Bonus Episode: Officer Clemmons Returns With A New Memoir

Welcome to the Neighborhood, a Mr. Rogers tribute podcast. I'm your host, Rick Lee James of rickleejames.com, and I run the Mr. Rogers Say Quotes Twitter account found @MrRogersSay. As we again walk into this podcast neighborhood, I want you to know that no matter where you are from, you are welcome here. I'm glad to be your neighbor. Every daughter, every son, every tribe, and every tongue, in the spirit of Fred Rogers and the life of welcome that he lived, welcome to the neighborhood. My guest this week on this very special bonus episode is our old friend Francois Clemmons, also known as Officer Clemmons. Francois Scarborough Clemmons is an opera singer, a playwright, and a lecturer best known for his appearances as Officer Clemmons on Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. Francois made his first appearance in the neighborhood in 1968. His role as Officer Clemmons on Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood was groundbreaking, presenting a positive image of an African American at a time when racial tensions were high. He writes in his new book, Officer Clemmons, that in Fred Rogers he found a friend, a mentor, and with Fred's wife Joanne, a family. His new memoir is titled Officer Clemmons., and it's now available. Francois Clemmons, welcome to the neighborhood.

Well, thank you very much, Rick. That's quite an introduction. Thank you very much.

Well, I am so glad that we have a chance to visit again tonight here in this podcast neighborhood, and I know our listeners are excited to hear what you have to say again. And how have you been doing?

Well, I've been— first of all, I don't like that I'm in jail. I'm incarcerated here at the house. I can't leave. 2 weeks ago I had my 75th birthday and everybody, all my good friends said to me, "We're doing this for your protection. We're considering your health and your vulnerability." Because what happened was I had a blood clot in my left lung and also in my left knee. And it put me in the hospital for a couple of days. And then when I got out, you know, I was learning to walk again on that tender knee and So I've had those health problems. I am fine now, and I've been doing lots of interviews and podcasts and for magazines as well as websites. I told my publisher Catapult that I feel like I'm working. I might as well dress and leave here every morning.

Well, I'm glad that you're keeping busy, and you were sharing with me just before we started the recording tonight that You know, you've been talking with places like CBS and NBC and Al Roker and people like that, or, you know, you're getting to hang out with some of those good folks. And so that's an exciting time, and we just feel honored to have you here on this program tonight. And it's so good to get to talk to you again. I enjoyed our conversation last time on my other podcast, Voices in My Head. But I want to get into your new book, and I still have not had a chance to read it, but I've been going online and taking as many notes as I could and finding and other podcasts and television shows where you've been on. So I, I have got to read a lot of samples of the book, and so I'm really excited to talk to you about it. And I know that in the introduction of the book you say that this book is about your relationship with Mr. Rogers, but it's also a memoir about your life. I wonder, why did you feel like it was important to tell your story in this way, in this new memoir?

Well, I felt that people don't really know who I am, uh, that they have an image, a fantasy of what's on television as Officer Clements. And in many ways, it's very, very far from the truth. And so I felt, uh, that that's— it's okay to play a character on television, but I thought here was my opportunity to let people know some of the, uh, dynamics of growing in America and being Black and being gay, what the challenges are. And the fact that I've had to maneuver my way through society. A woman wrote to me and said, "Oh, you just sing so beautifully and look so natural." And she had read my book. She said, "I had no idea how hard you have worked." Number one. Number two, she had no idea of the discrimination. The racism in the business, even to this day. And lastly, but not in great detail, is there was an element of sexual harassment, which I— after 40 years, I finally feel I can talk about it and it doesn't damage me. I'm not looking for any revenge or anything like that, but the truth be known, I would have had a very, very different career at the Metropolitan Opera had I not been sexually abused. And so I was young and I very much wanted a career, and that's what happens, you know, you get to New York or Hollywood, people want to be in movies or they want to be on stage, and there are directors and producers and conductors who took advantage of a situation.

Well, thank you for being brave enough to tell us your story, and I know that's a hard thing, and I'm sorry that that has happened to you over the years. And, and, you know, I think one misconception that a lot of people may have about you, since we're going to be talking about maybe some of the misconceptions, is I think a lot of people think that you were discovered on Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. But Fred Rogers didn't actually discover you himself, did he? He actually found out about you because he was a fan.

That's right. No, he, uh, definitely didn't Rick Lee James discover me. And I'll be glad to say he was a man who was looking for something for his television program. And I know that from having been on it for 27, almost 30 years. He was looking for something that, quite frankly, I fit perfectly. There were no black people on children's television. Anywhere in America. Now they made guest appearances, someone very famous like Diana Carroll, or, um, uh, what's his name, uh, uh, Sammy Davis Jr., uh, and of course Bill, uh, Bill, um, Cosby, uh, was on the, um, the, uh, detectives. What was that show called too?

I Spy.

I Spy, yes, yes, thank you. So you have Black people who were on television and who frequently, frankly, made guest appearances. But nobody was appearing in any of the children's television programs who was Black. And so I know Fred felt that there was something lacking, not just with him but all over children's television. So when he brought me onto the show, he had heard me sing at the Third Presbyterian Church in Pittsburgh. And there was an Easter program that I did where I sang American Negro spirituals commiserate with the story of Jesus going to the cross. And I call it, uh, let's see, um, the one at Christmas time is, uh, uh, Carols and Lessons. Yes, Carols and Lessons at Christmas time. So this was called the Stations of the Cross. And I sang "Were You There," "Calvary," "He Never Said a Mumbling Word," "Let Us Break Bread Together." It was a deep, deep experience for me. And it was an opportunity to sing a song repertoire that I cherish and feel very, very, very much it's in the gut of my life. Um, and I did not have to— I can sing in German and French and Italian. I've studied it extensively, I assure you. But there was something, uh, special when I got to Pittsburgh and I was released and, uh, from some of the academic reins and my music, uh, Professor— not professor, but my music director at Third Presbyterian Church in Shadyside said, 'You really can sing those songs,' because I had auditioned for him singing a couple of spirituals, and that man could improvise. Oh my God, it was so exciting working with him. And he said, 'Let's do that program. I want to do it at my church on Good Friday.' Well, we got busy. And it was a joy working with him. And then the pastor came and he was the one who was going to read the passages from the Bible. Well, Fred came to that mass, that church service at Third Presbyterian, and when it was over, I swear everybody in there stood in line to say how deeply it moved. It was such a communal, communal experience of, uh, of, uh, coming together in a unit, a very, very beautiful, gentle, loving unit expressing our feelings about our religion and the music and the people. So he was the last one in line. I'll never forget that. And so he had on a London Fog type, uh, you know, raincoat, and he was standing there looking at me, uh, very much alone. He was having his own thoughts. And there was something sincere about him. I can't give you a better word for what, um, pricked my, my interest. I thought, well, who is this? And he came over and he shook my hand and, and he looked very, very, uh, caring into my eyes and he said how much he enjoyed the presentation. And yet he never quite had the impact of those songs presented one after the other, rather than like at the end of a concert. Many of the great singers would do spirituals at the end after they do French or Italian or German, whatever, English songs. Then they would put spirituals at the end because they are such crowd pleasers. When you do "Every Time I Feel the Spirit" 'Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho,' 'Tis Me Standing in the Need of Prayer.' I could go on and on. People love those songs. So you get people aroused and all up on their feet at the end of the concert. Well, and so Fred and I talked about that, but instead we started very solemn and very focused on trying to deal with the journey, the bit from being a baby all the way up to The death on the cross and rising from the cross. The angels rolled the stone away, that's one of the songs. So I think that what I might do, I'm looking to make a recording, I might put those songs on a recording, because it's an original idea.

Sure, that'd be fantastic.

I'll make suggestions as to what the preacher might say, but I'm going to deal with the song.

Well, that's terrific. Well, you know, thank you for sharing that, by the way. And that's a neat way to have found out how Fred discovered you. And those are some really wonderful moments when things like that happen, and there's just such a wonderful spirit in the air, and everybody is feeling it and is a part of it. And the way that you'd perform those songs, and it sounds like it was a very wonderful time. But you know, I want to dive back just a little bit deeper into your childhood as we talk tonight. Because I know that you cover some of this in your memoir. One thing that I was researching as, as I was getting ready for this interview was I found out that you had an abusive father and an abusive stepfather, and your mother even stabbed your father once when he was attacking her. And I, I have to ask you how that shaped your childhood and how that shaped your life.

Uh, forgive me, but I must correct you. Oh, okay. My mother did not stab him once. Oh, there was, uh, about every 2 or 3 months there was a, an occasion where they disagreed on things. And I mean, it was such a shock. There was no explaining, no logic, no attracting, nothing attractive about this nightmare. I'd be asleep sometimes in my bed. My brother and I slept together. I was about 2 or 3 and he was a year older. And all of a sudden you hear this noise and my mother was screaming and, um, you know, the lights were off so we had to get up, turn the lights on, and my parents were going at each other like enemies. Uh, and that's when my mother found this knife and she made my father's life miserable. He was so stupid in my opinion. But you know, he was young, she was young, they had no business being married in my opinion. But you know, you can't go back and undo anything. But it really put me— it traumatized me. My brother and I and my sisters, I have younger sisters, and years later we were sitting around, we would discuss some of the things that happened to us in our youth. And initially it was just me and my brother, but eventually the girls were born. And it was an incredible confusion and mystery to me. What the heck was going on? I didn't have the articulation to express the frustration and the betrayal that I felt. It was miserable seeing my mother and father behave in this manner more than once, more than twice, more than 3 times. Well, my great-grandmother and some of the women in the family, Aunt Clara and Hattie and Emma and Cora and Bess, they were all— they helped my mother over the long run to save some money. And take the train with us up to Youngstown, Ohio. I was in Tuscaloosa, Alabama at the time, although I was born in Birmingham. And what I basically just want to say was I kept looking for my father when we got into the taxi and rode to the train station. I was so naive. I said, where's daddy? Where's daddy? And at one point my mother, she, you know, hit me on the butt pretty sharply and said, shut up. She was not patient, or there was a lot of confusion and new stuff for her, and I was only making it worse because she had never been on the train before. She was taking her kids and going to a strange state. There were lots and lots of questions to be answered, and she was not a seasoned traveler, and she was only 19, I guess she was 19 at that point. She married at 15, and, um, wow, my, um, my, uh, father was 17. So 15 and 17, I consider them such children, but I don't think that you can excuse being cruel to one another. He was very, very domineering, and he fitted a certain kind of macho stereotype, which was not very loving or not very gentle or empathetic. He was playing a character. He was not being himself. What people said men do and how men behave and what women have to do and are supposed to do. My mother was not obeying him, to be very frank. And so they got into these fights over if someone looked at her and He said, "Who is that man flirting with you?" She could have gone to school with that person, or sometimes she didn't know. She was just an attractive young 17, 18-year-old girl, and people were flirting with her. Um, nobody, you know, did anything offensive, but my father took it very, very offensive. He was insulted, so, uh, he would take it out on my mother. If she had dinner late or she came home from visiting one of her girlfriends late, or stuff like that was so profoundly petty. But when you're immature and you're selfish, those are the kinds of things you do.

Wow.

Regrettably, my parents traumatized all 4 or 5 of us. And, uh, when I finally got to Pittsburgh and Oberlin Fred suggested— I was telling him, he was asking me some questions about my life and I was sharing. He was sharing about where he had come from and who and stuff. So I began to share with him and he suggested I go see a psychiatrist. Well, in the Black community, my Lord, if you go see a psychiatrist, they say you're crazy. But his focused focused and very supportive conversation changed my feeling about psychiatrists, and I decided to go into therapy. One of the things he said to me is, you have an open wound on your back, François, and you can't see it, but it's bleeding. It's not healed or healthy. What is going on? And I didn't realize that some of my behavior I wasn't rude or anything like that, but I was cold and standoffish because I didn't trust him. There were many reasons I didn't trust men, starting with my father, you know what I mean? Sure. And then having had the experience with my stepfather. So when I got to Pittsburgh, I was wary.

Yeah.

Getting through Oberlin was a growing and learning experience. I'm very, very happy that I went to Oberlin, but they didn't help me with my problem. In my mind, they didn't make it worse, but they certainly didn't make it any better because I went to the counselor and people there and I asked for advice. I went to my minister and some, one of the deacons, what I call some of the elders in the society side, the principal at school whom I knew, I was asking them, "I have this feeling and I don't know what to do." And they said, "Well, what is it?" They would listen very patiently. I said, "I think I'm gay." "What? Of course not. You're not gay. You're just going through a phase. It'll soon be over. As a matter of fact, we're surprised it's not over yet. You know, you're getting up there." People didn't know about the emotional damage, first of all, that was seriously done. And then the challenge of transitioning from being a teenager to a healthy young man looking for a sexual partner. And so they said things to me that were not true. And I had such a feeling that their wisdom and their age was, uh, was there, but it was misplaced. They were not wise. They did not understand homosexuality as we do today. And so their response to me was incredibly limited. Their own experiences had been very limited also. I once asked one of them, Have you ever loved a man? And they said, they thought, said, do you mean my dad? I said, no, no. I said, have you ever loved another man? Well, he said, my brother and I, or my, you know, my cousins. No, that is not what I'm asking.

So, so there was no point of reference for you really to even talk about it with anyone in a way that, um, could help you understand what you were going through in many ways. And I, I have to wonder was because music is so much a part of your life and you're such a great singer and you've accomplished so much during all this time from childhood and your time at college and, and your time of discovering who you were. Did you find music to be a great source of refuge for you in these times, maybe helping you express emotions you wouldn't otherwise know how to express?

You are— you hit the nail on the head. It was a sanctuary for me. I turned to music for solace and for healing because I was angry and I was hurt. Oh Lord, I was so hurt. I didn't understand why adults could be so mean. I was beaten and I don't like talking about it, but I think it's important for me to say it. And so people won't put this candy-coating veneer on my experience. It was brutal. And later on, if we're talking, I'll tell you, the principal and the social workers were going to put my father in jail, my stepfather, because he was abusive and the evidence showed. But anyway, getting back to music, I I was taken to church every single Sunday by one of those aunts I mentioned earlier.

Sure.

And we didn't have any choice, and I don't have any objection to the fact that it was happening. I loved the music, and I discovered at a very young age that I could sing, and people would say, oh, listen to that little boy, listen to him chirp chirp chirping up there and singing the right notes and the right words. Oh, it was so easy then, you know, trying to memorize a spiritual or hymn. I knew them verses, you know, like we sang 5 verses. I knew them from memory. Lord have mercy, I don't know where those verses have gone now, but I can tell you that, uh, every now and then I strike into a, an old hymn that I remember singing, uh, in Youngstown, Ohio, or down in, uh Birmingham, and I'm amazed that I remembered 2 and 3 of the verses. Yeah, because I don't even memorize anything anymore. Truth is, I can't. I certainly, you know, will pick up a song or 2 or hear something like that, a lyric or 2, but I have, uh, I've had a difficulty memorizing, uh, songs. I can remember the tunes perfectly. But I don't— I make up the words. So I do. So I decided stop making up words and put a 3-ring notebook together, and I would put songs in and out of that as per the performance, wherever I was and whatever I was deciding to do. And I must have about 25 or 30 of those 3-ring notebooks because I've done a lot of special, special concerts which needed, you know, special music and stuff. But I discovered that when I was singing, it was transformative. I found a deep sense of care and love and nurturing in the thought of God. And whatever kinds of prayers I was able to do, I felt I was communicating with deity from a very, very young age. Age.

Wow.

And that's what saved me.

Well, you know, talking about the— not only the way that music helped you in those times, and by the way, I'm there with you. The older I get, the harder time I have memorizing even songs that I'm writing. It's amazing how much trouble I— I almost always have an iPad in front of me now with the lyrics when I'm doing a concert somewhere.

Smart man, I'm telling you.

But, you know, as you were growing older, as a young child and then as a teenager and then college student, you know, people were starting to recognize your musical gifts. But you still, as you had said, you encountered racism along the way. And there's a story that I heard you tell very recently that's in your book about a guidance counselor that you had who advised you not to go to Oberlin College, which you already mentioned going to school there, and wanted you to go to a trade school instead. And I actually think it's a remarkable part of your story because of the way that maybe you mark that in your own life as a growing up moment. And I wondered if you would mind telling that story to our listeners.

Well, it was an incredibly important time in my life. I, um, went to a school, Rand School in Youngstown, and it was segregated inside the walls of the building. Uh, people came from all over the city, but once you got in there The Jewish kids went to one group, Sections A or B or 2, and then the Black kids were in another one, and Latin kids were in another one, and white Anglo-Saxons, they were in a complete— it was amazing that all this racism was going on around me. And I did not understand it at that time. And I've had a reunion with some of my Rand School buddies on Sundays at 2 o'clock. We do Zoom. And this is one of the things I insisted that we discuss, what was happening racially in Youngstown. And quite frankly, they were oblivious mostly. There were a couple who said, well, we realize that you were the only Black person, but we didn't know why. So for a large part of my education in Youngstown, I was the only Black person in many of those classes. Well, the reason was the white kids really studied hard and they had tutors. They frequently had private, uh, instruction, private, um, uh, lessons in order to achieve. If there were music lessons, they studied privately. If there were, uh, they need— they're weak in math, parents found a math tutor. If they were weak in science, the parents found a tutor. And those kids would tell me about it. That's how I knew what was going on, because for the most part we never socialized. I didn't go to their home, they didn't come to mine. And we talked about that on this Zoom call, uh, that they had the opportunity but there was no encouragement to reach out to someone who was Black or different, however you want to characterize it. So you had this superficial friendship in school and you basically never went to their homes. There was one exception, that was my friend Al Linder, whose daddy was the chaplain at Youngstown State University, and they treated me like family. And eventually there were others, but I, I used to go around the corner from my house and go in the back door where they left it unlocked, and they had a wonderful dog named Sandy, and I used to play with Sandy. And they could tell me, you can come over here anytime you want to. Al and I had sung together in the boys ensemble at Rand, so he and I were pretty close. And I tell people this, they don't believe me, but I used to stand on his shoulders. We did a gymnastic thing. I could bend over backwards and flip that way. I can't do any of that stuff now. And I look at these young people who are setting Olympic records and what have you, and I think, oh, I wish that I had had more, um, encouragement when I was young. I would have done more. But nevertheless, Albert and I enjoyed our little private, you know, we were playing together in the yard and he said, "Come on, let me see how you could stand on my shoulders." Well, he had a great sense of balance and he was pretty strong and he was like 2 years older than me. So physically, you know, he was growing faster than I was growing. In fact, I was short until I went to college. I considered myself short. I'm average now. But in school, the guidance counselor, Mrs. Kryzan, passed out among the Black boys a survey and of trying to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives. Her suggestions on that piece of paper was a chef, a tailor, a barber, a construction worker, learning about how to paint, how to mix plaster, how to do plumbing, woodworking. It was rather detailed that way. And you can imagine there was nothing in it about 18th century literature or 19th century music nothing. You go to this vocational school. Well, I was sitting in her office when she started. Why haven't you filled out your form that I passed out to everyone? And I've been waiting for you. You're the last one in your class. She meant last Black person and particular boy. And she said, you're— if you wait around any longer, you'll be too late and all the spots will be taken. And I can never really explain what happened to me, but it's like a fountain from deep within me rose up. And I remember literally standing up in her office and telling her, you don't know who I am, and you cannot tell me what to do. And I have no intentions of going to that school. I am going to Oberlin. And she said, Oberlin? 'You're not going to fit in with them. You're not one of them.' I remember that particular sentence. I thought, 'What do you mean I'm not one of them? I work just as hard. I can sing just as well.' She said, 'Well, how are you going to pay for it?' I mean, she was not pleasant. That's the euphemistic way to say it. She was a bitch. And she was getting even with me for taking so long to come in there. So she said that to me. And I stood there, I never gave ground, and I said to her, I'm gonna find out a way to go to Oakland and you can't do anything about it, and I'm never coming back in this office again. And I slammed out of there. Well, truth is I've kind of fixed it up here, uh, so that I can— you can do it on— tell children, children might be listening, but, uh, I was not very nice to her. And it was Black boys did not speak to white women, senior white women, that way. You kept your eyes down, you kept your mouth shut, you didn't cause any attention to yourself or any distraction. And I was the height of distraction. She was livid. She said some things back to me too. So, well, I just knew the principal was going to call me down the next day, but he was psychologically a very smart man. He waited a whole week, a lot of time to think about it. And over the speaker, "Will Francois Clements come to the office? Mr. Teer would like to speak with you, have a word with you." Oh Lord, I died right there in that chair.

I bet.

I said, "He's going to throw me out of school." I loved school. You can understand the problems that I was having at home, that I considered school a sanctuary. And I frequently left at 6:00 or 6:30 in the morning walking. As soon as it was some daylight out there, my parents let me out of the house. I was gone, and I would stay away as long as I could every single day. Well, I get to his office and the secretary says, "Sit down." He says he's not quite ready and he'll be with you in just a moment. They were very nice. So I sat there sweating. I mean, they did a very, very good job. So they really psychologically— I just knew I was going to get thrown off the up the bridge. So, uh, he finally comes to the door. Come right in here, young man. Sit down. I want to talk with you. And he says, uh, now you know I've heard about that meeting that you had with Mrs. Kreisen, your guidance counselor. And he went on as a very nice man. You know, she works very hard to get the right thing for students to help them so that they'll get along in life, you know, have a good life, and blah blah. He's talking. And I'm listening thinking, I have no intention of going down there. He said, now I want you to go by and see Mrs. Kreisler, and I think a young man like you need to apologize to her. Because what you said to her and the way you said it, we're not going to tolerate that around here, young man. Now you have a fine reputation, you got very good grades, you don't want to leave a mark like this, or that you know you didn't do something that we expect you to do. You, you're not the average kid, you're an exception, blah, blah, blah, blah. I said the thing, goddamn, I don't want to go there and say anything else to her, but he was a very warm man whom we affectionately felt affection for him. And he had insights into students and his programs. Anyway, I told him, yes, I will go see Mrs. Kreisler. He said, "Now tell me about Oberlin, this school you brought up." He was talking double, I didn't understand that he was teasing. He said, "Why'd you pick that school?" I said, "Well, my voice teacher and the social worker both suggest that I go there. It's the best music school, one of the best in the country. And just imagine, it's 100 miles from Youngstown, so it's not far." And, um, he didn't know what he was saying, but he said, 'You can come home, uh, as often as you want.' I had no intentions of coming back to that house. So anyway, I said, 'Well, I haven't figured out yet. I'm going to pray and I'm going to, uh, talk to some of my friends. I'm going to write to them about a scholarship.' He says, 'Well, you know, they practically decided about scholarship help by now. Uh, you waited until the last minute.' I don't know if you'll get your application in on time. I said, well, that's okay. I, I'm going to Oberlin and I'll figure out a way. He said, well, I'm glad to hear that, young man, because Oberlin is my alma mater and I want to help you.

Hmm. Wow.

It was— I was absolutely stunned.

Yeah.

I had never had that kind of an experience before, and it was like the Angel Gabriel came down. I swear to you, I looked at him, I was in total disbelief. I was not articulate, I wasn't able to think. You know how you get high off something so special happening? And I was literally high at that. I said, "You'll help me?" He said, "Yes, I'm going to help you." And he said, "We at the Oakland Alumni Club have been keeping an eye on you ever since I heard that you wanted to go." Wow. And he said, uh, we, um, we have a meeting every once a month, and our next meeting is coming up, and I want to know if you'll come over and do some singing for us because I'm going to ask them to help me raise some money. I said, well, of course I'll come over there and sing. He said, all right, well, I've talked to Mr. Miller, the music teacher, and he's going to help you. And Mr. Gould— Dr. Gould was my private voice teacher, and they've agreed to help you get a program together so you can come over and sing for the Oberlin Alumni Club of Youngstown, Ohio. Well, nothing else, uh, uh, can replace the shock and awe. My life changed so dramatically, uh, just from the knowledge that I wasn't by myself. I always had felt alone, or I was not protected by my parents. I was struggling alone, always this thing of alone. And also that you couldn't trust people. I didn't trust. I didn't trust because the parents were not worthy of trust. And so I thought, well, nobody else will ever treat me well. If your parents don't treat you well, I knew my peers who had wonderful parents who went out of their way and did all kinds of things. My parents did none of that. And I thought, well, so it was tough, but I drew tremendous inspiration from his words and his attitude, and I went down and spoke to Mrs. Kreisler. First thing, she was looking for me, and I'm sure she was looking for a different kind of apology, uh, but Diva Clemens had been born and I couldn't put her back in, uh, you know, in the, in the trunk.

She was out.

I said to her, you know, I realized that I— what I said to you, I should have kept to myself, and that you don't have faith in me as I have in myself. I was not really apologizing. To her. All I said was, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way at that time, but I know now what you were expecting of me, and you know what I was expecting of you and myself. And since you're not going to be a part of it, I won't bother you anymore. I will mind my own business. Well, that's some kind of an apology, young man. You haven't told me you were sorry. I said, I'm not sorry. I'm not. I'll tell the principal that I'll never talk to you like that again, but I think it's as much a right for you to know who I am and not tell me ever again that I don't belong with those kids at Oberlin, because I know why you're saying it.' And she looked at me, 'You do?' I said, 'Yes, I do. It's because I'm Black and I'm poor. I'm not one of the blue bloods here. I don't have any money, and my parents are My reputation there, it's difficult, and you know all that. And in my opinion, you're not looking out for my future. I'm sorry. And it just kind of drained out, and I, I turned and left her office, never to return. So, um, it progressed in the most wonderful way because this principal suddenly became my primary mentor. He would see me in the halls and kind of give me an update. Well, I've talked to 5 of the guys, 6 of the guys, and they like my proposal. Are you working with Mr. Miller? Oh yes, I started with him right away. And, uh, you know, when I went to see him, he had the backstory. He knew everything. And he was a very kind man whom I had spent a lot of time with in high school. I was there 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th grade. Wow. So when I, um, went to high school and Mr. Miller was my teacher, he's a tenor, and he recognized that I was a young tenor, and he encouraged me. Oh, you're gonna have a wonderful career. That voice and your, uh, outgoing, uh, extroverted personality will do you very well on stage, he said. Yeah, I was very much encouraged by him. To pursue this direction. And he, uh, at some point hooked up with Dr. Ronald Gould, my voice teacher. And I know the two of them were talking about my skills, my abilities, what I needed to have stressed, what I needed to do more work on. Because, uh, when I went to see him, Mr. Gould, my voice teacher, he knew too much. I didn't know how they knew. I, I was not privy to the subtle ways that educated people can reach out to each other and talk, you know, a certain manner. My parents certainly weren't that way, and I didn't know anybody in the ghetto that way, but he was thoroughly familiar with the whole situation. And so I was saying to myself, "How in the world does he know so much?" Later on, as I grew older, I went back to visit And he and I were extremely close. I spent— I would write letters to him, I stayed in touch. And when I went back to Youngstown, it was almost like a homegrown boy, hometown guy makes good.

Yeah.

And I was still in Oberlin, but the Oberlin College Choir during my freshman year went to Russia. And the idea of spending 2 months, March and April 1960, uh, 3, let's see, 1964 in Russia was just mind-blowing because Khrushchev was the premier of Russia and he was banging his shoe on the table at the United Nations. And you know, remember all those— I don't know, you're awfully young, you may not—

I don't remember it by age, but I've heard stories for sure.

He was a fearful thing for us We were afraid the communists would come and capture us, you know, have a war, and we would lose, and they would take over and make us atheists, force us, those kinds of stupid things. Well, they were immature, that's it. I was just young and I hadn't traveled. So the first place I went, when I auditioned at Oberlin for the Oberlin College Choir, I got in. And my best buddy, Jean-Pierre Pelletier, I mention him in the book, He also got in. He's a baritone. So, uh, we had auditioned together, you know, same time, and we found out that both of us had gotten in. It was wonderful. I love singing choral music. I wish I could have sung more, uh, in my life, but, uh, having a certain kind of solo career—

well, well, I can hear that. I can hear Princess seconding that, your dog, as well. She was— as soon as you said it, she chimed in that she wanted you to do some more choral work.

Well, she never barks, by the way.

She's a good dog, that's for sure. Well, you know what, you're telling some wonderful stories, and if you don't mind, just for the sake of time on the podcast tonight, I'd like to fast forward just a little bit in your story because I'm thinking about all the mentors that you've been describing and the different people that you've had along the way who have invested in you. And I think it was a powerful story for you to tell in the way that you were able to find courage within yourself to stand up when the counselor was really trying to hold you back from a lot of the great things that were coming your way. And we can't really on this podcast talk too much longer without talking about Fred a little bit and the way that maybe he played a mentor role in your life as well.

Oh, there's no question he was the primary mentor.

And you know, everybody that comes on this podcast, they all have a Mr. Rogers story. A lot of them that I've had as a guest knew him very well in one way or the other, or other people have, have just gotten to know him by writing about him. But you were one of the people that really did know him well and, and called him a friend. And I'm sure you must have a thousand stories about Fred Rogers to tell, but, but I wonder if, if you could maybe narrow it down tonight to something that in your life that you feel like he really made a difference in you? Because there's a lot of different things that probably you could go on for a long time about. But is there one specific— is there one specific moment that you can think of that maybe everybody doesn't know about that you thought, this is where, you know, Fred really showed me who he was as a person?

Well, first of all, you're right. And I'm not— you're warning me, don't give me a soliloquy, Frosty. I promise you I will. There was a time in my life when I probably didn't love myself very much. I hadn't been told I was beautiful or handsome or I made everybody's day, somebody's day special. So I was, uh, when I got to know Fred pretty well, he said to me, if you're not working in New York, because it was very difficult, frankly, uh, freelancing, he said, come to Pittsburgh. 'Come here and be with us.' I thought, what the heck is wrong with him? So I was in New York, and I— it was tough between engagements. And so I called him one time and I said, 'Remember you said to me to come to Pittsburgh?' He said, 'Yes.' I said, 'Well, I'm, I'm not— I don't have any work for 3 months. Can I come?' He said, 'Well, of course you can come. Come on, I'll call Elaine.' who was his, uh, more than a secretary. And I'll tell her to make your reservation, and you let her know when and all that. And you can stay up on our third floor in our house. They have a big— I don't want to say mansion, but they had a big beautiful house. Okay, so I, um, uh, told Elaine, I got my suitcase, I went to Pittsburgh. When I was— they were supposed to be filming, I gave them time to do their own thing so I would not distract anybody because I knew all the cast and everybody by that point. And I decided to go over and just stand in the shadows. I went over to the station and I was standing there and I heard Fred filming the very end of one of the programs. He said, and you know, you make every day a special day, and you know how? Just by being you. And I love you just the way you are. 'Now he said, "I like you," but I said, "Love." And he was looking right at me. I mean, literally our eyes locked. And I stood there thinking, "He likes me? He loves me just the way I am? Wow." So when he got off the set, he walked off the set to what I would call stage right— stage left for him, and it would be stage right for me. And I walk quietly so it's not— Johnny Costa, the musical director, was playing some dazzling beautiful music as he always did. So I walked down and I, by the time I got right there next to Fred, we both of us stopped. And Nick Tallow, who was the floor manager, says cut. And so when he said cut, I knew we could talk. I looked for— I said, Fred, 'Were you talking to me?' And he looked back at me, he said, 'Yes, I have been talking to you for 2 years, but you heard me today.' What I am here to tell you is like it was a starburst right in his solar plexus, the light that flashed Almost, I can't explain it to you because it's a spiritual experience, it's not physical. It was spiritual that something just went over the two of us and it was like we were there alone. And I just started crying, I couldn't stop. And I said, "You're the first man to ever tell me that you love me." And I said, "I just, I've never heard—" I was crying so I was incoherent. He put his arms around me. And just like a father would do. And from that moment on, I saw that there was a relationship there that was far more than just a contract on an afro, you know, television show. There was a personal commitment on his part. And we talked about that moment because he too knew that the spirit had spoken. And later on we realized how it's like our destinies, we were meant to be together and we had work to do. And he said to me, "You haven't had a certain kind of experience growing up, Franz, but I'm not like that." He said, "If you ever need anything, ever, you must call me, you must tell me." "I'm always going to be there for you." Those were his very words. "I am going to be there for you." I just, it was like, it was very, very difficult to communicate to you the profound, I never saw him as a white man again. Yes, he was the same physically, but I was always a little bit aware of the spiritual side of this man. From then on, I knew there was another door to his soul that was open to me. And I allowed myself to become vulnerable and to love him back. And it was the richest experience that I ever had, quite honestly. I'm not the same person today because I— I consider that moment such an awakening on my part, as well as his telling me something that I had never heard in my 24 years. I love you the way you are, and you're very special to me.

Well, isn't it amazing the way that love helps us realize that we are beautiful, you know, and that love makes us beautiful in that way? And, you know, one of my very favorite quotes of Fred Rogers is just this very short sentence and he once said, "It's a wonderful feeling when you know that people love you." And I hear you saying that, and you're almost like a live testimonial of that being true. And, you know, I think a lot of us, when we watch the program still in reruns, or we read books that Fred wrote, or just hear stories about him, I think we're always— many of us are hearing from him that you're certainly somebody that people can love. And so many of us struggle with that. And so I appreciate hearing that part of your story and the way that his connection was with you. And I'm also very conscious— I've read a number of books about Fred. I really wish I would have had a chance to meet him. But one thing that I always loved, that it seemed like he would tell people a lot, at least from what I had read, when they would tell him some way that he had affected them, He would often say something to the extent of, well, that was the Holy Spirit speaking to you what you needed to hear in that moment. And he was taking my words. And it sounds like that's one of those moments, and maybe that is how Fred would state it with you, of what was happening in that moment. And I think that's a very special story, and I really appreciate you sharing that with us. Thank you. Well, you know, there's, there's a lot of different things that we could talk about, and, and there's a lot that has been covered, and we've even talked about it before on the other podcast, like the time that the "you can share my towel" story of, you know, the times on the show and things like that. But, but, you know, there's so much that you have been asked about over the years related to that, and I'm sure you've told the stories a thousand times to a lot of different people. But I wanted to ask you tonight, while you were on the show, is there any Fred Rogers or Mr. Rogers related story or anything that you'd want to talk about that you usually don't get a chance to talk about, that maybe isn't sort of a hot spot for the media to talk about. Um, and, and maybe there isn't. Maybe that's— those are some of the highlight reels. But I always wonder if, you know, and you've talked about as many times as you've been sharing on, on different networks and podcasts and radio shows, you've probably told a lot of the same stories again and again. And, and I just wonder, what would François like to tell us that he doesn't always get a chance to tell us about?

All right, well, something did come to mind. What I would like to share with our listeners is Fred and I had a spiritual relationship. That's what it was. And I felt like I finally had a guru, a teacher, and who was also my surrogate father. I never expected a white man to commit himself to me, a black man, in this society. There's so much prejudice and racism and separation. I lived in the black ghetto and they went into their Italian or Greek or Jewish ghetto. And so I was suspicious of white men. And I thought that they were insensitive and cruel because of what the policemen had done behind the school in Youngstown that I saw. So I want people to know that he lifted me up out of that world and of that confusion and that rejection by society and said, "Come with me to this level. It's on a different level. You don't have to do that or be there, and that does not define you." He gave me that sense of confidence that I never had. I was always just a little bit— shy is not the word— hesitant. I was always a little hesitant because I had been disappointed by a priest in a Ukrainian Orthodox Church, threw me out. There were other people, Mrs. Kreisler of course, and white people were always willing to put me down. I don't know if they saw the leadership, they saw that they were threatened because I got good grades in school. I knew that all I had to do was study and I could accomplish. And I was thinking when I was young, why isn't somebody telling me I've done a fine job and telling me that my grades— my parents basically never acknowledged my honor roll or my grades and I just went on through my life thinking, "Well, God loves me." And when I met Fred and we had that experience, it was transformative. I'm not the same person because of that. I feel like Paul of Tarsus on the road to— what was he on the road to? I forgot. I don't have my Bible here, but he was on the road— Damascus. Damascus, thank you. And the Holy Spirit in the form of like a lightning struck him and knocked him off the ass. I think that's the interpretation. The donkey. And he was blind. He was blind. And he continued on to Damascus. And then when he got there, they told him who to go see and that they would restore his vision, his sight. I feel that kind of a Holy Spirit. Whack the day that Fred told me he loved me. It was so powerful that I walked differently. I walked differently, I talked differently, I sang differently. Um, I crowed, if you know what I mean. I, I began to crow for the first time in my life, and I felt I had backup. I finally had backup. And so when I would go for an audition or do a performance or a concert When I walked out on that stage, I was also not only Diva Clemmons François hailing forth, I was Fred's son. I was my daddy's son. And he would come, he came to so many of my performances. I used to say to him, now you don't have to come to this one, you're busy. He certainly was a star at that time. So if I sang in Fox Chapel or Sewickley, some of the suburbs of Pittsburgh, I did not expect him to show up, and he would. I'd look out there at the audience and, my goodness, I could see him sitting very quiet and very demure in the back of the auditorium or church. And oftentimes, many times, when I finished performing, he was the first one to come backstage and tell me something encouraging and positive about my work. And I thought, I'm so lucky. This is what my peers were going through in high school and at Oberlin, their moms and dads. Fred showed up in New York a couple of times when I performed, and, uh, those places I named— he went to Cleveland when I did, uh, I did Porgy and Bess, that later subsequently the whole cast got a Grammy. I just was the person who accepted it, but all of us were Grammy winners, they said. Um, with Loren Lisell and the Cleveland Orchestra. That's— he drove from Pittsburgh by himself. Uh, I sang it, uh, also with the Pittsburgh Symphony, and I'd look out and there was Mr. Rogers. Uh, it was an amazing, amazingly transformative relationship on that level. He has something that I deeply, deeply needed, and I can't help but feel I had something that he also, so that we were equally yoked in our spiritual journey. He did not really understand the lives of Black and minority people. He came from a very, very well-off, I say a platinum family, and there I was down there with baked dirt and bricks. So he, um, He said, "What is it like, François, to go to bed hungry?" I never will forget he asked me that. I said, "You've never gone to bed hungry?" He said, "No, not a day in my life." "What is that like?" And so we talked about that, and then he said, "What does it feel like for you to see how your parents are behaving and it's so inappropriate?" And I said, "Your parents never acted like that?" He said, "No." My parents never argued. I never saw them quarrel. And so I talked to him. I had the courage to talk to him about it. I didn't speak to everyone now, but I had the courage to say things like that that I had difficulty verbalizing, which is why ultimately he knew that I could find great value in seeing a good psychiatrist. He understood the pain and the destruction that had been done on my psyche in that household. So he taught me to trust again in a deep way, not just paying for my lessons or giving me a voice lesson, but saying, "Come, my home is your home." And I had a room up on the third floor. I could come there almost any time I wanted to. I'd let him know. I was living in New York City, but there were many times as a young actor struggling, you're not working. And many of them go and work at music stores, or they work at Macy's, or they do, um, those stores at Bloomingdale's where they have perfume or makeup. And people find those kind of jobs where you can leave when you get an engagement. And, uh, he He said to me, "You don't have to do that. You are a musician, you are an artist, Francois. So come here, come and be with us." I went on 3 tours of the entire United States for him. I told him, "I wish your show was more popular with Black people." And he said, "I do too, Franz, because I consider what I'm saying good for everybody." And I told him I had an idea. And he said, "What's that?" I told him, "I can go to daycare centers, I can go to nurseries, I can go to church, community houses, you name it. I'm very comfortable and I can sing and talk about, as a spokesperson, what you're doing on this program." And he said, "Write me a one-page or whatever proposal and I'm going to speak to someone." So I wrote it, he read it, he liked it. And he spoke to someone and he told me, we've got the money for you to go on a tour. And, uh, I think the first time was 6, 6 months off and on, but it was basically on. And I went to so many musical and, uh, urban places where there were Black ghettos. Like Newark was one, not just New York but Newark. I went up to New Haven, Hartford, Boston, certainly. So you just go down, you know, around the country and name the capitals. I've been there. And I sang at daycare centers. I did a lot of singing in church. He hired a public relations firm called D. Park Gibson, and they set up— they had connections all over the country. And it was an amazing experience to go and talk to those people. And let me tell you one of the things I did. I bought a handful of cards. And, um, when I finished singing in Louisville or Nashville or Atlanta, I said to the person, would you be kind enough to fill out this postcard and send it to Mr. Rogers and let him know what a fine time we've had together? What a great idea. Oh, those teachers shocked me so much because they not only wrote their appreciation on the card that I gave them, they had the whole class draw pictures and other things like that. That was so amazing. When I got back to New York, Fred said, "When you come to Pittsburgh, I have something to show you." And I said, "Oh, what, really?" He was full of surprises, so I knew it was going to be good. When I got to Pittsburgh, he called me over and I went and sat with him. And he pulled out a thick, thick, thick photography notebook. And I sat there next to him and he began to turn the pages. And those teachers had the kids— they were all children's drawings and they had colored me brown or black or some— sometimes they mixed colors with their crayons. And I said, Fred, this is just wonderful. And he said, wait till I show you the letters, some of the things that they said about you, Franz. And he shared with me some of the wonderful, wonderful, oh man, inspiring commentary that people had about my singing and about my sharing with them who Mr. Rogers was. And they were watching the program from now on. Everywhere I went, not a single one of those teachers says no, get out, or no, we're not going to do that, or we don't approve of what he's doing or any of that. No, they all said yes, we will do everything that we can, François, for you so that Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood will understand our appreciation. After we've seen you today and talked with you, we know a little bit more than we did before. The other thing that did happen, I just want to get this in, I went to Nashville, I went to Vanderbilt, and then they took me out to, um, uh, the Fisk, the Black, uh, university, which was a, uh, Black, uh, college from the 1870s like that. And when I got out there, I was supposed to sing for a writers group, uh, and I didn't realize they were all Black writers. Like, I'll start with Maya Angelou, Wow. Uh, the supreme mother of all of us. And Jimmy Baldwin was there, and, uh, Nikki Giovanni was there. Go down the list. Sonia Sanchez was there. Uh, oh, Gwendolyn Brooks was there. Uh, Margaret— uh, Margaret, not Price Margaret. Um, what was her name? She wrote Jubilee. Margaret— it'll come to me. Anyway, I went out there, you know, and I sang a couple of Fred songs, and they said, all right, why don't you— they was very informal. I didn't expect it to be that informal, but it was. And they said, we've heard enough of that, baby, we're going to hear that. Sing us some of the other songs that you are doing on the program. I said, well, I sing American Negro spirituals. She said, that's the thing, that's exactly what we want to hear. That was Maya Angelou. So she— I started singing things like, um, Precious Lord, Take My Hand. I sang, um, There's a Balm in Gilead, My Lord, What a Morning, uh, uh, uh, oh Lord, What Manner of Man Is This, All Nations in Him Are Blessed. It's called Witness. So I sang those songs for her, and finally she said, "Ooh, child, now come over here. Come on over here and sit down next to me." I was supposed to leave, go back to my dressing room and get out of there, get out of their way. And I came over and she said, "Now baby, I want to tell you something." And I love to tell this story because it made— like Fred, the day he told me he loved me. Maya Angelou said, "I want to tell you something." When you're traveling around this country, she said, you know, we sing it, we're reading our poetry everywhere. We're in every nook and cranny. She had a way of just putting you at ease, and her sincerity and her gravitas— everybody there was listening to what— when Maya spoke, and she was anointing me on the spot. And she said, I've been in hotel rooms, I've been in motel rooms. Sometimes they're just a little couple of rooms put together, and I've been in the most elegant hotel in the city. And she says, when I get there in the afternoon and I'm alone, I'm waiting to go to my appointment to read, I turn on the television and I turn to Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood and I'm looking for you. Hmm. Oh my God, it's like electricity. You're looking for me? She said, yes, everybody here knows who you are, know what you're doing. We all know. Wow, this is amazing. Yeah, she said, we have been talking about you before you got here, young man, and I want you to know that we are all praying for you. We're holding you up. In the light. Every single one of us has agreed. So you're not alone. You're not going to be out there alone. We are out there with you. We look around this room. She said there were African writers, Black African writers, American writers, some Spanish also. And she said, now you stand right here next to me. And she looked at the room there because it was about almost 100 people, a lot of riders there. And she said, I want y'all to come over here and I want you to lay your hands on this man because the work that he is doing is the work for the race. She did. And she said, she said, come. And they came and they walked past me and they hugged me. They touched me. They hugged me. And she stood there. The queen who was in charge, she stood there. Every one of them obediently came and they said things to me that touched my heart. And they said, we all know you, we know you can sing, and we are going to be watching you and praying for you. Wow, man, that is powerful. I'm telling you. And then she said, okay, when it was over, she said, you can go now and just remember We are always with you. I am always with you. Wow. Oh my Lord, I couldn't help it. I just cried and cried and cried. But I did feel from that moment that I was anointed to do the work that I was doing. It was a calling. So my behavior could not bring shame and disgrace on the race or on Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. So the idea that I was living a very, very, very celibate life was easier because Fred didn't want me to come out and go to gay bars and stuff. And I'd been married, that was a disaster. So then I was trying to figure out what to do with myself. But once I gave myself over to this assignment, my life became easier, gentle. Something entered my life that's very difficult to explain, but it was the energy and the presence of those great, great writers.

Well, yeah, you were, you were carrying on this amazing vocation that was, you know, laid upon your shoulders by some wonderful, amazing people. That, that is a powerful story. I am so glad that you shared that with us here tonight on this show. I had not heard that, and I That may be my favorite story that I've heard on this podcast or in a long time. Uh, it just— it gives you— you think it made you cry? I'm starting to get teary just hearing about that.

Uh, you know, um, Maya was, uh, uh, uh, uh, what's her name? Um, Oprah says that she wanted Maya to be her mother. She said, I choose you to be my mother. Wow. And they were together frequently. And I thought later on, because this was long after, before Oprah became very, very, very popular, but she was on television but not that popular yet. And so she said, "Maya Angelou, that's the greatest woman I've ever met, I've ever known. I feel so blessed in her presence." And she said, "I choose you to be my mother." Yes, indeed. And I said, "I choose you to be my grandmother." That's terrific. Something else, let me tell you, when she spoke, the universe responded. She was a wonderful encouragement to you. Also, the first woman to win a Pulitzer Prize was Gwendolyn Brooks. And she, I met her in Chicago, and she did the same thing. There was a group of young writers that she was the mentor and the guru for that group. Of some 25, 30 Black writers at this, um, in Chicago. My buddy Carl Brown took me to where they were because I didn't know anything about Chicago and he lived there. And she, she encouraged me to write and to sing. And I consider that a great honor also. I mean, humbly, you know, that they thought enough of my work or my to verbalize. And I had a correspondence going with Gwendolyn Brooks. We were writing to each other about once every 5 or 6 months. She sat down and longhand. And you know what? I can't find those letters. Oh, I don't know if somebody else decided to do some cleaning up around my house or what. I have looked and looked and looked. One day I'm going to find them because I don't throw stuff away. I'm not a hoarder, but of good, important papers I managed to hold on to.

Sure. Well, François, this has been wonderful. I thank you so much for sharing these incredible stories with our listeners tonight, and I've taken up a lot of your time here this evening, and it's just been great. And one thing that came to my mind as you were telling stories, whether it be Fred Rogers who invested in your life, or the story you just told about Maya Angelou, or even the, the principal at the school that you told us about, and different people who had mentored you over the years. One of the songs that you sang so many times keeps coming to my mind, "There are many ways to say I love you." And, uh, and I feel like in, in so many ways, the stories you've shared tonight have been stories of people even if they didn't use those exact words, they were telling you I love you, that you're a person of worth, and they invested in your life, and you were able to give that back. And I wonder if, if I could ask a favor of you, and I, I may even just chime in with you, but would you mind singing like just a, a bar or two of, of that song, that chorus? There are many ways to say I love you. It's one of my favorites, and I feel like it would be would be so appropriate if you wanted to. And I— you certainly don't have to.

Also, you can always go and get the soundtrack from the program.

That's right.

There are many ways to say I love you. There are many ways to say I care about you. Many ways Many ways to say I love you.

We are all applauding. Thank you so much for that. That was just wonderful. And I can't think of a better way to close out our program tonight. François, on behalf of myself, on behalf of everybody who listens to this show, we do want to say we love you. We're proud of you and the person that you are. We're proud of your story and that you've taken the time to share it and write it down for us in this new memoir, Officer Clemmons. And it is available on sale right now, and we'll make sure and put all the links on our website for this podcast that welcomeneighbor.podbean.com. And I just want to thank you for stopping by today. It's been great to visit with you again, and it's so good to have you here in this podcast neighborhood.

Thank you very much. I just want to say one thing. Be sure to continue to post what you're doing on my website on Facebook. I look forward to that, and I am deeply touched that you considered doing that and you feel very comfortable. You should. And I get to meet people that I haven't met. I click on and I listen when I can, and I think that's a very nice gift that you give to me.

Oh, wonderful. I'm happy to do that and will continue to do so. Well, I'm gonna— well, thank you so much. Thank you for joining us here in the neighborhood. The music featured on the podcast tonight was Officer Clemens, Francois, and also Nouvelle Noël by Kevin MacLeod. And any other music played was by Benjamin Tauset. You can find his music at bensound.com. Very special thanks to my guest Francois Clemens this evening, and special thanks to the @MrRogersSay community on Twitter. I'm your host Rick Lee James. My Twitter account me personally is @RickLeeJames. My website is rickleejames.com, and my other podcast is Voices in My Head: The Rick Lee James Podcast. And I look forward to being with you again next time. But until then, you make each day a special day. You know how? By just your being you. There's only one person in this whole world like you, and people can like you exactly as you are.