Hand It To The Hero.

As I’m a kid from Kansas, New York City has always been pretty impressive to me - it looked liked the movies, no matter where you looked. After 30 years here I thought I’d seen it all, but one afternoon Zoe called and asked me to meet her uptown after work. “We’re going on a trip!” she said. “I think you’ll really like it.” I’ve learned not to ask a lot of questions - I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to make some sort of informed decision as to whether or not I’m gonna do what she’s telling me to do.

That would be silly. My wife plans all the trips, when we’re lucky enough to be able to take one.

She chooses locations “significant to the evolution of human society”. Very few beaches, amusement parks, or resorts of any number of stars fit into this category.

But I have found myself five stories underground surrounded by thousands of skeletons, standing on a mountain bathed in green light as the first rays of dawn broke over North America, and running away from small groups of ill-intentioned men in three continents. While not textbook “relaxing”, each location has offered an experience which powerfully lingers - without, curiously, any photos having been captured.

And this destination was the best she had ever chosen. All this month I’ve been writing about America not being afraid - of monsters to speak its mind of a little hard work of innovation and I would continue this list if Spookytime™ was a little bit longer - “the United States of America is not afraid of ghosts, heights, clowns, the dark...”. but I add to that list today that America is not afraid of its heroes .

I believe the USA is a story we keep telling ourselves. We are a nation that has been directly assured by management that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself , which our country did take to heart for a time with a bout of red-scaring and cold war-ing (lions and tigers and bears) but then girded and pulled itself somewhat together.

And it is these literary and cinematic heroes that reflect how we see one other and the world around us. Whether it’s Gotham City, Wisteria Lane, or Starfleet, our collective courage is embodied in these characters.

They may have evolved from six-guns to laser swords, but a few have been powerful enough to retain consistent relevance through many generations. I met Zoe at the subway stop that night, and we walked a couple of blocks to a nondescript building, where her friend was waiting for us at a back door.

We followed her in, made a few turns, and found ourselves on Sesame Street . Jim Henson’s Muppets™ of Sesame Street represent a USA at the absolute height of harmony and community, and to step onto that set immediately brought tears to my eyes.

I had never been there before, but I knew every inch of it: Hooper’s Store, Oscar’s trash can, and that STOOP, that wonderful brownstone stoop where everything in the universe seemed to happen. Zoe had a co-worker whose husband was one of Jim Henson’s original puppeteers - she had invited her to the set and I guess must have asked if she had any kids that might want to come and she answered “just the one”.

Here’s the deal with physically standing in front a Muppet™: your logical think-brain tells you to look the puppeteer in the eye and speak with a mature, adult, calm tone directly to their face. But you’re facing two faces, and almost instantly one finds oneself speaking both to the puppeteer and (technically) their hand, which is now, in fact, an autonomous living being.

I leaned heavily into this, carrying on conversations with The Count and Zoe (theirs, not mine) and finally meeting the creature of the moment, Elmo. Elmo was accompanied by Kevin Clash, a Emmy Award winning performer and artist who, I guess, just happened to be visiting Sesame Street as well. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elmo!” I said. “Elmo is happy to meet you too!” said Elmo. “Good to meet you too, Sir.” I said to Mr.

Clash. “Likewise.” Mr. Clash replied.

Elmo was called to set for a take on the stoop with a group of kids: we were allowed to stay and watch. When the take was completed, he came back over. “That looked fun.” I said. “Those kids are very nice!” Elmo commented.

The stage manager called for Elmo: one of the parents of the young performers wanted her child to have a photo with him. And this was the height of my visit: the mother spoke directly to Elmo, telling him where to stand and how to pose, but she seemed HONESTLY CONFUSED as to why Mr.

Clash was standing near her at all, and at one point physically pushed him ON HIS FACE to get her child as close to Elmo as he could be and Mr. Clash as far away out of the frame as possible AT THE SAME TIME.

They both came back over after the photo-op. “I guess that must happen to you all the time.” I said. “You have no idea.” Elmo replied. Get full access to :lowerblackpain at lowerblackpain.substack.com/subscribe