Blog

By Brent Hoffmann,  Class of 2005

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who loved architecture.  He saw wonderful buildings in a place on TV.  He wanted to meet the man who designed that neighborhood far away.  The boy wanted to pet Daniel Tiger and help Mr. McFeely deliver the mail.  He wanted to ride on a train to Pittsburgh to talk to Mister Rogers.

Actually, it was a much-older boy – me — who wanted to meet the gentle host of “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”  But not to discuss architecture or city planning.  I worked for Sears Roebuck in the (now misnamed) Willis Tower.  Like the journalist in the new movie A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, my boss gave me an assignment: interview Fred Rogers.  Sears was a major sponsor of his popular, long-running TV series for children.  We wanted to shoot a video that highlighted that relationship, and have Mister Rogers talk directly to Sears employees.

Word got out that I was going to interview Mr. Rogers.  Requests poured in for autographed photos.  Many of Sears employees had watched the show as children, then as parents.  I made a list.  Then called his station, WQED-TV in Pittsburgh, to make arrangements.  His assistant answered, speaking slowly and distinctly.  Yes, the station would welcome an interview, and supply the studio and technicians for the taping.

I was ushered in at the station by another assistant, who spoke slowly and distinctly.  (Was this speech pattern unique to Pittsburgh?)  Mr. Rogers entered the studio, smiling, wearing khakis, white shirt and dress shoes.  He greeted me warmly and sat me across from him, no table between us.  It was just us in the room with his video crew – without PR people or lawyers to monitor his words.  Nor were we joined by mailman Mr. McFeely or puppet Daniel Tiger.

First, Mister Rogers interviewed me, talking slowly and gently.  He kept eye contact and leaned forward as I answered.  He listened intently with frequent pauses.  Within a few minutes, I found myself talking like him — slowly and distinctly, like someone who grew up in The Neighborhood.

Would he put on his familiar cardigan sweater and pull on sneakers like he did on his show?  “Oh, no,” he said, “I do that for the children, but now I want to talk to adults.” He faced the camera and thanked Sears for its sponsorship.  For the next 10 minutes, Mister Rogers, a father of two, spoke to Sears employees about the need to accept children as they are, not as we wish them to be someday; about embracing our feelings; dealing with the hurts inside; the need to forgive others and oneself; about anger and other familiar issues of parenthood.  I sensed that he wasn’t playing a “character” on TV.  He seemed to breach the “fourth wall” that separates actors from audiences.  He was the real deal, on camera and off.

After the taping, he asked if I had a list of people who wanted autographs.  He patiently signed all of the photos while chatting with me.  My co-workers were thrilled when I distributed them upon return to the Tower.  The video was duplicated and shown to Sears employees nationwide as well as at headquarters in Chicago.  They loved it.

Although I lost my copy of the tape, I keep the signed photo above my desk at home.  It’s the only picture I display of someone famous. Thank you, Mister Rogers, for making me feel at home in your neighborhood.

CAPTION:

Above Brent’s desk is the autographed photo of a man he admires.