The Quiet Avenger: What if Mr. Rogers Was in the Marvel Cinematic Universe?

The Avenger Who Wore a Cardigan and Saved PBS

Readers Note:

I wrote this essay in late May, but as the Senate now prepares to make its final decision on PBS funding, it feels more urgent than ever. Nearly 60 years ago, Fred Rogers sat before Congress and, with nothing but honesty and heart, helped save public broadcasting. His quiet heroism gave rise to decades of meaningful programming. Including shows that shaped children and adults alike, that reflected who we were and who we hoped to be.

This essay is a reflection on that moment, and a reminder. Of what one person can do. Of what we risk losing. If it's not too late, call your elected officials. Tell them PBS matters. Because without it, we are not the same nation.

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A story floated across my feed the other day. It was one of those rare moments when the internet hands you a something that makes you smile big at the screen.

A library influencer was giving a talk, chatting with a group of kids about PBS, when they casually asked if anyone knew who Mr. Rogers was. One child raised their hand, and with total confidence, said:

“Isn’t he an Avenger?”(First of all, we gotta teach these kids better 😂)

Wrong Rogers, obviously. They meant Steve Rogers aka Captain America.

But the more I sat with it I thought… maybe that kid wasn’t entirely wrong.

Because while Marvel’s superheroes save the world with thunder and portals and funny one-liners, Fred Rogers stood at the center of a small television studio and did something infinitely harder.

He essentially looked straight into the camera, into the hearts of millions of children, and asked:

“How are you doing… in this world that needs saving?”

No shield. No suit. Just a cardigan, some sneakers, and a level of emotional courage that could quietly crumble empires.

Imagine this: The portal opens at the climax of Avengers: Endgame.

Forget Black Panther.

Out steps Mister Rogers. The same way he steps into the front door at the top of every episode.

Cardigan billowing. Calm eyes. No music swell. No battle cry.

He doesn’t punch. He doesn’t fly. He doesn’t blast.

He just walks up to Thanos, places a gentle hand on the Infinity Gauntlet, and says,“I can tell you’re feeling very angry. Would you like to talk about it?”

And Thanos doesn’t disintegrate. He decompresses.

Because Fred Rogers’ superpower was empathy…radical, focused, fearless empathy.

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Every Hero Has An Origin Story

But to understand the Sweatered Crusader, you have to understand the origin story.

In the 1950s, Fred Rogers began his career at NBC in New York, surrounded by big personalities and bigger sponsors. But something didn’t sit right. He hated the way television talked at kids instead of with them. So he left the corporate world to help create “The Children’s Corner” at WQED in Pittsburgh, the first community-supported public TV station in the U.S.

In the 1960s, while still working in media, he enrolled at the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and took graduate courses in child development, studying with leading child psychologists. He wasn’t just learning, he was preparing.

Then in 1963, he was ordained as a Presbyterian minister, not to preach from a pulpit, but to minister to children and families through television.

(I know, right?! The “frozen chosen” actually thawed out enough to do something downright progressive. Who knew?!)

By 1968, that mission became Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

A quiet, unhurried show that stood in direct contrast to the loud, fast-paced, pie-in-the-face children’s programming of the time.

Was it an overnight hit? Not quite. It wasn’t 1968’s “Bluey”. At first, many adults didn’t get it. The pace was too slow. The tone too soft. The sets too simple.

But for the kids watching, it was just right.

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Freddy Boy Fought with Kindness

While cities burned and headlines blared following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Fred Rogers sat calmly on-screen asking:

“What do you do with the mad that you feel?”

You have to know or remember Mr. Rogers wasn’t shying away from difficult times.

At the height of racial tension in the 1960’s. He sat beside Officer Clemmons, a Black police officer character, and dipped his bare feet into the same plastic kiddie pool as Clemmons. It was a hot day. A quiet moment.

But in the 1960s, with cities torn by civil unrest and public pools shutting down to avoid integration, it was radical.

No sermon. No headline. Just a white man and a Black man, side by side, embodying a different kind of power. The power to say…this neighborhood has room for everyone.

Today, a moment like that would spark viral backlash and endless think pieces on both sides of the aisle. Some praising the choice, many criticizing it as political, others criticizing it as not holding the right kind of political angle. But Fred wasn’t trying to go viral. He wasn’t chasing approval. He offered something rarer:

dignity.

And he wasn’t just offering it to kids. He was using kids programming and the children as portals into the lives of the parents at home.

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But like all great heroes, when Mister Rogers began to fully step into his power, the villain showed up:

The US Government aka The Budget Cut Bandit!

In 1969, the Nixon administration proposed cutting funding for PBS. (I mean, do I even need to point out the obvious here?)

The Senate held hearings. A young, unassuming Fred Rogers walked into the chamber with no notes, no fanfare, and delivered one of the most quietly powerful testimonies in the history of public media.

He didn’t shout. He recited lyrics from a song he sang to children about managing anger.

"What do you do with the mad that you feel? When you feel so mad you could bite? When the whole wide world seems oh so wrong...And nothing you do seems very right?

What do you do? Do you punch a bag? Do you pound some clay or some dough? Do you round up friends for a game of tag or see how fast you go?

It's great to be able to stop. When you've planned a thing that's wrong. And be able to do something else instead. And think this song:

I can stop when I want to. Can stop when I wish. Can stop, stop, stop anytime.

And what a good feeling to feel like this. And know that the feeling is really mine. Know that there's something deep inside. That helps us become what we can.

For a girl can be someday a lady and a boy can be someday a man”

-Fred Rodgers

He looked a U.S. Senator in the eye and said, in essence:

“This... matters.”

When he finished, the famously skeptical gruff Senator Pastore presiding over the hearing — one who’d previously dismissed other speakers — paused and said:

“I think it’s wonderful. Looks like you just earned your $20 million.”

Which in 2025 amounts to about $180 million–$190 million.

Fred Rogers never raised his voice to prove his power. “Noise for noise’s sake,” he once said, “is not music.”

His mission wasn’t to impress us. It was to dignify us.

And in losing him, it’s hard not to wonder: what might our world look like if we had listened a little harder?

Because he showed us what gentleness could do. He reminded us that being kind and being brave aren’t opposites…they’re twins.

He didn’t arrive on screen to distract or entertain. He arrived to witness. To notice. To care.

And in a world that constantly tried & tries to turn people into consumers, Fred Rogers looked through the screen and saw something else entirely:

You.

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So maybe that kid was right after all.

Maybe Fred Rogers was an Avenger, just not the kind we’re used to.

He didn’t fly. He didn’t fight. He didn’t smash.

He simply walked through the portal, cardigan first, looked us in the eye, and said:

“Would you be my neighbor?”

And somehow… it saved our little world.

-Dom

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