FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Excerpts from

I Wish I Could Fly Away:

The Autobiography of Big Bird

© HarperCollins 2012

From Chapter One: “Which Came First?”

“ . . . and this,” the lawyer from the PBS production said to me, sliding a six-figure check across the long conference table, “is something to keep your beak wet.”

The room laughed, and I went along. But it felt wrong — all of that money! All of those licensing agreements — the plush toys, the lunchboxes, everything! All of it emblazoned with my face and likeness. And for what? For money? For power? For a wet beak and the promise of more?

“What’s the matter, Feathers?” the head of the Children’s Television Workshop asked. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet. Or whatever you’ve got down there.”

I cleared my throat. “But why,” I croaked, “are we still getting federal subsidies? I mean, if we can afford to hand out checks like that, and if the business is doing well, why are we still getting money from the taxpayers?”

The room went silent. They all looked at each other, then at me.

And then, suddenly, the president of Sesame Enterprises started to laugh.

“You’re a funny bird,” he said, between snorts. “You almost had me going there!”

The rest of the room joined in. And so did I. I wasn’t a bird anymore. I was a company. I was an enterprise. I saw my reflection in the window of the conference room. Who is that? I asked myself. Who is that big bird?

I didn’t know anymore.

From Chapter Six: “A Gilded Cage”

. . . and bumpy skin from too many nights of bottle service, too many nights where it was Ciroc and Cointreau and all I remembered was the music and the grind and the feathers, flying, in the air.

Every year it was the same: I’d get a call that the House had approved one more year of appropriations for “PBS” and “educational programming,” and every year they’d earmark a portion for Sesame Street. And every year we’d celebrate.

“I’m king of the world!” I shouted. “We are as gods!”

We wanted Cristal, we got it. We wanted prime rib at 3 a.m.? We got it. We flew first class, or private. Imagine that! A big bird in a small plane. I guess I could have flown myself, but what would be the fun of that?

“It’s just funny money,” we told ourselves. “The taxpayers don’t mind paying a little more,” we told ourselves as we swanned into New York Fashion Week runway shows, and boarded the plane before everyone else.

“We’re special.”

What I didn’t know then, what no one could know, was that the funny money could ever come to an end.

From Chapter Eleven: “Too Close to the Sun”

“Big Bird?”

The man asking the question sounded serious. He was wearing a low-rent suit and had one of those smiles you see on people who are about to ask you for an autograph. I didn’t think much of it. But I was in a hurry — I was late for lunch with Bert and Ernie at Michael’s on 55th Street, and later we were all three going to the launch of a new fragrance by Marc Jacobs.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s me. But I’m in a bit of a rush, don’t you see . . . ”

But before I could flap my wings, the man handed me a piece of paper.

“You’ve been served, Big Bird.”

My beak dropped. My tail feathers scraped the ground.

My iPhone rang — my ringtone was the Sesame Street theme, available at the iTunes store for $1.50, which was a nice little moneymaker for us. It was the rest of the group — we had all been served. We were all called to testify in front of the grand jury for misuse of federal funds.

“Do I need a lawyer?” I remember asking the president of Sesame Enterprises.

“You might,” he said. “They have an awful lot of questions.”

“You’ll take care of me, right?” I asked. But I already knew the answer. It was every bird for himself.

As I flew over the headquarters of Sesame Enterprises, I swooped low over the CEO’s car. I couldn’t resist doing what I did, right on his windshield.

It felt good to act like a bird again. Instead of a corporation.

From Chapter Sixteen: “The Big Birdman of the Wayside Federal Minimum Security Detention Facility”

. . . learned how to live with less, how to make do. I do my feathers myself. I lay my own eggs. I live like a large bird.

I’ll get out of here in a few years, but I don’t think I’ll ever go back to taxpayer-supported entertainment. I’ve set my sights on creating and building mobile-phone apps, which is a very big industry. I’ve also really gotten into handbag design.

Most of the old crew is gone. And besides, none of them want to speak to me again. I was the first to break, the first to “sing” to the grand jury.

“I always knew you were a canary,” Elmo hissed to me as they led him away for tax evasion.

And he was right. I am a canary. Just a canary. A plus-sized canary. And as long as I don’t forget it, I’ll be okay.