Host: Catherine Burns
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift playing]
Catherine: [00:00:12] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX, and I'm Catherine Burns. In this hour, we are going to hear stories that take place en route. We often find ourselves rushing from one place to another, but the biggest moments in life sometimes happen in the spaces in between. So, this time, our stories take place in a taxi, a train, and in the case of our first storyteller, an airport.
[crowd murmuring]
We met Belal Mobarak when he told a story as part of a community workshop we conducted with the Muslim Writers Collective here at a Moth Mainstage in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where we partnered with New Hampshire Public Radio. Belal Mobarak.
[applause]
Belal: [00:00:55] Traveling with my family was never fun if you were a kid. Every summer, we would travel to Egypt with lots of bags. We had to bring gifts for my cousins, our neighbors, our cousins' neighbors. But my parents are working class, so they had to be thrifty. Some of the gifts were old clothes, but the worst was at the airport. My parents had a system to bring those extra bags onto the flight without paying those additional fees. This is how it worked. We would get to JFK airport and my parents, my two brothers, one older, one younger, and myself and my mother would split the bags into two sets. The first set would be the suitcases we're allowed to bring and five carry-ons. The second set would be five additional bags. Then my mother would take two of usually my brothers, and they would head to the check-in and they would give the suitcases. And then my mother would say something to the check-in attendant like, "Oh, my back is killing me and I have these kids, they're just running around. Can you take these carry-ons so we don't have to carry them onto the flight?" And the person would say, "Of course we can do that. Let us take the bags for you." And so, they do. The next step would be to go to the security checkpoint, which my father takes my brothers and goes.
My mother wouldn't do that. She would make a U-turn, go to the end of the airport where I was, with a second set of bags, and she would give me some kind of hand signal to head over to security. And then we would both head over there nonchalant, separately, as if we're not one family. [audience chuckle] I would get to the security area. I would give each person one of the heavy bags. Security would look at us and there's no communication between security and check-in that we already gave in the carry-ons. So, security looks at us and sees each one with a bag. It's all good. They let us right through. It was terrifying, but I had to do it as a kid, and it worked every time.
One day in 2008, we're doing the same thing, and we're at JFK airport, and I was in charge of the extra bags. And I'm waiting for my mother to come give me the signal. And I see her coming in the distance. And behind her, I see a security guard following her. And I look at her. I look at him. She looks at me, gives me a signal to leave. So, I grab onto the cart and I start to walk away. I look back at him. He says something to her. She walks away from him like she doesn't understand English. I panic. So, I grab onto the cart and I start to run. I realize that I'm in the airport with a cart full of bags running. [audience chuckle] Not a good look for anyone, especially me. [audience chuckle] So, I panic and I run faster. I swerve through people, dodge others. I somehow lose the security guard, and I get to the security gate out of breath, and I say to myself, "This is it. I'm 20 years old. I'm an adult. I don't have to do this anymore." [audience laughter] And I declared my independence. I'm never traveling with this family ever again.
A few weeks later, my brother announces the next summer he's getting married in Egypt. So, I go to my mother and I tell her, "Listen, I'm an adult now, and I don't even want to travel to Egypt. But because of the wedding, I will, on one condition. I'm going alone, and I'm not taking anyone's suitcases." [audience chuckle] My mother looks at me and says, "Okay, you're an adult. You know what? I'll even help you out. Give me half the money for the ticket, I'll pay for the rest, and I'll even get you the ticket." And I say, "Great, okay." And I was surprised. And I remember thinking to myself, "Being treated like an adult is so much better."
Fast forward three weeks before the flight. I'm sitting in the living room, and my mother calls me into the kitchen. And the kitchen is where all the family important conversations take place. And my mother is cooking, and she doesn't look at me. She looks into the pot and she says, "You know, your uncle and I were talking, and your grandmother's getting old. She can barely walk. She has heart problems, and she doesn't speak English. And we're thinking, one of us should go with her." And I'm thinking, "Yeah, one of you should go with her." [audience chuckle] And then she continues, "Your uncle and I can't just drop work just to fly with her. And since you're going earlier, we think she should go with you." And I'm thinking, "No, this is not the deal, not doing this." But instead, I say, "I would love to, [audience laughter] but my flight is non-refundable, so I can't change it. And I think it's too late for her to be on my flight. Sorry, I can't." And she looks at me and she says, "That's not a problem. I bought both of your tickets at the same time." [audience laughter] I look at her and I say, "Okay, fine. I'm only taking that one bag of hers and nothing else." And I walk off.
Two weeks, two days before the flight, I walk into the living room and I see my suitcase. It's on the left side of the living room and it's fully closed and filled. Next to it is my grandmother's bag, and it's also completely filled and closed. And on the floor, I see my mother sitting next to my grandmother and they're filling two extra suitcases [audience chuckle] and I look at them and I say, "What is this?" And my mother looks at me and says, "They're not yours, mind your own business." And I say, "No, whose bags are these?" And my grandmother gives her some kind of signal to like, say, "I got this." My grandmother looks at me and says, "These are for your cousins and they're my responsibility, not yours." I look at her and my grandmother can barely take care of herself and she's my responsibility. [audience chuckle] And my cousins, they're six years old and four years old. And if they're her responsibility, they're my responsibility too. [audience chuckle] I can't say this, so I look at them and I say, "No, okay, besides these two bags, I'm not taking anything else. And that's final." [audience laughter]
The day of the flight comes. We're at JFK airport and we're done with the whole check-in and we're waiting by security checkpoint. And because my grandmother is flying, the whole family is there to see her off. So, my two little cousins, my uncle, his wife, my mother, my father, my two brothers, and my grandmother. And all there were saying goodbye. And my two little cousins each has one of those little string bags. One of them is blue and it says "Little Mermaid". And the second one is pink and says "Princess". And I have my carry-on, which is a duffel bag.
And because my grandmother can barely walk anymore, she has to have a carry-on, but I'm carrying it for her. So, I have two bags and they're kind of heavy, so I put them down. And I hug everyone goodbye. And then afterwards, I go to my uncle, I say goodbye, and then I go pick up my two bags off the ground, put them onto my shoulder. And my uncle picks up three bags off the ground and tries to hand them to me. [audience chuckle] And I quickly grab my chest and pull back. I'm like, "What is that?" [audience chuckle] And he says, "Oh, they're gifts for your cousins in Egypt." And each bag is a totally different shape and size. One is a square, the other is a duffel bag, and the third one is a messenger bag with a long strap going to the floor.
And I look at him, I'm like, "What's in those bags?" And he says, "Oh." And one thing about my uncle is he hoards, [audience chuckle] just like my mother and my grandmother, and will only give things away if they think the people they're giving it to will put them to good use. And he looks at me and says, "Oh, this is a VHS player. There's two camcorders, and a few Sony Walkman CD players." [audience chuckle] And I look at him and I say, "It's 2009. [audience laughter] They all have smartphones. No one even knows what this is." And I stood my ground. I said, "No, I'm not taking these." And I turned around and started walking towards the gates. From the corner of my eye, my grandmother passes me and says, "These children don't appreciate anything. I'll take the bags." [audience chuckle]
I turn around and she goes to my uncle and tries to wrestle the bags out of his hand. He looks at me like it's my fault. [audience chuckle] She takes it out of his hand and she tries to walk and she limps away. I look at this and I see that this is happening. So, I run over there and I grab the bags. I'm like, "Give me the bags. I'll take them." Now I'm carrying five bags. [audience laughter] We walk towards the gate, and I look at my cousin, and she looks really stressed out. I look at her and I'm like, "What's wrong?" And she says, "My bag is heavy. I can't carry it." [audience chuckle] So, I say, "Give me the bag." So, I take on the bag. Now I'm carrying six bags. Her sister looks at me and says, "Mine too. Mine is heavy, too." So, I'm like, "Give me the bag." So, now I'm carrying seven bags onto the plane. And the long strap of the messenger bag is hitting the back of my leg. So, now I'm limping. I walk onto the flight so mad. I put everything above my head in the compartment, lock it. I sit down, put my headphones on and I don't speak to anyone for the whole flight.
We get to Egypt and I take all the luggage up to my grandmother's house and I walk outside to get a fresh breath of air. And I come back and I say “Hi”, but my grandmother doesn't hear me. She's talking to my aunt. And they're both talking and I can't really tell what they're saying. But then I hear my name being called. So, I listen closely and they're talking about me in a way that isn't pleasant. [audience chuckle] And I listen. And my grandmother uses this word. She calls me "hengil". And hengil is an Arabic word that I can't translate to English because it means a few things. It can mean arrogant, perfectionist, selfish, rebellious. To be honest, it's not a real word. It's a word my father made up to put me down. [audience laughter] So, it could mean anything. But my grandmother calls me that and it was hurtful. This is the first time she ever said anything mean about me. If there's one rule in a family, it's the children are off limits. She only spoke badly about adults. And that's when it hit me. She only spoke badly about adults. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Catherine: [00:12:32] That was Belal Mobarak. [A Wish song by Hamza El Din playing] Belal is a poet and writer who was born in Alexandria, Egypt and raised in Queens, New York. He says that writing is how he learned to finish his stories and poetry is how he learned to tell them with the fewest number of words possible. You can find his poetry published in Columbia Poetry Review, Newtown Literary and The Blue Shift Journal.
Coming up, a son discovers that his law-abiding, rule-following father once lived a very different life. When The Moth Radio Hour continues.
[A Wish song by Hamza El Din continues]
Jay: [00:13:26] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX.
[crowd murmuring]
Catherine: [00:13:37] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Catherine Burns. We're hearing stories that take place in transit. Next up, trains. Ted Conover told this story at the New York Historical Society. [cheers and applause] A lovely space right off Central Park in New York City. The theme of the night was Give Me Liberty. Here's Ted.
Ted: [00:14:02] A few years ago, I gave my son a book. It was a book I wrote. It was a book I wrote about riding freight trains. I had done this for a few months as an undergraduate working toward an anthropology degree. It was ethnography. I did it to learn about the people who live on trains. But it was also an adventure and it became a book written in the first person. When he was about 14, I gave him a copy because I wanted him to know a little bit more about me and see this cool thing I had done. [audience chuckle] And I waited because I couldn't assign him to read it. You can't do that with a book you've written. [audience laughter] And so, I waited and I waited.
And it was about four years later [audience chuckle] when, to my surprise, on a spring break, his senior year of high school, he said, "Oh, Dad, I'm reading your book about riding the rails." And I said, "Oh, what do you think?" He said, "It's good so far." And I said, "Okay." [audience chuckle] And a few more days went by, and he said, "It's awesome. It's an awesome book." And I said, "Thank you." And a couple more days went by, and he said, "Dad, you know, you wrote that book about riding the rails. Does that mean that I can ride the rails, too?" And I thought, "Shit, [audience chuckle] it's not that this question hadn't crossed my mind before that that was a possibility. It's just I hadn't pictured being put on the spot, and I couldn't say no, because that's hypocritical, right? I did it. Yes, he has the right." But I thought there must be a better answer than yes to something that's illegal and dangerous, like riding a freight train. So, I said, "Well, yes, but how about we do it together?" And he said, "Okay." [audience chuckle]
And I was mostly relieved because I would get to do it with him. But I was also alarmed because I had never thought of doing that thing, but I looked forward to it. We decided we would take our trip that coming summer when we flew to Denver from New York to celebrate my dad's birthday. I grew up in Denver, and a lot of my adventures began from there. And fast forward to the day our trip begins. We are buying food for the journey. We buy PowerBars. We buy fruit, sandwiches, water in jugs, which is, if you are riding the rails, what you need, because you can go a long time between places to eat and drink. And we were going to do this like I did, except the goal wouldn't be to meet those people. It would be to enjoy each other's company and have some fun.
In Asa's mind, that's my son's name, Asa pictured himself catching a moving train, [audience chuckle] as happens in the movies. And in fact, that was my picture before I ever did it. But I was happy to be able to say no. The real tramps don't catch on the fly unless they have to. They sneak into the yard ahead of time and find a good place to ride and that's what we'll do. And he said, "Okay." And so, we headed to a yard I had once known quite well. But in 20 years, it had changed. 9/11 happened, fences went up, barbed wire, lights. It was a little bit scarier than it once was. That said, we snuck into the yard. There's still a hole in the fence. We found a place to ride. We waited a couple hours until a brakeman checking that train that was about to leave also discovered us and said to get out of there. [audience chuckle] And that was too bad.
But because it was an adventure, we checked into a motel [audience chuckle] instead of sleeping under a bridge and went out again to try the next morning. Now, for better or worse, the next morning it was too bright to sneak into the yard, so we had to wait outside a yard for a train that was leaving and, yes, catch it as it went by. So, we waited under a bridge. I had done these many times, but always kind of by myself and as a younger man also. [audience laughter] But I laid out the plan. I would wait. When the train appeared, I would be there. I would locate the car. We would jump on. I would jump. If it was all was good, then he would jump another 20 yards down the way, and we'd be on our way.
We waited. We waited two or three hours, and then we heard it. And this is typical of how you know the train is coming. You feel it a minute before you see it. You feel these deep base vibrations. And then you see the first part of the train. It's several engines connected, this pure energy pulling this giant metal thing forward. The engine is smoking. It came up on us. It goes by. It's picking up speed, and the cars behind it are rocking gently back and forth. They make a sound of steel wheels on the steel rail. It's incredibly exciting. We stood up, and I declared the train was going too fast [audience aww] because, well, maybe it was. [audience chuckle] But you don't want to try and catch a train going faster than you can run. And in my judgment, it was going faster than I could run. And Asa accepted that, a little disappointed.
We waited. We waited. Another train came. We got up. Yet again, it was going too fast. And this time, he got a little frustrated. He said, "You could have caught that." And I thought to myself, "Yes." But I said, "No.” This is the most dangerous part is catching a moving train." The third train, we had to get on, basically. [laughter] And so, we did. It was a little harder than I remembered to pull myself up on that ladder, but I succeeded. Asa did me the favor of carrying the heavy pack, but he nimbly climbed aboard, and I've got to say, it's pretty exciting. We made our little nest there on the end of what's called a bulk loader or a covered grain cart, has a platform on the end. You can kind of stay out of sight.
And the train rolled over a bridge, over a creek, and then through people's backyards. And I had told him we would be heading over the Rocky Mountains to Salt Lake City. When I realized, we were headed north to Cheyenne, I said they must have had a change of plans. [audience chuckle] I'd lost some of my knack, but I knew I had the basics down. And again, he wasn't too concerned with that. He was just having the time of his life. We went through a crossing with the clanging bells and the arm down, and there were three young women approximately his age standing there who saw him. And he waved and they waved, and the world could not have been better. [audience laughter]
I just had a good feeling about this. We headed up to Cheyenne, Wyoming, and there, took advantage of another development of the last 20 years, the smartphone, which lets you actually see on this app called Google Maps, where you are when you approach a city on a train, and you can tell that that road has motels on it. And one such road was quite near where the train slowed almost to a stop. We jumped off, and it must have saved us probably four or five hours that it would have taken to go all the way into the yard and then make our way kind of in the dark back to a place to sleep. So, it was going pretty well.
The next day, we walked into Cheyenne looking for a train headed west. I told Asa that the last time I was here, the police had followed me every step of the way because I was with a group of guys who were riding freights, and the police will follow you sometimes. This day, they did not follow us, which led to a discussion about who the police follow and why. We then spent a long day waiting in a very hot place for a train to come by. A couple people with bedrolls did walk by and waved at us. And I said, "Asa, do you want to talk to them? Like I did?" And he said, "You know, I don't think we need to. I meet a lot of guys on the subway like that. And, [audience chuckle] I’m really dad, I'm happy just to be doing this with you."
And he paused and he said, "And watching how you break the law, because, [audience chuckle] honestly, I'm surprised. Your book is full of descriptions of you doing that, but you've always acted like a very law-abiding person. And it's a real surprise. I can't stop thinking about it." And I said, "Really? Because I never thought of myself that way." But I was a little sad to have become a father who's sort of the scoutmaster kind of dad, who, yes, says, "Follow those rules," instead of, "You don't need to follow all those rules. You can hop that freight train.” Anyway, he was learning these things about me, and I was learning something about who I had become.
We finally got a train. It was a few hours out. The train stopped in the middle of nowhere. Well, it was a small depot for refueling. The boxcar behind us had ladders up the sides. And Asa asked if he could climb the ladders and walk down the top of the train car, which was exactly the kind of thing I would have done because it's cool. [audience chuckle] And I said, "No, it's dangerous. [audience chuckle] The train could start with a jerk at any point. You'd topple off. Or maybe someone would drive by on that dirt road and see you and call the police. Let's just stay low." And then I thought, "Why am I like this?" But I was nervous. I was truly nervous. And that feeling grew as the night went on. The scenery was fantastic in the late day. You get to see these parts of the West that you can't see from highways. We were going through low, Rocky Mountains. Lots of red soil, green evergreens, beautiful clouds that built and burst into rainstorms.
But then it got dark, and I was focused on the wheels of the car behind us, because in the very short vision are these wheels, which is where people riding freight trains can be hurt very badly. And Asa was standing on the edge of the platform, kind of too close to the edge. And there's bars you can hold onto to steady yourself. There's ladders. I'd explain, even trains going 50 miles an hour can suddenly jerk as they pull up slack. And I just got so nervous. I got closer to him because you can't hear each other talk very well on a train going fast. There's wind, there's shaking. There's a steel-on-steel sound.
I said, "Asa, could you just step back a little?" And he said, "Why? Do you think, I'm being careless?" And I said, "No. Really, you've paid close attention. You know how trains work. You've listened to what I said. You're brave, but you're not reckless." This is pretty much my highest praise for anybody. But I said, "I can't explain it. I'm so nervous. If you would just stand back like a foot from the edge, I would feel so much better." And he looked at me funny and he said, "Yeah, okay, yeah, sure." And then I felt I had to explain and I said, "This is new for me. Your whole life, my job has been to keep you from getting hurt. And now, I need to let you be in charge of yourself a bit more. And I'm having some trouble with that." And he just nodded and a few seconds went by and he put his arm around me and he put his head on my shoulder. And my son, who I had spent a lifetime comforting, was comforting me as I was trying to move on in my life. And it was one of the best things-- best things I could remember happening. Thank you. Thanks a lot.
[cheers and applause]
Catherine: [00:28:30] Ted Conover is one of the world's most renowned immersion [music playing] journalists, someone who steps into the shoes of the people he profiles. He's the author of numerous books including New Jack: Guarding Sing Sing and Rolling Nowhere. He's the director of New York University's Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. So, after hearing this story, I was curious about what Ted's son Asa would have to say about the trip. Asa wrote, "I would say the trip finally showed me what pop looks like in action. It had previously been a mystery to me. Reading his books prior to our train hopping journey required reconciling in my mind. Ted Conover, my law-abiding father, awoken by the TV at night, easily subdued in a wrestling match. With Ted Conover, the train hopping, border crossing wild man. After the trip, I last saw the two Ted Conovers as one. And that was important for me.”
Ted told me something that didn't make it into the story. One night in Denver, he and Asa were secretly waiting in a rail yard and they accidentally dropped a banana peel which was immediately spotted by a vigilant brakeman who was passing by. They were busted and thrown out of the rail yard. Asa said the trip also taught me that you never know which banana peel will be your downfall. To see photos and videos of Ted and Asa on their trip, go to themoth.org.
Just a quick note from me and The Moth team. Please do not try to go jump a train. It is really, really dangerous. I grew up in a small town crisscrossed by train tracks and you always hear about someone slipping off and getting run over and losing their legs or falling to their deaths. Sorry to be so grim, but please listen to Mama Catherine and don't do it.
[music continues]
Coming up, Rosanne Cash moves to New York City and gets her butt kicked. That's next on The Moth Radio Hour.
Jay: [00:30:55] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org.
Catherine: [00:31:07] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Catherine Burns. And our final story is from the singer and songwriter Rosanne Cash. A few weeks ago, she was kind enough to let us visit her and talk about how she ended up on The Moth stage.
So, tell me how you first came to know about The Moth and I think we sort of slowly sucked you into our world.
Rosanne: [00:31:28] You did. It's been years now, but a friend told me about it, and I went to one of your story nights and I loved it. And I think you or one of your colleagues came up to me and said, "We'd love for you to tell a story." And I said, [laughs] "No, no, no, no, no. I am not going to do that." And then I went to another one and you came up again and you said, "Well, I want you to tell a story." And I went, "No, no, no, no, no." It was so scary to me, but I finally said yes. You were very persuasive.
[crowd murmuring]
Catherine: [00:32:04] We'll hear more of my conversation with Rosanne in a minute, but first, let's listen to her story. Here's Rosanne Cash, live at Lincoln Center.
[cheers and applause]
Rosanne: [00:32:22] When I was a kid, my dad brought me to New York City many, many times. He loved the city and so did I. We always stayed at The Plaza and we took carriage rides in the park. We had dinners at Trader Vic's and ice cream at Rumpelmayer’s. We went to the last remaining Automat in the city. We saw Lauren Bacall on Broadway. I spent many happy afternoons shopping at Bonwit Teller. [audience chuckle] It was a city of magic and wonder.
When I was 15 years old, he took me to Greenwich Village to a hippie shop that made custom leather and suede jackets, and he had me fitted for a green suede jacket. And I stood in front of that full-length mirror in this shop and I looked out at Bleecker Street and I looked back at myself in the mirror and I thought, "That's the real me. I belong here. This is my city." And it seemed a long way from where I was growing up in Southern California, but I kept it right here at the edge of my dreams. And the jacket still fits. [cheers and applause] Kind of almost. [laughter]
Twenty years later, I was living in Nashville and I had just come off a really big record called King's Record Shop, and it had four number one singles on one album. It was the first time a woman had ever done that. And it was a very sexist industry in Nashville at that time. So, it was a big deal. I garnered a lot of respect and even leverage with my record company. So, I asked them if I might produce the next record myself. And they were sufficiently impressed with me that they said “Yes.” They thought that I would repeat the prior formula for the successful record, but I decided to go another way. I wanted to make something that was really the real me, really authentic. So, I made this dark, spare, lyrically troubling acoustic-based record that I called Interiors, unrelated to the Woody Allen film, but it was an apt title for this dark, reflective record. So, I finished it and I was so proud of it. I thought, "This is the most authentic thing I've ever done. This is the real me."
I was in the studio waiting to play it for the head of the record company for the very first time. I was so proud. He came in and he sat down at the recording console and we played the album start to finish. He didn't say a word in between songs. And I thought, "He's speechless with [audience chuckle] the sheer beauty of this record. He is stunned into silence.” As the last note faded away, he turned to me and he said, "We can't do anything with this. What were you thinking? Radio's not going to play this." And I was taken aback momentarily. It's the little minds who don't get the masterpieces right at the beginning. He'll come around. So, when he left the studio, I turned to the engineer and I said, "He's wrong. I'm going to prove him wrong." Well, he was right. [audience chuckle] Radio wouldn't play it. The marketing department at the record label dropped it after a few weeks. They wanted nothing to do with it.
I was devastated. It turns out they didn't want the real me. They wanted the successful me. I was somewhat heartened by the reviews. There was a review in Rolling Stone that said it was a deeply troubling record, [chuckle] but they gave me four stars. The Village Voice said it was a divorce record. It turns out he was also right. And the next year I got divorced. [audience laughter] It was then that I started to think about New York, was still right here. And it wasn't long before I packed the green jacket and moved to the city. That was 1991.
So, far from being the city of magic and wonder of my youth, Bonwit Teller was closed. Automat was gone. Everything fell apart in my life in the most spectacular way. An unscrupulous sub-lesser scammed me out of a year's rent. I was mugged in the Jack ‘n Jill deli on Carmine Street. A homeless guy threw a rock at the back of my head and hit me square in the back of the head. But the worst part was that my kids weren't doing well. My 3-year-old daughter in particular was very anxious. She was so anxious that I had to go to nursery school with her every day and sit there all day long so that she would feel comfortable enough to stay. It was mind-numbing. [scoffs]
They had a musician come in once a week to nursery school to play songs for the kids. Songs like "Peanut, Peanut Butter, Jelly" [giggles] [audience laughter]. And I would sit there glazed over. And one day, he came in and he couldn't get his guitar tuned. And I felt my old self kind of rising up in me, the musician self who knew something about something that was going on. And I said, "It's your D string. If you'll just turn your D string, you'll get--" And he looked up at me as if to say, "Who the hell are you? You're just some mom who goes to nursery school." [audience chuckle] The truth is, [in a sobbing voice] I was thinking the same exact thing.
Not long after that, I got in the subway. I got out in midtown, walked up the stairs to the sidewalk into a torrential downpour, which I had not expected. So, I reached in my handbag to get my wallet and get some money so I could go into a deli and buy a cheap umbrella. I realized I had left my wallet at home. And I realized at that same moment that I had also just used my last subway token. So, I was standing there, drenched, penniless, humiliated, looking at a really long wet walk home, when at that moment my cell phone rang. So, I hoisted my early 90s 5-pound cell phone [audience chuckle] out of my handbag and said very miserably, "Hello?" And this cheerful voice on the other end said, "Rosanne, hello, it's Al Gore." [audience laughter] "Mr. Vice President, hello, how are you? Nice to hear from you." He said, "I know it's last minute, but I'm in the city. I'm at the Regency. I just wondered if you had time for lunch. I wanted to ask you if you'd perform for my environmental group as we head off to South America. It was so great at the conference you did last time. Do you have time to come over and talk about it, do a few songs at that conference?" And I thought quickly. “Could I walk to the Regency, get there before mid-afternoon without looking as if I had drowned?” [audience chuckle] I could not. I briefly considered asking the Vice President to meet me on the street and pay for my taxi. [audience laughter] I thought it might be inappropriate. So, I made up an excuse to avoid having lunch with the Vice President of the United States to talk about saving the planet. [audience laughter]
And after I hung up, it was then that it hit me. This was my New York. This was the New York who would kick your ass until the real you showed up because it really wanted the real you and it would keep at you until it got it. This was the New York who would give you humiliation in one hand and a tremendous gift in the other. And you had to take them both. You couldn't have one without the other. This was the New York I wanted and didn't even know. This was the New York where you would stand penniless, drenched, with the Vice President of the United States [audience laughter] on the line.
So, some weeks later, I got in a taxi and the taxi driver, as he pulled away from the curb, without even looking at me, very matter-of-factly, he said, "Rosanne Cash. I reviewed Interiors for Rolling Stone." [laughter and applause] And there it was again. [laughs] This was my New York. My taxi driver who wrote these words that I had clung to, that meant so much to me about a project that meant so much to me. And here we were in our New York together. And then he glanced at me in the rearview mirror and he shook his head and he said, "It should have been the lead review." [audience laughter] Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Catherine: [00:44:24] That was Rosanne Cash. [What We Really Want song by Rosanne Cash playing] She's the author of the memoir, Composed and is currently writing the lyrics for a musical of Norma Rae. She's also working on an album of new songs. Interiors went on to be nominated for a Grammy in the folk category. And she's continued to put out critically acclaimed and Grammy-winning albums ever since. She definitely found the audience who wanted the real her. By the way, you're listening to a song from Interiors right now.
[What We Really Want song by Rosanne Cash continues]
Here's more of my conversation with Rosanne. She still calls New York City home. And were sitting on her sofa in the living room of her brownstone which has a ceiling that's painted a beautiful deep paint, peacock blue. So, the theme of this whole radio hour is actually travel.
Rosanne: [00:45:29] Yeah.
Catherine: [00:45:30] And how some of the most poignant moments of our lives can happen, like on trains and planes and in cars in your case, a taxi. And as a musician, you spent so much of your life on the road. And the story of yours I actually read in your gorgeous memoir, which is called Composed, is about you being on a nearly empty flight to Nashville.
Rosanne: [00:45:48] Yeah. One night I was on this late-night flight to Nashville, like the last flight of the day to Nashville. And the plane was almost empty. And a we landed-- we landed and the flight attendant came back to me and said, "The pilot wants to know if you know where gate four is." [laughter]. And she says “He figures you've been here more than he has.” which was true, which was true.
Catherine: [00:46:16] Did you know where gate four was?
Rosanne: [00:46:18] Yeah. I said, "You go up here and turn left." [laughs] Oh, my God, I love that so much.
[music playing]
Catherine: [00:46:32] One of my favorite albums of yours is The River and the Thread, which I understand it because it's a road trip out on that.
Rosanne: [00:46:39] It is. Well, it's a map.
Catherine: [00:46:41] Yeah.
Rosanne: [00:46:41] I mean, there are road trips within it, but it's definitely a map. It touches on Appalachia a lot in the delta, down to Mobile, Memphis, Mississippi. All of these haunted southern places show up in it. And haunted southern characters, too.
Catherine: [00:46:59] I adore it. But one of my favorite songs of yours, maybe my all-time favorite Rosanne song, is A Feather's Not a Bird. And I was just going to read some of the lyrics here and ask you about them. "There's never any highway when you're looking for the past. The land becomes a memory and it happens way too fast."
Rosanne: [00:47:15] Yeah. Well, it's exactly the restlessness that I just said that you feel like you're on this physical journey sometime of going place to place, but you're really looking for something else that's inside yourself, reconciling the past, fears or hopes for the future, the restlessness of the present, and you can't quite ever touch the past, even though it looms so large sometimes. And not just your own past, but your ancestral past.
Catherine: [00:47:51] Yes.
Rosanne: [00:47:51] So, that's really what I was talking about. And going from Florence, Alabama, where I was when I started writing this song, onto Arkansas, where my ancestral history is from my dad's side. So, there are remnants of it and it lingers, and there's a resonant ringing bell to it, but you can't ever really touch it.
Catherine: [00:48:22] Amen. Yeah. There's something very Moth-like about that idea, right?
Rosanne: [00:48:25] Absolutely.
Catherine: [00:48:25] When we start trying to find meaning in the past, that the past can change in a way that we think the past is the past, but it actually changes based on our framing of the memories.
Rosanne: [00:48:40] When I was crazy, I used to think you actually could change the past, like that you could alter the timeline. I mean, I don't think that anymore. But you can certainly reframe the past.
Catherine: [00:48:52] You certainly can. Like, the past can have a very different meaning depending on how you choose to see it today.
Rosanne: [00:48:58] Right. It's all about the prism you look through, isn't it?
[I took a long way home just to end up in your arms. That's why I'm going down to Florence now. I got my pretty dress.]
Catherine: [00:49:18] That was Rosanne Cash. That's it for this episode. We hope you'll join us next time for The Moth Radio Hour.
[The rain is not the sea, the stone is not a mountain but a river runs through me.]
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift playing]
Jay: [00:49:50] Your host this hour was The Moth's artistic director, Catherine Burns, who also directed the stories along with Larry Rosen. The rest of The Moth’s directorial staff included Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Jenness, Jenifer Hixson, and Meg Bowles. Production support from Timothy Lou Ly. The Moth would like to thank the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for their support of The Moth Community Program. Moth Stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Hamza El Din, Imogen Heap and Rosanne Cash. You can find links to all the music we use on our website. The Moth is produced for radio by me, Jay Allison with Viki Merrick Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour is produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. 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.