It was the professional equivalent of walking out of the underbelly of Tiger Stadium and into the seating area for the first time, sunlight embracing with every fiber of its being, an undertone of anticipation and joy that was on the verge of becoming more than an undertone at any time. Three steps in, and the desire for a hot dog is in the back of your throat.
That was the feeling I had entering my first annual conference of the National Association for College Admission Counseling, started in the Midwest to stabilize and expand the practice of applying to college (don’t believe me? One of the founding members was the YMCA). As a school and college counselor, I’d heard about faraway colleges and high schools that had well-established records of getting kids into popular colleges. The opportunity to get to know them better was almost too much to consider.
The conference got off to a strong start with a few awards and a thoughtful keynote, and then came the conference lunch. The chair of the committee putting together this Pittsburgh-based conference stepped up to the microphone and said something like “Before we continue with our program, a neighbor wanted to drop by and say Hello.”
And up stepped Fred Rogers.
College admissions can be very rewarding, as long as you focus on the students. That said, there are times when you also have to pay attention to your high school’s reputation for getting kids into elite colleges, your college’s budget, and what parent or board member has decided college admissions could be better, and it’s your fault they aren’t. That can lead to a sense of weariness on the shoulders of high school counselors and admissions officers.
Fred Rogers healed that just by showing up. The chair hadn’t finished pronouncing Fred’s name, and the entire ballroom was on their feet, cheering like seeing your first home run at Tiger Stadium on a day drenched with sunlight, a childlike joy rich with gratitude for a man who understood everything known about childlike joy. We settled down, and speaking the only way he ever spoke to anyone, Fred Rogers started by saying “Well, it’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood.” He then went on to say that the choice of the right college was second in importance only to the choice of a life’s partner, and the room hushed, as Mister Rogers had reminded us why we did what we did, and why we thought it was equal parts important and wonderful. Budgets and board members didn’t matter anymore. We had our purpose back.
I have to admit I wasn’t much of a Mister Rogers fan as a kid, but as an adult, his work inspired me in many ways—the way he let us applaud without thinking this was about him, but rather about his work; and, truly, the way he talked to everyone exactly the same way. He once testified in front of a skeptical Congress that was about to deny funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting in 1969. He talked to the committee like he talked to Daniel Tiger and any random six-year-old, and left with the money.
My wife just returned from a conference in his hometown, dedicated to sharing Fred Rogers’ way of looking at and engaging the world in business, in college, and in life. If you can’t make the conference, just watch his testimony before Congress, and know the power we all have of being who we are, no matter where we are, and that is enough.
It’s really just one big neighborhood.
Conference
Off she went with a suitcase she loved
It’s only two days she apologized
And that night the side of the bed where she lied
Was cold to the touch, the covers unshoved.
Carry out dinner wasn’t quite as much fun
I watched something else than the show that we shared
And that night quite well knowing that she wasn’t there
I reached for her shoulder to make us both one.
Day hours sped, then when due to return
She ran into traffic her entrance was late
And that night the extra two hours of wait
Provided the lesson I needed to learn
Her company’s treasured, her absence in turn
Reminds me her heart is in mine warmly burned.
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