It has been almost a month since Ellen DeGeneres brought herself and her television sitcom alter ego out of the closet.

The media frenzy surrounding that television situation comedy starts all sorts of questions festering in my head: How would people have reacted if the spirit Major Nelson who stumbled upon in the in the pilot episode of "I Dream of Genie" ended up being gay? Is the open homosexuality of a sitcom protagonist really the kind of cultural benchmark that merits a lead New York Times editorial? Is the decision of the people behind one television series a sign of the New American Openness?

I think about all these questions, but mostly I find myself thinking about Pee Wee Herman. I think about Pee Wee Herman because while the press is busy making nice to the American people for their remarkable tolerance, while a good portion of the American people for their remarkable tolerance, while a good portion of the nation's liberal establishment basks in an afterglow of acceptance and legitimacy, Paul Reubens, the man responsible for the film Pee Wee's Big Adventure and the television show "Pee Wee's Playhouse," continues to hover in a kind of pop culture purgatory.

I've never been a fan of judging people in their public lives for their private activities, and yet I cannot avoid being frustrated when I consider Reubens' fate in the context of those of other famous figures. Senator Edward M. Kennedy '54-'56 and actor Matthew Broderick each played an intimate and condemnable part in a causal chain that resulted in the death of a human being. Star of "Frasier" Kelsey Grammar has been arrested more times for drug charges than I care to count. None of these men has seen his career suffer.

Still, Reubens is a special case, and not just because his violation of public mores involved the worst sin of them all: masturbation. In addition, Reubens never mounted any effort to defend himself, to apologize for his mistake ion the manner of the estimable Hugh Grant. In fact, he hasn't taken any sort of public stand since he was arrested for indecent exposure in 1991. So, as much as I'd like to believe there's some conspiracy of television executives at work, there's no real way to know that his exile is not self-imposed.

But is it really possible that he made enough money during the height of his popularity to collect all his toys and head home? Is there any chance at all that it was Reubens who turned his back on America and not vice versa?

The answer is far from clear, so I decide to do some digging. It doesn't take me long to come upon rumors that, much to my surprise, a Reubens comeback may be in the works, that he may be starring in a new show for the Carsey-Werner production company. After some serious phone tag, I find myself on the receiving end of a call from James Anderson, the director of publicity for Carsey-Werner.

Right off the bat, Anderson confirms the rumors, and not without a modicum of enthusiasm. He's more than happy to tell me that a Reubens show is in the works, and that the show will probably be a half-hour sitcom. At the earliest, it would be a 1997 -'98 mid-season replacement, he offers, but he can't say much beyond logistics. He explains that "the project is in its embryonic stages," and as much as he'd like to tell me more about it, at this point there's very little to say.

Still, I've got designs on more than details, so I embark on my carefully-prepared, no-nonsense pitch: Reubens' work has undergone a critical reappraisal in the last several years." I lecture Anderson, perhaps overdoing The Harvard Angle. "Praise and critical attention have been showered on his work from a number of unlikely sources, including The American Museum of the Moving Image. "Also, several serious papers (full of words like 'reify' and references to Lacan) have been published that connect the Pee Wee Herman phenomenon to recent trends in art. Finally, all this attention has spurred the re-release of a collection of 'Pee Wee's Playhouse' episodes on videotape."

Given Pee Wee Herman's persisting popularity and the hordes of fans he has at Harvard (a fact which is convenient if not necessarily true). I ask, "might you be able to set me up for some interview time with Reubens?" Anderson is cordial, but he isn't buying. "Paul rarely does interviews," he explains. "Actually, he doesn't do them at all." Still, he's very sympathetic and even friendly--he promises to forward my interview request and urges me to call him if he doesn't get back to me soon enough.

I give him four business days to pop the question to Pee Wee and for Reubens to mull over his response. Then, bubbling over with anticipation, I give Anderson a Call late in the afternoon. But he's not in his office, I'm told. I call back four times over three days and remarkably, each time he's in a meeting, on the other line or not at his desk. On my fifth call, after I identify myself as a reporter for The Harvard Crimson, something clicks with the women on the other end of the line. She has a message for me, she remembers, and after rifling through some papers she brings me the bad news: Reubens isn't interested in doing the interview.

But I have more questions for Anderson: How aggressively will Carsey-Werner be promoting the show? Is the decision to bill it as a mid-season replacement a sign of reluctance to throw support behind Reubens? Is there concern that Reubens will be a though sell to apprehensive network executives? The woman agrees that Anderson is in the best position to answer these questions, and she promises to have him return my call. Of course, he never does.

It's hard not to think that Anderson has made a conscious decision to clamp down on information about the Reubens show, considering how he clammed up. Whether the directive came from Reubens himself or from inside Carsey-Werner, it seems there is still fear about how the public and its guardians, network television, will feel about returning the one-time pop icon to the mainstream.

The sad thing is that with Reubens' media track-record, I can't blame them. But if lingering worries about Reubens' salability are disturbing, there is still reason to be upbeat. He's an immensely talented entertainer, and even if he has to slink his way into prime time, we should be glad to have him back on the scene. We should be glad that he's willing to give us another chance.

Dan S. Aibel is associate editorial chair of The Crimson.