Host: Catherine Burns

Catherine: [00:00:01] Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Catherine Burns, standing in for Dan Kennedy. Today, we're bringing you stories from two women who are, to put it mildly, complete badasses. 

First up, we have Tara Clancy. I first heard Tara's name a few years back. People were talking about this amazingly funny woman, who was winning our open mic storytelling competitions, telling stories about growing up in Queens. We're so proud to report that her first memoir, The Clancys of Queens, is out today. Here's Tara Clancy telling a story on The Moth's Mainstage in 2014. The theme for the night was Flirting with Disaster. 

[cheers and applause]

Tara: [00:00:40] So, I am a fifth generation native New Yorker. 

[cheers and applause] 

Yes. [chuckles] While there is certainly something cool about that, there is also actually a downside. Like, there was a moment when it occurred to me that while many other American families also first landed in New York, for the most part, at some point, they kept going and pioneering their way West with little more than the rags on their backs and all of that. Meanwhile, it's my own family got off a boat, took two steps and were like, “Good enough for me [audience laughter] forever.” [chuckles] 

All of that is to say I come from a place where discovering the great unknown means New Jersey. [audience laughter] Okay. [chuckles] But seriously, it didn't take me too long to realize that the reason for that was mostly fear. And that fear pervaded everything, where you live, what you do for a living, you find the first solid thing and you don't risk going any further. But as it would wind up, my mother was something of a pioneer herself, although not without her share of false starts. 

So, at 20 years old, she had hardly been outside of Brooklyn. When she did finally leave a year later, it was only because she married a cop from Queens, which she then called the country. [audience laughter] They had a baby, me. But by the time I was two, they had divorced. And so, to make a little extra money afterwards, she had to take on a weekend job, cleaning apartments. So, the very first was this duplex with Manhattan skyline views filled with antiques and artwork. 

But as it winds up, it would be her last. Because over the course of a year, she would go from being the cleaning lady to the secretary, to the girlfriend of the multimillionaire who owned it, named Mark. [audience laughter] That's true. [chuckles] So, they never wound up living together full time. They were both divorced. And so, it's been there, done that. But also, my mom had this philosophy which was, if you take someone's money, you have to take their advice. And so, when it came to raising you, really, she said, “I wanted to do it my way, which had to mean on my dime.” 

So, she would go on to spend every weekend with him, and then every weekday back home in Queens, living this dual life for the next 22 years. And on the weekends, when I wasn't with my dad, I was right there with her. Together, mom and I would become like superwomen, able to jump social strata in a single bound. So, because of my mom's plan, my life was never very different than anybody around me. I wasn't sent to some elite private school or moved to a penthouse. And so, I just grew into your typical queen's teenager. 

I smoked blunts and I drank 40s, and one of my best friends had a baby in high school. I was a walking cliche in every way, except for the fact that I still spent every odd weekend, talking with this art collecting, croquet playing, brilliant, if pretty intimidating man at his mansion in the Hamptons. [chuckles] When I say talking, I actually really mean it. I don't just mean, like, we made a little chit chat. I mean that. After dinner, every odd Saturday night for 20 years, he would ask me some enormous question. Like, he would say, if I told you that the universe was infinite that it had no end, how would that make you feel? [audience laughter] 

And for that, I was like five years old. [audience laughter] I lived for it, really. We would go on for hours and hours. Finally, my mother would. She just leave us to it, you know? Eventually, she'd come back in and she'd be like, “Are you two going to talk about the moon and the stars all night?” That's actually what she came to call them, our moon and stars talks. 

Okay. So, at 16, like all teenagers, I didn't want to be away from my friends for five minutes, let alone a whole weekend. So, I called Mark and I asked if I could bring them to the Hamptons. Ring. Mark speaking. “Hi, it's Tara. Could I bring some of my friends next weekend?” “That would be fine.” Click. He wasn't one for small talk. So, he was not the problem. What the problem was, was that some of my friends had no idea about any of this. Now, that's not because I was trying to hide it. It's really because the details weren't exactly easy to slip into conversation. They'd be like, “Hey, Tara, you want to go smoke and drink on the corner?” “Well, been thinking of discussing the Hudson River School painters over dinner in Bridgehampton. But what the hell, you know?” 

Truly, I was nervous about telling them. The only thing I can compare it to is coming out. I would just be like, “I have to tell you something, and I hope you find it in your heart to accept me. [audience laughter] But I know a rich guy.” [audience laughter] But truly, it was awkward, because I really wanted them to come, but I also didn't want them to be embarrassed, you know? So, I had to explain. And so, literally, here I'd be in the schoolyard. And in one side, kids would beating the crap out of each other. That's how we do recess in Queens. And then, on the other side, I'd be huddled up with my friend, Lynette, trying to explain antiquing. [chuckles] 

Anyway, before you know it, there we were. Me, Lynette, her boyfriend Rob, piled into the back of his red hooptie, flying down the highway heading from Hollis to the Hamptons, right? And now, just for brevity's sake, let's just say that Rob is like Eminem and Lynette's like an Italian Rosie Perez. [audience laughter] They're in the front and I'm in the back. And now, as we're getting closer, I'm getting a little more nervous and I'm thinking of all these things to explain, and I'm like, “Oh, shit. Did I tell you about the ketchup? You can't put the ketchup bottle on the table.” “Where do you put it, on the floor?” “No, listen, you got to take the ketchup out of the bottle and you got to put it in a little bowl with a spoon first, okay? Remember that, right?” And then, “Oh, I didn't tell you. There's no TV there.” “Dear God.” 

Always got the biggest reaction. “What does he do all day? It's like, in Queens, the most diverse place in the world, the one thing everybody has in common is a perpetually blaring TV set.” Anyway, so, that would lead me to have to explain what we did after dinner instead of watching TV, which was the talks, the moon and stars talks. Like I said, I really love them, [chuckles] but they weren't actually for the faint of heart. Meaning, that Mark did not care if you were some kid unaccustomed to this type of thing. He talked and he argued with you like you were his peer and he fully expected you to keep up. And so, I was not sure if my friends were going to be into that or if he was going to be into them, but too late. There we are, pulling into the driveway. 

So, the most shocking thing you first saw at Mark's place wasn't the hand laid stone pool, or even the regulation croquet court or the five-bedroom historic farmhouse. It was Mark himself. He was 6’10”. Again, 6’10”. Everyone just looks at him like, “Is that a man or is that oak tree wearing chinos?” [audience laughter] All right, so, likely because my friends ignored my stupid paranoia and were just themselves, the day went without a hitch. But still that night, as we finished up dinner, I couldn't help but to be a little nervous again, as I knew the questions were coming. So, he says, “Presuming, we can fix all of the societal ills right here and now, where would you begin? Go.” [audience laughter]  

You have to understand that nobody is asking us these kinds of questions. Maybe sure, we're at an age where you may be starting to think bigger picture, maybe starting to think about what you are going to do for a living. But it's also like we come from a place where it always felt like there were only two job options, cop, not a cop. [audience laughter] Really. Like your parents, you took the first solid city job that came along and you held on for dear life and you were proud and you did your best and you did it forever. You solving society's ill doesn't get you a pension, right? We weren't thinking about these things, can’t we? 

So, I look away. I look down. But then, I hear Rob say something and I look up and then I see Lynette disagrees with that. And then, I see that Mark is nodding along. And it's on, just like that. And not just that one time. There would be many more moon and stars talks over the years, in a way it was a beautiful thing and, in another way, it was a little bit sad. Because I think what most of us would tell you now, is that those talks forever changed the way we thought of ourselves. Those talks made us think that maybe there was a little more to us than we knew. 

And for some of my friends, certainly not all, but for some, and definitely for me, they even made you think, well, shit. If A, I like talking about these big things and B, the universe is infinite, then C, there's got to be more job options than bus driver. [chuckles] But really, I think that when we stood at that same crossroads as our parents had, I think it was this experience that gave us something that unfortunately they didn't have. And that's just the confidence to know that we had a choice. And so, here I am today, living in a whole other world. Manhattan, [audience laughter] a whopping 20 minutes away from [chuckles] where I grew up. But that is not because of fear, that's my choice. Thank you. 

[cheers and applause] 

Catherine: [00:13:37] Tara Clancy is a writer and storyteller. She's won numerous Moth SLAMs and is a regular host on our Mainstage. Her new memoir, The Clancys of Queens, is out now. Sad but apparently true fact, according to Tara's publisher, the last notable book written by a working class New York woman about working class New York women was A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which was published 73 years ago. I'd say it's about time for another one, huh? Go, Tara. 

Our next story comes to us from Adrienne Truscott. Her story was told live at a sold-out show on the Mainstage of the Sydney Opera House. The theme was Stop, Drop and Roll. Here's Adrienne. 

[applause] 

Adrienne: [00:14:20] I'm one half of a comedy cabaret circus duo called The Wau Wau Sisters. We've been performing together for over 15 years. When we are together on stage, that stage feels like somewhere where we can be totally fearless and totally free. 

In 2012, we were invited to do our show, The Wau Wau Sisters Last Supper at the Brisbane International Arts Festival, which was a big step up for us. Other previous gigs had included vegan restaurants in Vancouver. [audience laughter] Our show was like a boozy, bawdy bacchanal of what the last supper on earth would look like to two feminist, queer, friendly, half naked showgirls. And in the show, we would get two guys out of the audience, dress them up as centaurs and feed them bananas from our mouths while balancing them on our feet. The posters featured the two of us pretty naked, but for some carefully placed bibles and fish. And those posters apparently had caused some offense. 

We got a call from the festival director, and he said that he had gotten two very threatening letters about the show. We just dismissed it out of hand as yet another missive from some community standards person with too much time on their hands. But he said that they were taking them very seriously and we'd have to deal with it when we got there. So, we arrive in Brisbane, and they pick us up from the airport and things feel a little different already. They don't take us to the hotel we were told we were staying at. Instead, they take us to a hotel that's better equipped to deal with high security risks. And it was the 5-star Hilton. 

The 5-star Hilton, their entire staff is attractive, and the plants are real and the sheets have a thread count that are truly otherworldly. When you're an independent artist on the road, you learn from these kinds of things. So, we went straight to the hotel bar, got a really lovely glass of wine and we were like, “Right. Let's remember. I mean, look at this place. From now on, we always send a death throw threat to any festival we do. Cheers.” [audience laughter] 

The next morning, we met with the festival director and a couple of detectives who looked exactly like two plainclothes cops trying not to look like cops. They were really nice, and they told us what they were going to do to keep us safe. They said that we would have an armed escort to and from the hotel and the venue and other places we had to go. They said that they would put our entire audience through a metal detector before every show. And they said, “No, no, we know it's comedy. We're going to hire a local dance troupe to make it seem fun, [audience laughter] and that we would have six detectives packing heat in theater every night, two in the wings and two right in the front row and then two up in the back.” 

I can tell you, it was the first time I ever had to think about a man just a few feet away with me with a gun as a point of safety. And we said, “Well, that's nuts, but okay.” We realized that they all thought that we might cancel the entire run. And that had never occurred to us. We hadn't been angry. I mean, afraid. We'd just been angry and frustrated. Like, we'd come all the way to Australia and after 15 years together with thousands of tickets to people that want to see the show, there was no way we were going to cancel it, because this one guy who calls himself a Christian wants to kill us. So, I said, “Well, is it just like a grumpy community person, or is it one of these women hating misogynists?” Because those guys sometimes show up. I said, “Why don't you read us the letter?” 

And the first letter said, “If you continue with this show, I'm going to come to theater and kill Adrienne Truscott and Tanya Gagne and as many of your fucking hipster audience members as I can.” And then, I felt a little bit afraid. For one, we didn't use our full names in any of the press materials. So, it meant that this guy had actually done some research and that maybe he meant business. And it was the second letter that worried the detectives, because that one said, “I see that the posters are still up and the tickets are still on sale. You're not taking me seriously and you'll be sorry.”

And the detectives noticed a little bit of a shift in our cheeky bravado at that point. And they said, “Look, you know what, actually, you're going to have the security detail that the prime minister would have, if she was in town. This is probably going to be the safest show you ever do,” which did make us feel a little bit better. But we also thought, but we're going to do a bunch of other shows after this. Like, “Is there always a guy in the audience that wants to kill us?” But we just don't know, because he didn't write us a letter to give us a heads up. 

So, the night of the first show, just before I go out into the lobby to goof around with our audience members, which is something we would do. I love going out there and seeing all the different freaks, and weirdos and curious suburbanites who have come to the show. But on this night, I go out and everybody looks a little different. Like, this one gentleman who would have normally just looked like a long haired hippie, maybe a little socially awkward, suddenly looks like that, one of those weird hippie Christian, Charles Manson type. He came up to me and he said, “What's going on? What's all this stuff in the lobby? I thought it was only two performers and I thought they were American.” 

I was just right away thought, why are you noticing all this and why are you counting and why are you noticing accents? I told the detectives right away, and I thought they were just going to say, “Just try and settle down, Adrienne.” But actually, they looked really concerned and they reconfigured their post to keep an eye on him. And then, the show started and that felt different right away. That show would start with the two of us dressed like Catholic schoolgirls and we will do an acrobatic striptease. It ends with me in my underpants tied to a makeshift cross by two cheap silk ties. It's fun. [audience laughter] 

In that moment, it doesn't feel like cheeky fun. And the irony is not lost in on me that I could actually die on a cross for my sins. [audience laughter] And then, later in the show, we'll run out in the audience and we have the audience help undress us. They'll put ponytails in our hair, and help us off with our bras and then pull a sock on. Usually, that just feels like we're crashing through the fourth wall. And then, this is the first time I've ever done it with a little bit of guardedness and I'm wondering, who am I running to? 

But it's those moments that make people come up to us after the show and a woman will come up and say, “I don't know how you run around so free and naked, but it makes me feel like something different could happen with my body.” I've had men come up to me and say, “Look, don't take this the wrong way, but I totally forgot you were naked because you were so damn funny.” And those moments are beautiful to me. And eventually, that thing took over. Dr. Footlights, which means, like, if you get on stage and you're a little under the weather, tired, all these things come together, the adrenaline, audience and everything, and you forget about all your problems, and you have this amazing sense of freedom and this way of escaping this weird world for a little while. 

So, we get through the show and it feels like a triumph. And the detectives take us over to have some drinks with some other showbiz family of ours, and we think like, “Ooh, okay.” We unwind a little. We have a few drinks, several. We go back home, and I get to my hotel room and I just get in a shower to wash the show off and All of a sudden, I just burst into tears. I feel like I black out. My eyes shut tightly, and I remember I couldn't open them. I don't know how long I was there for, but when my eyes opened, it felt like I'd come to from being in some other place and I was sitting on the floor of the shower. It wasn't even a bathtub. It was just on the tiles with all the hot water pouring down over me. And then, I thought, okay, we have to survive this for six more nights. And we did. 

The rest of the run was brilliant. It sold out. The audiences were gorgeous. The cops were angels. They brought their wives and their boyfriends. On the last night, I made them a letter. I cut out all little letters from a magazine, like an old school ransom note, and I was like, “We've had another letter.” They opened it and it said, “You better look after us or else.” They drove us to the closing night party with this parade of sirens and flashing lights. We jumped out of the van and to bid them adieu. We sang I Will Always Love You from The Bodyguard in its entirety. [audience laughter] 

And then, they gave us their real badges, like their real brass badges, which I know they are not allowed to do, and they said, “Hang on to these, girls, and these will keep you safe.”

[applause] 

About a year or so later, I ran into that festival director back here in New York and we were recalling this story and he said, “God, did we ever tell you about the guy on the first night?” And I said, “No.” He said, “Oh, we stopped this guy at the metal detector. He had three things on him, a ticket, a bible and a knife about a six-inch blade.” I was like, “At least he had a ticket. At least, it wasn't a comp.” [audience laughter] And I said, “So, you caught the guy?” And he said, “Oh, no, that wasn't him.” So, there is a guy in the audience every night that might want to kill us. 

He said, “And then, we told you about the third letter, right?” And I said, “No.” He said, “Oh, it came after you left. We got a third letter from the guy. It said that he had come to theater, and he'd come to the show and watched the whole show. It was taunting. And he said, ‘I even talked to the girls after the show at the merch table.’” There we thought we triumphed. And I thought, had he been watching for fear in our eyes the whole time? Had we gone to him in the audience? You know, was it the Christian hippie guy? Did we go like this and make goofy faces at the merch table and take a photo with him? 

We wondered like, “Well, why didn't he do it?” He had his chance, obviously. He got through the metal detector. We thought, did he just lose his nerve? Did he just not find the right moment? I thought about it and I humbled myself and I thought, I think it's pretty clear. I think he really loved the show. [audience laughter] It's that good. [audience laughter] At the moment, I'm on tour quite a bit on my own, doing a solo show. It's just me up on stage. It's a standup comedy show about rape and rape culture. It's a satire and a provocation. I do it with no pants on. 

I don't always have to be on stage naked, but I do think there are still times when a woman being on stage with complete agency of her body still packs a pretty powerful punch. I just returned from Brisbane, that same festival where all this happened three years ago, and they never caught the guy. I was doing that show there. So, my posters were all up all over town. I don't know if he saw them or not, but they feature me pretty naked, except for a carefully placed six pack. It has my full name on the poster and it just says, “Adrienne Truscott's asking for it.” Thank you. 

[cheers and applause] 

Catherine: [00:27:17] Adrienne Truscott is a choreographer, acrobat and comedian. Her work has been shown at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, Just for Laughs and more. And in 2014, she was a recipient of The Doris Duke Impact Artist Award. 

That's all for this week. Thanks for listening. 

Podcast production by Timothy Lou Ly. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make radio more public at prx.org.