My Life as a Furry Red Monster - Kevin Clash [43]
Thirty years later, and thousands of miles apart, Orlando and I are still brothers.
WHEREVER YOU LOOK on Sesame Street, you’ll see friendship in action, whether it’s human characters interacting with each other, modeling respect and kindness, or not-exactly-human characters behaving like loyal, true companions. (What better example of a lasting friendship than that of Bert and Ernie?) But just as in the real world, friendships are often tested.
For a long time, no one on the street believed that Big Bird had a real friend named Snuffleupagus. They believed that Big Bird believed he was real, but that was as far as they were willing to go. Elmo, however, trusted Big Bird thoroughly. If Big Bird believed Snuffy was real, then Elmo believed it, too. He put his faith in his feathered friend.
Big Bird was disappointed that all his other friends hadn’t believed him, but he rewarded Elmo’s trust by convincing Snuffy to stay with Elmo. Big Bird wanted the others to see Snuffy, so he entrusted Elmo with an important task—to hold on to Snuffy’s snuffle to make sure he didn’t leave before Big Bird could round up everyone for the unveiling. Elmo didn’t let his friend down; he held tight to that snuffle until everyone came by. The doubting Thomases had their eyes opened.
Though we may not make friends as effortlessly as children do, as adults we still look for qualities like loyalty and trust. I was lucky enough to find those qualities, and so many more, in my boss, Jim Henson. While our relationship began as a professional one, in time it deepened into something more profound. Jim was indeed “the boss of all Muppets,” but he was, most of all, a true friend to everyone who worked for him.
We met when I did the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade for the very first time. There was an after-party for parade participants at Macy’s, and I walked in alongside Diana Ross and Herb Alpert: two huge celebrities and the kid from Turner’s Station. Photographers were snapping away and fans were shouting at them, and at me—like I was a star! Once inside, I stood alone taking in the scene, until Kermit Love came over to speak to me. As he was talking, I saw Jim Henson—a man I’d idolized for years—on the other side of the room. Forget Diana and Herb—there was Jim Henson! Kermit wanted to introduce me to Jim, and the thought of that all but robbed me of speech as we made our way over to where he stood.
I could barely say my own name, but Jim was warm and gracious, thanking me for having helped out on the float. He instantly put me at ease (though it took me two weeks to get over the excitement of meeting him). Over the years, I’ve met and worked with a lot of famous people, and most of them are surprisingly down to earth and attentive, but there was something special about the way Jim held my gaze. I immediately felt like I could trust this person, who seemed to have a gift for focusing his attention so that I felt genuinely valued.
Eventually I would go to work for Jim, and over the years I watched as he somehow maintained control yet never behaved like “the boss.” In part, it was because Jim—an industry giant, a savvy businessperson, a creative genius—still got down and dirty with the rest us by Muppeteering.
During the shooting of the Muppets’ twentieth-anniversary special in 1985, Jim placed Steve Whitmire, my colleague, and me in charge of the other puppeteers. In one ensemble scene, a production number, a group of rabbit Muppets danced in a highly choreographed group like the Rockettes. I was watching a rehearsal on the monitor, so all I could see was what viewers would eventually see: a group of rabbits. I couldn’t see the puppeteers even when I watched the action live because of the set in front of them.
I thought that we must have somebody really raw doing one of the rabbits. Every other rabbit but this one was in step, and he wasn’t just out of sync with the others,