A Tribute to Fred Rogers.
I grew up watching Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood on television. People would stop by where he was, or, he’d make a trip to the cake shop, or something, and everybody knew him. He took an interest in everyone. Fred Rogers was a good man.
Ain’t dere no more but not forgotten, as we say in New Orleans more than once all the time.
If I may wax philosophical—- It is nice to be a part of a neighborhood’s day-to-day fabric, one thread woven into and touching so many others in a vibrant and colorful human tapestry, a participant in making history with a calling, versus somebody who lives someplace, plugging in and plugging out, without any sense of context or texture. Embed yourself in the world around you. That is my advice.
Whatever happened to romance?
Kaspar David Friedrich is as dead and gone and still around as Fred Rogers is dead and gone and still around. Look around.
There was a red trolley in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood. We have a red streetcar in Mid-City New Orleans. They could be twins.
The Canal Streetcar Line is the spine of Mid-City. The cross-streets are the neighborhood’s ribs. New Orleans has a mystical body. It is nice to be a part of it all in the heart of it all.
I have talked to so many people today, in all sorts of professions, from all walks of life, in all sorts of places. I have spent today popping into places, just strolling around, chitchatting, being curious. Everyone is so nice. This is New Orleans. Every day in New Orleans is a bubble bath in paradise. You think I am exaggerating? Shadow me.