The best slogan

With all of this talk about creating a new image for Pittsburgh, such as in this Post-Gazette story today, I’m been reminded of the numerous failed past attempts to “re-brand” Pittsburgh. I also am reminded of the fact that I came up with what may well be the best slogan yet for this region. But very few people seemed to notice.

The slogan came to me as I was writing about Mister Fred Rogers, shortly after his death. The Rogers story, which ran in Pulp, follows:

Where Neighbors Meet
Past age 30, memories sometimes come back like water seeping into an old well. One memory I'd nearly forgotten recently poured back after I learned of the death last week of America's favorite neighbor, Fred Rogers.

Years ago when I was in college, I was lucky to meet Mister Rogers. It was one of those crisp, early spring days when the weather is turning and the sun seems brighter than usual. I was with a couple of college friends from Carnegie Mellon and we were taking a break from our studies to have some early afternoon beers down in Oakland.

While heading back to campus, walking up Fifth Avenue, my buddy Sweeney started singing, "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood." At six feet and 215 pounds, barrel-chested and gruff-voiced, Sweeney was a sight, all beery and belting out the kid's song as we walked up the street. As we closed in on the WQED building, he finished the song:

"Please won't you be," he sang, punctuating the word with a punch to my chest. "Please won't you be" -- another punch -- "please won't you be my neighbor."

Sweeney, Goon and I laughed. And then we realized we were standing in front of the WQED building.

"We should go in there now and say hi to Mr. Rogers," Sweeney said, giving us a wild look.

Goon and I laughed. "Yeah, go in there half-drunk," Goon said.

"Why not? We're in the neighborhood," Sweeney said. "How are you going to feel if you leave Pittsburgh and you never met Mr. Rogers? We'll tell them we're old fans of his and they'll let us in."

We all laughed again, then Sweeney turned and headed toward the WQED building. We followed behind. At the reception desk, Sweeney explained that we were Carnegie Mellon students and old fans of Mister Rogers, and we were hoping we could stop in and say hello. We must not have been in beer-smelling range, because the nice reception desk lady said, "Hold on, I'll check. I don't think he's taping." She picked up her phone and called to check on his whereabouts. "He's a really nice man," she said as she waited to connect.

Surprising the heck out of us because we thought there was no way we'd see Rogers -- the request was kind of a prank -- the receptionist got off the phone and told us to head upstairs, that we could see him. The three of us looked at each other, flabbergasted, and headed up to his office.

We found his office and he wasn't there. So we looked around, puzzled, and started to amble down the hall, not quite knowing what to do next.

Then Rogers came around a corner and Sweeney said loudly, "How ya doin', neighbor?" stretching out his hand to Rogers and giving him a huge grin.

Rogers graciously shook his hand, smiling at us as we smiled dumbfounded at him, and Sweeney explained that we were old fans and Carnegie Mellon students, and that he was from Philly, Goon was from Virginia and I was from Pittsburgh. "We were just having some beers and we were walking by and we thought we'd stop in and say hi. I just wanted to thank you, you were a great influence," Sweeney said, shaking Rogers' hand again.

Goon and I followed suit, saying something similar, feeling at a loss for words.

"CMU's a good school," Rogers said and he asked us what we were majoring in. As I studied his face I couldn't believe I was actually standing there talking to him. He was wearing one of his trademark red sweaters and his tennis shoes, and I almost felt giggly. Though he seemed smaller than I remembered him, I felt like a little kid again, and part of me was thrown back to sitting at my little airplane-style desk in front of the TV in the morning, eating and watching his show.

He was as warm and personable that day in the WQED offices as he always seemed to be on TV. He noticed Goon's fraternity sweatshirt and asked us if we were fraternity brothers. We told him we were.

"CMU's a tough school," Rogers said, as we parted. "Take it easy on the beer."

As we stepped out of the WQED building and onto the sidewalk, we couldn't believe that we'd actually pulled it off. We were euphoric.

But why not? Fred Rogers was the quintessential friend, the adopted grandfather of 150 million grandchildren. On Mister Rogers' Neighborhood someone was always stopping by to say hello to him. His door was always open.

Rogers lived just up the hill from the neighborhood in which he worked, and he taught many of us to be tolerant, patient and kind. He filled our hearts with joy with songs like "It's such a good feeling" and "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood." And he worked nearly to the end of his life, spreading the good word.

Rogers typified the kindness, patience and generosity that is good to find in people everywhere. But Western Pennsylvanians can take some pride in the fact that he chose to live here. Those who are looking to brand the region might have saved a lot of money on studies and focus groups if they'd watched a little more TV as kids. Perhaps our new catchphrase ought to be "Where Neighbors Meet.”