Family & Relationships
The story of one of the most important and beloved shows on television—how it got started, nearly failed, and was saved by Elmo.
When the first episode aired on November 10, 1969, "Sesame Street" revolutionized the way education was presented to children on television. It has since become the longest-running children's show in history, and today reaches 8 million preschoolers on 350 PBS stations and airs in 120 countries.
Street Gang is the compelling and often comical story of the creation and history of this media masterpiece and pop culture landmark, told with the cooperation of one of the show's cofounders, Joan Ganz Cooney. "Sesame Street" was born as the result of a discussion at a dinner party at Cooney's home about the poor quality of children's programming and hit the air as a big bang of creative fusion from Jim Henson and company, quickly rocketing to success.
Street Gang traces the evolution of the show from its inspiration in the civil rights movement through its many ups and downs —from Nixon's trying to cut off its funding to the rise of Elmo —via the remarkable personalities who have contributed to it. Davis reveals how "Sesame Street" has taught millions of children not only their letters and numbers, but also cooperation and fair play, tolerance and self-respect, conflict resolution, and the importance of listening. This is the unforgettable story of five decades of social and cultural change and the miraculous creative efforts, passion, and commitment of the writers, producers, directors, animators, and puppeteers who created one of the most influential programs in the history of television.
Read the prologue of Street Gang (Continued...)
Henson believed there was no entertainment company better suited than Disney to perpetuate such multidimensional characters as Miss Piggy, the porcine diva; Fozzie Bear, the clueless comic; and hectoring balcony critics Statler and Waldorf. Disney's litigious history of protecting its characters in the stuff of Hollywood legend. Under Eisner, the company once sued the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences over an unauthorized Oscar appearance by an actress portraying Snow White.
Cooney knew Eisner to be cold, arrogant, and insistent when he was in pursuit of a creative property. She was not pleased with his predatory forays into "Sesame Street." Her gut churned as she considered how miserable Eisner had made things for Henson in his final months. Henson's gentle manner masked a steely shrewdness—you could not budge him if he didn't want to be budged—but Eisner had been surprisingly relentless in the Henson campaign. Cooney—a courteous woman who had persuaded senators and top philanthropists to do her bidding, who had stared down cancer, and who was married to a private-equity mogul who could quite possibly arrange to buy the entire Disney company if push came to shove—was not intimidated by his tactics.
Cooney held Disney in high regard but regarded the company's merchandising arms as competitors in the marketplace of character-licensed toys, games, and consumer goods. She was convinced that Eisner would not be satisfied until his deal with Henson was sweetened by ownership of the Sesame Muppets, which generated an estimated $15 million to $17 million annually in licensing and merchandising fees split between Sesame Workshop and Henson Associates, Inc. In 1969, Henson had waived his performance fee for "Sesame Street" in exchange for full ownership of his characters, agreeing later to split any revenue generated by them.
In time, both organizations depended on that revenue for survival. By 1990, CTW had long shed its dependence on government and philanthropic grants, gaining its financial independence by building and sustaining a formidable endowment. Henson Associates, notorious for going over budget on productions, stayed afloat thanks to the huge popularity of its characters and the public's hunger for Muppet-licensed bed linens, apparel, computer games, action figures, books, CDs, and other products.
By 1989, after building his company from a husband-and-wife operation out of the trunk of his car into one of the world's most recognized entertainment brands. Henson was eager to return to a simpler existence of creating and performing. Disney had offered a way to cash out, and a letter of intent, by which he would have sold his privately held company to the California-based entertainment and media colossus, was already signed.
But after months of legal process, during which Henson had commenced working for Disney without a consummated deal, lingering doubts began to plague him. As media analysts were hailing the merger-in-progress as "a business association made in entertainment heaven," discord bubbled just beneath the surface at Disney Studios in Florida and California. Henson's employees, accustomed to his benevolence, creative freedom, and camaraderie, were suffering from massive culture shock in their day-to-day dealings within Disney's rapacious negotiate-everything hierarchy. They referred to their new working environment as Mauschwitz.
Beyond that, Henson was beginning to chafe at provisions in the deal for his exclusive personal services and for the rights to any future characters he might create. These were not unreasonable demands from a company about to dump an armored carload of cash at his door. But regret clearly was setting in for a man who valued creative freedom and independence how Henson felt, and she believed the whole situation was causing him immense grief and contributing to his lack of physical resistance. Henson felt that he would be Disney's highly compensated but indentured servants for the rest of his life.
What the business-page pundits and entertainment insiders never quite sniffed out about the stalled marriage had its roots in Eisner's covetous yen for the Sesame Muppets. Despite Henson's refusals to discuss the matter, Eisner wouldn't let up. Cooney recalled how early in the winter of 1990, Henson had invited her to attend what he described as a peace luncheon with Eisner, at which he wanted to put the matter to rest once and for all. She remembered how charming Eisner had been, how well the lunch was proceeding, until she looked over at Henson and saw that he had become upset over a stray remark of Eisner's in which he discussed the Sesame Muppets as if he might own them. "There you go again," Henson said to Eisner, blood rising up his neck. Cooney had never seen Henson that agitated.
It was that day that the dispute became bitterly personal. "It wasn't about business anymore," recalled Frank Oz, Henson's longtime creative partner. "It was about what Jim believed in, the simplicity and purity of the characters. There was a bit of anger in him about this, and he was not an angry man."
Henson believed that even though he owned the trademark to them, the Sesame characters really belonged to children, and he did not want those Muppets to be exploited. In his mind, they were in a special protected category and he was their caretaker. The thought of Eisner trying to hijack them bred no small amount of mistrust and ill will. "There was no way in hell that was going to happen," recalled Oz.
According to Cooney, Henson came up with a plan in late winter and early spring of 1990, vowing to her that he would change all the paperwork necessary to ensure that ownership fo the "Sesame Street" Muppets would be transferred to CTW upon his death. The split in licensing and merchandising would continue, but the trademark would rest with Cooney's nonprofit corporation.
That Henson died before his intentions could be codified in a legally binding document was a bitter pill for Cooney to swallow. She knew that a time would come, very soon, when she would have to engage in a blink first showdown with Eisner and the Disney machine over this issue. But today was not the day to dwell on that, no matter how the fear kept impinging on her mind.
Today was a day to remember and celebrate Jim.
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