Host: Suzanne Rust
Suzanne: [00:00:07] Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Suzanne Rust, your host for this week.
I was born and raised in New York city. And on September 11th, 2001, I was living with my family in Harlem. That morning, my husband had dropped our eight-year-old son, Julian, at school and I was getting ready to take Sophia, our two-year-old, to the park, the routine. Then the news broke. What I saw on the TV screen was surreal. In a complete daze, I foolishly made my way to the playground where a handful of equally dazed parents paced anxiously to the soundtrack of sirens while their children played.
Back then, there were no smartphones at hand. So, I asked an incoming parent if there were any updates on the situation, she told me that the towers had collapsed. And that was when I truly lost it. It hit me. Racing from the playground to pick up my son from school, I ran into another mom that I barely knew and we fell into each other's arms. The walk home was long and otherworldly. And the fears and uncertainty that followed in the next days, weeks and months, I can remember them vividly. There is no chance of ever forgetting.
So, it's hard to believe that 20 years have passed since the tragedy at the World Trade Center. We still see it eke into our day to day lives on the news at the airport, and banners still hung at firehouses here in New York City. But the experiences of the day and its aftermath is incredibly personal and specific to everyone who lived through it.
Today, we'll hear a story from our archive about the surprising and touching way 9/11 changed two lives in particular. Nancy Mahl told the story at a showcase from our community program, where theme of the night was Across the Divide. Here's Nancy.
[cheers and applause]
Nancy: [00:01:55] Thank you. It was a regular Tuesday at work. It was a beautiful day, and I was standing on the roof of the New York Times building in Times Square. I was on the roof, because I'm an elevator mechanic and that's where the elevator machine rooms are. I was drinking a cup of coffee, and watching the traffic below and I heard the phone ring in the motor room. That, usually, is a bad thing. It means somebody stuck in an elevator or somebody's complaining about something. So, I went in to answer the phone, and it was my mother.
Now I hadn't spoken to my mother in maybe two years. So, it was strange on so many levels. [spectator laughs] It was strange that she would call me on the roof of the New York Times, that she would know that I was on the roof of the New York Times, and she said, “Are you okay?” I said, “I'm fine. Sorry I haven't called.” And she's like, “No, really, are you okay?” And I said, “I'm okay. Are you okay?” She said, “I'm okay.” I said, “Okay, that's great.” She said, “A plane hit the World Trade Center, and I was worried about you.” I said, “Well, that's sad.” And she said, “No, really, it's serious, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” And I said, “Okay, I'm okay.” And we hung up. And you know how the rest of the day went.
The next day, I was back at work, and the phone rang in the motor room and it was my mother. And she said, "How are you doing? Are your friends okay? Where do you live? Is your house okay?" And I said, "Most of my friends are accounted for and the house is okay. And I'm back in Times Square. I'm safe." And she said, "Well, how's my city?" Let me preface this by saying. My mother was a New Yorker. She lived in Jackson Heights, Queens, and then in Murray Hill. And in 1937, she was Ms. Larchmont. She’d have, you know? [audience laughter] Well, we didn't get along. We didn't agree on really much of anything.
She was a Republican, and I was a Democrat, sliding toward Communist. [audience laughter] She was a devoutly Catholic person, and I'm very much not. She was straight, and I'm gay. She had a really hard time with that. And so, anytime we tried to talk about anything, food, movies, politics, religion, we’d end up in opposite corners of the room, hissing at each other. We just gave up, because there wasn't much in the relationship that fed either of us. Every time we got together, it ended in a terrible fight and we just let it go.
So, here she was calling me a second time, and I was really touched. It seemed like she actually cared, which I did not think she did. And she said, "You know, during the war, when your father was overseas, all us ladies had to go out and keep everything open. We had to go to concerts and sports events and museums. You're going to have to do that. You're going to have to keep my city alive for me." My mother had left New York, and gone out to take care of a sick relative in South Dakota and was foolish enough to marry a cowboy. So, she was calling me from the West. She hadn't been back to New York in decades, but she still thought New York was her city and she wanted to know how it was. So, we developed a kind of rhythm.
Every morning, I'd get a little five-minute phone call from my mother to see how her city was. And she'd ask me what I was doing. And so, I said, "Well, I got tickets to Joe's Pub and I saw Justin Vivian Bond. And they sang Benny Goodman songs to keep everyone's spirits up." She told me about going to the Waldorf Astoria and dancing to Benny Goodman. And she said, "You know, what are you going to do tomorrow?" So, every day, I had to come up with like a little what did I do and how was I keeping her city alive? I was going to theater and I was going to sports events, which I hate. [audience laughter]
One night, I was on emergency callback, walking through Times Square, going up 6th Avenue. My little flip phone rang. It was my mother, because at this point, so she’d gotten my phone number, so she could call me whenever she wanted to. And she said, "How’s my city doing? Tell me about it. Hold up your phone and let me hear." So, I walked along 6th Avenue, and she could hear the horses clapping around Central Park and she could hear the taxis honking. And she said, "What’s it look like?" And I said, "Well, every taxi's got this little plastic flag hanging out of the window. Every business has a flag on it. Even the gay bars have flags on them. [coughs] It looks like Kansas." [audience laughter]
My mother found that touching. And she like, "Well, I'm glad you finally got some patriotism." [audience laughter] And she said, "I'm thinking about visiting you. So, just put that in your mind." [audience laughter] This was a scary thought. So, I thought, I'll just keep her at bay with a few more stories. [coughs] I got tickets to the opera. So, the opera was something I never wanted to go to. I spent four hours listening to this Mozart thing that went on and on and on and on. Everybody was dressed like my mother, and it was very stuffy, and it was very boring.
And then, at the end, this red-haired lady came out, and she sang this aria. It was gorgeous. And I knew nothing about opera, but I discovered that night that they sing without microphones. They're just freaks of nature, and they can fill this huge auditorium with just what god gave them. And at the end of this aria, all these stiff-looking people stood up and they started pounding on the boxes, and screaming, and throwing flowers, and shrieking and stomping. It was like Yankee Stadium in the cheap seats. And I was like, "This is really raw. This is really visceral. I get opera." [audience laughter]
So, when I told my mother about that, she said, "We're going together. I'm coming. I'm coming to JFK. Come and pick me up." So, I drive out to the airport. I'm terrified, because we've been having this beautiful little relationship, where I make the city come alive for her and she makes the city come alive for me. Everything's great in five-minute increments. But now, we're going to be stuck together for a week. I don't know how smart this is, because it's a beautiful thing and I think it's all going to go-- [makes pfff sound] [audience laughter]
So, I pick her up, I get her gigantic suitcases, I put her in the car. We're driving in semi silence, because I think she's also scared. And she says, “So, have you been going to Mass?” [audience soft chuckle] I just let that sit there for a minute [audience laughter] and I was like, “No.” [audience laughter] And then, there was silence. And then, she said, “Well, I have some things in the suitcase for you.” I'm hoping chocolate chip cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. It turns out The Legion of Mary went all over Sun City and bought every dust mask they could find, which was really sweet, because we had none. All of the people who were working downtown were out and we appreciated that. And she said, “And I've got something else for you.”
So, we got back to Jersey City, to my little skinny, 12-foot-wide house. We went upstairs to the guest room, and she unzipped this bag and inside it was the flag from my father's coffin. I think I mentioned he was a B17 pilot in World War II. And those coffin flags are big, and my house is small. And she said, “Do you mind if we hang it on the house? I know you're not patriotic.” But I said, “Yeah, I would love it.” So, we opened the two windows, and we dropped it down the front of the house and it basically covered the whole house. [audience laughter] So, if anybody doubted my patriotism, they doubted it no longer. [audience laughter]
And the rest of the week went really well. We had like one little fight and we worked it out. We stayed away from religion, and we stayed away from politics and we stayed on culture. We went to things together, and we loved each other and we enjoyed each other. We had those five-minute phone calls for the next nine years of her life. I miss every one of them. I have tickets to the opera for next Saturday.
[cheers and applause]
Suzanne: [00:11:16] That was Nancy Mahl. Nancy retired from the elevator business, and now works for Illuminate Food, which brings produce to people's homes directly from local farmers.
We followed up with Nancy to hear how she feels about this story today. Here's Nancy.
Nancy: [00:11:35] When I did this Moth recording at the Bell House in Brooklyn, it was a year before COVID hit New York. There are so many similarities between the 9/11 times and these. New Yorkers cheering for first responders, New Yorkers banging pans for healthcare workers, New Yorkers caring for one another, New Yorkers protesting, New Yorkers grieving.
When my mother was a child, there was a polio epidemic in New York. She could never forget the wails of the grief-stricken mother next door when her playmate died. She would have been the first in line for the COVID vaccine. How else can you get the city up and running again? There are shows to see, and dinners to enjoy and jobs to save. And I'm sure all of my mother's masks would have matched her outfit. [car honks]
Suzanne: [00:12:24] That was Nancy Mahl. We're thinking of everyone who is still affected by this tragedy today and every day. From all of us here at The Moth, we're sending our love and support. Thank you for listening.
Julia: [00:12:39] Suzanne Rust is The Moth Senior Curatorial Producer, a host of The Moth Radio Hour and of The Moth Podcast.
This episode of The Moth Podcast was produced by me, Julia Purcell, with Sarah Austin Jenness, Sarah Jane Johnson and Suzanne Rust. Nancy Mahl's showcase story was directed by Michelle Jalowski.
The rest of The Moth’s leadership team includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Jenifer Hixson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Klutse, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski and Aldi Kaza.
Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.