By John Kiesewetter
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Fred Rogers on the WQED set in 1996. (File photo) | ZOOM |

It's a sad day in neighborhoods all across America.

Fred Rogers, who reassured TV's youngest viewers (and their parents and grandparents) that they were loved and truly special, died early Thursday at his Pittsburgh home after a two-month battle with stomach cancer. He was 74.

Rogers dedicated his life to using the power of television to talk to preschoolers on PBS' Mister Rogers' Neighborhood about their fears and emotions - everything from getting angry to worries about being sucked down the bathtub drain.

And whenever he visited a city, Rogers insisted on hugging the parents who brought their kids to see him - the adults who bought his books, or treasured the parenting advice on his Web site (www.misterrogers.org) .

They knew he was much more than just sneakers and sweaters. They admired him for approaching television - and life - as a ministry.

In fact, he was ordained by the Presbyterian Church to minister to children and families through TV in 1962, while working at Pittsburgh's WQED-TV.

"When I saw television for the first time, I saw people throwing pies in each others' faces - demeaning things," Rogers said in a 1997 interview at WQED-TV.

"I knew then that this superb medium needed to be used for things that might elevate the human spirit, not denigrate it."

Creator, writer, voice

He quit NBC during TV's formative years (1951-53) to return home and start The Children's Corner (1954-61) on WQED-TV. He launched a half-hour local Misterogers' Neighborhood show in 1966, which was renamed Mister Rogers' Neighborhood for its national public TV debut on Feb. 19, 1968.

For 33 years, until his retirement in 2000, Rogers wrote every word and song for almost 1,000 shows. He also was the voice for puppets King Friday XIII, Daniel Striped Tiger and Henrietta Pussycat.

He opened the program by putting on colored sneakers and a zippered cardigan knitted by his mother, Nancy McFeely Rogers. (He sent one of her red sweaters to the Smithsonian Institution in 1984.)

His slow, distinct style stood out in a fast-paced, high-tech disposable culture. While PBS' Sesame Street blitzed kids with facts and figures, Rogers gently talked to them about who they are, what they feel and how they fit into the world.

"Knowing that we can be loved exactly as we are gives us all the best opportunity for growing into the healthiest people," he said in 1997.

Big help to local boy

He touched millions of viewers. Patrick Kiley of Wyoming, a 17-year-old disabled teenager, loved his "TV neighbor" so much that Rogers was the first person to whom he wrote when he learned to communicate 10 years ago. His family cherishes the two letters from Rogers to Patrick.

"Mr. Rogers was a very important part of his life at that time," says Patrick's mother, Beth Kiley. "I'm sure it was his kind voice, and explaining things - even the mundane things - like how a drain works or how a crayon is made. All of those things that adults gloss over, Mr. Rogers knew that children were curious about."

Rogers' child-like manner was mocked by comedians, most notably Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live. But many adults who have laughed at the spoofs on videotapes probably don't know Rogers played a key role in allowing consumers to tape any telecast for their personal use without violating copyright laws.

The U.S. Supreme Court cited Rogers' testimony in a 1984 ruling: "(Rogers) had absolutely no objection to home taping for noncommercial use and expressed the opinion that it is a real service to families to be able to record children's programs and to show them at appropriate times."

After he stopped performing in 2000, Rogers and his Family Communications Inc. in Pittsburgh continued to produce parenting newsletters, videos, music, books and resources for teachers and child-care professionals. (Tips for parents on talking to children about Rogers' death were posted on his Web site early Thursday.)

In his later years, the humble Rogers used his speaking appearances at the White House, the Daytime Emmy Awards and colleges to encourage adults to reflect on teachers, mentors, parents and others who shaped their lives. Rogers, who liked to tell people that "Fred" was a Scandinavian word for "peace," would pause and "give some silence."

Power of silence

At his 1999 TV Hall of Fame induction, he told a Hollywood gathering: "Let's just take 10 seconds to think of those people who loved us, and wanted what was best for us in life, those who have encouraged us to become who we are."

He silently looked at his watch, then said: "No matter where they are, either here or in heaven, imagine how pleased these people must be to know that you thought of them right now."

Adults who grew up on Mister Rogers' Neighborhood can take solace in knowing that Rogers leaves behind almost 1,000 shows for future generations. The youngest viewers won't know - or need to know - that Rogers is looking down from heaven when kids hear him sing "It's such a good feeling to know you're alive."

And as long as there are kids who grew up with Mister Rogers, there will be adults who insist that their children watch him, too. He seemed genuinely surprised about his legacy in 1997.

"How could I have known that we would have been doing this for 30 years?" said Rogers, who is survived by his wife of 50 years, Sara Joanne, a concert pianist; two sons and two grandsons.

"That's a real joy to me, to think that - like some classic book that a parent's parents might have known through their own parents or grandparents, and then offered to them - that this is the first chance that a TV program could do that."

Speaking one-to-one

He never thought of his show as mass communication. He was just speaking one-on-one to a child in the neighborhood.

"I've wanted all these years to let children know that there are many ways to say `I love you.' And that each one of those children is unique and acceptable," he said in 1997.

"I'd love to go off to heaven knowing that kids have felt within their being that they have this to share, and that their neighbor is every bit as important as they are."

E-mail jkiesewetter@enquirer.com