Host: Jay Allison
[overture music]
Jay: [00:00:12] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jay Allison.
[00:00:16] And in this show, Meeting Our Heroes, stories of the times our lives intersect with the people we most want to intersect with. Our first story comes from Valerie Walker. She told this at a SLAM in New York City, where we partner with Public Radio Station WNYC. Here's Valerie.
[cheers and applause]
Valerie: [00:00:36] Okay. So, sometimes history has a way of speaking directly to your heart. It can leave a mark, an indelible etch in who you are that can change who you are without. It can manifest into a thought, an idea or a way of being that you wouldn't have been, if you hadn't had that moment. And Ruby Bridges made a mark with me. In 1960, at the age of six, Ruby Bridges desegregated a public elementary school in Louisiana, all by herself. I first heard about her when my fourth-grade teacher read her story out loud in class, and I was fascinated by her. I was in awe of her bravery, in the strength, like in the face of such danger. US Marshals were called in to escort her safely to and from school. Her act was deemed so dangerous. And I also was struck by her determination.
The other parents of the students that would have been in her class refused to let their kids come to school and be educated with a negro. So, she spent much of that first year by herself. And I could relate, because almost two decades later, I was the only black kid in my academically accelerated class. And like Ruby learned, I learned. I loved to learn and I thirsted to learn more. So, it's no big surprise that I became a teacher, thank you, teaching young black and brown minds in Brooklyn. And even then, Ruby was with me, because every year in my classroom hung a poster of the portrait that was painted of her by Norman Rockwell called The Problem We All Live With. It depicted Ruby on that fateful first day, so small amongst the long legs of the marshals. I used it to springboard a discussion with my students about the difference between the spirit of the law and the letter of the law.
Fast forward to June 2019, I have moved toward social justice and now work with youth in detention, think jail for adolescents, the hardest to reach of the hardest to reach. I get it, because it's hard to have hope behind bars. I had attended a week-long training in a literacy program that was funded or its foundation was in the freedom school movement. It was a long week, intense and vibrant, I could see how the training would help my kids, but it was 12-hour days with more homework added in. I had very little sleep, so I was feeling overwhelmed and hopeless.
It was the last day of the program and they had a closing ceremony, and I was hangry and tired and just wanted to go home. I sat slumped in my chair with about 3,000 other people in much the same condition. Suddenly, I thought I heard the moderator say “Ruby Bridges.” And it hit me like a jolt. I sat up in my seat, “Ruby Bridges? Excuse me, did they just say Ruby?” [audience laughter] And so, I reached down and grabbed a discarded program from the floor and I looked and I found that, “Oh my God, it was my Ruby Bridges.” And immediately, my eyes welled up with tears and they began to fall. She came out onto the stage and she looked so young that my first thought really was, “Damn, Black really don't crack.” [audience laughter]
And then, she spoke so eloquently, not of what she had endured, although she added more information. Behind the car that the US Marshals used to drive Ruby to school marched every Black member of her town. How beautiful an image that was? But she didn't speak more of that, because sadly, many of the younger kids in the audience didn't know who she was. But instead, she connected to them by exalting the amazing freedoms today that we have to create change, and she challenged them to do just that as a way to pay it forward. When she was done, the moderator said that there would be time for one or two questions, and I shot out of my chair like a bullet, hand raised high in the air on my tippy toes.
I was so intent, my focus so single minded to talk to my hero, that I did not even realize that I had begun to chant breathlessly, “Pick me, pick me, pick me,” [audience laughter] until I began to notice that the people sitting around me started pointing to me and saying, “Pick her.” [audience laughter] And they picked me. [chuckles] As I walked to the mic, I was transformed back into my nine-year-old self, when I'd first heard about her. I don't remember what the first person asked or what she answered, but I do remember that when it was my turn, she looked very kindly at me and I thanked her for her act of defiance that directly led to my ability to graduate from an Ivy League institution.
I thanked her and told her what an inspiration she had been to my life and what role she had played in my classroom. And then, I asked her the questions I had been burning to ask her since forever. “Was the white woman that taught you kind to you? And did you love having the teacher all to yourself?” Because I was a super nerd and to me that sounded like Nirvana. [audience laughter]. And she answered in the affirmative to both. But then she went on to thank me and tell me that I was an inspiration to her. Now, you know, I don't remember what else happened, because [chuckles] I passed out on the spot.
However, I do remember the feeling. I remember thinking of the kids that I work with back in Brooklyn and wanting to know how I could convey this feeling to them, this joy, this energy, this ability to speak to history and make another mark. I just knew that I was energized in that moment, no longer tired and I was ready. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Jay: [00:07:11] That was Valerie Walker. Valerie says she's new to storytelling and likes learning the craft. She blames her mother, Rosemarie, for sparking her imagination.
Ruby Bridges was the only student in first grade teacher Barbara Henry's class for over a year. Because of the intimidation of protesters, they made other Black students fearful to enroll and also kept white students from attending. Barbara Henry, the only teacher to accept a Black student into her class, was ostracized by the community, but along with Ruby Bridges left her mark on history.
A postscript to this story. After the conference, Valerie told us she made it to her airport gate only to find Ruby Bridges there. She was surrounded by adults, with younger people sitting on the floor at her feet. Valerie says you could feel the admiration radiating from everyone around her. Ruby was just talking, asking as many questions as she answered. Valerie says it was a beautiful and fitting sight. To see a photo of Valerie with her hero, Ruby Bridges, you can visit themoth.org.
Our next storyteller is singer-songwriter, Beth Nielsen Chapman. Beth told this story in Austin, Texas, where we were presented by the Paramount Theater. Here's Beth, live at The Moth.
[cheers and applause]
Beth: [00:08:42] So, in 1985, my husband and my son and I picked up and moved to Nashville, Tennessee, so I could pursue my career as a songwriter. The first couple of years were pretty frustrating and intense and exciting. I was just running around trying to meet producers, and get my songs heard, and getting a lot of rejection letters and things like that. I remember talking to some of the writers and they were basically telling me that, "Don't worry, as soon as you get a song on the chart going up the chart, they'll call you." And I thought, wow, that would be a lovely thing if that would happen.
Five years after moving to Nashville, I wrote a song with Don Schlitz. It got recorded by Tanya Tucker, a song called Strong Enough to Bend. It went all the way to number one and it was nominated for Song of the Year, and I was like, “Oh, my God. Thank God.” I remember being really excited about that, but it's true. Then my phone rang and I got this call, and it was one of the legends that I'd ever been exposed to a man named Fred Foster. Fred Foster had signed Dolly Parton and Kris Kristofferson, and he produced Pretty Woman. He was just a legend and an icon. He calls me up and he goes, "Hey, this is Fred, and I'm making an album with Willie Nelson."
Now, Willie has been going through some stuff in his life. He's got a deadline, and he hadn't been writing a lot of songs. He's got a new wife and a new baby and a lot of things going on. He just said to me the other day, "Find out who wrote that Strong Enough to Bend song, get them to write me one." I'm just listening to this on the phone going, "This is not happening." Because I knew every Willie Nelson song. We had all his records. I mean, you could hold them up to the light and see through them, that's how much I knew all of his songs. I was absolutely thrilled, and I said, "When do you need it by?" He said, "Three months." And I went, "Consider it done."
Hang up the phone, and I immediately go into supersonic songwriter mode. I was completely focused and just freaking out. I remember my husband was so great during this time. He would pick up our son from school, and they'd come home and I could hear him in there. And then, they slide over, open the door and peek in right around dinner time and say, "How's it going, mom?” I look at them like, "Oh, what?" And he'd go, "See that face? That's your mom's songwriter face, bud. [audience laughter] Let's go get us another pizza." [audience laughter] So, somehow, I don't know, I finally had to get out of the house. So, I went to the Y and I jogged around the indoor track.
At the Y, because I was jogging around, I got this idea. I was like, "Okay, Willie Nelson, come on, what do you do?” You go, [imitates percussion beats] and there's no, yeah, On the Road Again, it's the train beat. So, I thought, okay, I got it, the train beat. That's it. I got the music part. And then, I'm driving, I'm just, "Okay, I'm going." I think, it's got to have a great title. It's got to be, what would Willie say right now? And then, this phrase popped into my head, There's nothing I can do about it now. And I thought, perfect. And then, I got really paranoid, because I thought, gosh, that's such a good title, surely somebody's going to write it out from under me before I get it done.
Anyway, I worked and worked. The other problem with this title, was that I had to rhyme it at the end of every verse. Hardly anything rhymes with now. I used them all up in no time. I had allow, and I had brow and I had, I don't know, another somehow. I was just sitting there going, "God, there's got to be another hour on that's not Bow Wow," when all of a sudden I started thinking about that lullaby that said, "Rockabye baby on the treetop, when the bough," B-O-U-G-H. And I'm thinking, okay, okay, don't panic, there's a way to get that at the end of this line, so I can rhyme it at the--" Took two more hours.
This is one of those things where I'll never forget how hard I worked to get this one little bit. It was just like excruciating. [chuckles] I finally got it and I said, "And I've been dreaming like a child since the cradle broke the bough, and there's nothing I can do about it now." And I went, "Oh, my God, I got it!" And I'm like, "Yes!" [audience laughter] And my husband comes in there and he goes, "Are you okay?" And I'm like, [excited] "Yes, this is going to be so good." I just felt like I'd crossed over the mountain of songwriting. I'd gotten to the top and I knew that I had that song, and I finished the rest of it in 20 minutes.
And then, I went about, okay, now it has to be a demo. I got my little four track cassette machine out and I played all the parts, even though I don't really play bass. I did keyboard bass, and I played guitar and I did a little kind of piano thing. I even had to really work hard to get a good snare drum sound, because I don't really have drums. So, I had my dulcimer turned around and I was hitting the back of it with my bedroom slipper, which had a really cool sound. [audience laughter] I literally finished it with just enough time to crawl out of my cocoon of songwriting madness, and go in my slippers, and my dirty hair to the airport and hand Fred this cassette. I just remember just going, "Here."
I knew that I'd written a great song. I'd written the best song I'd ever written. I had absolutely no expectation that Willie was going to cut it, because in the interim, every songwriter in Nashville had started writing songs for Willie. The word got out, and I knew there was a huge amount of competition. When I was driving home from the airport, I'm like, "I'm going to stop at the store, I'm going to get some chickens and a nice bottle of wine. I'm going to wash my hair, take a bath." I made this beautiful dinner for my family. I said, "Hello, it's me, remember me? I'm back in the world." And the phone rings.
Now, I'd had a couple of glasses of wine, because I was celebrating, so I was a little tipsy and I said, "Oh, I'm sure that's Willie Nelson calling me [audience chuckle] to tell me they're cutting my song. So, I'll be right back." I went and picked up the phone and I went, "Hello?" And it was [excited, chuckles] Willie Nelson calling me to tell me they were going to cut my song.
[cheers]
I couldn't believe it. I was like, "Okay." I don't even know what I said to him, it was really very poor. And he goes, "Well, let me put Fred on to go over the details with you." And in eight hours, I was on an airplane, and I was flying to Austin and I was driven out to the Cut-N-Put studio. Some of y'all around here know what that is.
This was totally the greatest moment of my life. Willie himself opened the door. I stood up and I was five inches from Willie Nelson's face. And he goes, "Hey." I was like, "Hi." And he goes, "You want to play some golf?" And I'm like, "Sure. [audience laughter] Yeah." I've never played golf. So, I'm standing there, and I'm swinging that club, and the ball is just staying there the whole time. [audience laughter] He was so kind. He came over to me and he said something that I consider to be deeply philosophical. He came over to me and he said, "You know what, Beth? You don't actually want to hit the ball. You want to throw the ball with the end of the club." [audience laughter] I have applied that to many things in my life. [audience laughter]
Anyway, he said, "Come on, let's go in the studio and make a record." So, we walk in there, and there is [chuckles] just the band, you know, B Spears, Bobby, Willie's sister on piano. We're talking about legends here. Paul English on drums. I'm sitting there, four feet from Willie Nelson's guitar, Trigger. I can touch his guitar. I'm like, "Oh, my God, it's really happening." They play my demo, which sounded like a hit. [audience laughter] I'm sorry, it just did. [chuckles] And they were like, "This is a great song." And I'm going, "I know." [audience laughter] I must have been such a doofus, but I was so excited and I had that train beat, There's Nothing I Can Do About It Now, right? I'm like, “Okay, wait till this band gets a hold of this song.”
So, Willie goes, "Count it off, Paul." Paul counts it off, one, two, three, four. And he plays it really differently. It wasn't bad, it was just completely different. It was like, instead of, [imitates percussion beats] it was like, [pa-pum, pa-pum, pa-pum, pa-pum] which is a shuffle in my world. I thought, whoa, oh, that can't be right. Nope, it doesn't go with my strum at all. And I'm thinking, any minute Willie's going to stop and they're going to start over, because it's wrong. And they didn't stop. He kept singing, and the band was playing their hearts out. They got to the end of it, and Willie said, "That was fantastic. Let's go to lunch." And I just went, “No. Oh, no.” And he looked at me and said, "Is everything okay?"
And I went, "Yeah, yeah. That was great. That was fantastic. That was great. But you know, there's this one little thing. You might want to just listen to that demo one more time, because I wrote it all around, you know, On the Road Again, that whole train thing--that's your signature." I'm realizing, you are in the studio telling Willie Nelson how to make a record. This can't end well. He was looking at me with these deep-- He's got really amazing eyes. He's looking right through me, bemused. And he goes, "Let's ask Paul. Hey, Paul, did you hear that last one as a shuffle?" Paul's putting his coat on, he's going, "Yup, I think I did." Willie said, "That's what I thought. Let's go to lunch." [audience laughter]
So, I just had to smile and be professional and I was just sure that was not going to be a hit. I said, I should just be grateful, I've made it this far, I got to meet Willie Nelson. And for the next couple of months, we worked on the track. I played the guitar, tried to make my guitar playing work with the shuffle. I was just like, “Hmm, okay.” And then, it came out on the album and I thought, oh, boy. I didn't even tell anybody that I wrote this song, because I knew it was not going to-- And then, they put it out as the first single. And I thought, oh, this is going to be so terrible, it's going to be a flop and it's going to reflect on me.
Anyway, I couldn't believe it, it came out as a single. And the interesting thing that happened is that the higher it went up on the chart, the better it sounded. [audience laughter] Like when it got in the top 10, it was an amazing record. And I was like, "Yeah, I wrote that. That's right. I did." When it went to number one, I was going around saying, "Yeah, I wrote that," just like that. [audience laughter] Oh, yeah. But I was fascinated by how so many things within me changed, and adapted around that, and how my perception changed, and how I was so sure that wasn't a hit, and then it was and I was like, “Wow, what's with me?”
So, I've learned a lesson from that, which is that going forward in my life, anytime I felt 100% positive that I was absolutely sure that I knew something, I always just reserve a little wiggle room just on the periphery, a little space for the part that I might not know, you know, that part. And that's made my life a lot better. So, I have Willie to thank for that. I'll never, ever forget, my favorite memory of this song was the first time I heard it on the radio. I was driving my car-- And of course, I reached over and cranked the volume all the way up, which is why I didn't see the stop sign. [audience chuckle] I got pulled over, of course.
The cop was very insistent that I turn the radio down, and I kept telling him, "There's no way that's-- I've got one more song. One more, like, two minutes on this song. It's like, that's my song and that's me singing with Willie. I'll sing it with you. I'll show you. That's me, and that's my guitar playing." He's just going, "Uh-huh. You know what? I've heard a lot of them, and that's the best one I ever heard." [audience chuckle] And he wrote me a ticket anyway for $8.46. And I thought, fine. And it turned out fine, because I got to pay for it with my royalties. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Jay: [00:21:48] Beth Nielsen Chapman is a Grammy-nominated member of the Songwriters Hall of Fame. She's released 14 albums and written seven number one hits. You can find out more about Beth and her new, Song School podcast at themoth.org.
[Nothing I Can Do About It Now song]
Jay: [00:22:26] We'll have more stories of meeting our heroes in just a moment, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.
[Nothing I Can Do About It Now song]
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
[softhearted music]
This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jay Allison.
[00:24:04] Our next story in this hour about meeting our idols comes from Danny Artese, who told this at our New York City GrandSLAM, where we're supported by WNYC. Here's Danny, live at The Moth.
[cheers and applause]
Danny: [00:24:21] I had already scandalized my entire class the year before on our eighth-grade trip to Washington, D.C., when I used my spending money not to buy a souvenir at the Smithsonian, but to buy a MAC eyeshadow. [audience laughter] By the time that I discovered the most magical book I had ever seen, which was full of illusion and transformation, and perfectly sculpted cheekbones, it was called Making Faces by a makeup artist named Kevin Aucoin.
[cheers]
Inside were pictures of makeup he had done on every 1990s famous woman from Gwyneth Paltrow to Janet Jackson to Martha Stewart as Veronica Lake. I think that because I wasn't trying to rush my mom out of her favorite store, Nordstrom, where I had spotted the book, she bought it for me. And inside, Kevin Aucoin not only gave makeup tips and techniques to create the looks, but also shared personal details about growing up gay in a town that just wasn't quite sure what to do with him, and eventually moving to New York City to pursue his dreams, just like I was going to do. [audience laughter] [chuckles]
And so, I started experimenting on everybody, from my best friend to my grandma, even doing my date's makeup for school dances. [audience laughter] [chuckles] They looked good. [audience laughter] I got to know the woman at the Prescriptives counter at that Nordstrom, who would help me recreate the looks from the book if the store wasn't too busy. And on one such visit, there were signs all over the cosmetics department announcing that “The following Friday, none other than Kevin Aucoin was going to be in the store for a book signing.”
I was already planning my outfit. [audience laughter] And so, the problem was that I didn’t drive, so I had to beg one of my parents to leave work early, so they would take me. And the following Friday, with my dad in his pickup truck in the parking lot, I strode into Nordstrom carrying not only Kevin Aucoin’s book, but also a letter that I had written to him explaining how inspirational I found him, in case the line was so long that we wouldn't have time to talk or I was just too nervous to do so.
It turns out I didn’t really need to worry, because the line was short, which I found surprising. [audience laughter] Because in my world, he was bigger than Madonna and bigger than Cher and bigger than Liza, who, coincidentally, are all women whose makeup he had done. It turns out that when I’m really nervous, I don’t clam up. In fact, I don’t shut up. And so, when I was trying to assure him that I was in fact of sound mind and I blurted, "I know what year it is. I know who the president is." [audience laughter] He cracked up.
And he could not have been more gracious. He posed for pictures. He didn’t just sign his name in my book, he actually wrote a message that I wouldn’t have time to read until I was back in my dad’s truck on the way to our school’s football game that night. [audience laughter] What he wrote was, "I will remember you. You are so fucking cute. Call me, Heartbreaker," and then his phone number.
[cheers and applause]
I decided that I wasn’t going to hold it against him that he had used the F word, [audience laughter] because he had used it to say something nice about me. [audience laughter] I didn’t take it as flirting, because he called me Heartbreaker, which is the specific term you use to someone you are acknowledging is cute, but you have zero attraction to, like, mostly babies in checkout lines are heartbreakers. [audience laughter] So, to me, it was just a lovely gesture to an admittedly adorable kid, [audience laughter] who had shown up at one of his book signings.
Kevin Aucoin was a very busy man. In addition to his day job doing makeup for everybody, he also wrote a column for Allure, and he was appearing on TV shows like Sex and the City, the fashion roadkill episode. [audience laughter] I didn’t want to bother him by actually calling the number that he had given me. And I didn’t know if he was offering some sort of mentorship or friendship or what, but I did know that I would call him when I moved to New York, where I wasn’t going to know anybody.
On May 7th of my senior year of high school, as I was in the midst of hearing back from all the schools I had applied to, my good friend Jillian approached me one day in theater arts class. It wasn’t drama class. It was theater arts class, [audience laughter] with a very concerned look on her face. And she wanted to see if I was okay. When I didn’t know why she was asking, she expressed her condolences for Kevin Aucoin. I didn’t understand the joke. I just knew that it wasn’t funny and I didn’t know why she was telling it to me. And so, in looking at her trying to figure it out, I saw that she was horrified to realize that she had just broken the news to me. He was 40 years old.
When I finally did move to New York, I did not bring Making Faces with me, not with the phone number that I couldn’t dial. I wrapped it up in paper and I placed it on the top shelf of my childhood closet. I’ve been home often over the past 10 years and I’ve glanced up at it. But never looked at it, never taken it down. But on my most recent trip home, my dad asked me to go through all the things in my closet, because he was going to sell the house.
So, I threw away years’ worth of greeting cards and school projects and photographs, because I had to look at them not for the possibility that they had once represented, but for what they actually meant to me now. When I got to that top shelf, I knew that I needed to do the same. So, I pulled the book down, and I left it in its paper, and I placed it in my suitcase and I brought a little bit of Kevin Aucoin back with me.
[cheers and applause]
Jay: [00:30:15] Danny Artese grew up in Southern California, near where he imagines Sweet Valley High would be, but has lived in New York City long enough to always stay to the right on escalators.
You can share any of these stories or others from The Moth Archive and buy tickets to Moth storytelling events through our website. You can find us on social media too. We're on Facebook and Twitter, @themoth.
Our idols are not necessarily famous. Our next story is about a hero closer to home. Elyse McInerney told this story at an open-mic StorySLAM competition in Melbourne, Australia, where we partner with the Australian Broadcasting Corporation ABC RN. Here's Elise.
[cheers and applause]
Elyse: [00:31:17] I was seven when I created my masterpiece. What started out as the polystyrene packaging to a dinner set became the wildest imaginings of a fairy palace. I spent hours crafting tiny pieces of furniture, tiny fairy beds, tiny fairy tables, even tiny pieces of fairy cutlery. I went to bed that night with the tired satisfaction of an artist who knew they'd created something very special.
The next morning, I ran in to bask in the glory of my creation, and in front of it was a sprinkling of fairy dust and a tiny piece of floral letter-writing paper, on which, in tiny, curly, elaborate handwriting, were the words, "Dear Princess, is this for us?" "Oh wow," said my mum, who’d come in behind me, "It looks like the fairies were really impressed with what you made for them." She pulled out my pencils and we wrote a response welcoming them to their new home. And so, began a wonderful friendship.
I found out the fairy I was corresponding with was called Candytuft. She and her best friend, Rose, had the very important job of flying around to all the gardens in my neighborhood, taking care of the big fairy babies that lived there. She told me all about her adventures in fairyland, and I told her all about my adventures in grade two. I told her who my best friend was that week, which boy I decided could be my boyfriend that week, about the fights I was having with some of the girls in my class, and she always was there with some words of support and advice.
I'd tell her about times when my dad wouldn't come home, and my mum would cry, and she'd tell me that she knew with her fairy magic that both of my parents loved me very much and that everything was going to be okay. Having a fairy pen pal gave me massive street cred in the playground. [audience chuckle] As the chosen one, I would perch myself upon a bench and share all the latest updates from fairyland, and I would come home with stacks of drawings and letters from all of my classmates who’d asked me to pass them on to see if they could get a fairy pen pal too. Some kids did and some kids didn't.
As questions started to circulate and tensions rose, Mr. Shorthouse, our grade two teacher, announced that fairies were now officially banned in Grade 2S. [audience laughter] And so, the fairy craze of St. Mary’s Primary School died as quickly as it had started. But the craze continued at home. I had pictures of the Candytuft fairy all over my walls. And on my eighth birthday, I woke up to find that my polystyrene creation had been replaced with a beautiful fairy lamp that played music when you wound it up.
And so, I continued correspondence with Candytuft for quite a while, with differing levels of regularity depending on the important things that were going on in my life at that time. During one of those lulls, my mum and her best friend planned a two-week trip away. Whether it was missing her or some kind of seed of doubt, I thought that would be a really good time to write a letter. And so, I wrote my letter and I waited. A night passed, and another night. And so, I just casually mentioned to my dad that Candytuft was taking a little longer than usual to reply.
And then, the next morning, [audience laughter] next to my fairy lamp, was a piece of A4 printer paper. [audience laughter] And in blue highlighter, in something that very much resembled my dad's handwriting, [audience laughter] was a letter from the fairy king, who was just letting me know that Candytuft had gotten caught up in a spiderweb recently. But it was all going to be fine. She was just going to be out of action until Saturday, which, coincidentally, was when my mum would be back. [audience laughter] My heart crumbled and I sobbed and I sobbed, and my panic-stricken father tried to comfort me, but I just couldn't stop grieving for the magic and the excitement that I'd lost now that I knew that Candytuft was just my mum.
And so, my mum came home. We didn't talk about Candytuft. But as the months passed, things got a little more stressful. My parents were fighting a lot more and my dad moved into the spare room. I didn't know how to talk to anyone about it, so I was fighting with all of my friends. And so, one night, I was sitting on my bed and I looked at my fairy lamp and I thought of something that I could do to make myself feel better. So, I wrote a letter. And the next morning, there was a sprinkling of fairy dust, a piece of floral writing paper, and in painstakingly curly handwriting, a letter addressed, "Dear Princess." I knew then that I didn't need fairy magic to know everything was going to be okay when I had a mum who loved me that much. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Jay: [00:35:59] Elyse McInerney lives in Melbourne, Australia, and has spent the last few years traveling and working with women's rights organizations in the Pacific and Asia. She attended the local Moth StorySLAM in Melbourne for a year before working up the courage to tell this as her first story. Elise says, "The older I get, the more I admire what a genius parenting tool Candytuft was. And I'm so grateful for how my mother used Candytuft to support me through the anxiety and confusion of my parents' divorce. And just like Candytuft said, ‘Everything was okay.’ My mum and she are still very close and now no longer need to communicate via an imaginary fairy.”
A note to all of you listening. If any of these SLAM stories have inspired you to want to tell your own, go to themoth.org, find a SLAM near you, and go put your name in the hat.
[whimsical music]
More stories about encountering our idols in just a minute, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.
[whimsical music]
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org.
[whimsical music]
You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jay Allison.
Our final story in this show about encountering our heroes comes from jazz bassist, Christian McBride. He first told this story for us at a special event we did in an apartment on the 57th floor of a skyscraper. He was standing in front of a baby grand piano made of clear plastic, so it wouldn’t spoil the view. Christian is a cigar lover, and he told this story with an unlit cigar in his hand, “For courage,” he said. Here's Christian McBride, still clutching a cigar, but this time at Cooper Union in New York City.
[applause]
Christian: [00:39:34] Thank you very much. I'm here to share a story with you about a man who was a jazz legend, someone I had the great honor and privilege to work with very early in my career. That's the late, great trumpet player Freddie Hubbard. Here for Freddie.
[applause]
I was born and raised in Philadelphia. Growing up-- Thank you again. [audience chuckle] Jazz musicians of my generation, our number one hero, the person we all wanted to play with more than anyone else was Art Blakey. We wanted to be a member of Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. Every great jazz musician since the 1950s played with Art Blakey, from Freddie Hubbard, Clifford Brown, Lee Morgan, Wynton Marsalis, Wynton and Branford Marsalis, Wayne Shorter. They all played with Art Blakey. So, as a teenager, I had my wish list of people I wanted to play with.
Art Blakey was unquestionably number one. Number two was up for grabs, but that was answered the first time I saw Freddie Hubbard perform live. It was in the summer of 1987, in Philly. I had grown up going to a lot of rhythm and blues shows, a lot of gospel shows, so I knew what that intensity, that fervor, that drama was in the music, and the stage art of those great soul and gospel performers. I never quite got that with a jazz performance. Too many times with jazz concerts, you leave going, I think I liked it, [audience laughter] because it got you here, but not here all the time.
] First time I saw Freddie Hubbard, it was the jazz equivalent of James Brown. He might as well have gotten on his knees with his trumpet, and had a guy come put a cape on his back. [audience laughter] But that excitement, every time he would take a trumpet solo, the whole audience would just start screaming, like anything you could ever imagine. Freddie Hubbard quickly became number two on my list.
I moved to New York in 1989, and as fate would have it, some of my closest friends, my quickest friends that I made, were a beautiful drummer named Carl Allen, pianist named Benny Green and a saxophonist named Don Braden. Just by chance, they were all in Freddie Hubbard's band at that time. Art Blakey had just changed to what would become his final band, so I missed the opportunity to play with Art Blakey. I got to see him, but I never got to play with him.
So, at that point, I started looking on number two. At least I thought I was being sly and subtle, and I would ask Carl, say, “Carl, who plays bass with Freddie when his regular bass player can't make it?” Carl started looking at me like, "I got you." I said, "Yeah, well, who does the gig?" He said, "Well, whoever's available." “Oh great.” [audience laughter] A few months later would go by. "Hey Benny, Freddie doesn't need a sub yet, does he?" "Don't worry, we got you covered." Every time I would mention Freddie Hubbard, Don, Benny, Carl, they wouldn’t give up anything.
Finally, Carl calls me. I'm a student at Juilliard at this point. Carl calls me up and he says, "Listen, McBride, I have a very bizarre gig for you. It's in Columbia, South Carolina, and we’re going to be the house rhythm section for the Budweiser Jazz Explosion." [audience laughter] If you ever saw that in the late 1980s or early 1990s, it was rarely jazz. He says, "We’re going to play behind Noel Pointer, Jean Carn, Lonnie Liston Smith, and Freddie." That’s all I heard, Freddie. This was probably my intro to see if Freddie would like me well enough to maybe call me to sub for his regular bass player.
So, we go down to Columbia, South Carolina. The gig was at a place, I kid you not, called The Plantation. [audience laughter] They built a stage in front of a big white house. [audience laughter] I’m not lying to you. [audience laughter] And we play this gig. Freddie Hubbard was very much an alpha male. He was a man with a huge spirit, very macho kind of guy, almost had a mob boss mentality. Just to be a good musician wasn’t enough, you also had to be a man. And so, Freddie was very dramatic.
He didn't make the rehearsal, didn't make the soundcheck, just showed up for the gig. So, I'm in the dressing room-- I'm in the trailer, actually, and I'm just shaking in my shoes. And Carl says, "Hey, Freddie, this is Christian McBride." I was 17 at the time. Freddie just looks at me, "Yeah, nice to meet you." We go on stage and we play. And to hear his horn up close like that, I almost had a heart attack. I thought, oh, my God, I'm playing with Freddie Hubbard. I can't believe this.
Gig is over, I'm thinking to myself, God, I hope I made some sort of impression on Freddie. Something. Freddie turns around after the gig, he says, "Nice meeting you," gets in his limo, goes back to the hotel. I went, "Guess he didn't dig it." But I know I'll see him again. I'll know I'll see him again. I knew all of Freddie's music, got together with Carl and Benny and would always try to ask what songs they were playing. So, if I ever got the call, I'd be ready. Three months later, I get the call. Carl says, "McBride, we need a bass player for Freddie's gig in Chicago. You ready?" I went, "You have no idea how ready I am."
We fly to Chicago. The gig was at the South Shore Jazz Festival, and there's Don and Benny and Carl there to support me. I don't expect Freddie to remember me from South Carolina, because obviously, I made no impression. Freddie comes in the dressing room with about five people, big entourage, coat draped over his back, sunglasses, guy carrying his trumpet. He comes in and greets the band members loudly, "Hey, what's up?" Gives everybody a hug. He gets to me. I don't have sunglasses, I just have these. He looks at me and he goes, "This must be the bass player."
So, I'm sitting there like, [audience laughter] “Yes.” Benny Green, bless his heart, he comes over, he says, "Freddie, this is Christian McBride, man. You going to love him, man. I swear, he knows every song you've ever written. He is so ready. He's going to knock you out. You just wait." Freddie pulls his glasses halfway down, and looks at me and says, "You know my shit, huh?" [audience laughter] "Yes, sir, Mr. Hubbard. I know every song you've ever written. I'm ready." He pushes his glasses back up and says, "We'll see." [audience laughter]
We go out, play the gig. I am not lying to you, Freddie did not acknowledge me one bit on this concert. During the saxophone solo, Freddie would stand there and he watched Don and go, "Yeah. Yeah, he sound good, baby." Piano solo, he turned and looked at Benny, go and pat him on the back after the solo's over. Bass solo, he leaves the stage. [audience laughter] Now, I'm trying to follow him to see where he's going. [audience laughter] Maybe he just doesn't want to give me too much dap, you know, he's just going to go behind the stage and watch me, doesn't want to make me nervous.
I follow him. He lights up a cigarette, starts talking to the sound guy, paying no attention to me at all. "Oh, wow, this is bad." He comes back, we play about three more songs. No acknowledgement. He doesn't even look at me, doesn't introduce me, no, nothing. I said, okay, in this case, I'm guessing it's probably strike two. In the end, I'm not going to get a third opportunity. Last song of the night comes, I take another big, long bass solo. Freddie, he's out in the audience doing something. [audience laughter] My heart is down here, you know, I'm thinking, well, at least I could tell my friends I made one gig with Freddy Hubbard, you know, whatever.
So, he comes back, we're vamping out, and Freddie now is introducing the band, said, "Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for our saxophone player, Mr. Don Braden. [audience laughter] Mr. Benny Green, our pianist. Our drummer and straw boss, Mr. Carl Allen." Looks and goes, "This bass player here, [audience laughter] he just turned 18 years old a couple months ago. He don't think I remember, but we played together in South Carolina a few months ago, [audience laughter] and he's playing his ass off tonight. How about it for my new bass player, Mr. Christian McBride."
[cheer and applause]
I could have won $10 million. [audience laughter] I'm on stage just like-- And it was so sweet, because Benny and Don and Carl, they also openly went, "Yes!" [audience laughter] After the gig was over, I was like, "Thanks, Mr. Hubbard, I appreciate it." He gives me a big hug. And our next gig was in Detroit. He was like, "I'll see you in Detroit." And for the next three years, I had the most amazing time being in this band. Freddie passed away three years ago. So, God bless Freddie Hubbard, and thank you for listening.
[cheers and applause]
Jay: [00:50:36] That was Christian McBride. He has played with James Brown, Sting, Herbie Hancock, Laurie Anderson to name a few. His most recent CD is The Movement Revisited, a musical portrait of four icons.
Remember, if you have a story to tell us, you can pitch us right on our site, themoth.org, or by calling 877-799-M-O-T-H. Just tell us your story in about two minutes. We get a lot of our Moth stories from the Pitchline. You can share any of these stories or others from the Moth Archive and buy tickets to Moth Storytelling events through our website. There are Moth events year-round. You can find a show near you and come out and tell a story. You can find us on social media too. We're on Facebook and Twitter, @themoth.
[00:51:33] That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you get to meet your heroes and that you end up with a good story about it.
[overture music]
The stories in this hour were directed by Catherine Burns, Jenifer Hixson and Meg Bowles. The rest of The Moth’s directorial staff includes Sarah Haberman and Sarah Austin Jenness. Production support from Emily Couch.
Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Percussion, Willie Nelson, Derek Fiechter, Medeski Martin & Wood and Christian McBride. You can find links to all the music we use at our website.
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.