Host: Catherine Burns
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift]
Catherine: [00:00:12] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. And I'm Catherine Burns.
At The Moth, we invite people from all walks of life to tell true personal stories in front of a live audience. In honor of Veterans Day, this week's episode is a tribute to the men and women who serve our country every day as members of the armed forces.
In this hour, a future combat Marine is forced to sell candy on the street to help pay her family's rent, a young Iraqi student risks his life translating for the American Army. And our first story about how those guys ever learned to land planes on an aircraft carrier.
[cheers and applause]
It was told by Ted Hartley at the Radio Love Fest at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, where we partnered with our New York City media sponsor WNYC. Here's Ted Hartley, live at The Moth.
Ted: [00:01:02] I remember that Sunday. It was bright, cloudless day, warm spring was in the air in April. And my father, he was going to read the Sunday funnies to me. I was four years old. It was joy. He would read Li'l Abner and Popeye, and we would laugh. When I would laugh uproariously, he'd pick me up and throw me up in the air, and I felt as if I was going to go to heaven. There were those strong arms to catch me as I came back down. He was clearly the greatest man in the world, and the strongest, the biggest and the best. The best there was.
It was a Sunday later, exactly. They came down my house, and down the stairs in my jammies. And in our living room, it was filled with women in black veiled black gloves, shoes shiny black. They were whispering to each other. I think one of them put her hand on my head and said, “Teddy, your father would have been so proud.” My father would have been so proud of me. That meant he was gone. He was gone, instantly. Disappeared. It was that fear of disappearing him, me next. It carried me all the way through grade school and high school.
The thing I loved most of all that I would do after school was watch documentaries or old newsreels of World War II and the way the fighter planes came in on the carriers. I thought maybe if I could do something brave and strong and glorious and something for my country, maybe then I wouldn't disappear. And so, I applied for Annapolis, the Naval Academy, and got in, and I got graduated and got my bars and went through flight training and got my wings. And now, I was going to fly in the Navy's hottest new aircraft called the F9F.
It was the first plane the Navy had really that would go supersonic right after takeoff. And you can get that thrill of not only lifting off, but then getting the extra boost when your wheels disappeared and your flaps came up and off you went into space and you were climbing it faster than the speed of sound. I was in great shape, and I hit all the gun retargets. Now, there's one thing left to do before we could join as a squadron and go out and find the big carrier someplace in the Pacific and be ready for what was going to develop into the Vietnamese War. But I had to get qualified for the carrier.
In order to do that, they do something called a field landing carrier practice, which was an aircraft carrier drawn on the ground in an old field someplace. And you would have the LSO, the landing signal officer, in a box at one end of it and he would have his flags that he would wave across his throat if you were making good landing and allowed to land, and waving off as though you were batting away bumblebees, waving his flags violently in the air to mean you're not going to land. Get going, buster. So, you couldn't land and you'd have to go around again.
We needed 100 of those in this new supersonic jet to qualify. It was challenging. And even the old veterans in the squadron, the 27-, 28-, and 29-year-old guys, they were pretty impressed by this. And most of them came in getting eight or nine passes. So, they were getting 100 and 109, 108. I came in someplace in there. But McDonald's had just come aboard. McDonald was impish, blond, compact, a lot of fun, laughed a lot, and a perfect aviator. He went around that pattern in those two weeks, and got 100 landings in 101 passes.
I was sitting at the bar with him that night after we'd all qualified and we were getting ready to go out to the practice carrier, the Tarawa, which I'd seen in the newsreels about World War II. And now, it was just used for practicing for jet landings. We had three to make. And if we did that and they were smooth enough, we got our cuts. Then we come back, and we would pack our gear, and the whole squadron would fly off, and we'd join our big super carrier, and someplace out in the eastern world, and we would be representing the country in the world's strongest, most impressive weapon and aircraft carrier.
So, it was very exciting. We were having drinks the night before at the bar just a little bit, because we got to go to the carrier the next day. [audience chuckles] I was sitting next to McDonald, whom I really loved, always fun, and I said to him, “McDonald, you aced it. Man, you got 100 for 101. That's perfect. Nobody came close to that.” And his face, which had been jolly and smiling, turned dark, and the corners of his mouth turned down. He turned at me and snarled, threw his glass down on the counter, broke into a thousand pieces, scattered around the Officers Club, and he pointed his finger at me and he said, “No, damn it, I did 100 for 100. The damn LSO was just jealous. He waved me off. I should have had a perfect score.” [audience chuckles] Something new about McDonald. He had a temper and he was a perfectionist, but he was great.
We took off the next day, all lined up, and off we went from Quonset Point, going to fly out over Block Island in formation, and you come down the other side of the carrier. So, if you can imagine a racetrack, and you're coming down the far side of the racetrack, and you're coming around the bend, and you're coming into the home stretch. That home stretch is the carrier. So, you're 50ft over the water. As you come around, you begin to see the LSO. And the skipper, I could see now was already aboard and his wingman, and I was up next. By that time, I was lining up on the ship. I came in, and I heard the LSO talking in, and his very calm voice about, “Yup, looking okay.”
I didn't make world's best landing, but I was there. McDonald was coming behind me, and I had to see McDonald. Wanted to see his first landing in an F9F on an aircraft carrier. And so, I stood there as I watched McDonald coming in. He was lined up, his wings didn't wobble, this guy can fly. But somehow, just as he got over the cut point at the end of the carrier, his nose came up a little bit. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but just came up enough. And just that little bit will attract the LSO's attention, because if you come in too high, you'll miss the wires. You're going to go steaming on across the deck and do damage to yourself or to somebody, and you can't land.
When he waved it off, and its flags, and the cannon went off, and the siren sounded, and everybody knew that he'd been waved off. And so far, he was the first wave off. Now, he had to go way upwind, get behind everybody. But he came around again, lined up again, and he came in, and he still kept his nose high. I don't know what he was thinking, and it got waved off again. Everybody waiting for McDonald, the perfect aviator, to get aboard the carrier. I was back now on the LSO platform, and enlisted gunners mate standing there. Didn't know me, didn't know McDonald. He turned to his buddy and he said, “I don't know who that jerk is, but we're going to have to shoot him down.” [audience chuckles]
McDonald came on in. If you were going to do three landings and you missed all three cuts, they would send you back to the beach while you still had enough gas to make it, and you probably would not go with that squadron any place again. So, McDonald came over the cut. LSO gave him the cut. He was lined up. And then, as though McDonald was saying, “Screw you think my nose is high, watch this,” and he dropped his nose violently. Nose wheel first, bounced off the main landing gear, up into the air 50ft above the carrier deck. Not flying anymore, just hanging there in the air. Seemed a long time, but it was less than three seconds, and then he toppled off and fell over the port side of the ship. And by the time I rushed over, it was bubbles.
Supersonic jet is designed to fly, cut through like a knife, the air. And you point it straight down into the ocean, it'll do the same thing that way. All I ever saw McDonald after that was a little bit of his tail disappearing down. The choppers would stay there as long as they could till dusk, hoping something would come up, some clue, maybe somehow, we would survive. The destroyers weren't going to go anyplace. It's their job to stay there and look for the survivor. But the carrier had a job to do. You've got 5,000 people dedicated to getting these aviators on a landing, getting them qualified, sending them out to defend the country.
So, they were going to call the next flight. I hoped they didn't. They can't call me, because I am shaky. I am so shaky. My voice, I couldn't have talked. And they did call me. Now, I'm getting up on the escalator, and I start across the carrier deck toward my plane on the port side. As I was going across the carrier deck, I was thinking, which one of these am I going to lie about? I knew that I couldn't fly that airplane. I knew it'd be dangerous to myself and maybe other people, and I couldn't fly it. On the other hand, if I said I couldn't fly it, they'd pull my wings. I certainly wouldn't-- That whole part of my life would deteriorate.
Got in the cockpit, got adjusted. Williston, the plane captain, he climbed up on the wing beside me, helped me adjust the shoulder braces. He was watching me as I went over. Each of the nine checks, the air pressure, the oxygen supply one by one. He was watching me as I was touching the gauges, which you do to be sure you're looking at the right gauge. I had to figure out some way to keep him going. If you're going to be catapulted off as I was off the front of the carrier, you have to have full throttle on all the time. When you're catapulted off, you're going to go from 0 to 130 miles an hour, the length of a basketball field.
Your cheeks are going to feel as though they're behind your ears, but you've got your full throttle on. You better keep that full, otherwise you're going to go in the water ahead of the ship, you're going to get run over. So, the way you avoid that is there's a little spring-loaded finger that comes up. It's called the holdback rod or the holdback. You hold it and you put 100% power on, you check your gauges once again. If it's there, you call into air control and say, “I'm ready to go, I'm good to go,” and they taxi you off and off you go. I was not good to go. No doubt about that. I was not good to go.
Between the throttle and the holdback rod, I was able to get my finger, my index finger, in so that I wasn't going to get to 100%, because I couldn't get the throttle all the way forward. I was going to be all right, I was going to safe, I was going to go home again, I wouldn't disappear. I held it there long enough to decide, okay, I'm going to report this. I'm not lying. I'm not getting 100% power. I'm not doing anything really terribly wrong. I pulled my finger out. It now lost circulation and it was very stiff. I pulled it out, and had my hand on the throttle at 96%, getting ready to hit the mic button to call Air Control.
Williston, standing on my wing, reaching through the cockpit, just put his hand on mine. As he did, my hand, as though it had been pulled by an invisible wire, just gently went that last half inch, and I went to full power. Williston turned around and looked at me and he said, “You're 100% lieutenant. You're good to go. Have a great flight.” And they taxied me out. They strapped me into the catapult. I ran the throttle all the way up and wrapped it around the rod and prayed a little bit as well as I knew how.
The catapult officer saluted and he was ready to fire me. Right hand saluted back that I was ready to go. I was launched into the air. Immediately, I was 130 miles an hour, climbing to supersonic speeds. I went around, and I got in the line, and I came back, and I made another landing. I went on, and I made dozens more landings night and day, heavy fog, rain, midnight, sun in your eyes. I thought about McDonald every once in a while, and I thought about my father and how they disappeared. I knew there was a little fear down there someplace that was crying. But I never thought about not being ready to go again, and it carried me on through my whole life.
[cheers and applause]
Catherine: [00:16:40] That was Ted Hartley. He was born and raised an Iowa farm boy. Then at age 14, he won an essay contest sponsored by Warner Brothers. His 50-word essay called Why I Would like to Fly earned him flying lessons. Ted went on to be a US Olympic finalist in wrestling, a celebrated producer, and an actor appearing on the TV shows Peyton Place and Chopper One, and in movies alongside Cary Grant, Robert Redford, and Clint Eastwood.
We produce this veteran show every year. So, if you or anyone you know is a vet, please consider pitching us a story. We're especially looking for stories told by female vets. Call our pitch line, which will let you leave a two-minute version of a story you'd like to tell. The number to call is 877-799-MOTH, or you can pitch us a story right at our website, themoth.org.
Jess: [00:17:30] Hi, my name's Jess. I'm 30 years old. I served as a platoon leader with the 25th Transportation Company. When I first got to the unit, it was a mess. I was a brand-new officer. I had no idea what I was doing management wise. But I got really lucky, because I ended up with this fantastic group of people. One night in June, we were on a convoy. I was second in command. There was a complex coordinated ambush. The scariest freaking moment of my entire life. An RPG went through my door, and wounded everybody in my truck. A couple of our other vehicles took direct fire. But after that, we really bonded the whole unit. I mean, we had already started to come together well before that.
I've never been more proud to be a part of an organization in my life. I think I could spend the rest of my life chasing what I had for that 18-months, and part of the challenge now is understanding that there'll never be anything like that again.
Catherine: [00:18:48] You can pitch us your own story by calling 877-799-MOTH, or by going to themoth.org.
[uplifting music]
Coming up, a future Marine is fed up with her dad for forcing her brothers and sisters to become mini con artists. That's next up on The Moth Radio Hour.
Jay: [00:19:09] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
[uplifting music]
Catherine: [00:20:20] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Catherine Burns. And this is our special Veterans Day episode.
Our next storyteller is Taniki Richard. We met Taniki at a Moth community workshop we did with a Wounded Warrior project in Oakbrook, Illinois. Larry Rosen from The Moth worked with Taniki, and spoke to her on the phone about her service.
Larry: [00:20:40] So, tell me where you served.
Taniki: [00:20:42] Okay. Well, I served all over, foreign and domestic, from Camp Pendleton all the way to Japan. I've been to Iraq and back.
Larry: [00:20:52] Did you have a particular occupation within the service?
Taniki: [00:20:55] Well, every Marine has one specific purpose, and that is to use that trigger finger. So, I was an expert rifleman. I loved shooting guns, [chuckles] which is one of the reasons why I wanted to join. Yeah, my MOS, my military occupation service, was an aviation electronics technician. So, I actually worked in secret gear in the electro countermeasure section of the rotary aircraft.
Catherine: [00:21:25] The final show of the workshop Taniki was a part of was very intimate, just the 10 participants and some staff. We usually only play stories from full live shows here on the radio. But her perspective is unique, and we thought you'd want to hear it. Here's Taniki.
[applause]
Taniki: [00:21:42] My six siblings and I hustle candy for my drug addicted parents. Every day coming home from school, I drop my backpack and pick up a couple boxes of fruity swirl peppermint sticks to go out and hit the streets. There were four teams. They got older one and a younger one and then the middle child. I mean, he was old enough, so he basically with eyes distance, he would keep an eye on him. Four productive teams. I'm 14, the second oldest of seven, but I'm the leader. I know how to get it done. They depended on me to make sure that these boxes got sold. Everyone got three boxes each and trust and believe om average we were making about $180 to $250 every couple days.
And life was good, because we were able to eat. And we had a good scheme going, too. It went something like this. “Excuse me, sir. Would you like to buy some candy for our church?” “What church?” We didn't have any church. It didn't exist. And if they said no, then we would say, “Would you like to donate?” I came up with that idea. You had to maximize the sale, right? That was the type of person I was to get it done. And we did that, because if we didn't sell, we didn't eat. And in my mind, because I was afraid of my father, if we didn't sell, we might get beat.
So, we did that day in, day out, till about 14. I went from 14 to 15 years old. And then, the guilt set in. Why would these people keep giving us this money? They know we come here every day. They say, “God bless you, child,” and give the money or the donation. And I'm like, “God can't be happy with this. We're liars. This is a scam. Why am I doing this?” It would eat at me, tearing like the fibers of my soul apart. I knew I just couldn't do this anymore. I came home from school one day, and my parents were up, surprisingly, and dressed. I looked in the corner, and there were at least 25 boxes of candy waiting on me. One stack had more than the other stacks, and I knew that was probably mine. I was the most productive.
And I said while looking down on the ground, the red carpet flat, dirty and nasty, I looked down and I said, “Daddy, I can't do this anymore. I don't want to hustle candy anymore.” Now, my mom, she chuckled. I slowly looked up in my dad's face, and I could see his eyes just squinting at me with his chapped up, beady, just ashy lips. And in his Caribbean voice, he said, “Taniki, you're going to sell the candy. Don't mess with me.” I knew what that meant, too. It meant cruise it or bruise it. So, I kept selling the candy. We went on like this.
I started to rebel passively. I'd come back and I wouldn't sell the boxes of candy. He would yell at me, spitting, just call me names, pushing me out the door. And even at night, he would make me go back out there and sell that candy. Now, since I was a leader, my brothers and sisters, they picked up on my rebelliousness. They started to rebel. My sister would throw away perfectly good boxes of candy. My brother would hide the candy money and take it to school for lunch and not turn it into my dad.
The teams were falling apart. And my dad knew it. He knew that I was the culprit, he had to get me up out of there. So, he came to me one day and he said, “Taniki, go ahead, you can get a job.” I was like, “Yes, I made it. I have an opportunity to make my life better. I can relieve myself of this guilt that I felt by hustling these kind hearted people who were so willingly giving us their money, and knowing that we were lying, knowing that I was a liar. I would be relieved of this and I would have a respectable job.”
So, within a month, I went and got myself a job as a cashier at the first fast food joint down the street. I was so proud of myself. Three weeks later, I got a check, my first check. So happy. He shows up at my job and he said, “Taniki, give me the check.” Now. I'm not going to lie to you. I was disappointed. I handed over the check. I knew. I mean, my parents are crackheads. You really think that I'd be making a check and they not going to get it? Come on. But I expected that. But what I didn't expect was what he said next, what he would make me do. He said, “Your brother's waiting on you. Go over to the gas station and sell the candy.”
The blood in my skin started to boil. I was so angry. “You lied. How could you lie? You said if I got a job, I wouldn't have to hustle no more.” But I went. While I was walking, I said, “Can I at least go back home and change my shirt?” He said, “No.” One day, I got my work clothes on and I was heading out. He was sending the rest of the teams out, too. Because I was working, they weren't as productive as they used to be. And he needed that money right then and right now. So, he told me, “Taniki, you're not going to work. You're going to go out there and help them hustle this candy.”
And this time, instead of looking down on the carpet, I looked him up in his face and I said, “No. No, I'm not.” And he's laying down on the little mattress in the living room, and he looks up at me and said, “Yes, you are.” And I said, “No, I'm not.” And he jumps up and he blocks the front door. I told him, I said, “You're going to get me fired. I got to go.” And in front of my brothers and my mother and my sisters, I told him, “I'm not hustling for you anymore.” He slapped me, and I fell to the ground, and I started crying, and I screamed. I said, “I'm going to work.” He said, “No, you're not.” He grabbed me by the hair and drugged me from the living room into all the way into the back room. I'm screaming and crying out in pain. He slams in and locks the door.
Now, I'm sitting there kicking at the door, screaming, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” I started looking around. I took my hands and dried my face, and I looked around for a solution. I saw the window. Now, it got quiet. So, my siblings came in there to check on me. When they found me, they saw my hands hanging over the windowsill. They ran over to the window and was like, “Taniki, you're going to get in trouble. Daddy's going to get you. You're going to get in trouble for this. Come back in.” I said, “No, I'm not. I'm going to work. Let my hands go.”
Now, the windowsill was digging into my palms at this time, but I still had enough energy to pull myself up. I could. But I said, “You know what? At this point in time, if I'm going to be in trouble for something, I am going to be in trouble for something I stand for what's right. I'm not going to gain the approval for something that's wrong,” and I let go.
[applause]
Catherine: [00:29:31] Taniki Richard is an 11-year retired disabled Marine Corps veteran. Here's a little more from Larry Rosen's interview with Taniki.
Taniki: [00:29:39] When I joined the Marine Corps, I was looking for everything that I thought I had inside of myself, which was the honor, courage, and commitment. I didn't care what job I was going to do. Honestly, I really didn't care where they would put me. Every time someone would tell me, “Oh, you're going to this duty station or this command, and it's going to suck,” I would be like, “I don't care. I'm going to make the best of it.” Because up until then, I was struggling. I knew what it felt like to go to bed hungry. I knew what it felt like to be around drugs and violence and abuse. And so, in my mind, joining the Marine Corps was going to restore all the things that I felt like I lost in my childhood.
And when I joined, I really heard that little voice inside of me saying, “You can do it.” You can make your life better. You can be a patriot,” which I am a patriot at heart. I love my veterans, love my veteran brothers and sisters, and you can serve your country and serve your community in an honorable way.
Catherine: [00:30:48] You can hear Larry's full interview with Taniki Richard at themoth.org One last thing, Taniki has her own web show and bid chat, and I love this. She was the Trinidad and Tobago 2017 delegate for the Miss Planetary International pageant in Las Vegas.
Do you have a story for The Moth? Call our pitch line, which allows anyone to leave a two-minute version of a story. The number to call is 877-799-MOTH, or you can pitch us the story right at our website, themoth.org.
Ray: [00:31:21] My name is Ray Christian, Boone, North Carolina. I was a paratrooper assigned to the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. I had been in the army for nearly 10 years and I had never had a major parachute malfunction. We were conducting a night combat equipment training jump over Sicily drop zone. The inside of the aircraft, a C130, is dark, illuminated only by the dim red floor light in the jump warning light above the exit door.
The jump commands are given green light go. We exit the aircraft, each of us one behind the other, into the darkness. You take up a good tight body position as the prop blast blows you away. Count to 4,000, your main chute should deploy. I exit. 1,000, 2,000 3,000. My main chute doesn't deploy. I'm slung into the air on my back, and I can see the stars. I'm twisting and turning, and I hit the side of the plane. I'm being towed behind the aircraft by my arm entangled in another jumper's static line.
Catherine: [00:32:40] Again, you can pitch us your own story by calling 877-799-MOTH, or by going to themoth.org.
Coming up, a young Iraqi student pays a huge price for translating for the United States military, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.
Jay: [00:33:00] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org.
[uplifting music]
Catherine: [00:34:14] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Catherine Burns.
Our final story in our Veterans Day special is from Abbas Mousa. We met Abbas when he put his name in the hat and told a story at our SLAM series in Milwaukee.
A Moth Fact. We produce more than 500 storytelling competitions around the world every year. We record them, and one of our producers listens to every single one of the 5,000 plus stories told on these stages. When my fellow Moth host and director, Meg Bowles, heard Abbas tell his story, she thought he was so good that she immediately picked up the phone and called him to see if he wanted to tell a story on our Mainstage. Here's Abbas Moussa, live at The Moth in Charleston, West Virginia, where we partnered with West Virginia Public Radio.
[cheers and applause]
Abbas Mousa: [00:35:02] I was in a van on my way to school, driving through the center of Baghdad. It's one of these vans that has a row of seats behind the driver, where you sit backward with your back to the driver looking out at the back of the van. I remember I was sitting behind the driver. And in front of me was my friend. She used to study English literature, so she and I were speaking in English to practice.
As we passed the children's hospital, all of a sudden, I felt a wave of heat followed by an incredible explosion. The force of the explosion sent people flying from their seats. My friend jumped on me and hugged me. I put my arms around her as she cried, but my eyes were just fixed on the explosion, the fire, and the smoke behind us.
I remember seeing a girl coming out from behind the smoke, trying to run away. Our drivers sped away trying to get to safety, not knowing if another explosion is coming. We were just five minutes away from school. I was in shock. I couldn't believe that someone just drove a car bomb into the children's hospital. I mean, how evil can you be to do something like that?
I grew up in Baghdad, Iraq, and car bombs were an everyday occurrence after 2003. My 25 minutes ride to school took two hours, because of the many and many checkpoints in the city. We got used to it, but we weren't happy. My mom would hug us and kiss us every day before we left for school, because she knew this might be her last hug or kiss.
I always told myself that I should focus on school, and get my degree, and tomorrow's going to better than today, hoping to see an end to the Sunni and Shia civil war and to see a strong Iraqi military defeat Al Qaeda. Once I graduated, I got a job, and I had to cross town to get to this job. But after all the news of the sectarian killings and kidnappings, one morning my mom said the salary this job paid wasn't worth the cost of the risk making that journey posed. So, my only choice was to leave Baghdad.
On Thursday, November 23rd, 2006. I kissed my mom and siblings, goodbye. I didn't cry, because I almost never cry. But my mom was asking me to be careful and take care of myself. She hugged me tight and her eyes started tearing. I wiped her tears and I told her, “I'll be okay. I'll be fine, and I'll come visit.” But she said, “Don't. I'm okay with you being away and alive, better than you being close and always in danger.” Then my dad takes me to Baghdad airport. As I was trying to drag my heavy suitcase, I was wondering, why was it so heavy? And that's when it hit me. My mom knew I'm not coming back to Baghdad, so she stuffed it with everything I owned.
I arrived in Kurdistan state in northern Iraq, and I managed to get a job. And every day after work, I would go and sit by the square and just watch people walking after sunset. Cars driving after sunset. I remember watching the colors of the traffic light, because they were actually working. In Baghdad, we had 06:00 PM curfew. No one was out at sunset. I never sat out at sunset. People here live normally without the fear of an IED or a car bomb that would take their lives in a second. I would just sit and enjoy the peace.
But I wasn't very happy, because I kept thinking about my family back home and their safety. Later, I got a job offer to work for the US Military as translator. And my first challenge as translator was the American accent. In Iraq, we study English from elementary school, but we study the Queen British English. So, there were so many words that I couldn't understand, because Americans, when they speak, they swallow letters. [audience chuckles]
One time a soldier asked me, “Do you want a water bottle?” I was like, “What?” [audience chuckles] And he was like, “Water bottle?” I was like, “What? What is water bottle?” Because I couldn't hear the T's, just the R's. And I was like, “This?” I was like, “Oh, a bottle of water.” [audience laughter] Or, the time when I worked for a unit from Mississippi after working for four units from the north and Midwest, and I'm like, “Oh, my God. That's a whole new language.” [audience laughter] I don't remember I ever said the word, “Come again? Say again?” as much as I said it to them.
Being translator, I would be translating paperwork, documents, and meeting with Iraqi police, Iraqi military, local mayors, leaders with top US military commanders, and other times between a soldier and Iraqi local labor. And it helped me. I learned a lot about the soldiers I worked with. It also made me feel living like a soldier without a weapon. Those soldiers I worked with, they were my new family on base. Even though, it was dangerous, but for me, it was safe because I was surrounded by many armed soldiers. So, if someone would shoot at us, they would shoot back. I felt protected.
So, after a year from being gone, I really missed my family. I asked to go on vacation to see them during Christmas and New Year. So, I go down to Baghdad, I spend great time with my mother, with my siblings, my dad. One evening I took a two mile walk to a nearby restaurant. After I ate, I was feeling a bit lazy and full and the sun was setting, so I decided to take the bus. In Baghdad, most buses are those 10 passenger vans, and one pulled over to pick me up.
The van was empty, so I sat in the front passenger seat. The driver was listening to really loud music. I didn't care for that. I told him what I needed to get off. When we got to my stop, he didn't stop. So, I told him, “Hey, you missed my stop, but you can drop me off here, I'll walk back.” And he said, “Oh, I'm sorry, I was distracted by the loud music, I'll turn around.” And I was like, “It's okay, you can drop me off here, I'll walk.” And he said, “No, no, no.” He insisted on turning around. So, I was like, “Okay.”
At the end of the street, he turned left and instead of turning around, and then he took the highway ramp. And I'm like, “You did not turn around. Where are we going?” And that's when he gave me the evil face and said, “You'll know once we get there.” With no speed limits on the highway, he was driving at least 100 miles per hour or even more. My heartbeat start to increase to the point I felt I can hear it, I can feel it shaken. I have no idea what to do or what's going to happen.
Living in Baghdad, you probably would hear about a kidnapping almost every day in the news, but they never tell you what happened or what to do if this happened to you. So, I had no idea to what to do. I looked at him and I saw his gun in his hand, and I was like, “Oh my God. I was so afraid that he knew about me working for the US Military because then I'll beheaded, no matter what.” I thought of hitting him, like what Tom Cruise or Jack Power would do. But in the movie, the lead actor always survived, because it's a movie. In reality, a terrorist would just put a bullet in my head or simply crash the van and kill both of us.
At that time, the sun was set, and all I can think of is, am I going to see another day? Am I going to see my family again? Am I going to see my mom? And at that point, I just wished if I just stayed home and spent more time with them. Soon, he exits the highway and his speed goes down. He was still driving faster than he should, but slower than he was on the freeway. All of a sudden, I see a nearby checkpoint on my right. And a voice inside of me said, “If you don't survive this now, you might not survive it at all. It was now or never.”
And without thinking, I opened the door and I screamed the words, “Help me.” But I wasn't able to know if they heard or saw me. Again, that voice said, the pain of the jump is nothing compared to the pain of being terrified until they behead you. And without thinking, the next thing I knew, I was on the ground. All I can remember is me getting up and run. I don't remember if I rolled. I don't remember feeling any pain. I just ran. I ran for my life.
I make it to the checkpoint, and that's when I felt all the pain from the jump. And thank God I didn't break any bones. I fell on the ground. And the two soldiers rushed to help me, ask me what happened, what happened. All I could do is point to the street. I couldn't take my breath to even speak. But I have made it. I have survived. Later, the police escorts me home. My mom was crying, but at the same time she was happy that I'm alive. But we knew I couldn't stay. I left Baghdad early the next morning, going back to the army base, knowing it will be years before I ever return.
In July of 2009, I got my special immigrant visa. It's a program that was set for Iraqi translators and their families to come to America. Because once you work for the US military, you will forever be an Al Qaeda target. I was able to come here and my family followed me. My mom was the most excited, because now we can all live in one country in peace. I got my citizenship. I was very happy or excited to live my American dream. I enrolled in State University to get my master's degree, and life was going well for me.
But even though I was happy with my life, I felt something is missing. Every time, I see a post on Facebook from one of my soldier’s friends that I worked with in Iraq, I feel that I should be with them. I was afraid of losing my new safe home America, like I lost Baghdad. In Baghdad, I was weak and I couldn't belong to an organization or an entity to help me stay and defend my city. But in America, I'm strong. And today, I'm a sergeant in the Army National Guard, because I can belong to an organization that can prepare me to defend my adopted country and do my part as a citizen. Because I know how it feels living under terrorism, and I don't want to ever experience that again. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Catherine: [00:46:24] That was Abbas Mousa. Abbas immigrated to the US in 2009 through a special program for translators and was granted US citizenship. Abbas received his master's degree in the summer of 2015 in economics, and now works as an economist for the Department of Commerce. He's currently writing his memoir. The night Abbas told his story, his former boss, Julie Gerety, who's a colonel in the Wisconsin Army National Guard, was in the audience. She and Abbas had worked together in the Middle east during the war, and then ended up living just a few towns apart in Wisconsin. Our producer, Jenelle Pifer, sat down with Abbas and Julie after the show.
Jenelle: [00:47:04] I want to ask the two of you, just to describe for people what the relationship is like, just between a translator and a soldier. Like, what is that dynamic like?
Julie: [00:47:16] Well, it's interesting, because I get to tell the gentleman next to me that is a military person and going out of a base, and realistically your life is in danger. He's been around it all his life, but I don't know this man, and instantly I have to trust him. Me and Abbas had a moment where things got a little bit dangerous for me, and I needed someone to help me talk out of a situation. I had to trust him to say what I was saying, to correctly translate what I was saying, and not know if that's what he's doing. Being faced by very, very angry people and have to instantly trust that this man is doing that for me.
I mean, that forges a special bond for people that when they start smiling and nodding their heads at me and they let me go, I know he told the truth. I know he was saying what I was saying. And that's an instant trust. That's a bond that will never be broken. I mean, honestly, this guy saved my life that day. Not only my life, right? So, that's the relationship between an interpreter and someone in the military.
Abbas: [00:48:54] It is not a typical relationship as a military commander and another soldier or a translator, which is very true, because sometimes when I tell my friends, my soldier's friend that, “Yeah, I'm going to meet the colonel and her husband would come and we're going to dinner.” And they're like, “A colonel?” But the thing is about Colonel Gerety, when met in Iraq, even with her high rank, with her position, she was not just a family for me. I have other soldiers that they feel she is the person they look up to. They feel they are protected just because she's there. They trust her.
Catherine: [00:49:43] Abbas Moussa and his friend, Colonel Julie Gerety. This has been our Veterans Day special, and I come from a long line of veterans myself.
My direct ancestors fought in the Battle of Kings Mountain during the American Revolution and served in both World Wars. My stepbrother, Chris Butler, is currently a lieutenant colonel in the Alabama National Guard, and has served in Afghanistan, Iraq, in Egypt. And then, there's my own dad. He was stationed in Thailand during the Vietnam War. He left when I was just six months old and was gone for a year. With him away so long and me so young, he was worried that his only child wouldn't know him when he got home.
So, my mama had an 8x11 picture of him printed and framed. She set it on the floor in a corner of the living room, so it'd be right at eye level for me, a crawling baby. Every day, she set me down in front of the picture and would point at it and say, “Daddy, daddy. That's your Daddy.” Cut to one year later, in the summer of 1970, daddy had made it back alive and was flying into the Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama. In those days, you'd walk down the stairs of the plane right under the runway, and your loved ones would meet you on the tarmac.
The way mama tells it is she approached the plane, she saw my father coming down the stairs, and I broke away from her and ran towards him yelling, “Daddy, daddy, daddy.” So, a shoutout to my father and all the fathers and mothers and men and women who give a big part of their lives in service to their country.
That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time.
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift]
Jay: [00:51:30] Your host this hour was The Moth Artistic Director Catherine Burns. Catherine also directed the stories in the show along with Sarah Austin Jenness, Meg Bowles, and Larry Rosen. The rest of The Moth’s directorial staff include Sarah Haberman and Jennifer Hixson. Production support from Timothy Lou Ly. Special thanks to Moth Community Instructor David Crabb, and everyone at the Writers Guild Initiative's, Helen Deutsch Writing Workshops, and also our friends at Wisconsin Public Radio. Our pitches in this hour came from Jess Williams in Minnesota and Ray Christian in North Carolina.
Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from Boards of Canada, Lawless music, Stellwagen Symphonette, RJD2, and Regina Carter. The Moth is produced for radio by me, Jay Allison, with Viki Merrick, at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.
This hour was produced with funds from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, The National Endowment for the Arts, and the John D and Catherine T MacArthur Foundation, committed to building a more just, verdant, and peaceful world. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.