We remember his lessons

My contact with him was limited because I was only allowed to watch

an hour or so of television per day. I always reserved at least 30

minutes for afternoon cartoons, so that left me with only 30 minutes

in the morning for “Sesame Street.”

But sometimes, when my mom was still getting ready for work, or

was lenient with the TV time, I would keep my little rear parked in

front of the tube to watch “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.” The children’s

TV icon, also known as Fred Rogers, died Thursday at his Pittsburg

home from stomach cancer. He was 74.

My memories of the show are a little fuzzy. I remember watching

it. I remember liking it, but I don’t remember much about it, so I

called on an expert to help me remember: Mom.

“Well, I don’t remember much about it except for him always

putting on and taking off his shoes,” my mom told me. “I always

wondered why he wasted time doing that, but you must have liked it

because I remember that little horse.”

A horse you say? Still doesn’t ring a bell. I know, I’ll ask my

peers. Surely, they remember our famous childhood role model.

“Ohmigosh, that guy that was always taking off his clothes,” my

friend Adrienne said. “I remember a lot of V-neck sweaters, but

that’s all. I don’t think I watched him much.”

Sigh. Katie, help me out here.

“Yeah, I remember him. He died,” Katie said in a mournful tone.

“What do you remember about him?”

“Shoot, I don’t know,” she replied. “Lots of sweaters, changing

shoes. It was on right after “Sesame Street.” Oh, wasn’t there

something called speedy delivery and his little kingdom. And what was

that trolley’s name?” -- pause -- “Oh yeah: Trolley.”

OK. So, he didn’t make a big impression on my friends. As the news

of Mr. Roger’s death spread across the newsroom, colleague and

education reporter Christine Carrillo, who is also my age, was my

saving grace.

“I loved Mr. Rogers,” Christine said. “Remember that little

trolley that went around? I loved it.”

OK, I’ve got the image of the trolley, but I need more. I need

substance.

“Remember the trips to the factories and how crayons were made?”

Christine asked.

Bingo.

I totally remember that episode. I remember being so mesmerized by

the process, I shared the information with my cousins ad nauseum.

It all started with a big glob of plain wax, which was melted down

and assigned different colors. The liquid oozed along the assembly

line, pouring into various vats. The molten wax gushed into little

molders, where it cooled and was spit out onto a conveyor belt to be

covered in coordinating paper. It was so cool.

Wait, wait. Don’t put the paper down. You’re acting like my

cousins. It was fascinating, really. I have never looked at a Crayola

in the same way.

There was also Mr. Roger’s visit to the lady who collected dolls

and I recall a quilt-maker and a stamp collector. He also talked to

the mail carrier (it was OK to call him the mailman back then), fed

his fish and promoted polite conduct.

Actually, I think it was he who inspired me to want to learn how

to tie my shoes. I remember pestering my mother about the task until

she sat me down and taught me. (And she thought there was no method

to his footwear madness.)

But seriously, as a parent who is particularly concerned with all

the TV images my young son is exposed to, I do mourn the loss of

wholesome -- albeit a tad tedious -- shows and role models such as

Mr. Rogers. (Yes, this is still Lolita, not Steve Smith. We can have

some things in common.)

Anyone who dedicated his life to educating children, teaching them

manners and how to hang up your clothes after taking them off (can I

get an amen from mothers across Newport-Mesa?) should be commended.

I looked on the PBS Web site and found that perhaps Rogers had

more of an effect on me than I realized.

“Little by little, we human beings are confronted with situations

that give us more and more clues that we aren’t perfect,” Rogers

wrote on a page titled “Thoughts for all ages.”

Boy, can I relate to that one. This one, too:

“As human beings, our job in life is to help people realize how

rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has

something that no one else has -- or ever will have -- something

inside that is unique to all time. It’s our job to encourage each

other to discover that uniqueness and to provide ways of developing

its expression.”

And while this next one was written about others, it applies to

him and his legacy perfectly.

“If only you could sense how important you are to the lives of

those you meet; how important you can be to people you may never even

dream of,” Rogers wrote. “There is something of yourself that you

leave at every meeting with another person.”

Fred Rogers met us each morning with a smile and kind words. He

was an icon and will be sorely missed.

* LOLITA HARPER writes columns Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays

and covers culture and the arts. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275

or by e-mail at lolita.harper@latimes.com.