Host: Jenifer Hixson
[overture music]
Jenifer: [00:00:13] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jenifer Hixson.
This hour, we’ll be hearing six stories from a night we called Play It Again, SLAM. It featured stories pulled from the New York StorySLAM archives, slightly tweaked and retold to a live audience.
Play It Again, SLAM was a chance to retell some stories that we loved. But weren’t recorded well the first time, or were maybe missing a plot point or a vital detail, a sort of do-over. And who doesn’t love a second chance? Coincidentally, the stories this hour involve second chances.
The stories were told on the same night at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, with the support of WNYC, a media partner for The Moth. This first story is from Gabby Shea.
[cheers and applause]
Gabby: [00:00:54] All right. In my teens, you couldn’t tell me anything. I swore that I was a chef extraordinaire. Granted, I was cooking for myself and my brother, but up here, my cooking was the bomb. My specialty of choice was baked macaroni and cheese. Now, bear with me, as I share this recipe. Step one, pull a box of mac and cheese out of the cabinet. [audience laughter] Step two, cook according to package directions. [audience laughter] Step three, place said mac and cheese in a baking dish and top with an even layer of cornflakes. Now, I’m going to give you all a moment to clutch your pearls, because I now realize that is blasphemy. [audience laughter] And step four, bake until cornflake topping is golden brown. Now, my Black card should have been revoked for that, [audience laughter] okay?
In high school, I hung out with friends all the time. I went to one friend’s house one afternoon, and her mom had just finished making dinner. She asked me if I wanted some baked mac and cheese. Now, as a lover of food, I was not going to turn her down. Plus, I wanted to see if her version matched up to mine. So, as she plated, I decided to share my recipe. I’m going through it.
I’m a little cocky, a little overly confident, so I can’t understand why they’re looking at me like I’m crazy. So, before I get through it, she shoves a forkful in my mouth. When I tell you those flavors exploded, I thought to myself, is this real cheese? [audience laughter] Cheddar? Mozzarella? It was so creamy and so smooth. It was truly a life-changing experience. So, my friend’s mom felt pity for me, took me under her wing and that day taught me how to make real baked macaroni and cheese.
Fast forward a few years, and I met this guy. Frank and I dated for a while. It got serious, and he decided that he was going to introduce me to his family. I had already met his mom and his sister, but there were four other siblings, their significant others and about 15+ nieces and nephews. This was a big deal. I was meeting the entire family, and I had to make a good impression.
Now, I am Caribbean. When we are invited to someone’s home, we cook. We do not do store-bought. It is a cultural thing. Cooking is a sign of love. It is a sign of respect. It is like I am giving a piece of myself to those that I am feeding. So, it is really important to me. And of course, I decided that I was going to make my new and improved baked macaroni and cheese. Plus, Frank was Irish, so I wanted to show his white folk how Black people throw down in the kitchen. [audience laughter]
Now, on Thanksgiving, sides are a very, very important part of the meal, probably the most important part of the meal. Sometimes more than the turkey. Mac and cheese is up there with mashed potatoes, collard greens and candied yams. So, if you are going to do it, you have to bring it. And I knew I could bring it. So, we got to Frank’s sister’s house. The introductions started. Things were going great. He took my dish and placed it right by the turkey. People started to eat, and Frank goes right for my mac and cheese.
So, I was watching him across the room, and he was eating, but he did not look like he was enjoying it. I was a bit confused, kind of offended. [audience laughter] He comes over, and before I can even get the question out, he shoves a forkful in my mouth. I start to chew, I start to gag, I feel like I am about to throw up, but I manage to swallow. And in that moment, I realize, holy crap, I used sweetened condensed milk instead of evaporated milk, [audience holler] which is what the recipe called for. Lesson of the day, always taste your food before you serve it, something that I did not do.
So, I am mortified. Straight-up panic mode. He sees the look on my face and says, “Babe, I got you.” He went and performed some covert black ops extraction mission and got that mac and cheese off the table without anyone knowing. I was between relief and total embarrassment. Now, I know that they liked me after meeting me, but I guarantee you, if they had tasted my bangin’ mac and cheese, they would have loved me. Lucky for me, Frank did not throw in the towel. He invited me to Christmas dinner, and I knew I had to redeem myself. [audience laughter] So, what did I do? I made another batch of baked mac and cheese. But this time, I tasted it to ensure that I used the correct ingredients.
We get to his sister's house, another sister, and everyone goes for the mac and cheese. They are loving it, which I knew they would. One person even says, “Dang, I can't believe I missed this on Thanksgiving Day.” [audience laughter] I give Frank this knowing look, because we got this little secret. Frank and I end up getting married, right? [audience cheers and applause]
He's who I had those three girls with. And 20 years later, my baked mac and cheese is still the most sought-after dish on the family dinner table. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Jenifer: [00:07:45] That was Gabby Shea. Gabby and her husband are the parents to three beautiful girls, all of whom no doubt love her mac and cheese. To see a picture of Gabby's mac and cheese and a picture of two of her girls making Thanksgiving stuffing, visit themoth.org. As for the milk in the mac and cheese recipe, remember, evaporated, not condensed.
Our next story is by Jon Novick. Jon was born and raised in Fishkill, New York, a population about 2,000, the kind of small town where everybody knows your name. Here's Jon, live in the Big Apple.
[cheers and applause]
Jon: [00:08:27] It is Friday night. I have had a long week at work. I am out at a bar, I am with my friends and I am on the dance floor. I am invincible, that I can weave through any human being and look very good doing it. Simultaneously, I have not drunk too much to the point where it limits my linguistic capability, so I am ready to say the right thing at the right time. Did I mention [whispers] I am single? [audience laughter]
So, I am looking for somebody. I am looking for the right person, and there she is. I am doing my sultry thing. I am moving smooth as silk. I am talking clean as a kitchen countertop. She makes eyes with me, I make eyes with her, we start sauntering over to each other. She puts her hand on my hip. I put my hand on her hip. It is probably the greatest Friday night I have ever had. We are dancing. We are dancing. And then, I look over and there are four dudes laughing their asses off filming this interaction. I have achondroplastic dwarfism. And unfortunately, sometimes what that means is that I look very good on a Snapchat story or an Instagram story. And a lot of what I do can be made very easily into a spectacle, which is very unfortunate.
Now, I am from a small town, Fishkill, New York. I grew up, same school, never moved. Everybody knew Jon has dwarfism. Achondroplasia means he is not great at sports, but he is a great guy. Very simple, very straightforward. Now, I moved down here, New York City, in 2013, population of 8.5 million people. I am immediately overwhelmed that, once again, I am very aware that I am a little person, that I have achondroplastic dwarfism.
It reveals itself in all kinds of ways. First, I am very photogenic, apparently. People love taking pictures of me. People love taking videos of me. People like commenting on maybe the way I am walking, that I might waddle a little bit, or possibly the fact that I have got a lot of books in my backpack. So, it is like I am carrying my own body weight. And if I stop too short, I am going to fall over. Or, petting me, which is exactly what you think it is. It is frustrating and it is aggravating, and simultaneously, it is psychologically conditioning to the point that every time I wake up in the morning and go to work, and finish work and come home, I am incredibly aware of where I am, where you are, what you have and what you are doing with your phone. I become increasingly paranoid.
I am looking for people. I am avoiding groups of people. I am so cognizant of the angle that you have your phone that if you tilt it toward me in the slightest bit, it is like you are holding a weapon and I am running away from you, because I cannot sacrifice six more hours thinking about what you might have done with that photo you might have taken. I am angry, and I am frustrated, and I am telling people, and I am wrapped up in this world that I do not understand, that I cannot feel good about myself, where I am living. And I am trying to convince myself that maybe it is not even real. Maybe it is in my head. Maybe this one thing happened this one time, and everything else has just been painted to fulfill the rest of the experience and I am trying to calm myself down.
I am coming out of work. I am on my phone. I'm trying to mind my own business. And then, I feel this whoosh of air go over me. I look up and I see a person running away from me. It takes me a second to realize that someone just jumped over me. I turn and I realize that someone else just filmed it. Now, I'm angry. I've been angry, but now I'm very angry, because I feel like I need to make an action. I need to do something. I have to do something. But what am I possibly going to do? I can't catch up to you. I can't fight you. If I yell anything else, that's going to be on camera. So, what am I supposed to do? I keep walking. I keep walking very slowly. I go. I pretend like nothing's happening. I'm trying not to give you any more satisfaction than you already have.
I go down the subway and I'm looking for a fight. I'm looking for someone to take out their camera. I'm looking for someone to make a comment, because I've done nothing for too long and I'm done doing nothing. But I do nothing, until I get home and I decide that I'm going to show everyone what happens. I'm going to convince myself that I'm not paranoid, that these instances are accurate and I'm going to document it. I'm going to make a film about my own experiences in New York City. So, I do.
I was fortunate enough to get a hidden camera from DCTV, a place I was working at the time. I walked around and I captured, frankly, what I thought I would. People taking pictures of me, people shouting random things that, frankly, maybe that was what I wasn't expecting. Ranging from, "Hey, short stuff," and verbatim walking in Times Square, "Hey, it's a midget." But I captured it all and I put it together and it felt good. It felt good. It felt honest. It felt like a good way of exerting, a positive way of exerting energy that at least I could feel confident about. I feel like I'm in control of.
So, I finish it up, I edit it up, I upload it online, and I feel good. I share it with a few friends. And honestly, I'm feeling a little bit better about my whole experience. At the time, I was working as a freelance videographer. I end up going out of town and way out of town. Like, I don't have any cell service, I don't have any laptop service. I come back after a few days and I am informed that my video has been shared by a few friends, been shared by a few more friends and eventually posted on the front page of Reddit and now has approximately 750,000 views and growing.
You remember in high school when you felt really passionate about something and you wrote it down in poetry and you felt really good about it, but then you hid it under your bed and you never talk about it now? Imagine if somebody went under your bed, took it, and literally showed it to 750,000 people. [audience laughter] Then a million people. Then 1.5 million people. I'm shuddering. I take out my phone. My phone explodes with every single person I've ever met saying, "I saw your video, I saw your video." Plus, “Some news organizations who want to do interviews.”
And then, life starts to change. I start to meet my neighbors. My neighbors come out of the woodwork saying, "Hey, Jon, it's so good to meet you. Let me know if you need anything." "Hey, Jon, I didn't know that happened to you. That's really frustrating. I'm so sorry to hear that." "Hey, Jon, if anybody ever bothers you, we'll take care of them. [audience laughter] You just let us know and we'll take care of them." Very, very nice people. Very, very nice things. Honestly, positive things. I get to meet my neighbors. I get to meet more people.
And in the lieu of it all, 1 million, 2 million, 3 million. I finally decide to do something that everyone recommends you should never do. I read the comments. And honestly, they were great. Like, one person didn't like my earring. [audience laughter] But people saying similar things. "Hey, Jon, I really appreciate you sharing your perspective." "Wow, I had no idea about, you know, that this could be seen as offensive or frustrating or having to go through that day after day."
And also, more importantly, people like me. People who were little people, who had dwarfism, people who had other kinds of disabilities saying, "I really appreciate you making this, because I know exactly what that feels like and I really appreciate being able to share this and do this and show this to other people to say, like, ‘This needs to change. This needs to stop.’" And it felt good. It felt really good. That was five years ago. And I'm still here. And frankly, I love it here. I live in Queens. I have no reason, Queens, Queens. [audience laughter] I don't think I have any reason to leave anytime soon.
I feel a whole lot better about my morning commute. I really feel like I met people. I got to know the city. I got to feel like I was at home here. You know, I met my neighbors. I met an incredible woman who I'm living with right now. [audience cheers]
And four-year anniversary coming up in February, we recently did something, a huge step in the relationship. We adopted a cat. [audience laughter] Great cat. But honestly, I'm really happy. And if I look back on this entire experience, it was really something. I feel really at home here. But frankly, if we boil it all down, I got really angry. I made something I was proud of and I shot it into the void of the internet and I got back a very simple, very concrete response. Thank you for sharing. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Jenifer: [00:16:33] That was Jon Novick. To see Jon's hidden camera film, visit themoth.org, where you can also download the story. Jon also wanted to especially thank Downtown Community Television Center, who lent him the equipment to make the project possible.
Jon says that making the film was a major turning point in his life. A few months after it came out, he started working as a volunteer with the New York City Mayor's Office for People with Disabilities. They happened to be celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act.
A few months later, he applied for an open position, landed the job and he's been working there ever since, using his talents to make New York City more equitable for people with disabilities.
When we return, two more stories based in the City That Never Sleeps. We'll visit New York City's Chinatown and the 59th Street Bridge. That's coming up on The Moth Radio Hour.
[softhearted music]
Jay: [00:17:59] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
[softhearted music]
Jenifer: [00:19:10] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jenifer Hixson.
Next up from this evening of Second Chance SLAM stories in New York City comes Annie Tan. The story highlights the question, what if you and your parents don't speak the same language? Not metaphorically, but in fact. Here's Annie.
[cheers and applause]
Annie: [00:19:31] My dad has called me every single day since I left home for college. Every single day. He always calls and he always asks me the same question every time, "Néih sihk jó faahn meih a?" That's Cantonese for, "Have you eaten yet?" I always say something we both know, like the word "chī gēn." But how do you translate words like hummus in Cantonese? Or, if he asked me, "Where did you go today?" I'd say something like, "Well, I went to the place where you see the movies," because I don't know how to say movie theater in Cantonese. And then, eventually, we'd have nothing to say, and then we'd hang up after 30 seconds. He's done this every day.
But my Cantonese is not great, because as a kid of immigrants here in New York, I was so focused on my family's survival, figuring out how to translate the mail, going to Medicaid, now Medicare appointments, that I lost almost all my Chinese. My parents do not speak any English. And so, at a young age, I gave up hope of ever really understanding my parents. But my dad persisted.
And by Thanksgiving 2015, I had been living in Chicago, and dad had been calling me for eight straight years. And this day, he calls, "Annie, Néih sihk jó faahn meih a?" Yes, I am eating right now at my friend's place with their parents. My dad pauses and he says, "Annie, why are you not here with us in New York with your own parents? Fine. Stay there in Chicago. Do not come home," and he hung up. And for a day, and for the next few days and for a week, he did not call. [screams] And I loved it. [audience laughter] I hated these phone calls. It was such an obligation. [audience laughter] My mom calls me a week later, I guess she had been waiting for me to call for a week, and she says, "You know how serious it has become. Annie, dad is saying that if you do not move back to New York, he will never speak to you again."
I am furious and sobbing, and I cannot believe my parents would threaten me like this, like, would meddle in my life. I moved to Chicago to have my own life, you know? And so, I tell my mom this that, "If you want to not talk to me again, that is your choice," and I hung up the phone. I had no idea what to do, so I called my best friend. And my best friend was like, "Annie, what?” Like, “You have been talking to your dad for eight years. He has been calling you for eight years. Maybe you should be the one to call him for a change."
And three weeks pass, and I fly home for Christmas. And in fact, I am allowed home to my childhood home here in Chinatown. No one is talking, and I do not know what to say. My dad does something he has never done before. He took the chicken drumstick for himself. Now, in Chinese households, there is an untold rule that if there is an important guest in the house, like your daughter coming home after a few months, you give her the best food. But he took the drumstick and he took the fish cheeks and the fish eyes, and then he went to bed without talking to me.
And my best friend was like, "Annie, what do you want from your dad? What do you want?" I go, "I just want to be happy and I want my dad to be happy too." And so, I decided to tell him that over lunch the next day. And I go, "Bàba [speaks Cantonese]." Dad says, "Annie, how can I be happy when you are in Chicago? I know I cannot convince you of this. I know you are your own person. But just know I want you back here in New York." And so, dad had taken his stand, and now it was my turn to figure out what I was going to do.
And the next few days at home were good. You know, Dad at least gave me a chance at the drumstick this time. But he also was telling his dad jokes. He was cleaning up after me too. And I realized, he is not a talker. These phone calls after eight years maybe just were not working anymore for him. His love language was definitely acts of service. He could not put a chicken drumstick on my plate from 800 miles away. That same week, I had tickets to see this Asian-American musical on Broadway. It is one of very few musicals with people who look like me. It was called Allegiance.
The main character is a Japanese-American man whose family goes through the Japanese internment camps during World War II. His family goes through so much trauma that by the end of the play, he has decided to leave his family. George Takei, who is playing the main character, stands on stage after 60 years of being estranged from his family, and he just starts crumpling and sobbing on stage. And I, in the very back row of that theater, start sobbing for the next 20 minutes. It takes me a few more months to decide, but I knew at that moment that I could not give up on my family anymore.
A few months later, I moved back to New York. Today actually marks three and a half years that I have been back.
[cheers and applause]
It has been hard. I have had a lot of arguments with my dad since. But this past Thanksgiving, after 30 plus years of being here in America, my dad had his first Thanksgiving turkey ever, and he put that drumstick on my plate. Dad still calls me every day, but now I take Cantonese classes, so our phone calls are a little bit more than 30 seconds now. And sometimes I am the one who calls Dad first. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Jenifer: [00:25:59] Annie Tan is a special education teacher and an activist focusing on public education, teachers unions, tenant rights and Asian-American issues. To see a picture of her dad's first Thanksgiving turkey, visit themoth.org, where you can also see Annie, her brother and her boyfriend holding drumsticks and a wing. Annie is really happy that she is back home in New York, where she can help out with her parents. Her Cantonese is getting better little by little. And what she cannot say, she tries to show in her own love language, acts of service and quality time.
Next up is Carl Banks. He's originally from St. Louis, but is now a full-blown New Yorker. Here's Carl.
[cheers and applause]
Carl: [00:26:50] I am a guitar player. It is a pretty sweet job. A lot of perks. [chuckles] One of the perks, is that I play gigs late at night, and my days are pretty much wide open to do whatever I want. I took up running to fill up this time of my day. I have this little AM/FM radio I plug in and I just cruise all over the city. I love it. I love watching the city unfold in front of me and being in tune with the rhythms of it.
I spend a lot of time on the Queensboro 59th Street Ed Koch Bridge. I live on the Queens side. I run across to Central Park very often. It is structurally a beautiful bridge, but the energy on the path that the pedestrians use is kind of anxious, uneasy feeling. That’s because it is a very narrow path and it is shared by pedestrians, cyclists, scooter riders, all sorts of people. It is compounded by the fact that you are mere feet away from cars with their exhaust, honking horns and police sirens.
The most narrow part of the bridge is on the Manhattan side, where the pathway bottlenecks around a structural column in the bridge. It was there over the summer that I was running and I saw a woman. The woman had a large, wide-brim hat, and she was pushing a shopping cart, and she had several open beach umbrellas in the shopping cart and she was coming at me. That is not an odd sight to see in New York, but it struck me as odd that day. It became even more odd when she started waving at me, and I am running at her.
At first, I thought she was just waving to potentially get me out of the way, because she was out of control with her cart or something, I do not know. But as I got close, I realized she was trying to get my attention. So, as I got up to her, I took my headphones out, and she said, "There is a man on the bridge. He is going to jump. Go help him. Go help him. Go help him." It hit me like a ton of bricks. What I expected to see was somebody right on the edge of the bridge, what I saw was a young man who was probably about 17 years old, and he was on the safe side of the bridge, leaning against the fence. He had a 10 mile stare.
He had a look on his face that I am somewhat familiar with. It looked like he was about to get into a fight, which is to say he was angry, he was scared to death and he was desperately trying to mask it with indifference. So, I stopped and I asked him if he was okay. He did not say anything. He just looked right through me and ignored me. So, I asked him if he was okay a second time. Still nothing. And so, I said, "There was a woman on the bridge. She said somebody was going to jump. Is that you?" Still, he did not say anything but tears started to stream down his face.
And I said, "Look, man, I do not know you, but just do not do it. Just walk with me off the bridge. I have a story I can tell you. Just walk with me on the bridge. Please do not do it." He did not really move. And I said, "Listen, I lost my twin sister two years ago to a suicide, and I wish I could be there and tell her not to do it, so please just walk with me." And he started to move. And so, we started to walk off the bridge together. I recounted in great detail about the night that my sister passed away. He was really scared. When we had to walk in a single-file line, he would not even let me walk behind him, I had to walk in front of him.
I talked and talked, and when there was a lull in the conversation, he just said, "Tell me more about your sister." So, I did. I told him that she was an amazing visual artist. She was an unrepentant radical with a touch of anarchist. But she had a very extremely tender heart and was incredibly sensitive. She used to draw caricatures at tourists at Six Flags. She was so sensitive that she could not make any money doing it, because she would always give them away, either thinking it was not good enough or thinking it was so good that they just should have it for free.
I told him how I missed her, how I never got to say goodbye, and I really wish that I could have. We got on a solid ground. I did not know what to do. I asked him if he had a safe place to go. He said he did. I asked him if he lived with his parents. He said yes. And I said, "If it is an abusive situation, you do not have to go home. You can come home with me." I already had a friend of mine sleeping on the couch, so I could not offer that. But I said, "You could come home. We can figure out some safe place for you to go." He said that it was not abusive and he had a safe place to go home to his parents.
At that time, I just really wanted to give him a hug, but it did not seem like he was into a hugging mood at the time. So, I dabbed him up with what has to be the world's most awkward fist bump. [audience laughter] And then, he walked away and so did I. I went the other way and I started running. While we were on the bridge, I had this singleness of purpose, this focus that all I wanted to do was get him off the bridge. I was refusing to feel any of the feelings except for that. But as I started to run away, I put my headphones back in and I will never forget, Bob Dylan’s Boots of Spanish Leather started playing. All the emotion I had been suppressing on the bridge shot up through me like a wave.
I started to cry as I ran home, and then I took a shower. It was a complete breakdown in the shower, on my hands and knees and crying. But I got out of the shower. I had a gig to go to. I wish I could say I went and played Bob Dylan’s Boots of Spanish Leather, but it is a really hard song to play. [audience laughter] I do not know it. I do not remember his face that well. I do not know that I would even recognize him if I saw him today, but I hope he is okay.
[cheers and applause]
Jenifer: [00:32:59] That was Carl Banks. When Carl is not out on tour playing his music, he runs on the bridge almost every day. And almost every time he crosses, he is reminded of the story you just heard. But he says, it is overall a positive memory. To see a picture of Carl and his sister, visit themoth.org. Included is a picture of his sister as a runner in high school. At the time, Carl did not understand her love of running, but he says he gets it now. As you heard, Carl is a singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist. This is some of his music.
[Carl singing]
When we return, two more stories, a school production of Beauty and the Beast in Armenian, and how a high school class called peer mediation offers up some helpful guidelines.
[Carl continues to sing]
Jay: [00:34:14] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org.
[softhearted music]
Jenifer: [00:35:26] You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jenifer Hixson with the final two stories from our Play It Again, SLAM night in New York City.
This next one is from Anoush Froundjian. Anoush speaks very quickly. We should note the story includes some Armenian phrases and singing. Not to worry if you cannot translate. Just stay with her. Here's Anoush.
[cheers and applause]
Anoush: [00:35:51] I was in fourth grade. When you were a fourth grader at Holy Martyrs Armenian Day School, your life changes in a profound way. And not just because you're now an upperclassman, but because from now until the day you graduate, you are at the mercy of one Armenian schoolteacher, a teacher named Nadia Ishgazar. Nadia Ishgazar taught the fourth, fifth, and sixth graders at Holy Martyrs, and she took the essence of the Armenian teacher to a brand-new level. Sure, she had the usual excessive high heel collection, had the Bijan poodle dog named Bijou and also wore what appeared to be all her jewelry. [audience laughter]
But she was also into drama. She wrote and directed all of the plays that we would put on in the school and would be the one who decided what parts you would be assigned to and would possibly identify with for the rest of your life. She was moody and brassy and did not know how to deal with sensitive children. I was different from a lot of the kids in my class growing up. A lot of that had to do with having a mom who was born in the United States.
My parents are both Armenian, but they come from different worlds. My mom was born in the Bronx and works in advertising, and my dad was born in Lebanon and works in suffering for your art. [audience laughter] So, my mom was the Rolling Stones and my dad is the Beatles. So, I knew from a very young age that blending in anywhere would probably not be in the cards for me.
So word on the street was that the next big play that we would be putting on would be a word-for-word translation of Disney's Beauty and the Beast in Armenian. I had to be in it. I mean, this was not your average Sassoon Tavit musical or the one where all the Armenian cheerleaders go, "Hey, hey, hey." [audience laughter] This was something you could invite someone normal to. [audience laughter] So, the day came when Mrs. Ishgazar announced what parts we would be playing. She did it in our Armenian class.
So, we are sitting there in our desks connected to chairs. And right off the bat, the part of Belle goes to Diana Cholakyan, and then the part of the sexy duster goes to Ani Zarabian and then the part of one of the girls who fawns over Gaston goes to Louisa Chichian. And then part after part is being given away, even Mrs. Potts. And Mrs. Ishgazar comes over to me and she says, "Anoush, I have a very funny part for you." And I said, "Okay." And she goes, "You are going to play--" and she is at a loss for words. This happens sometimes.
She does not know the English word for the thing she is trying to say, but she is opening and closing her arms like this. And someone says, "Closet," and then someone else says, "Bureau," and then someone else says, "Wardrobe." She says yes to all of those words. I am thinking, is there a closet-bureau-wardrobe in Beauty and the Beast? And there is, because Belle, the beautiful main character, needs something to accidentally bump into the first night when she is in the Beast's castle. And so, I was going to be that. I realized that I was cast as a piece of furniture. [audience laughter] I was thinking, what am I going to do? What am I going to wear?
I am going to be walking around trying to explain what I am to everyone. I thought, how dare this woman cast me in a role that I have been playing my whole life. [audience laughter] Do not get me wrong. The closet-bureau-wardrobe is a very strong character, and she is bubbly. But I did not want to be strong. I just wanted to be pretty and understood and easily understood.
I go home and I tell my mom, and I am in tears. I said, "Mom, I am going to be the closet-bureau-wardrobe." She reacts in a way that is like a Geena Davis in Beetlejuice kind of way. Like, “Mom is going to get her.” I do not know what she is going to do, but I know that I am in good hands. [audience laughter] So, I cut to rehearsal. "Ahagu ka hatza corza heru enamen aru IR hatseiro." [audience laughter] Cut to my dining room table, where my mom has this huge box, and she is painting the box white. And cut back to rehearsal. "Gaston me kaji GE vochme gaan horbese ye vochme ga anor be sal he rosse." Cut to our dining room table, where she cuts a hole on either side of the box, and illustrates flowers and vines and with doors that open.
[sings in Armenian]
And then, [audience laughter] cut to my dining room table and a matching headpiece that she made with her bare hands. I realized that my mom had made this beautiful, elaborate costume for me and had been fighting for me with the most dangerous weapon any advertiser can have on any single individual, package design. [audience laughter]
So, the play starts and it is fine. I go and I say my one line and I stand, because that is all I can do. But what I liked the most was carrying the costume there, and putting it on and then taking it off after the play, being all hot because I knew that I worked hard and then meeting my mom and my dad. My mom's perplexed American friends afterwards [audience chuckle] and saying, "Thank you so much for coming. Let’s get out of here."
And now, when I watch the movie, that closet-bureau-wardrobe, she is a fighter. [chuckles] My mom is a fighter, and I am my mother’s daughter. So, if anyone ever puts me in a box, I am going to make sure that I fill it with as much love and as much defiance as my mother put into that costume. So, be our guest. Thank you. [audience laughter]
[cheers and applause]
Jenifer: [00:41:47] That was Anoush Froundjian. When she is not telling stories, she draws cartoons for Anoush Talks to Stuff, her webcomic about a girl who talks to inanimate objects. I wonder if being cast as an inanimate object in fourth grade has anything to do with this.
I asked Anoush to share a picture of the heralded wardrobe costume, and sadly there is not one. There is a cast picture, but Anoush is almost completely obscured by the kid playing Lumière, the candlestick figures. The wardrobe costume will just have to live on in our imaginations. To see the cast picture and one of Anoush as a kid, visit themoth.org.
Our final story is from Wendy Paige. She comes from a large family, eight kids, and now has two children of her own. Here's Wendy.
[cheers and applause]
Wendy: [00:42:45] Till age 11, I lived in the ghetto. My parents were all about God, education, God, music, singing, God. A whole lot of God. At the end of the day, they did everything they could to protect us. So, they had perimeters that we could not go. We had to be home before the streetlight came on.
We moved when I was 11 to Orange County, New York, because we had a fire and it was at the end of the school year. It was terrible, but wonderful. We were leaving the ghetto. We entered into Monroe-Woodbury area, which was a predominantly all-white area at this time, 1993, I think it was 1992 or 1993. My dad pulls up to my school in his pickup truck and he says, “Now, go in there with those blue-eyed devils.” [audience laughter] He chuckles and pulls off.
So, I come into my classroom. I enter into the classroom and it’s an ocean of white students. I find my seat further to the back of the class, the only seat open. And the teacher had to step out to make a phone call. A student from the front of the class said the N-word. In my family, now you guys know what fight or flight is, but in my family, it was fight or fight. And if you didn’t fight, you were going to come home and have a fight. So, you had to fight, because that’s where we came from. Hard place. But I chose the latter.
I ran out of the classroom. I started crying. The teacher came back. She asked, “Wendy, what happened?” I said, “Someone called me the N-word.” And she said, “Who was it?” She brought me in the classroom. She said, “Point them out.” I said, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” [audience laughter] And then, I realized I could be a racist, if that’s even possible but-- So, then the teacher asked the class, “Who said this to Wendy?” All the students pointed to this one kid. I changed his name, because I have 10 siblings, and they all made me change it because they don’t want me to have any problems because we still live in the same area. So, they all pointed to Dave Falte. I didn’t change it too much. Everybody who knows me knows who he is. [audience laughter] So, at the end of the day, this is my introduction to Dave Falte.
Fast forward, ninth grade. I’m probably right into the first quarter of the semester. I took a class called peer mediation and they taught you all the rules of how to solve a problem. I think they picked me out, because they said I was excellent. They picked out all the people they thought could be leaders. But I actually thought it was because I was one of the only Black females, tall, six feet tall. So, at the end of the day, I’m taking this peer mediation course. I’m about to get my certificate.
And in this course, they teach you these tools for how to solve a problem. How you solve a problem is this, first, you go to the individual and you tell them that it is a problem. And then, if it still persists, you go back to them and you ask them to stop. You want to ask them more than once, so you ask them twice. And then, if it persists, now you go to the authorities. I had a question in class. I asked, “Well, what happens if somebody touches you?” And the teacher said, “You have the right to defend yourself.” I said, “Okay, that works. My dad would say that too.”
So, it’s first period. I see Dave Falte. I’m about to get my certificate. Dave Falte walks right up to me and he says, “N-word, bitch.” I’m stunned. He takes off. I don’t get a chance to think about anything that I’ve learned in peer mediation. But two periods later, I was sure that I was going to handle Dave Falte just right. So, when I saw him, I said, “Dave Falte, would you please stop calling me a--” And he continued to say it over and over and over again. And then, I said, “You know what? Let me ask him again right away so I can get to the next step.” [audience laughter] So, I did.
And he continued his chanting and laughed and ran down the hallway. So, I went right to the office. My school was rich, so I was able to write a letter and make a copy of it and put it in my principal's office, vice principal's office and my guidance counselor, and then I went to lunch. When I got to lunch, I realized that Dave Falte was cutting class, sitting on the radiator. So, I walked right up to Dave Falte and I said, "Dave Falte, would you please stop calling me a N-word B?"
Dave Falte looks at me and he says, "Wow, your necklace. It says love on it." I look down and he pulls a hair off of my chest. At this point, the principal comes over. The vice principal, he comes over and says, "Hey, guys, you got to get off the radiator." And then I do not realize it, but I am going into shock, because-- But how do I know I was going into shock? My friend Renee was behind me, and she goes, [in slow motion] "Hey, Wendy, I got you a cookie." [audience laughter] So, I was hearing in slow motion. [audience laughter] Then I hear the vice principal say, "Hey, guys, you got to get off the radiator." I look at the vice principal and I say, "He touched me."
Well, Dave Falte is standing there. He has long hair. I put my hands in his hair. I figured that is a spot of weakness, right? I took his hair and I proceeded to take his head. It was bad. [audience laughter] It was really bad. [spectator whistles] But we ended up on the floor, because his football player friend, like, threw me onto. But I do not remember all this. Now, I want to tell you, guys, I do not condone violence at all in any way. So, I do not actually remember all this, but this is a famous fight in Monroe-Woodbury. I think all my siblings got, like, pulled out of school that day.
But at the end of the day, I am on the floor and I look up and I see the only African-American staff member of Monroe-Woodbury of 1,500 students. I realize that he is giving me a few more seconds to whip Dave Falte’s ass. [audience laughter] So, at some point, I get up, I float to the principal’s office. I am in the principal’s office. The principal is asking me like, "What happened? What happened?" And I am like, "I do not know. I do not know." And then I said, "Oh, I left a note in your mailbox." He got the note. I did not get in trouble. Dave Falte got suspended. I did not.
But fast forward, like, 10 years later, I hear, "Wendy!" I turn around, and it is Dave Falte. And Dave Falte goes, "Wendy!" He has got his arms out wide like he wants a hug. And I am like, “I am going to hug Dave Falte.” [audience laughter] So, we hug. And he says, "Honey, honey, come over here. This is the girl that whipped my ass in high school." She shook my hand like I was the president. [audience laughter] I do not know. I do not believe in violence. Peer mediation works. But every once in a while, somebody just needs a good ass-kicking.
[cheers and applause]
Jenifer: [00:49:32] That was Wendy Paige. All of Wendy’s siblings remember this incident quite clearly, it’s sort of family lore at this point. Wendy has not seen Dave again since that chance meeting in Kmart. Yes, it was at a Kmart. Just goes to show you never know who you will run into and end up hugging at the big box store.
The peer mediation Wendy attended in high school set her on a path. And now, she is a pastor in the Methodist Church, where she also sings in the choir with her musical family. Here’s a tune that Wendy wrote, and we are going to let her sing us out.
[Hallelujah, with praise I enter in song]
Jenifer: [00:51:03] That’s it for this special episode of stories from Play It Again, SLAM. Sing it, Wendy. Thanks for listening to The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you will join us next time.
[Hallelujah, with praise I enter in song]
[overture music]
Jay: [00:51:46] Your host this hour was Jenifer Hixson. Jenifer also directed the stories in the show. The rest of The Moth’s directorial staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Jenness and Meg Bowles. 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 Teddy Wilson, The Meters, Matthias Ruckdaeschel, Blue Dot Sessions, Carl Banks, Beauty and the Beast karaoke and Wendy Paige. 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.