My Life as a Furry Red Monster - Kevin Clash [15]
I pull the door open for her and make a beeline for the back, running the tips of my fingers across bolts of sturdy canvas, flannel, and khaki, before reaching the rolls of brocade, monk’s cloth, poodle cloth, velvet, and other exotic species beyond my reach, literally and because of their price per yard. Mom knows what I’m looking for, and she knows these enormous rolls of expensive drapery and upholstery fabrics may be suitable for the lifesize “walk-around” puppets I hope to one day make, but for today they’re out of the question no matter how much I lust for them.
I find reasonably priced fake fur in luxuriant shades of brown and black—exactly what I wanted—and when I get Mom’s nod of approval, I go to the cutting table. I relish the satisfying whump the bolt makes on the table. Even today, I can still hear the sound of the clerk’s pinking shears separating my treasure from the rest.
I recognize the woman across the cutting station from us waiting her turn. It’s a teacher at my school, and instantly I’m embarrassed until she speaks to me in a kind tone. “I sure enjoyed your assembly presentation, Kevin. So did my class. What are you making now?”
Just weeks before, I’d brought some of my puppets to class and performed for a group of students. Despite my shyness, I was increasingly getting the urge to seek out a larger stage than our living room and a more attentive audience than the daycare children and the neighborhood kids.
My glee overcomes my embarrassment and I reply, “A bear.”
“Can’t wait to see it. Will you be bringing him to school for any other project?”
Knowing that her class enjoyed my show pleased me in ways that nothing else had. Even without an appreciative audience, I still would have made puppets. I still would have bounced up and down with joy when I found the right materials, running from the kitchen table to show my mother and father my newest creation. I took great pleasure in my work, but the teacher was confirming what I’d hoped: that others—unbiased strangers, not friends or family members—enjoyed it, too. That knowledge brought me immense joy.
The ride home took forever, now that I had everything I needed to make the puppet that had taken shape in my head. I felt the same rush when I’d go to hobby or craft shops, where I’d find other supplies I could use. Once I had the fabric, foam, and glue, I could barely wait to get from the cash register back to the kitchen table. Once in my “workshop,” I’d spread out the raw materials and know that they were filled with possibilities limited only by my imagination and developing skills.
Giving that bear life and personality was a joy I would savor in the days to come. Now I was learning that when I unleashed my own joy—through my creations and performances—into the world, it touched others and then it came right back to me.
WHAT’S THE FUN of celebrating if you have to celebrate all by yourself? Joy, like love, is sweetest when it’s shared with others. I learned this lesson when Elmo and I “went Hollywood” for the first time, in 1987.
I had been performing Elmo for a little over one full season and was increasingly comfortable with his growing role. I had his laugh and his voice down pat, and I was having a great time developing his character, tweaking here and there as we studied the reception he was getting from audiences. Genia and I were dating regularly, and were talking about building a life together. I was playing a principal and increasingly popular character on a major children’s television show, and my future seemed set. I had many people (and puppets) to thank for helping me get to this point in my life and career, but none more than Jim Henson.
Jim Henson brought our profession out of the children’s birthday party circuit and into the international limelight, and he revolutionized the scope and mission of children’s television programming. As a puppeteer, entertainer, and artist, Jim ranked right up there with Edgar Bergen and Burr Tillstrom (the creative talent behind Kukla, Fran and Ollie). Given the phenomenal