Memoirs of a Muppets Writer: (You mean somebody actually writes that stuff?) (11 page)

So, this would be one of those bits where the
Street
characters would be playing other, cartoon-like characters. Finally, the entire piece could be shot on the locations of the other segments. So, it was practically a Freebie.

With adventure music underneath, the piece starts with a series of quick shots of Bob: 1. In a safari jacket and pith helmet struggling through some brush. 2. In torn clothes with a raggedy beard struggling up a beach. 3. In longer beard and more ragged clothing climbing a mountain.

As the music fades, we cut to a forest clearing, where Kermit the Person is playing Kermit the Hermit. In a still longer beard and tatters, Bob crawls in on his hands and knees.

“Are you Kermit the Hermit, Wise Man of the Forest?”

“Yes, my son.”

“I’ve crossed the wildest jungle, swum the deepest ocean, and climbed the highest mountain to get here. Tell me, oh Wise Man, What is the secret of life?”, asks Bob.

“The secret of life,” Kermit replies, “is A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-l-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z.”, as the letters appear on the screen.

“A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z!”, Bob exclaimed, with the letters appearing again. “I didn’t cross the wildest jungle, swim the deepest ocean, and climb the highest mountain to hear A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-l-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z. That’s the alphabet!”

“A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-l-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z, is the alphabet? Are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure.”

As Kermit exits, he hands Bob his staff and says, “Well, I guess that makes you the next Wise Man of the Forest.”

Another
Sesame Street
“remote” was shot on City Island, a small nautical community that actually is a small island and a part of New York City. City Island is best known for its sail makers. City Island sails can be seen on sailboats around the world. But I remember City Island for another reason.

We had incorporated a multi-generational Puerto Rican family into our City Island story line. The grandfather of the family had been a farmer in Puerto Rico before coming to New York. And he never really lost his passion for farming in all his years in the city. So, the family had enclosed the generous back yard with a greenhouse.

And as the women in the family traveled back and forth to the island, they brought back small clippings of Puerto Rico’s tropical flora in their pocketbooks. The tips were wrapped in wet cotton with tin foil on the outside. This kept them alive just long enough to make the trip from San Juan to City Island, where the grandfather rooted them.

Over the years, the grandfather had multiplied the plants until the entire back yard was a little piece of glassed in tropic paradise. I remember having coffee on the deck and looking over and through coffee plants, banana trees, bougainvillea, and coconut palms - another little hidden New York gem.

Chapter 18

Taos, New Mexico

A
fter the success of the local remotes, in 1976,
Sesame Street
planned and budgeted two weeks of remote shows, shot in a completely different part of the country. I was appointed the writer for the project.

After much research, it was decided that Taos, New Mexico would be the ideal destination. Its western, mountain location was as far as you could get from
Sesame Street’s
urban setting. It was culturally diverse, with a combination of white and Hispanic populations and a nearby Indian pueblo. And, the scenery was just plain gorgeous.

We created a story line around Luis,
Sesame Street’s
resident Mexican-American, going to Taos to visit his uncle, who was building a new adobe house. A suitably beat up pick-up truck was procured for the trip. Bob, Maria, Gordon, Buffy St. Marie and Big Bird decided to go along for the ride. A large Hispanic family was recruited in Taos to play Luis’ relatives, along with a few local actors to handle the occasional speaking roles.

We shot for about ten days in and around Taos in some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. What I remember most was how beautiful Big Bird looked in all his yellow grandeur against that blue western sky.

One of the benefits of location travel is that you get to spend an extended period of time in a place you would probably never go, otherwise. And, since the location is an integral part of the production, you really get a sense of the place. New Mexico is cattle country. And, even though it’s still the United States, to an eastern city boy like me, it might as well be another planet.

I realized how foreign it was one morning in the hotel coffee shop. Three ranchers were having breakfast and talking very, very seriously about water. Water, to me, has always come out of the wall when I turn a tap. So, after a while, I became so intrigued, I said to them, “You guys talk about water the way we talk about closets in New York.”

That prompted an explanation from one of the ranchers of how scarce water was in that part of the country. Taos’s water comes from melting snow at the upper altitudes of the
Sangre de Cristo
mountain chain. The water travels down through an intricate system of ditches. The main ditch, the Arroyo Madre, is said to have been started by the Indians a thousand years ago. How much water is available, dictates how long ranchers are allowed to draw water from the arroyos onto their land.

When he was finished, the rancher asked me about my reference to closets. I told him that space in New York City is as scarce as water is in Taos. Then I asked him where he put his stuff. The, stuff, I explained, that he didn’t need right now, but he might need later or just didn’t want to throw out.

“That’s easy.”, he replied. “We just put it in the old barn.”

That’s when I knew it would be futile to continue that conversation.

Early one morning, Jon Stone and I went out to the Taos Pueblo to scout locations for the segments we were going to shoot there. Physically, the Pueblo hasn’t changed in 1,000 years. It rises from a valley floor up into the cliffs on both sides of a fast running mountain stream, which is the community’s only water source. Individual dwellings are carved out of the cliffs and hand made ladders are the only access from one level to another. On the “ground” floor, flat roofed, one and two story adobe buildings are separated by winding streets and small plazas, making it feel like a biblical Arab village.

The Pueblo is run much like a co-op or a condominium. Each dwelling is owned individually by local Indians and used primarily as a weekend retreat. These people can return completely to their ethnic roots with one short drive. Tewa Indian customs were rigorously observed. The most obvious was the Blanket Rule for Tewa men: If a man was outside anywhere in the Pueblo, he was required to wear an Indian blanket. It could be over his shoulders or around his waist, but he had to wear a blanket. A Tewa man without a blanket could mean he was preparing for war.

Since the Pueblo is, in effect, private property, tourists are restricted to certain areas and certain hours. Entry at any other time is possible only with a permit from the Pueblo’s Governor.

Jon and I had the Governor’s permission to visit the Pueblo that morning. The weather was just miserable. It was cold, overcast and windy. Occasional rain squalls blew down from the mountains. Because of the weather, the narrow streets were empty, adding to the sense of eeriness.

“This reminds me of a bad dream I kept having back in New York.”, Jon said to me. “I’m out here with a full cast and crew and I haven’t got the foggiest idea of what the hell I’m doing.”

“Jon,” I told him. “Please don’t ever say that again. The only thing that keeps the rest of us going is we all figure at least you know what the hell you’re doing.”

By this time we had worked our way deep into the Pueblo. We had come to a small picturesque square that Jon thought had possibilities as a location. We began discussing the square’s cinematic possibilities and the logistics of bringing in cameras, lights, crew, and shooting in the space.

Suddenly, an Indian woman appeared over us on the roof of an adobe building. She was tall and long legged in boots, jeans and a vibrant red Indian shirt with a sash. Her waist-length black hair was blowing in the wind. She was gorgeous against the stormy sky.

In language that would make a rapper blush, she told us in no uncertain terms that this was private property not some kind of zoo and we, outsiders, were by no means welcome.

Her verbal attack was so virulent that Jon and I beat a hasty retreat, tails between legs, as expletives echoed through the narrow streets. We knew it was futile to try to explain our presence. As we walked to the car in the rain, an unspoken sentiment hung heavily in the cold damp air that this whole pueblo shoot had a very bad feel about it.

The next day, Jon and I had a script meeting about the Pueblo shoot. The only productive thing to come out of it was a mutual decision to scrap most of the Pueblo pieces I had written back in New York. I went back to my room to write some new material.

After a bit of hand wringing and head banging I came up with the germ of an idea. As usual, simple works best. But simple is so damned elusive.

The day of the Pueblo shoot arrived warm and sunny. Neither of us would admit it, but after our encounter with the Indian woman, we were both surreptitiously checking to make sure the Pueblo men were still wearing blankets.

But in the balmy weather, our spirits and expectations began to rise. And on this visit to the Pueblo, with a full video crew and compliment of equipment, it was pretty obvious that we had the Governor’s permission to be there. In fact, we had the Governor there, too. And the Pueblo residents were nothing but cordial and helpful to us.

In deference to the Governor and other elders of the Pueblo, we had set up a special viewing area for them with a television monitor on the back of a station wagon. There were four or five of them sitting there, staring expressionlessly at the screen. Not a word passed between them. A small crowd of other residents formed respectfully behind them, as our script began to unfold.

The
Sesame Street
characters involved in this segment were Maria, our Puerto Rican character, and Buffy Saint Marie, who was then also a cast member and is a full-blooded Cree Indian.

In my new script, Buffy is going to visit some friends in the Pueblo and asks if Maria and Big Bird would like to go along. The three jump in the pick up truck and head for the Pueblo.

But at the entrance to the Pueblo, Big Bird becomes apprehensive. He has never been in a pueblo before. In fact, he’s not even sure what a pueblo is and what he’s supposed to do when he gets there.

Buffy and Maria gently explain to him that a pueblo is just a place where Indians live. It’s just a home, and you behave the way you behave in anybody’s home. The way you’d like people to act in your home. And, if you have any questions, just be polite and ask.

This placates Big Bird a bit. But then he remembers he’s never met an Indian. But he’s seen pictures and they look pretty scary with all their feathers. Those feathers have to come from some place or somebody.

Buffy explains, much to Big Bird’s incredulity, that she’s
an Indian.
And, that Indians only wear feathers for ceremonies and special occasions. The rest of the time, they just look like everyone else, leaving Big Bird to ponder that if he took off his feathers, he’d look just like everyone else. With a greatly relieved Big Bird, the trio entered the Pueblo.

The rest of the day went well. Buffy did some wonderful music numbers surrounded by Indian kids. Big Bird looked beautiful and was the instant hit he always is. And, since he naturally sheds a bit, by the end of the day many of the Pueblo residents had decorated their hat bands with brilliant yellow feathers.

Our final set up was the little square where Jon and I had encountered the Indian woman several days earlier. The scene went very well and Jon called it a wrap for the day.

As the crew started to pack up, the effect our opening piece had on the Pueblo residents became evident, when the same Indian woman who had cursed out Jon and me a few days earlier approached us. “Would you like to see my pueblo?”, she asked.

So, Jon and I climbed up two flights of rickety outside ladders to tour her home. (Jon
hated
heights.) During that climb, I came up with another piece of visitation advice for Big Bird. Wherever you are in the world, it’s always a compliment when somebody invites you into their home.

The day after the Pueblo shoot, Buffy had to leave for another engagement. But Jon still needed some traveling footage of the pick-up truck going to the Pueblo. A quick survey of the cast and crew revealed that I was the only available person who could drive the standard shift pick-up.

Since most of the footage was going to be wide, long shots, it really didn’t matter who was driving. The truck was too far away to determine who was behind the wheel. For closer shots, I wore Buffy’s hat and turned away from the camera and slouched as low as I could in the seat and still drive. I can still hear Jon’s voice from the walkie-talkie on the seat beside me,
I don’t want to see one hair of that beard!!!

It was like a day off for me. All I had to do was drive Big Bird through the mountains in the pick-up truck. We stopped for lunch in the middle of the afternoon at a local Mexican restaurant. Since we were almost finished shooting the shows, we all got a little lax. The one hour lunch turned into two hours and then two and a half hours.

Suddenly, Jon realized how late it was getting. He had one more shot he needed to get that day. It was the pick-up driving into the sunset at a location about 20 miles away.

There’s a director’s trick for gauging a sunset with a hand: If you can put your fist between the sun and the horizon, it’s roughly an hour until sunset. After that, it’s fifteen minutes a finger. Jon could barely get three fingers between the sun and the horizon.

“Saddle up!!!”, Jon commanded. We paid our checks and raced to the parking lot. I jumped behind the wheel of the pickup. Jimmy Baylor, the Assistant Director jumped into the passenger side. Our convoy, let by the camera truck roared out of the parking lot onto the highway. The pick-up looked like it had been through a couple of wars. But it was a lot faster than it looked. It had a well-tuned, big bore V-8 engine and a four-on-the-floor transmission.