Host: Sarah Austin Jenness
[overture music]
Sarah: [00:00:12] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I’m Sarah Austin Jenness.
This episode is about the significance of sound. Each of the four stories in this hour involves an acute sense of hearing, and voices literally play a starring role.
Our first storyteller is Stanley Alpert.
[cheers and applause]
He told us at a Moth night, where the theme was New York Stories. Here’s Stanley, live at The Moth.
Stanley: [00:00:39] It was January 21st, 1998, an ice-cold New York night. But I was feeling great. I was on my way downtown on the number 4 train. I met a girl, I walked her to her apartment at 6th Avenue and 10th Street. We traded business cards, and I walked down the street feeling good. I was going to go home, eat my favorite chocolate chip cookies, drink a cup of tea, read a book. I was in a great mood. [audience laughter]
It was cold out, nobody was on the street. As I got to the corner of 10th Street and 5th Avenue in the Village, suddenly from out of nowhere, I felt a tug on my elbow from behind. I spun around, and there’s an automatic machine gun sticking in my gut. Two guys behind me, “Move, motherfucker. Get in the fucking car.” They had a car waiting in the street, which they shoved me to, put me in the backseat. Three guys in the car, another guy with a pistol in my face.
The leader of the gang was called Lucky. He said, “Stanley, let me tell you what we’re going to do. We’re taking you to the bank. Give us your wallet,” which I did. “What’s your PIN number to your cash machine card?” which I gave him immediately. “We’re going to take you to the bank, you’re going to help us withdraw your money. And if you don’t do it, we’re going to kill you.”
So they drove to the corner of 6th Avenue and 23rd Street. Lucky went inside, got some money, came back out. He wanted to know how much money I had in my savings account, and I told him I had $110,000. They were impressed. [audience laughter] “What do you do for a living, Stanley?” [audience laughter] “Well, I’m a lawyer.” And I said, “You picked up the wrong guy, I’m an Assistant US Attorney.”
At first, they didn’t get what that meant. They said, “Oh, you’re an attorney. Wow.” They’re really impressed. So, then they drove down 23rd Street. Lucky explained that now the plan had changed. They decided to keep me. So, he said he was going to take me to a place, and in the morning, they were going to take me to the bank and have me withdraw $50,000. And if I didn’t do it, they were going to kill me. So, they drove down 23rd Street to the West Side Highway, all the way down through that tunnel at the bottom.
Now, Lucky ordered one of his henchmen, the guy who had the machine gun on me on the street, to blindfold me, and he took my own scarf off and blindfolded me with it. So, I’m just hearing what I’m describing to you. We went through that tunnel at the bottom of Manhattan that comes up on the other side by the FDR Drive. And a minute later, I could hear the sound of rubber tires going over the metal of one of the East River bridges. As we got into Brooklyn, Lucky said, “Stanley, you ever been on the BQE?” [audience laughter] And of course, I had, because I grew up in Brooklyn.
And then, they talked amongst themselves and they decided to stop at a gas station to buy duct tape for this little caper, which they did. And then, we drove. A little while later, they stopped the car, hustled me out across the street, up three stairs, through one door, up three more stairs, through another door.
Now, the blindfold wasn’t perfect, I could see out the bottom and I could see the pattern on the tiles, sort of a typical pattern of a tenement building in New York City. In fact, my grandmother that had lived in one of those when I was growing up on the Lower East Side. It had that particular greasy, cooking, old-building smell of a tenement building. They sent me up two flights of stairs, I memorized the number of stairs and they put me in an apartment. I could hear that we were in a narrow hallway. They shoved me all the way down to the end, put me down on a mattress, took off my trench coat and there I sat.
Now, when we first got in there, this was a very exciting moment for them. They had just brought home a really important catch. And they discussed, well, how were they going to make this thing happen? They had my wallet, and unfortunately, my wallet had in it my father’s business card. My father was a cantor. That’s the guy who sings in the synagogue. He was retired, but he kept his business card with his home address on it in case somebody needed him at the last minute to officiate at a wedding or a funeral.
I kept that card in my wallet with the sense in my head that somehow threw a level of spiritual protection around him. [audience laughter] Well, now, what I had intended well was leading me to a very bad place, because they wanted to know where my father lived, and what was I going to say. So, I gave the real address, I lied about the apartment number. And they said, “Stanley, tomorrow morning, if you don’t cooperate with us at the bank, not only will we kill you, we’ll kill your father by breaking every bone in his body.” And in fact, they made a call, and they were sending a guy to go watch him overnight while we waited for the morning.
As it went on, they kept coming over to me, they kept cocking and uncocking their guns. And he said, “Stanley, have you ever seen one of these things?” He waved it in front of my face, I could literally feel it. He says, “All I got to do is pull this trigger, it’ll go bam, bam, bam and your brains will be all over that wall.” And he said, “But you got nothing to worry about. Rich guy like you, you got your fine education. I got nothing. You’ll make the money back. I got a right to something.”
Lucky left. That’s the leader, he left. So, the other guys are talking and they’re saying, “You know what? This thing’s not going to work in the morning.” This is them talking. So, they said, when Lucky comes back, they’re going to try to convince him not to do it.
Now, there were some other people who had entered. Okay. There were three girls, they were prostitutes. Lucky was the pimp, he was the leader of the gang, he used the other two guys as heat to protect his prostitution ring. So, the girls show up. So, first, they smoke weed, and then they have sex with the girls. This is the point at which I thank God for my blindfold. [audience laughter] And then, it’s over, and everybody’s feeling good, you know, a little weed, a little sex, you feel good. [audience laughter]
So, they decide to play with me. “Stanley, what would you be doing right now if we hadn’t picked you up on the street?” I said, “Well, actually, later on today is my birthday. I’d be meeting friends later today for my birthday.” They thought this was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. “Oh, shit, we kidnapped the motherfucker on his birthday!” [audience chuckle] This was just amazing news.
So they offered me some weed. [audience laughter] The thing is, I’ve always been uncool, even before I became a federal prosecutor, [audience laughter] I could lose my job. Then they kept having fun. They’re like, “You know, Stanley, you should join our gang. You can make more money with us than you’re making as a lawyer. You can recommend friends for us to kidnap. Oh, no, no, no. Hang on, hang on. Not friends, enemies, okay? Oh, and by the way, let’s see if we can figure out how else we can get money out of you. You got a car?” “No, I live in Manhattan.” “You got a wife?” “No.” “You got any kids?” “No.” “You got a girlfriend?” “No.” “Stanley, let me see if I get this straight. You got $110,000 in the bank. You ain’t got no wife, you ain’t got no kids, you ain’t got no car. What the hell have you been doing, man?” I said, “You should ask my parents. They’ve been wondering the same thing.” [audience laughter]
The guy sitting to my right, the guy who had the machine gun on me on the street, he gets a brilliant idea. He says, “What’s going on here? We give you food, we offer you weed, what robbery is this, anyway?” [audience laughter] So, the plan had changed and time went on. I was there for almost 24 hours when Lucky comes back. They’ve told me that they’re going to take me back to where they picked me up in the Village. So, they race me downstairs, I’m still blindfolded, they put me in the backseat of the car, I’m on the hump.
Between the two thugs, I can feel their legs pressing up against me. Lucky’s in the front seat, and they sit for a pregnant pause, and nobody says a word and then Lucky drives. Now, I know it’s going to take about 25 minutes for us to get back to where they picked me up if they really mean to drop me back off in the Village. About 10 minutes into it, without saying a word, Lucky pulled the car off to the side and stopped it. He killed the ignition. He opened the car door, stepped outside. I can hear him walking around to the back. He opened the trunk. The next thing I heard was the sound of duct tape being pulled from a roll.
I was positive in that moment that my life was over. I was positive that I’ll never get to call my mother on the phone again, or go on a date, or pay my American Express bill, or eat a box of chocolate chip cookies, or read a good book. All of that adventure that made up my life was done. And this is a very sad moment. But I was wrong, because what happens is, someone had broken the window on his passenger side and there was plastic covering it and it was making too much noise in the wind. [audience laughter] So, all he was doing was taping the plastic. He gets back in the car and he drives again.
But they stop the car, they take me outside and they tell me to walk. And I walk. I’m still blindfolded. They say, “Put up your hands and walk.” I walk, one step after the other. I think I can hear the car pulling off, but I’m really not sure. I didn’t hear the door close. I thought the guy might still be there on me with the gun. But I walked several steps and I thought I might fall into a ravine or the river. I didn’t know where we were. So, finally, I say, “Are you there?” And nobody answered. I ripped off my blindfold, and I spun around and they were gone. I had my life back.
So I was in Prospect Park. I could have got mugged in that park. [audience laughter] I raced to 7th Avenue, I called my father to see if he was okay. He told me to call home. The NYPD and the FBI were already in my apartment. It was a crime scene. They were already referring to me as “the body.” They interviewed me for four hours that night.
I had so many clues. I had the pattern on the tiles. I could tell you exactly what floor it was on. I knew that seagulls had flown overhead at night, so I thought we were near one of the water bodies near one of the airports. I knew that we were near the Command bus line, because they talked about a $3.50 fare to get there. I knew one of the girls was due in court that next morning on a prostitution charge and had to pay either a fine or spend 30 days in jail. I knew the street names of the girls, and I knew the full name of one of the guys and I knew the first few numbers of the leader of the gang’s cell phone. Within 48 hours, the FBI and the NYPD rounded them up. The girls did very short sentences. The guys were in prison for a very long time.
Now, they hurt me, they traumatized me, they shocked me and they definitely caused me pain. But at the end of the day, they also gave me a gift. I don’t go into a sushi restaurant anymore and order the sushi special, because it’s a little cheaper and get a couple of things on that plate that I don’t like the looks of. [audience laughter] Now, I order exactly what I want. [audience laughter] [audience cheers and applause]
Even though he’s awfully annoying, I still call my brother all the time now, okay? And I enjoy that. The first day of spring, and I’m able to live my life in a fuller way. I’ve got a dog now. [audience laughter] It took me a long time after the kidnapping, but I finally met a wonderful woman and we’re married. And with God's blessing, we've got a baby on the way.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:13:55] That was Stanley Alpert. Stanley wrote about this experience in his book, The Birthday Party: A Memoir of Survival. He’s an environmental and commercial litigator, and he travels around the country lecturing on green building. And yes, he’s still ordering exactly what he wants at the sushi restaurant.
Our next storyteller is Faith Ekienabor. Faith told this at a Moth night we produced at the Kenya National Theatre in Nairobi as part of our Global Community Program. The evening featured stories all about women and girls. Faith developed glaucoma and lost her sight when she was a teenager. And the story takes place as Faith is navigating her first year of college with the help of her friend, Toby. Here’s Faith, live at The Moth.
[applause]
Faith: [00:14:48] Listening to my friend, Toby, tell me stories of all the places she had been to, all the fun she had, were exciting moments in my life. These were moments when I would laugh and sometimes cry, with tears coming out from my eyes. Toby was a good companion. Sometimes she made me reflect on the past. I too used to be bold and daring, and she made me remember how I used to be before I became blind.
You see, everything stopped for me the moment I lost my sight to glaucoma, an irreversible eye disease. I began to live in a lonely world of darkness where I shut myself out from the entire world. I couldn’t move from one point to the other without hitting my head on the wall, knocking down objects or having scars on my body while trying to do some little chores around the house. And so, I would always depend on my family members for support.
Luckily for me, I got admitted into the University of Lagos, Nigeria, to study psychology. I was happy, because I knew that the study of behavior was going to help me, and help me to have better relationships with people around me. So, I wanted to be diligent and I wanted to work hard.
Well, there was just one problem, I needed help to go around school. Toby agreed to be my helper. And since we were in the same department, it was easy. And then, she moved in, and we became roommates. That was when I discovered that, although Toby was very friendly and nice, she wasn’t taking her education seriously. Every morning, as I tried to get Toby up for classes, it was a huge ordeal. Whenever she opened her eyes, it was hell for me. She began to ask me questions like, “Why do you have to wake me up? What’s the time? Why do we have to hurry? Why can’t we just stay in bed and laze all day?”
We were always late. Always late in attending classes, submitting our assignments. Sometimes we absentees, and then we started going for exams late. There was this particular one. The lecturer was mean. He had told me earlier to be in his exams on time. When the day arrived, as I sat waiting for my friend, Toby, she was in her usual spot by the window, listening to some reggae music, and she was applying her makeup. All I could hear was just the clock ticking away, and my heart was pounding heavily. I began to wonder, when were we going to leave?
I knew that Toby’s makeup lasted for an hour, so how were we going to make it in due time? I drew my friend’s attention to the time, and I said, “Toby, we’re going to be late.” And she said, “Why the hurry? I’m not yet done. This is the last exam for the semester, so I want to be at my best.” Although I was angry, I couldn’t voice out. I couldn’t tell Toby a word, because Toby was my only ticket in going out. So, I kept quiet.
When we arrived at the faculty, the main lecturer approached us and he said, “Hey, Faith, you are late again. You’re just being negligent with your studies. I’m not going to give you any extra time.” And with that, he marched off. As I sat to type, my hands were shaking. I was getting so nervous and disoriented. I couldn’t concentrate. I was getting almost blank. But I knew that I could blame no one, but myself. If I had come earlier, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened to me.
The results came out for that semester, and of course, my grade was very bad. The next semester came by, and we were back to our routine. And then, exams period came again. This time around, as I sat fully dressed waiting for my friend, whom you guessed was in her usual spot, listening to some Jamaican tunes and she was humming along and making up her face, happy as usual. All I could hear was just a voice in my head telling me, “We’re going to be late. We’re going to be late.” And then, I said, “Toby, let’s get going, you’re beautiful just the way you are.” Toby replied with her usual phrase, “Why the hurry? Please, I’m not yet done.”
In that moment, I don’t know what came over me. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I picked up my bag, brought out my guide cane and slowly walked toward the door. I could hear Toby laughing behind me, and she was asking me, “Faith, where are you going to? Come back and sit and stop playing pranks.” But I just ignored her. I opened the door and I started walking. Although I was panicking, I was scared, I was afraid, because this was the very first time, I dared go out all by myself. Although I knew the path so well, because I’d walked with Toby along it in the past, but it was a new experience for me, going alone.
As I walked, I began to pray. And then, suddenly I stopped, because a thought flashed into my mind: What if I fall down? What if I crash into something? What am I going to do? But the mere thought of having Toby laughing at me and telling me, I knew you couldn’t do it, made me just forge ahead with greater determination. And then, as I walked, I began to pray that help would come. Luckily for me, ahead of me, I could hear voices, people were talking and laughing loudly. And so, I walked toward the direction. When I was sure I was close enough to be heard, I said, “Good morning. Please, where can I get a cab?” And a male voice responded. He said “It’s just a little bit further, just like 10 steps away.” So, I said, “Thank you.”
As I began to walk, I was counting in my mind. When I was sure I was almost there, at the 10th step, I used my other hand to reach, to feel if I could feel a car in front of me, and yes, I could. So, I stopped by the car. And then, a man asked me, “Where are you going to?” And I said to the faculty. And he said, “Come right in.” So, I reached for the door and I opened the door and I jumped right in. I smiled to myself and I laughed out loud, yes, I did it. Yes, I made it. This is my freedom. And it felt so good. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:22:15] That was Faith Ekienabor. Since the events in this story, Faith has remained fiercely independent. Faith lives in Lagos, Nigeria, and works as a counselor in a domestic violence unit. She’s also an advocate for people living with disabilities and a youth leader in the blind community. To hear more stories from this Moth night in Kenya, when Faith took the stage, check out The Moth’s Global Community playlist on YouTube.
[Now I'm Free by Andy Summers and Benjamin Verdery]
After our break, an overworked trauma surgeon tries to save the life of a teenage girl, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.
Jay: [00:23:17] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
Sarah: [00:23:28] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I’m Sarah Austin Jenness. In this hour, stories that are all about our sense of hearing.
Our next storyteller is T. Dixon. T told this story, live at The Moth in Los Angeles, where we partner with Public Radio Station KCRW.
[cheers and applause]
Here’s T. Dixon, live at The Moth.
T. Dixon: [00:23:50] So, I’m a physician. A surgeon, actually. That took a lot of sacrifice and a lot of time to get all of that training done. At first, I thought I wanted to be an anesthesiologist. So, I did some training in that before doing my surgery training. And then, ultimately, I did trauma, critical care and burn surgery fellowship down here, actually. But that’s 16 years of training. At the worst of it, I was at Hopkins in Baltimore. It was before the eighty-hour workweek rule, and so we were working about 134 hours a week. There’s only 168 hours in a week. I mean, in the entire week, right? [audience laughter] So, that’s 34 hours to eat, sleep and hopefully sleep with your girlfriend, you know? Not a lot of time for the important stuff, people.
So, at one point I went like 93 days without a day off. I’m talking no Saturdays, no Sundays, just 93 consecutive days. When we were on call, it was usually every other day, every other night and it was in the hospital, it wasn’t home call. So, we’d go in at 04:00 AM, and you might not get home until 04:00 or 06:00 PM, the next day. So, 36, 40 hours on, a few hours off, and you’re back at 04:00 AM. That’s why there’s a saying in surgery is, “Eat when you can, sleep when you can, and don’t fuck with the pancreas.” But that’s another story. [audience laughter]
So, anyway, there was one point when I was in residency, I was going through a really tough time. Just personally. There’s not a lot of time, like I said, for your personal life. It was just a dark time for me. I was in a dark place. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue with my surgery training. I was depressed. I was really hurting. And at the time, I was the chief of the trauma surgery service. We got this call, we got this patient that was coming in, this girl. And the story from the paramedics is, it was her 16th birthday, and she wanted to take a drive. She wanted to get in her car by herself and go to McDonald’s and come back home.
Well, she didn’t put on her seat belt, and she took a curve a little too fast and she goes flying off this curve, which was on a hill. So, she goes flying off the hill, through the windshield, and then the car flipped over and landed on top of her. So, this was a devastating crash. She’s unconscious, obviously, and has to be intubated, which means a breathing tube put in at the scene. She comes in to us, and she has a head injury that is horrific, that could have killed her. She had bilateral lung contusions that could kill her still. She had a Grade 4 liver fracture that could kill her. She had a Grade 5 splenic fracture that could kill her, and a Grade 5 pelvis fracture that could kill her.
I mean, this girl was broken. I guess we both were at that point in time. But that night was insane. I get her to the intensive care unit and get her on a ventilator, and we’re starting this massive transfusion. Normally, we would take that spleen out. You don’t really need your spleen. But we were afraid to open the abdomen for fear that it’d let loose that liver. And ain’t nobody living without a liver. I mean, it’s in the name. liver, youk know? You got to have a liver. [audience laughter] So, we couldn’t do that.
Doing this crazy transfusion, just trying to keep her alive minute by minute. At some point, I hear that the parents have arrived. The crash was in a small town. So, even though this chick, we don’t know who this 16-year-old is, she’s just Jane Doe to us. She’s a random patient. So, I finally get a tiny little minute that I can go and just update them. I end up alone with them for a minute. And as I was walking there, I was thinking, any one of these injuries could kill her. This is so awful right now. I have to go and prepare this family. I have to let them know how bleak this is. But I also don’t want to squash any hope they may have, because that doesn’t help anybody, you know, to squash that.
So, it’s one of those weird things in trauma surgery, especially in the intensive care unit, where the doctors and the nurses are spending almost as much time taking care of the family as they are the patients, who are oftentimes not with it or completely unconscious. So, it’s a very delicate balance to do this job. And so, I end up alone with them for a minute in this consultation room, and I say to them, “I want you to understand, I don’t know if she’ll make it through the night. I’ve gone through all these five injuries and how each one of them is trying to take her life, like, as we speak.” And I said, “She’s 16. As best I can tell, she’s a healthy, fit 16-year-old. And if anybody could beat it, that would be it.” They’re still hysterical, they’re sobbing, that was the closest thing I could give them to any hope. And so, I’m like, “But I got to get back in there. She’s real critical.”
And so, I stand up to leave, and I’m walking to the door and all of a sudden, the sobbing stops, and it’s like everything calmed down. And the mama says, “She’s going to be okay.” And my hand’s on the door and I stop, and I turn back around and I said, “Ma’am? What? What?” And she said, “She’s going to be okay. Her name is Savannah,” and she points at me. “Your patient Doe is Savannah.” I look down, and I’m wearing the appropriate scrub top for that hospital, but for whatever reason, and I think it’s the first time it ever happened, I was wearing the inappropriate bottoms. My scrub bottoms were from my medical school and I had done my clinical rotations in Savannah, Georgia. So, Savannah was written across my ass. [audience laughter]
And that was just what they needed, that little tiny bit of encouragement. [audience laughter] And if my ass can bring hope to the people,- [audience laughter] [audience applause] -I’m here to help, you know? What can I say? So, anyway, I was grateful that they had some shred of hope. But I walked out of there and I was like, “That was funny. [audience laughter] But oh, my gosh, this girl’s still dying. So, I rushed back in there, and it was just-- I never left her bedside. She did make it through the night. But then, every day was like that. It was a constant battle to keep her alive. I would go in there and I’d be like, “Hey, Savannah, it’s Dr. T.” She’s unconscious, but I’m still talking to her. We had to do a lot of painful procedures on her during that time to help get her through this. She had chest tubes put in, chest tubes taken out. The chest tubes are very large, they’re like garden-hose-sized tubes that go in between your ribs to drain off fluid, air and blood from around the lungs, so the lungs can work better. She had to have those procedures multiple times. I put in multiple central lines, which are really large IVs that go in your neck. Had to give her a tracheotomy, which is a breathing tube through the neck as opposed to through the mouth.
I tried to warn her before I did anything to her, and just continued to take care of her. We made it through day by day. But still, you knew that complications were going to come from all this, like these were too horrible of injuries to get away with just, “Oh, you’re healed.” So, we were just like, “When is the next complication coming? When is the next fight for her life coming?” And even at that, we were like, “Even if we get her through this, we don’t know if one day she’s going to wake up at all. And if she does, with that brain injury, will she be catatonic? Will she be in a regressed state? Will she just have some deficits?” I mean, we had no idea.
But I took care of her on that intensive care unit for two or three months and then I consulted through the vascular surgery service for some blood clots for a few more months. But after about five months or so, it was time for me to move on. I rotated out to a different hospital in that same town and I lost track of her. That service had anywhere from 30 to 50 patients on it at any given time. I treated hundreds of patients over those same months that I was taking care of Savannah. So, I lost track of a lot of patients.
I went on to go back to this. It was the same as it was there, but 100 plus hours a week and just a high stress job all the time. I was still struggling and still didn’t know what I wanted to do in my personal life. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in my career. And with surgery, the stresses are as much mental as they are just the time. It’s not just the physical tiredness and the time, but I’m the type of person, I took my work home with me a lot, so I would worry about the patients and the cases even when I was off duty. And so, it was a very difficult time, and I just felt like I was really just limping along during that time.
So, about a year after Savannah’s surgery, or about-- not surgery, but after her accident that she had, I was back in that same intensive care unit again. I’m working on all these patients. One day, I’m talking to this nurse-- If you hadn’t noticed, I talk a little loud, that’s just normal. And so, I’m talking to this nurse across the way, and this girl approaches me and she’s like, “Hey.” I’m like, “Ah, hey.” I don’t know who she is. She lowers her shirt a little bit in the front to show me a tracheotomy scar. Just about the time I realized who she is, she says, “It’s me, Savannah.” And I was like, “Oh, my gosh.”
She looked great. She was healthy, and she was talking to me, and she only had one class to make up, so she could graduate with her fellow high schoolers and she was so excited. It was so much better than I ever thought she would be after all that she had been through and all those injuries she had. And then, all of a sudden, it occurred to me, I was like, “Wait a minute, how do you know who I am? You’ve never met me. You were unconscious every time I ever took care of you.” And she said, “Oh, well, I recognize your voice. You were the one who talked to me.” [audience aww]
So, all those times that I would say, “Savannah, this is going to hurt, but I’m going to do everything I can to try to make it as painless as possible, but it’s going to hurt a little bit,” she had heard me and she remembered it. And so, I knew that treating people like a human being, it does matter, it does make a difference. And for me, that’s when I finally realized that all that sacrifice and all that blood, sweat and tears, it was worth it. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:34:48] That was T. Dixon. Sadly, T passed away in 2022, after 48 years of touching people’s lives and making the world a better place. T was raised in the Deep South. And after medical school, she joined the United States Army. In addition to being a combat veteran of the Iraq War, she was a tutor, trash collector and waitress. She volunteered with Mission Continues and the Wounded Warrior Project. She loved obstacle-course racing and quilt-making. And we all miss her.
[You Wish by Nightmares on Wax]
After our break, an artist tries to turn a mental institution into an instrument. You heard me right. She tries to turn a building into a musical instrument. Hear if she succeeds, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.
Jay: [00:35:51] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
Sarah: [00:36:02] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I’m Sarah Austin Jenness. This is an episode that explores the audible world.
And our next and final storyteller takes this to another level through her inventive art. Anna Schuleit Haber told this story at The Moth more than a decade ago, on a night when we partnered with the New York Public Library. The theme of the evening was Art Attack, stories about wrestling the muse.
[cheers and applause]
So, here’s Anna Schuleit Haber, live at The Moth.
Anna: [00:36:35] Lisa or Elisabeth was the name of my German grandmother, a feisty mother of four with an earthy sense of spirituality. One thing she used to say was, “Wenn jemand stirbt, muss man das Fenster öffnen, damit die Seele hinausfliegen kann.” When someone dies, you have to open the window so that the soul can fly out.” But there’s that curious delay between listening to something and hearing it, and then learning it for yourself all over again from scratch.
So, one day, I was walking up a hilltop in western Massachusetts. I walked through a tall row of black pines and I found a brick structure that emerged against the sky that was gray and November-like. I walked around the structure not knowing what it was, and I only saw windows, a few doors, bars, rusty railings and I realized this was a mental hospital, a psychiatric hospital that was abandoned. I walked around the structure, the façade-- In order to see the entire facade on this hilltop, I had to step back. As I stepped back, I was able to see it. I later found out it, 800-feet wide. I turned around and I felt it looming in my back, and I felt this was something I wasn’t going to understand so soon.
Years later, I became a student of art in a painting department. I looked at the map of New England, and I realized I was close to this place, I was close to this little town in western Massachusetts. I borrowed a friend’s car and I drove out and I said, “Okay, so, let’s see if it’s still here.” I walked up the same hill, through the same pines, and I found the same structure, untouched, crumbling and rotting with nobody there, just an eerie silence. I decided, since I was a student of painting, I would set up an observation post, a visual, scientific observation post in the grass to see if I could understand this building, to just spend time on this lawn overlooking this structure.
I would sit on this lawn with weeds all around me, and there was a security car that would pass around in circles, that I could estimate. I knew when this security guy was coming by, so I could duck and he would pass and I could continue painting. But because I had to be able to immediately pack up and leave, if necessary, my paintings were very small, they were the size of my thumb.
I would draw these very little paintings, and the security car would come by and sometimes they would come over and say, “Young lady, no picture taking allowed on these grounds.” I said, “I’m not taking pictures. I’m drawing.” But I wanted to know what the structure was for. I wanted to know what the people knew about this building. And so, on my walks through town, I would try to find people who knew about this building. One story that I found was Clotilda, a patient who had been there, because she was a pregnant teenager, was committed by her family. She gave birth, she stayed in the hospital and her daughter was remembered by the nurses as driving around the campus on her bike. And then, her daughter went to school, came back to the hospital and stayed for her entire life.
The other patient was Daniel, the autistic race-car guy, who would make race car noises as he paced around in circles, and every now and then would burst into outcries of “Shift, shift, shift.” Or, Emma the Seamstress, who, after cutting off the heads of tulips very neatly in her neighbor’s garden, was committed for a 30-day observation period that became thirty years. I didn’t know what to do with these stories. I knew there were many more, of many patients whose names I do not have for you. I realized that this hospital had absorbed many, many thousands of lives, and that there were many more such hospitals around the country.
I would sit in the grass and I would observe this building and I would draw it and paint it. I was frustrated, because my paintings did not touch that scale. I wanted to work on a one-to-one scale with the whole building. And then, I had an idea. I said, “What if on one day and then never again, this building could be made into an instrument by using the hollows and voids of this building to function like an instrument? What if the entire structure were made to sound?” And I said, “Well, what if I would just set out trying to do this?”
I went out and I was told, “Well, there are state officials involved and local politicians.” I would meet with them all and I would say to them, “What if, one day and then never again, this building were made into an instrument in honor of its past? And what if one day, and then never again, we were to play a piece that I thought, as a teenager, was so moving when I worked as an usher at a classical music festival, the Magnificat by Johann Sebastian Bach?”
As an usher, I would stand at the back of these sacred places and I think that this music was something that touched on the unspeakable. So, I presented this project just like I did to you now. And the consensus was, “Honey, we really like your idea, but we’re not the right group for you. You have to talk to state officials.” And I said, “Well, if you like my idea, could you write me letters of support on your stationery?” And they did, because they felt bad. And so, I got all these letters of support.
By then, I woke up every morning pulling the sheets up to my face and said, “What am I doing?” I didn’t have any money. I had slowly gotten support, but no permissions. And this went on for three years. After three years, and I don’t know how this really happened, I got the permission from the state of Massachusetts to go ahead with the planning. I gathered a team of counselors and advisors, people who supported me in the beginning with half-heartedness. They would never quite know how this would all play out. I didn’t know either, but they thought I did. So, this was very scary to me at those times.
Well, we had to find a quote, the quote for the actual cost for doing this. I contacted Bose, because Bose is headquartered in Massachusetts. I thought, perfect reason. They took a walk with me over the grounds and they said, “$300,000 for 28 minutes.” I had to tell them, “I’m not living under trust, and please reduce the price.” And they said, “We can’t make it cheaper than $250,000.” And I fired them. This was four months before the event actually happened. The date I had set completely randomly for November, and now this was my own countdown that was strangling me.
It was August, I had no sound company or no funding. The press had started to write about this, because they were very curious as to what would happen to this European girl that traveled around trying to raise money for an instrument that was actually a building. I’d gotten a lot of wonderful press and I realized the only way to do this is actually by raising funds door to door. The deadline was in mid-August, the event was in November. And a day before the deadline occurred, and me, really committing to despair and saying, “This is it. I’ve tried. I’ve tried. I have tried and failed.”
The phone rings and it’s a woman from the West Coast who says, “I heard about your project from an arts journalist. I support the arts, I love the arts, I wanted to know how it’s going.” And at that time, my neck felt like this, because I couldn’t speak to anyone about this, because I had instilled all this hope in people and couldn’t really admit that I didn’t really know how to do this.
And so, I said to her, “Since you’re a complete stranger, I will tell you the truth. The truth is I can’t pull this project off. I don’t have the money for this.” And she said, “How much money would you need right now to save the project?” I just went through my head really quickly, having no relation to money, of course, and said, “$25,000. I knew I had to make down payments for the electricity, the sound company that I didn’t have, I needed to put that aside, permits, insurance, liability and such.”
And she said, “I’d like to donate that to you.” After a little more small talk where I didn’t know how to say and how to express my thanks, and I hung up the phone and I thought I had gone insane, because there was no proof that she had really called. [audience laughter] And then, the next morning, a courier service came and brought a letter that was tiny, with pressed flowers and a whole-grain-type envelope. And inside was a checking-account check for $25,000, and she saved the project.
I deposited the check and I made down payments that same day. And now, the next problem was to get the sound company to commit, or any sound company. And the sound company that I found was a man who runs the New Orleans Jazz Fest, all 32 stages. He loves unusual projects. He took this project on, and he said to me when I met him, “I have a quote for you, it’s by Goethe. The quote goes, ‘Architecture is frozen music.’ That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?” And I said, “You’re hired. I want to work with you.” [audience laughter] And so, I worked with him.
We had a team of 75 people. We installed a sound system of 45,000 watts throughout the entire building. We strung 5,000 feet of cable, we opened hundreds of windows and we had one sound test in which we tested the system using the architecture to make the sound reverberate, so that it would sound to the outside. As we turned the speakers, the sound would change in all of the wings. So, on the next day, we had former patients who had never told their own stories and a whole community of people, 650 seats there were, and I walked into the back of the auditorium and I said, “If these 650 people come from the town to my installation up on the hill, then I’m very lucky.”
We went to the forum. It was extremely moving, these patients had never told their stories. We walked up to the hill together after the stories ended, and there were thousands of people that came from everywhere. And then, the music started, and people sat and walked and held each other and cried and laughed and were joyful and very sad. As I walked among them, I thought of Clotilda and Daniel and Emma and the many more who had been there, and I thought that the most moving thing about this was not the music and Bach in the distance, who I always thought was my collaborator in this, but that the people had come to this, because I had said I wanted to create a moment of buoyancy for this building. And it was created only by bringing these people together. I was hoping that focusing them, gathering them in this way, would make them look more kindly and gently and with more compassion upon the setting of suffering and mental illness. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:48:32] That was Anna Schuleit Haber. Anna is a visual artist whose work lies at the intersection of painting, drawing, installation art, architecture and community. She’s a graduate of the Rhode Island School of Design and the recipient of a MacArthur Fellowship, in recognition of work that has “conceptual clarity, compassion and beauty.”
To see a short film all about the sound installation, including stories and testimonies from former patients at Northampton State Hospital, go to themoth.org. And you’re listening now to Johann Sebastian Bach’s, the Magnificat, the music that poured out of the building that day.
[Magnificat by Johann Sebastian Bach]
So, in an hour all about sound, I want to thank you for listening. That’s it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you’ll join us next time.
[overture music]
Jay: [00:49:56] Your host this hour was Sarah Austin Jenness. Sarah also directed the stories in the show along with Catherine Burns. The rest of The Moth’s directorial staff include Sarah Haberman, Meg Bowles and Jenifer Hixson. Production support from Timothy Lou Ly and Lola Okusami.
Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Bonobo, Andy Summers and Benjamin Verdery, Nightmares on Wax and Johann Sebastian Bach.
The Moth would like to thank the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation for their support of The Moth’s Global Community Program.
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison, with Viki Merrick, at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.