E

BUILD A ROUTINE

If a person puts even one measure of effort into

following ritual and the standards of righteousness, he

will get back twice as much.

—XUNZI

ach and every morning, Fred Rogers woke up at 5 a.m. to spend a
quiet hour in reflection and prayer. Then he would head to the
Pittsburgh Athletic Club, where he would swim his morning laps. As
he walked out to the pool he would weigh himself—it was important
that he always weigh 143 pounds—and as he jumped in, he would
sing “Jubilate Deo” to himself. He emerged from that pool as if
baptized anew each day, a friend wrote, fresh and fully prepared for
the workday ahead.
When he got to the set of his television show, the next part of the
ritual began, one that was recorded for posterity in identical fashion
over hundreds of episodes, year after year. The theme song starts.
The yellow light flashes. The camera pans to the front door. Mr.
Rogers enters, singing, and walks down the stairs. He takes off his
jacket and neatly hangs it up in the closet. He puts on and zips up his
trademark cardigan—the one his mother made him. Then he takes
off his shoes and puts on a comfortable pair of boat slippers. Now,
and only now, can he begin to speak and teach to his favorite people
in the world—the children of his neighborhood.
To some, this might seem monotonous. The same routine, day in
and day out, that extended beyond “Cut!” at the end of each show to