My Birthday Buddy

 I could’ve sworn I wrote about this before, but maybe not — so here goes.

Back in the early ’90s, a friend and I used to celebrate our birthdays together. We were bandmates, our big days were only four days apart, and odds were good we already had a gig that night. So, we just tacked on the party.

One year the show was in Pittsburgh’s Southside — Anthony’s or Fat City, most likely. Parking on Carson Street is legendarily bad, so I’d long since learned to get there early. I usually grabbed dinner at the City Grill, where a couple of friends worked. Their grilled chicken sandwich was the stuff of legend.

That night, waiting for my food, I spotted a familiar face at a nearby table. Not just familiar — legendary. Fred Rogers, out to dinner with his wife.

If you grew up in America anytime in the last 60 years, you know who Mr. Rogers was. For anyone who doesn’t: he hosted Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, a children’s show on public television that became a cultural touchstone. Say, “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood,” and most people will finish the line.

I’d actually met him once before. When I was 19, my girlfriend’s young daughter was in the hospital for ear surgery. The doctor was a friend of Mr. Rogers, and Fred would often stop by to visit kids. He came into the room, chatted, and instantly put that little girl at ease. Watching him melt away her fear was like witnessing a miracle.

So yes — I had to say hello.

AI Rendering

Picture this: me in a black leather jacket, eight-inch pompadour, creepers, the whole rockabilly look, walking up to the nicest man on Earth. If only someone had snapped a photo. Mind you, this was in the days before cellphones and social media, so people rarely took their camera to dinner. 

“Excuse me,” I said. “I don’t want to interrupt your meal — but you’re Mr. Rogers, right?” (or something equally dorky)

Now, I’d hung out with the likes of The Ramones, The Clash, Los Lobos, Jerry Lee Lewis — you name it. I wasn’t the starstruck type. But standing there, I was giddy as a five-year-old.

Fred couldn’t have been kinder. He introduced his wife, and we chatted briefly. He told me they were celebrating his birthday. I told him it was mine too. His face lit up: “We’re birthday buddies! That’s wonderful!”

And just like that, I was five again, basking in his glow.

Over the next decade I'd run into him around town — Oakland, the Strip District, Southside. Each time, he’d wave, grin, and call out, “There’s my birthday buddy!” And each time, I melted back into that inner kid.

Once, I mentioned that we also shared a birthday with Sister Rosetta Tharpe. Of course, he knew who she was. He even sang a line from "Up Above My Head."

Recently, some folks have tried to politicize Fred Rogers. Yes, he was a Republican — but back then that meant fiscal conservatism, not cruelty. He devoted his life to public television, children, and kindness. If he were alive today, he’d likely be branded a RINO or worse. His faith was deep, but it was never weaponized — it was expressed through love, patience, and decency.

So, to anyone trying to claim him for their political agenda: knock it off. Mr. Rogers belonged to all of us. He made each of us feel special in our own right. I seriously doubt he would tolerate the MAGA fascism. He might wear a red cardigan, but I doubt he'd wear one of those stupid hats.  I like to think my birthday buddy would agree.