Good Neighbors
TV Eye
By Belinda Acosta, Fri., March 7, 2003
Fred Rogers, otherwise known as Mr. Rogers, died last week, and there have been several quiet tributes to him on TV and radio. I have to say I didn't grow up watching Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. I was already the ripe old age of 9 when he appeared and thought myself above all that kiddie stuff. This is amusing, considering I sometimes have Sesame Street on in the background in the afternoon. Elmo makes me laugh.
Nearly everyone knows the opening sequence of Mister Rogers: the twinkly music, Mr. Rogers singing his little ditty ("It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood ..."), coming down the stairs, changing into his sweater and sneakers. The ditty ends with the question, "Won't you be my neighbor?"
As I was thinking of Mr. Rogers, listening to or reading the heartfelt tributes, I also began to think of the profundity of his gentle request, "Won't you be my neighbor?" I've lived in three apartment complexes. Each time new people moved into the apartment across the hall, I never knew their names. I knew that one neighbor left their trash outside their apartment for days, or that another slammed his door when he came and went, but I never knew their names. To be honest, there's still a part of me that believes it's better that way. But now I'm wondering if, instead of fuming about their annoying habits, I'd gotten to know them, maybe I would have understood them enough not to be bothered, or found the words to ask them to move their trash or take out their frustration on a pillow. Maybe diplomacy starts with the ability to say "hello."
Whether it's an intimate relationship, your neighbors across the hall, or a nation half a world away, knowing someone takes work. In these days of terrorism alerts, blind patriotism, and a precarious economy, that work is diminished, replaced by the survivalist desire to remain top dog no matter what the cost. One of the most poetic protest measures against the Bush administration I've found was an online call to send a small bag of rice to President Bush with a note, "If your enemies are hungry, feed them." Talking with some peacenik friends, I wondered, wouldn't it be more productive to give that rice to your unknown neighbor with a note that says, "Maybe we could meet and discuss our views of the world from where we sit." I'm a sentimental cynic, so already I'm thinking of all the awful ways that could backfire. But I'm also thinking, damn -- what if that really worked? I don't need to be everybody's friend, but I can be a friendly neighbor. At least that's what Mr. Rogers taught.
The death of Fred Rogers didn't deeply affect me like it affected so many who watched Mister Rogers. But I have the eerie sense that his death officially signals the beginning of a dark time in the human heart. A time when compassion, thoughtfulness, and other traits we're taught as youngsters have been squeezed out of us into something stony and small: an annoyance that aggravates our fast-paced march for power and the inalienable "right" to drive SUVs no matter who or what we drive over.
During the Gulf War, Fred Rogers reportedly said during the show, "All children shall be well-taken-care-of in this neighborhood and beyond -- in times of war and in times of peace." If Mr. Rogers isn't here to make that promise, maybe it's time we learned to do it ourselves.
