RECOVERED HISTORY: WHERE SESAME STREET FIRST OPENED

The author shows Ethel Kennedy the Sesame Street sign as Rep. John Brademas speaks

Carl Bergman, November 4 - Was there ever a time when there wasn't a Sesame Street? Actually, there was, but as of today, you'll have to go back forty - that's forty - years to find it. Since then, Elmo, Cookie Monster, Oscar the Grouch, Bert and Ernie, etc., have gone beyond cultural icons to be universal, embedded parts of our conscience.

It wasn't always that way. In fact, I must admit that I had my doubts that the name made sense or that kids would be interested in something more than puppets or cartoons. I wasn't alone. Just about everyone I worked with felt the same way.

We had good reason. We, that is the [DC] city council and staff were asked, by people from out of town we'd never heard of, to rename a city street with this wacky name, do it at an outdoor council meeting and, oh yes, could we drum up a good audience of kids to witness the whole thing?

In October 1969, I was a most junior staff member of the city council staff. It was an odd duck. Not only was it not elected, but appointed by the President in this case Nixon, and six of its nine members were Republicans, perhaps the largest grouping of them in DC.

Someone at the Children's Television Workshop in New York where Sesame was born decided that the proper way to kickoff the program would be in DC, where they looked for support. What they did not know was that it was - and still is - a long way from the Washington of power to the DC of streets, sewers and parking meters.

For them, their first meeting with us was somewhere between culture shock and a frat hazing. Our side was run by Dave Schwartz, lawyer, child of Brooklyn and a devout realist. It went something like this:

CTW: We want a DC street renamed Sesame Street

Schwartz: That'll take four months, requires notice to the community, two separate council votes and will screw up the phonebook that just went to press, not to mention the eternal wrath of the Post Office.

CTW: How about a block of a street?

Schwartz: Possible, on a few conditions.

CTW: Conditions?

Schwartz: It's temporary, ceremonial and no one lives on it.

CTW: Can we get a sign?

Schwartz: Make your own - that'll guarantee it's spelled right.

CTW: We also will need a stage and piano.

Schwartz: We'll try. Does the piano have to work?

And so forth. They agreed; actually they capitulated.

I thought it was all pretty funny until I got stuck with pulling it off. I had no idea of where to find a street, much less school kids, stage, etc. This being a couple of generations before Google map I spent the afternoon, to no avail, staring at a large DC map. That evening I went to my local A&P at 12 and Penn SE to cash a check (ATMs were ten years off.)

Walking home, I was struck by a remnant of DC's notorious school segregation. DC often built a white school cheek by jowl with a black school - so much for the neighborhood school idea. No better example existed than Watkins and Buchanan schools, back to back, separated only by a block of 13th Street SE with no one living on it…with no one living on it and between two elementary schools!

Archimedes could not have yelled louder than I did. The next morning, I called both principals and explained they were about to make history - and by the way do you have a piano and a portable stage?

No stage, but Buchanan had a serviceable piano. I was golden. I should have known better. The principal told me she could get the piano to the school door where her domain ended and the school grounds mafia took over. Eight calls later and a feeling like I was exchanging a cold war spy in Berlin, I got one part of schools to deal with another. That left the stage. Schools didn't have one, but Recreation did. That only took another day. Which left the council's naming resolution, speeches for the day and sundry logistics.

It came off like a charm. Ethel Kennedy and Congressman John Brademas, added the star power. The kids were wonderful and the piano was more or less in tune . We even got good TV and newspaper coverage.

I never did know if the piano made it back inside.

Happy Birthday to you, Elmo, and all your pals. We are far better off thanks to you.