A creature emerged from a trash can 50 years ago, on Nov. 10, 1969. The creators of “Sesame Street” blessed Oscar the Grouch with a searching spirit. His can is a kingdom of wonders, using the old Doctor Who trick of being bigger on the inside than it appears from the outside. (It boasts multiple floors, a moat and an art annex.) With his vast music and book collections, Oscar is a true aesthete.
In his germinal period, he wasn’t yet the color of soggy lettuce, but rather a crisply autumnal orange, almost as if brushed by the fiery tongues of hell. This was a philosopher with a devilish streak.
Oscar charms audiences with irrepressible bonhomie. True, he’s not the sort to suffer a fool, he’s not desperate to make a friend, but if you’re also of a questing spirit, he’ll take you to his grouchy bosom. Oscar’s a real friend. For life. Not one for social-media back-scratching.
Oscar digs a joke, and if that canard is at his expense, he respects you for having a go. He doesn’t consider your jest an “attack” or “assault.” If you panned Oscar’s favorite band, he’d want to find out why. He wouldn’t slam his lid for that.
That’s good grouching. A good grouch has a high capacity for respect—for dishing it out, but reserving it for those who earn it. The grouch differs from most of us in that his respect isn’t automatically given to everyone. Respect isn’t some participation trophy.
In a 1973 episode, after Oscar had gone green, Johnny Cash shows up and bangs his guitar against Oscar’s can.
“Who goes there?” Oscar inquires. Cash starts to play the song “Nasty Dan,” with its opening lyric about the meanest man there ever was.
I love Oscar’s reaction. This is his turf—this is grouch stuff! But he grips his chin like Rodin’s Thinker, and exclaims, “Huh, I’d like him,” before contributing backing vocals. All in, baby!
That’s what a good grouch does—he goes all in. When to go all in is question of discernment, which in turn hinges on equitable judgment. It demands that you hold your thinking to high standards. You’re allowed to search wide and love hard; you’re allowed to think critically, and if you have your cogent reasons for why, I don’t know, that Jordan Peele film is tripe, you needn’t apologize, qualify, back down, preface your remarks by saying, “I’m risking getting attacked here, but . . .” Instead, you do what Oscar does: You speak your mind.
When you truly love something, when you understand how it’s put together, what it offers, why it works—you come to better know what doesn’t gel, what’s stuffing and what’s substance. The grouch is a good critic.
So sing your song, as Oscar does when he croons “I Love Trash.” Let your voice crackle, like Oscar’s, with passion. That’s going about life in high grouch style, which makes our surroundings limitless, just as Oscar started teaching the world half a century ago.
Mr. Fleming is author of “Buried on the Beaches: Cape Stories for Hooked Hearts and Driftwood Souls.”
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