Once upon a tree, when I was young and leafy…
the woods around me came under a magical spell…
The Magic Woods first came to life in my sketchbook. As a working cartoonist at the time—as well as a professional musician—I used to joke that I was trying to starve in as many of the arts as I could. Dreaming is free, so every morning at a local cafe I would dedicate some time into crafting the sketches, stories, and songs that became The Magic Woods. Children’s television is a collaborative process, of course, so I was blessed with wonderful people with whom to work, and none had a bigger impact than our puppeteer and co-writer Steve Clark. Steve quickly earned the nickname Hippy Cowboy and became a trusted partner and friend. I’ll share the story on how Steve came to be involved in this beautiful madness in good time, but for now let’s just say that the phrase “Van Morrison IS Irish!” has a lot to do with it. This is my trip through The Magic Woods.
Like many efforts that take on significance over time, this one began modestly enough at a quiet dinner with our gentle protagonists Matt Kambic, Lydia Konecky, and I meeting to discuss a potential television program that would highlight Lydia’s tremendous skill at teaching young children about nature. I’ll never forget Lydia’s initial reaction to this idea that would completely consume our lives for the next several years:
“Absolutely not,” she said.
Matt Kambic was an aspiring filmmaker at the time, and his wife Louetta danced with Lydia in a clogging group. As a matter of fact, this is how I first met Lydia when I was waiting backstage to sing “This Land is Your Land” to close the Pittsburgh Folk Festival, the Coal Country Cloggers were performing right before I went on to lead the finale. This was a Memorial Day weekend in the mid-1990s, just a few years before the Kambics hosted us for dinner.
The Magic Woods
In late 1999 and early 2000 Matt and I started to meet regularly at his house in Regent Square in earnest to begin fleshing out this new idea. From our initial discussions on how we would like the show to speak for nature, Matt said, “So we would somehow show this magic woods that could speak for itself…” I said, “That should be the title of the show: ‘The Magic Woods’.” At the time I was very naive about the darker connotations of the word “magic,” and how many use it in connection to the dark arts. Our use of the word speaks to the reverence of our experience of how nature miraculously expresses itself in an unending display of rebirth and renewal, always obeying the laws of Creation and its Creator; Spring always follows Winter, the dance of the seasons always expressing a clockwork-like consistency, while the mechanisms of the flowering of life in its infinite varieties overwhelm our senses and humble our attempts to replicate it. It was through this lens that we chose the word “magic,” because the total expression of nature in all its fullness is truly magical. This is especially true to a four year old child. Can you recall the first time you ever saw a lightning bug or went out to play in a fresh snow? We are offered a chance to renew our senses every spring when the air is cool and fresh; this is the feeling that we hoped to convey in our program.
For most of her professional career, Lydia Konecky has taught Nature Camp at the Frick Environmental Center in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh. Throughout the year, but especially at Summer Camp, Lydia would lead her charges through the trails in the park discussing foundational elements of natural science like how dirt is made, how seeds turn into plants and trees, and how caterpillars turn into butterflies. Matt’s children had attended Nature Camp, and he thought that Lydia’s gentle presence would translate well over to television. Her quiet humility was naturally opposed to this, as we’ve seen, but to her credit she certainly delivered a wonderful performance when the time came.
Any creative collaboration can face many obstacles, and mine with Matt was no exception since we unfortunately stumbled over many of them. We decided early on to split the tasks: Matt would craft the initial script called “The Seeds Trail,” and I would work on the storybook section that featured my cartoon characters Jessica, Joe the Bunny, and Bhikku Kat. The idea behind these characters was that they would represent the imaginations of children at play in the woods. I had just recently had some interest in my characters from United Media—the syndicate that carried “Peanuts,” but I was ultimately rejected by the main editor who told me that I was “barking up the wrong tree.” She told me that my comic strip, “Jessica’s Dream,” was too whimsical for adults and would be better suited targeted to children—who, it turns out—no longer read the newspaper comic pages.
Matt and I both looked forward to writing the songs for the program, but curiously not with each other. Matt is a quiet person and in my experience prefers to work alone. Around this time I was invited to perform at a local festival honoring Stephen Foster, and along with my usual instrument the guitar, I also brought a banjo to play “Oh, Susannah.” It was here that Matt saw that I would make a good front character for the show. “Plus you have the right kind of hair,” he said with a hint of a sigh; Matt has male pattern baldness. So I became what we called “the lead trail walker,” leading our children viewers around this mythical woods where we could teach about different elements of the processes of nature and meet fun and engaging characters along the way. Matt’s ambition was also to be the show’s director.
Our initial plan was to create a homemade version of the show utilizing Matt’s own video camera and editing skills; we estimated that this could cost as much as $20,000 if we wanted to make it look and sound good. We of course had nowhere near that much money but I had an uncanny belief that we could raise it somehow. The final cost was many times that.
Matt invited his neighbor Casey Brown, who worked at WQED Public Television, over to his house one afternoon to meet with us and discuss our project. Before she arrived we talked over the points we wanted to highlight so that Casey would know that we were serious in this endeavor, and hopefully we could then win her assistance. But then the unexpected happened. There is something compelling about people with a vision and a strong plan that transcends the individuals involved: as soon as Casey sat down with us at the Kambic’s dining room table she handed out her resume and made a pitch as to why she should be part of our team. I knew at that moment that the tables had turned and we held the cards, which was very interesting. Casey graciously connected us to a senior producer at WQED named Jay Rayvid, who’s work Matt really liked. Matt polished up his Seeds Trail script and sent it to Jay, and then on a snowy evening on Valentine’s Day in 2000 we went over to his house to discuss it.
“I wish it were richer.”
Meeting with Jay completely changed the trajectory of the project, although what he had to say wasn’t complimentary: “I wish it were richer.” He meant filled with more colorful characters and he especially told us to consider incorporating puppets into the script, since children in our targeted age group of
3–6+ responded well to puppets. We didn’t know of any puppeteers but I remember feeling confident that one would emerge, and one surely did: “Top shelf puppets,” is what TV writer Rob Owen said in his review in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette when we released our pilot episode. But Jay’s critique landed hard and I knew we were at a pivot point.
I spent the next month in South Florida performing Irish folk music at a festival and some beautiful pubs in the Palm Beaches, and while I was there I started to sketch out character designs for the show. I also ran into some old friends and shared this new journey that I was on. Two brothers in a band called Postface, Steve and Greg Johnson, told me that I should call their brother Michael when I got back to Pittsburgh because he was the Associate Producer for Mister Rogers. “Of course he is!” I said more than delighted at this synergistic connection.
I returned in time for Saint Patrick’s Day—and what a day it was! A good friend of mine, political cartoonist Rob Rogers, had featured my likeness in his “Brewed on Grant” cartoon celebrating the Holiday—which was a nice surprise to discover when I drove home to Pittsburgh from Washington, D.C., having taken the AutoTrain there from Florida; and then I had two shows: one Downtown at the USX Building at lunchtime, and another that evening on the SouthSide at Piper’s Pub. When I arrived at the pub, a bagpiper in a kilt was standing at the door and graciously opened it for me for each trip I made to load in my gear. I had just met Hippy Cowboy.
“Van Morrison IS Irish!”
St. Patrick’s gigs are difficult to play because you would think that the audience would be interested in hearing Irish songs, but I whistled through several Irish folk classics without much response; some of the songs have clapping parts or call-and-response sections that never fail to engage a crowd—if they’re interested in Irish music. This place was packed and the response was nada. So, as a seasoned performer I read the audience and shifted to more popular fare. I introduced the next song, “Brown Eyed Girl” thusly:
“Here’s one by Van Morrison.”
A lady in the crowd with a heavy Pittsburgh accent shouted: “Play something Irish!”
At that same moment both Hippy Cowboy and I said, “Van Morrison IS Irish!” We both looked at each other and laughed and I made a point to thank him after the set was over. After introducing ourselves I asked him what he did. “I’m at the Art Institute studying puppetry.” “Well guess what I happen to need!” I said. Thus began a beautiful friendship.
Not only is Steve a wonderful puppeteer and puppet fabricator, he is also an excellent writer. We started to meet in local cafes and began examining the foundations for all of the characters so that each one would assist the narrative structure of a story and add a richness to the script, which Jay Rayvid told us was clearly missing. We first deconstructed the whole thing and then rebuilt it anew. Each character would have a “back story” so that they could be grounded and feel real. For the time being, however, Matt guarded his role as scriptwriter.
Michael Johnson’s impact as Producer was immediate and transformed our efforts into a professional pursuit. Michael gave us the contacts to create a team filled with the absolute best people in the industry. When Michael and I first met to discuss our project I knew that he would be our “secret weapon,” in that he would help to open doors that we never could’ve without him, as will be discussed a little later. The remainder of 2000 was dutifully spent forging all of these pieces and personalities into a working team.
To fast forward a bit, about a year later I had lunch with my friend John Hayes, a reporter for the Post-Gazette, who had been incredibly curious about this interesting project I was working on and would ask me about it every time we met and I would always say the same thing: “We’re not quite ready to discuss this publicly, but when we are I’ll talk to you about it first.” John had given me my first job as an editorial cartoonist and copywriter when I relocated back to Pittsburgh in 1996 from South Florida. At that time he was the Editor-in-Chief of the City Paper. I told John at this lunch that we were finally ready to go public and he arranged an interview with feature writer Rob Owen for what became a prominent cover story in the Post-Gazette. This came out on Thursday, February 15, 2001, a year and a day after our meeting with Jay Rayvid. Everything changed after that.
The following Saturday our team all met at Michael’s house to do a read through of the latest, most polished version of our “Seed’s Trail” script. I wish I could say here how well the reading went. I honestly thought it was not working; we had just gotten all of this attention on our humble little project and what we were poised to produce was so far from the mark that I wanted us to hit, that I left that meeting as low as I’ve ever been. As a team we weren’t yet able to meld all of the different creative visions into one cohesive effort. Something significant was definitely missing.
That evening I took a long reflective walk in Squirrel Hill where I was living, and made my way to the top of the golf course overlooking Oakland and Downtown. I said an earnest prayer and asked for guidance: a light to guide my steps lest I stumble. I decided that the next morning I would attend the neighborhood church and seek direction.
“I hope you’ll call me Fred.”
I was not a regular church goer at this time of my life and having been raised a Catholic I had not attended a Protestant service before, but I steadfastly strolled into Sixth Presbyterian Church that Sunday morning and hoped for the best. A little later when the parishioners extended to each other the Sign of Peace, a kindly-faced man turned around from in front of me and extended a warm hand: “Peace be with you,” he said.
It was Mister Rogers.
When the service ended he bounded out of his pew and came to greet me. It turns out he had read the newspaper article from a few days previous and so he then said the most peculiar thing: “You’re Matthew Craig!”
I’ve been Graced in my life in that I’ve been able to meet a good number of my heroes and have significant interactions with them, like the time I was Blessed enough to play catch with Peanuts creator Charles Schulz near the Alamo in San Antonio and discuss cartooning, or play side-by-side with some of the greatest musicians; but in this moment I was very humbled by the situation and could only respond by expressing my heart. “If you only knew the space I was in when I came in here,” I said. Fred looked at me earnestly and said, “It sounds like you’re seeking the Source with a capital S.” By this he meant God.
When I got home a little while later there was already a message on my old style phone from Michael Johnson, Fred’s Associate Producer, asking me to call. Fred had called Michael and wanted me to have his number so that I could reach out directly, which I did. Fred was gracious during the call and invited me to come to his office at WQED to discuss The Magic Woods and to talk about how to use television as a tool for Grace for children. I accepted and thanked him for the invitation: “Thank you, Mister Rogers,” I said.
“I hope that as time goes by you’ll be comfortable enough to call me Fred,” he said.
I hung up the phone and then I wept—I was so overwhelmed by what had just happened and by where this journey had just taken me. Perhaps it was a form of the “refusal of the call,” where a hero in the story has to be forced to move forward into the great adventure that awaits; perhaps. With some distance to reflect on this now I can clearly see that this was a very profound and direct answering of a prayer. It still moves me to this day.