a library or a museum, but, in some small way, we're trying to do our part on behalf of his legacy.

I'm still unsure of how it will manifest for us. I felt a tingle of excitement standing outside of WQED yesterday, but I also felt to outside of it all.

Likewise this afternoon as Chris and I drove past the Fred Rogers Center for Childhood Learning at St. Vincent's College just outside of his hometown of Latrobe, Pennsylvania. The building is still under construction, but I didn't want to blow our chances of being invited back to interview archivist Brother David Kelly because of an unauthorized shoot.

Still, we soldier on as, I believe, Mister Rogers would have us do.

We drove on to Latrobe, nestled there in the golden-brown Alleghenies, and searched in vein for a scenic overlook from which to shoot the valley. The city was sleepy and gray, and felt almost out of time. Main Street was an empty collection of storefronts, though it wasn't impossible to imagine its great granite buildings in their mid-fifties glory.

We finally arrived on the hospital's parking garage whose five stories towered over the old Rolling Rock Brewery. We climbed the ramps and looked out over it all. The nearby gas station and strip mall made it difficult to visualize a bucolic childhood, but a distant train passing over an arch stone trestle helped.

I stood there next to Chris shivering in the waning afternoon and wondered what the heck we were doing three hundred miles away from our wives, jobs, and homes.

It felt like Latrobe was a bust. We got a few scenics, but the Chamber of Commerce didn't even know where to send us.

As we headed out of town, Chris said, "Why don't you take a left and see if there's a view up there."

We drove around a hillside neighborhood for a few blocks, but were under whelmed. As we turned down the hill to leave town, though, Chris spotted St. Vincent's on the top of the hill across the valley. I parked, and he set up the tripod in the middle of the street.

As we stood there shooting, a teenage wearing jeans and a black Transformers t-shirt walked up the hill and through the shot, all the while staring at us quizzically.

"Whassup, dude?" I said.

"Hey," he responded. "Nice camera."

The kid's name, it ends up, is Jack Denny.

We talked a while. I asked him why there was no sign of Mister Rogers in Latrobe ("Because this town kinda sucks."). And he asked me about our film.

"Who's is it?" he asked.

"Ours," I answered.

"Where's it for?" He followed.

"Theatres," I said.

Jack, it ends up, is an aspiring filmmaker.

"What I really want to do is direct."

We stood there quietly overlooking Latrobe as the sun broke through a tiny hole in the slate gray clouds and shone on Saint Vincent's twin steeples.

We shook hands, then turned to go.

"There are a thousand stories in this town, Jack," I said. "And you've got a camera and a computer. Go tell 'em."

As we wound our way through the mountains towards home, I thought about the quote on the top of this blog:

"There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person."

Suddenly, eight DV tapes of footage or not, even the 350 miles of dark, snowy highway ahead of us seemed well worth the trip.

Pittsburgh Day III: Children's Museum

Pittsburgh Day II: B-Roll & Bridges

After a chaotic Saturday driving clear across Pennsylania, checking into out hotel, rushing off to meet and shoot Davy Rothbart's "There Goes The Neighborhood" show at Pittsburgh's Future Tenant, then interviewing him back at the hotel 'til 2:30 in the morning, Chris and I had a relatively quiet Sunday grabbing b-roll of exteriors and scenics.

Looking east towards Pittsburgh from the West End Bridge over the Ohio River, one can see Heinz Field on Pittsburgh's North Shore to left, downtown mid-frame, and the South Shore on the right.

Looking west towards Johnstown from the West End Bridge. Six trains passed on three seperate tracks in the twenty minutes we were shooting there. Ethan would have loved it. Heck, his dad and I sure did!

Chris shoots the Fort Pitt Bridge from the West End Bridge insulated against the dull-gray, 30 degree day by "the finest GoreTex money can buy!"

The remains of the Manchester Bridge just south of Heinz Field will soon become "A Tribute to Children" featuring a fifteen foot high statue of Mister Rogers. Now, though, this bridge foundation serves to motivate Steeler fans (who, best as I can tell, don't need much motivation). Chris and I might hire Industrial Light & Magic to remove the banner.

Chris shoots exteriors at WQED Pittsbugh, home of FCI Communications and "Mister Rogers Neighborhood," not to mention the first community television station in America.

Chris and I both had a bit of a tingle as we approached WQED.

"This is where the set was?" Chris asked.

"This is it!" I said.

There wasn't much evidence of Mister Rogers' presence, save for a dinosaur wearing a red cardigan out front, presumably the remainder of one of those civic art initiatives.

I walked around the building and noticed that a stage door was ajar in the back. I poked my head in, hoping for some sign of the Neighborhood set, but saw nothing. Still, it was difficult not to imagine Mister Rogers lighting up the place.

Pittsburgh Day I: Lost & Found

The Found Magazine guys -- Davy and Peter Rothbart, plus their sidekick Andrew Cohen -- have learned a thing or two performing some 180 shows over the course the last three years.

They know how to find every Subway sandwhich shop within three miles of any given highway.

And they know how to put on one hell of a show. Equal parts literary reading, fund drive, lost and found, show and tell, stand-up and rock performance, it's and hour and a half of substance and form.

Moreover, they've applied the kind of top-notch, added-value salesmanship that Madonna and The Eagles honed years ago.

The VIP Ticket.

For four times the cost of a normal ticket, Found Magazine devotees can hang backstage sharing pizza and PBRs while the guys sign the contents of their shiny red gift bag: Peter's CD, the latest issue of Found (the "Crime" issue), a poster, some buttons, and -- I love these guys -- a bright yellow poster encouraging you to spread the good word about Found Magazine.

Marketing geniuses, these guys.

Which explains how the sold out New York's Upright Citizen's Brigade Theater last month, their hometown Michigan Theater last night, two shows here at Pittsburgh's Future Tenant, and -- assuming the trend holds -- 25 more venues before year's end.

And here's the best part: it's all for charity. Tonight's shows benefit Mister Rogers company, Family Communications. Which explains why I"m in Pittsburgh on a rainy Saturday night..

Davy, who's a regular contributor to "This American Life," has been compiling his hilarious and heartbreaking collection of found notes, receipts, and emails online and in Found Magazine for a few years. His tours consist primarily of him reading a fistful of found items, turning over the stage to his brother to sing a few songs based on found items, circulating an email list, pitching the merch table, then reading a few more. Thing is, it's completely cool, and completely compelling.

Did I mention hilarious?

One found item is a grocery list consisting of the following items:

Rahman Noodles
Rahman Noodles
Rahman Noodles
Rahman Noodles
Lubricated Condems
Rahman Noodles

On this pre-Thanksgiving leg of the tour, Post Secret founder/editor Frank Warren ("The Most Trusted Man In America") is sharing the bill. Frank's conceit is similar: he posts anonymously contributed secrets to his website every week, and as collected the best and most-poignant ones into a few books.

"We all have a choice," Frank says. "We can lock our secrets away in a box and bury it deep inside, or we can find it, bring it out and share it."

Afterwards, I tell Frank that his mission reminds me of my favorite Mister Rogers' quotes: "That which is mentionable is manageable."

Which is why I'm here: community, and communications.

Well after the second show, when the chairs are stacked, the volunteers are gone, and the last fan has left the building, Chris, Davy and I headed back to the hotel to squeeze in a quick interview before Davy, Peter and Andy point their rented mini-van towards Columbus. We order room service, clip on our lav mics, and settle in beneath the bright lights.

It's late, we're tired, and deep into our PBRs. The edges of Davy's eyes are red, though his iris shines bright green like his Eastern Michigan jersey. We do our best to piece together a conversation -- he tells me about meeting Mister Rogers as a four-year-old, then visiting him again as an adult, and tries to draw some parallels between Mister Rogers' work and his. But it's late, though, and we're tired. Moreover, his posse's getting wrestles. And so, some forty-five minutes later, we fold his room service cheeseburger into a napkin, send him on his way to Columbus, and then collapse into deep, dreamless sleep.