My Life as a Furry Red Monster - Kevin Clash [14]
The creators of Sesame Street were interested in developing a character that younger viewers could identify with. While the show was aimed at older preschoolers, kindergartners, and children in the early primary grades, our research was showing that since its inception in 1969, Sesame Street had undergone a change in viewership so that we were attracting more preschoolers and toddlers. The audience was trending younger, and the production staff felt it would be appropriate to have a character—like Elmo—who would represent the smallest viewers. As a result, Elmo was cast as a three-and-a-half-year-old…a three-and-a-half-year-old who would laugh a lot.
Shortly after I’d taken over as Elmo, a well-intentioned producer took me out to lunch. She wanted to congratulate me on the success of Elmo and his increasing popularity. She gave me some very valuable advice, and I was able to put much of it to good use. Then the conversation turned to Elmo’s laugh. She was concerned that maybe it was “too much.” As a performer, you’re constantly refining and reworking your performance, and feedback—positive or negative—is all a part of the process.
We talked about it a bit more, and I made it clear I was aware that Elmo’s laugh teetered precariously on the brink of over-the-top. I also thought that was part of his charm. Just like a three-year-old who darts and retreats from the line of acceptable behavior that’s been drawn for him, Elmo’s laughter functions as his (and my) limit tester.
Elmo’s laugh remained intact, and when five million Tickle Me Elmo dolls blasted off the shelves in 1996, his joyful noise made him a household name and eventually would lead to the creation of “Elmo’s World,” the fifteen-minute show within the Sesame Street show, that stars Elmo. I recorded the laugh for the Elmo toy months before it hit the shelves and had all but forgotten about its debut as I was juggling my roles as a full-time performer and dad, shuttling between New York and Baltimore, where Shannon was an energetic baby-monster-in-training.
One fall day, we went on a diaper-run to a Baby Depot store, where giant stacks of baby wipes and formula competed with strollers, cribs, and toys for floor space. With the kiddie Muzak blaring and all the children chattering, I almost didn’t notice the enormous Elmo display, until Shannon spotted the doll. I squeezed Elmo’s belly, heard his laugh, and then laughed along with him and Shannon. (And I put him in the shopping cart and took him home for her.)
In the same way that I can’t imagine Elmo being any other color than his ebullient cherry red, I also can’t imagine Elmo without his distinctive, joyful laugh.
IT’S A SATURDAY morning, I’m twelve years old, and I’m sitting in my usual spot in front of the television set watching H.R. Pufnstuf. My attention is divided between the TV screen and the kitchen, where my mom is folding laundry.
Groaning, I look at the clock. I want to get out of there. I need to get out of there. There’s someplace I need to be, and I can’t get there soon enough.
“Mom? Can I help you with that folding?”
“No, Kevin, you watch your show. We’ll get there soon enough.”
Finally she and my dad are ready to go, and I hop into the backseat of the car, my heart racing like a madman’s. I fidget and my legs won’t stay still until my mother, now seated in the front seat, turns around to face me. “Kevin, baby, be still. We’ll get you there, okay?”
Glancing in the rearview mirror as he backs out of the driveway and then stops abruptly to tease me, my father gives me a little grin. He drives at his usual snail’s pace as we set out for the Merritt shopping center, home of Jo-Ann Fabrics, where aisles and aisles of fabrics are waiting—including the perfect fake fur I need to make the bear puppet I have in mind.
The car’s wheels barely stop in the parking lot before I’m out the door, headed for the store’s entrance. Dad heads for a hardware store next door, and