The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Ski, Poe, Spa, and Towers

Episode Date: January 27, 2021

An avid skier saves the day, a caretaker gets caught up in the life of a famous 19th Century poet, a woman vacations at a fancy clothes-optional spa, and a daughter tries to surprise her mom at the World Trade Center one September morning. This episode is hosted by The Moth's Senior Director, Jenifer Hixson. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media.

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's theMoth.org forward slash Houston. From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jennifer Hickson. The Moth is true stories, told live, often by people unacoust him to addressing a room of a few hundred to over

a thousand strangers. But when the tellers take the stage and the audience quiet down, nervousness dissipates, and the story takes over. In this hour, we'll hear four stories. A man is caught up in the life of a very famous 19th century poet, a woman travels to a spa in New Mexico where clothes are optional. A daughter tries to surprise her mom at the World Trade Center one September morning, and this first story about a ski slope and a superhero. Bobby Stoddard is a carpenter from Vermont. He told this story for us at a show we presented in East Lansing, Michigan in collaboration with Michigan Public Radio.

Here's Bobby, live at the mall. So I am from Vermont and I love living in Vermont. And in order to love living in Vermont, you really need to love winter. I'm guessing all of you feel the same way. I love everything about it, you know, the smell of the wood stove, but it's really the snow that makes it for me. And my favorite winter in Vermont was 1999. It was a big snow year, and I was a part-time carpenter and a full-time ski bum. And the other thing other than being a big snow year that made that a really amazing year

was our local ski mountain, Bolton Valley, went bankrupt. And Bolton Valley is at the top of a steep, windy mountain road. And the only reason you would go up there is to go skiing. And if they're not running the lifts, no one's going up there. Except for me and some of my friends, because we like to hike for it. Because if you love skiing, you love powder. Powder is the church. And if powder is the church then the

holy grail is fresh tracks. And if you're hiking up an abandoned ski mountain you're gonna get fresh tracks all day. And we did. We got them all winter long. We would hike that mountain. And fresh tracks are when you ski down and nobody has skied in front of you. It's sublime. So I was up there one Saturday and I was actually just with just my dogs and I was alone and I hiked the mountain and I got my turns in and I get down to the bottom of the mountain and between the bottom of the chairlift and the parking lot there is a little gully and I'm just I want to maximize my vertical so I just drop down into this gully and I spin around so I'm facing up the mountain just to see how far backs my dogs were and

I under my bindings and I look up and I see my dogs over here and then I see something over here and it's a mother and a father and a little baby boy and there are about 100 yards up the mountain and they're playing with sleds and I watch as the father takes this little 18-month old boy and set him in this little red plastic sled face first and slide him just you know about seven feet to the mother who bends down and I still don't know how she does this but she misses him and he goes right through her legs. And in an instant, this kid is rocketing down the mountain.

And the dad jumps in his sled, and he talks, that takes off after him, but he's never gonna catch him. And this is a ski mountain. This is not a backyard hill. And the kid's flying down the mountain, and as soon as I see him take off, I start running. And I'm running in the direction that he's headed, but as soon as I take that first step, I can no longer see him because I'm down in his gully and I

can just barely see them over the lip of snow. And as I'm charging through this gully, it's getting deeper and deeper and it's starting to approximate more of a ravine. And I run to where I think this kid is headed and I haven't seen him in a while, but I know he's still coming because I can hear his mother shrieking this primal scream, screaming Parker, jump out, Parker, Parker. And I look up and there's a steel pipe sticking out of the ground. It's a snow-making pylon.

And now I'm sitting looking at this pipe, and I'm waiting, and I'm listening to this mother. And then all of a sudden, there he is. This little kid, he's cleaning to the front of the sled, his little face. And he shoots off this cornice of snow, and he misses that pipe by just an inch. His sled goes flying, and he does a flip in the air,

and I just catch him like right out of the air. And now, yeah. And now I've got him. And he's in my arms. I'm looking down at him. He's little. And I'm like, hey, that looked fun.

How you doing? And he's just out of lies at me. And then the dad skids to a stop, and the dad is a god, because the parents never saw me. They didn't see me snowboard down. They didn't see me start to run. He just saw his little guy just, and he's staring at me. And he says, who are you? And I just look up.

I say, I'm Bobby. And he said, who are you? And I just look up, I say, I'm Bobby. And he says, where did you come from? I said, you know, I was just here. And then the mother shows up, and she tumbles down through the snow, and she comes up to me, and I hand her a parker, and this woman clearly wants this baby and she takes the child and she just crumbles and she's whaling and crying. And of course now Parker's crying because she's crying and I'm like, why is she soothing

the kid? Like he was fine when I gave her perfectly good baby and now he's crying. And I really can't even fathom why she's not like, no, no, so the dad starts talking to me, and he says something, he says, Bobby, do you read the Bible? I'm like, no, no. He says, well, I read the Bible,

and I don't believe that God does anything without a purpose. And I believe God put you here today to catch my son. And I'm not a big God guy. But I don't know. Someone says something like that to you. He takes stock. And I start replaying it and the magnitude of it.

And then I look up and I look at that steel pipe coming out of the ground. And I picture a Parker's little face flying by it. And my whole world just goes into slow motion and all of my senses become amplified. My senses smell and taste and hearing are just electrified. And I walk up to him and we're talking and I'm listening to oxygen, enter his lungs and come out of his lungs. And I am feeling saliva, coarse through my glands and I go to shake his lungs and come out of his lungs. And I am feeling saliva, coarse through my glands, and I go to shake his hand, and I can

feel his fingerprints on my fingerprints. Then I get in my car, and I'm driving, and I'm watching raindrops explode in slow motion off my windshield. And I'm smelling cigarettes and houses that are shut and there are a hundred yards away and I'm like, yeah! Yes! This feels right! Like, this is what it feels like when you find what you do. I found what I do.

I catch babies. You're like, this is right. I'm a superhero. And I'm on, this is right. I'm a superhero. And I'm on. You know, I go out to a bar with my friends that night, and I know how many exactly how many people are in that bar. And when they came in and when they're leaving, and I'm watching subtle nuances and body language

around the room, I'm expecting a fight to break out, I'm on. So wake up the morning, and I'm still there. And that day I was flying out to visit my sister in Colorado, and on the way to the airport, I'm on. So wake up the morning and I'm still there. And that day I was flying out to visit my sister in Colorado and on the way to the airport I am vigilant. I'm looking for little ladies in the road and runaway bikes with kids and bank robbers. And I get on the airplane and we're flying and a little ways into the flight we encounter

some turbulence. And it's that turbulence that's like no fun. Your butt is out of your seat and your gut is in your throat and it's relentless and it's not stopping and the pilot's not telling us anything. All he's done is turned on the passenger seatbelt sign and the mood and the cabin is getting grim. People are starting to mone a little.

And I'm like, okay, game on. and the cabin is getting grim. People are starting to mone a little. And I'm like, okay, game on. Like, I'm gonna do something. Like, but I'm not delusional. I don't think I'm gonna stop the plane from crashing, but I'm gonna do something. Like, all right, I'm gonna, you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna say just the right thing.

I'm gonna like, I'm gonna minister. I'm gonna, I'm gonna look someone in the eyes. I'm gonna tell them that they're love, or I'm gonna hold someone's hand. I'm going to like, I'm going to minister. I'm going to look someone in the eyes. I'm going to tell them that they're love. I'm going to hold someone's hand. I'm like, but wait, how am I going to become like I'm crashing too? And then it comes to me. I realize like, I could die today. You know, I've had a great life.

I've had varied and diverse lovers. I've had some sublime meals. I watched the sunrise from the top of Temple 4 in Tikal. I caught a f***ing baby yesterday. You know, I'm like, I'm good. I could go. And it works. I'm calm. I'm ready.

And the flight was fine. Nothing. We made it. It was fine. The tour was going fine, nothing. We made it. It was fine. The tour bill had stopped, and we were fine. So the next day at my sister's house, I noticed that all my superpowers had gone away. And then it didn't take long for this idea

that I was out to save people also kind of went away. But the one thing I kept was this idea that I could die to save people also kind of went away. But the one thing I kind of kept was this idea that I could died in it. I've had like, I've had some great food. I'm going to go out of my mouth. And it kind of actually works me. It's this little mantra I pull it out when flights are funky or things are getting sketchy.

And yeah, I just use it when I need it. So a few years ago, my wife gave birth to our daughter, Hazel, and a few months after that, I found myself on an airplane headed to California. And a little ways into the flight, we encountered some turbulence. And like not a lot, like a modicum of turbulence. Just enough to make you sort of look up from your book.

And so I do, I look up from my book, and I reach for my mantra and it's gone. And in its place is that feeling you get when you're on a precipice and someone jostles you, you know, and you're like, and your life plows in front of your eyes, except that it's not my life. It's my daughter's life and it's complete and it's got the highs and the lows and the first and the first time riding a bike and the first time skiing. First time getting on the school bus and there's grumpy teenage years and and Randy boyfriends that I have to contend with and graduations and I'm like I can't die right now. And I'm white knuckling it on the airplane.

And then it comes to me like I'm not, my life is really not just my life anymore. It enlarged part belongs to this little person. Because you know as soon as you have a kid, you're vulnerable. And they're so vulnerable without you, you need each other. You know, and it feels good.

It feels really good. And so now I'm starting to bliss out on this flight. And as I'm kicking back at my chair and sort of releasing my hands, the image of that mother clinging to her little baby on the side of that snowy mountain comes to me. And I finally get it. It's this primal love that lays dormant in our most primitive self. And when it's triggered and unlocked, it just overwhelms us.

And then I was thinking, now I know what my purpose is. Now I know what's right for me. And my tiny little daughter made me feel that way. She still does. Thanks. APPLAUSE CHEERING

APPLAUSE CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING CHEERING That was Bobby Stoddard. Bobby is an avid skier and world traveler and dad. Side note, Bobby is a national and world champion ultimate frisbee player, which might explain his excellence in baby catching. To see a picture of Bobby, visit our radio extras page at themoth.org. While there, you can share any of the stories you're

hearing on this hour with your friends and family. We're also on Facebook and Twitter at The Moth. In a moment, we'll hear about a man who's asked to make Edgar Allen Poe relevant to a melting pot neighborhood in the Bronx. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic public media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jennifer Hickson from the Moth. Our next story comes from a show we did on the island of Nantucket. The theme was,

walk the line. Here's Matt Mercer, live at the Moth on Nantucket. I'm happy. So I'm sitting in Dempsey's pub on the Bowery in New York, drowning my sorrows in a pint of Guinness. I've just lost both my jobs. The rent is due yesterday. I have credit card debt and student loans, Pile to the ceiling, not one job prospect on the horizon. Until, my friend turns me, I might have the solution to your problems. Do you want free rent for the rest of your life in New York? You kidding me?

What do I have to do to get that? He's like, well, you do have to live in the Bronx way up on the Grand Concourse. I was like, oh, that's a long 45 minute commute away from anything. I don't know. What else? It's a basement apartment.

It doesn't get much light. I was like, all right, I'm paying $1,200 a month for that privilege in Queens. What else? Well, the big commitment is on the weekends. The house is a historical house. And the apartment is in the basement. The museum is on top.

And you give tours on the weekends. You're the caretaker and the docent. That's how you get the free rent. And by this time, he said free rent enough that it sunk in. And I'm like, free rents in New York. This is the unicorn of real estate. Why am I, yeah, I'll do it. Sign up. I'll do it. He's like, hold on. One more detail. You have to be well adjusted to live in this house by yourself. Because you see it once belonged to Eggar Allen Poe.

He said, you get it. It's not just any basement, it's pose basement, it's melancholy squared. It's really sad. And these facts may have scared away a more well-adjusted person. But I am desperate, I'm penniless, and maybe just a teensy bit depressed. So in other words, it's perfect. This is it. I like to sign me up. So he arranges an interview. And I think like most of us, I hadn't read Postons high school.

I associate him with Vincent Price and Apes with razor blades and ravens and all. So I, but so I had to bone up. So the week before I memorized Annabelle Lee, I tried to memorize the bells. That doesn't go so well. I read a biography. It's really depressing and sad and short, violent life. But I throw myself at the Bronx Historical Society. I say, I impose number one fan. As long as I don't have to wear a frot coat and a fake mustache

and recite the raven every weekend, I can do this. This is my destiny. And they say, well, a lot of people feel the same way you do Matthew. When they hear the words, free rent, people get a little crazy, you know. But we take this very seriously. You need to know your poem, history, and we also need you to sign this contract that says you will not leave after a month. And then you'll stay at least a year. And I leave after a month like, why would anyone leave?

And I just made off color joke. I was like, why? If caretakers gone mad in the po'house. And they said, no, no, nothing, that bad. Nothing that bad. But we just would like you to consider yourself. People forget that this job is very hard. And the Bronx can be a very isolating place.

And caretakers, their adjustment has been, we want you to consider yourself an ambassador to the neighborhood. But don't let the neighborhood know you live in the house. Just security purposes, privacy issues, all right. So the, okay, I can do that. So a month later, I'm awarded the position of care, taker and head docent, and ambassador to the Bronx. Me, it sounded ridiculous, it was ridiculous.

And then I took the four train up to the northern Bronx. I got off a Kingsbridge road and Headed east and I'm hearing Jamaican accents, Korean accent, Mexican Bengali, Pakistani, and Wow, I am the outsider here like this. I do have to be an ambassador. How am I gonna make a 19th century poet? You know relative to the 21st century global community. This is a bit much. I get up to the Grand Concourse. It's four lanes of north, south, traffic, hissing, back, and forth. And there's the cottage across the street,

a little 19th century, clapboard farmhouse. It looked like a little house on the prairie, the urban addition. It was just like, did not belong there. And so I was like, all right, I'm into this. So I cross the street and there's a young man on the corner with a very pronounced limp and he zeroes right in on me. He's like, what's up, man? What do you need? No, I'm good. Thank you. I walk on by and I realize, oh, that must be the local heroin dealer. I move into the basement,

sure enough, has only got one window. It looks right out on this corner. I can see this guy doing his thing. And I ran into him every morning, because Po did not pay. I had to get another job, downtown. So I had to get up early, the cracker dawn for the commute, and I'd walk out to the gate. The property was encircled. It was in a little city park and it was encircled by a locked gate. I called it the gated community of one. And I'd go out the gate, walk up the corner, and I'd see this guy every morning. Every morning he'd say the same thing.

What's up, man? What do you need? I'm good. We did this about four or five times before he got the hit. But there's still this tension between the two of us every morning, because from his vantage point, he could tell where most people were coming from in the neighborhood.

But for the life of him, I know he can never figure out where the hell I'm coming from, because the cottage is right there in the middle of nothing, and I would just pop out and go, boof. Here I am, little drug free ghost just floating on by. And we'd look at each other. Mutually, I know he thought I was a narc, or he's just thinking, if this kid's not here at 5am to buy drugs, what is he doing here? He does not belong, and I didn't belong. It was so hard to become a part of that neighborhood. And then I started my job

as dosant at the house, and that is even harder. I started in the middle of winter. And the only people that come to the northern Bronx in the winter to see Poe's house are the hardcore Poe fanatics. Scholars, historians, PhDs, and actors, who are portraying Poe, and I am am getting drilled and some of them have been there

before like oh so you're the new guy huh? What can you tell me about the Griswald scandal and its effect on Poe's reputation and I'm like oh you know did you write the pen to the pendulum here no Phil Delphi are you're wrong so it just you and I would mixing up my dates and I'm left and right and sometimes if I didn't know the answer I would just make stuff up you you know? Did post-smoke opium? Yeah, sure of course he did. That sounds great. Yeah, so and I'd get a call from the historical society and Matt just stick to the facts, alright? And be diplomatic and

But it was particularly hard to be diplomatic with one breed of visitors that showed up at my door occasionally. And one such gentleman shows up on a Sunday afternoon in the winter. He's got a little pot belly and a beard and glasses. And halfway through my spiel, he says, let me just stop you. Let me just stop you. Let me ask you something. Do you really consider Poe to be a major American poet? And nobody had ever asked my personal opinion. I'd just been regurgitating facts. So I said, yes, yes, I do.

And he's like, well, it's unfortunate that you feel that way because I consider him second rate personally. But I understand why you have to say that because you're working here. You have to defend him. He's your author. I understand that because I look after historical house too. It's like, oh you do. In fact, it's an author's house. I was like, oh, pray tell. Who is your author?

Oh, you might have heard of him. Goes by the name of Walt Whitman. Yes. Now, historically, keep in mind, Whitman did not like Poe's poetry. He thought it was a little too dark for America. So here it is. The rivalry, the modern incarnation.

And by this time, I have gone completely native. My hair is out like this. I got mutton shop cyburns. I'm drinking a lot. I'm angry and I'm lashing out at my critics. I am po. I'm like, second rate, huh? You know, I've always felt Walt Whitman was a pretentious gas bag.

You think the guy I never heard of a period, free verse? Oh, you know, I don't really feel this way, but I am not myself anymore. I am possessed, and it works. He's like, you can't say that about Whitman. I was like, oh, welcome to the Bronx, pal. That's how we do things here. And I would, this conversation would happen.

I'd get into arguments with rival caretakers from other literary homesteads. It exists and I would get angry, I'd do about it. I would like, why does the Washington Irving House and Sleepy Hollow get all the non-profit funding? Because they got some headless horsemen, oh, Philistines, you know, it's like, and I, you know, I'm becoming more passionate, but also slightly more unhinged. And I'm getting buried alive every other weekend

by snowstorms, which cover up that one window, leaving me with no natural light. And by the time springtime arrives, I am pale and hairy. I'm like a hybrid dating grizzly bearer, like coming out of my den, I'm hungry, I'm angry, and I want human connection. And with spring, come the buds, you know, the trees, and, but also the local people start coming through the park. They walk through the park and they see me sitting on the porch. I'm like, all right, ambassador, I could do this, right? And they come by,

oh, we didn't know this was a museum, and they walk right up. But their number one question is, do you have a bathroom? Yes, I do, but I can't tell you that I have, no, I don't have one. And I'm sitting on the porch one afternoon thinking, how am I going to pull off this ambassador role that is neighboring, which I don't belong? And I'm sitting out there in a gentleman, since it's late in the day on a Sunday, about to close up, and a gentleman comes through the walk.

And I notice he's a very pronounced limp and it's the dealer. I know it is from back in January. This time he doesn't ask me, what do I need? He's like, can I get a tour? I was like, yeah, come on in. So he comes into the parlor, just the two of us now. And my insides are tightly wet like a bed spring. I am so, because he got a little smirk on his face.

And he's looking at me, and everything he asks me is no different than when anyone else has ever asked me, but coming from him, it's completely loaded. He says, yeah, I didn't, I walk past this house every day. I didn't know it was a museum. Yeah, that's me. Well, look at all this furniture. It looks pretty old, is it worth anything? No, no. Nothing. It looks pretty old. Is it worth anything?

No, no nothing. Well, what did Poe right here? Oh, Cask of a Montalado. Oh, that's the one about murder, right? I think they're all about murder, aren't they? I love stories about murder. Well, so do I, who doesn't, right? So, I remember it closes his eyes and puts two fingers up to his temples and gets really quiet, just like this. And he swaves back and forth for a full minute. And I don't know what's going on, you know, what's. And then he opens his eyes, takes those fingers,

oh, his head and points right at me. He says, Once upon a midnight dreary, as I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, as I nodded gently, napping suddenly, there came a wrapping wrapping, and I stand there a gas and listen

to the whole first half of the Raven, not the whole poem, but the whole first half, which is pretty, and he gets to the first never more, and it kind of peeders out, but I certainly did not expect this, and my jaw, I was like, that's impressive. That's fantastic, and he's like, yeah, thanks. I had to memorize that in high school.

I hate that poem That's much and that just broke everything up And we just like everything I've just talked about been some price and horror movies and he's given me suggestions Like well if you like working here, you should go to wood lawn cemetery miles Davis is buried up there and all this other stuff I was just and he's and we're going back at for 20-minute conversation and it's great And then I walk him out to the porch, shakes my hand, get a little smirk on his face, and he's like, you're doing a pretty good job here.

Keep up the good work. By the way, I just got one more question for you. Do you live here? You live in this house? And I really, I really wanted to say yes, because we've had such an honest discussion. But of course, I say no. And he says, well, that's been too bad. It'd be pretty cool living this house.

And I can tell from the way he says that, that I am not fooling him one bit. He knows exactly. But there now seems to be this implicit understanding. Like, I won't tell anyone that you live here by yourself. You don't tell anyone what I do on the corner. Or that I have 19th century poetry memorized. So we leave it at that, you walk off. And of course in that moment we'd flip roles. He's the ambassador, I'm the tourist, and I have just been officially welcomed to the Bronx.

Thank you. AYLTHA Thank you. AYLTHA AYLTHA AYLTHA AYLTHA AYLTHA AYLTHA

AYLTHA AYLTHA AYLTHA AYLTHA That was Matt Mercer. Matt is a writer, storyteller, and adjunct professor in New York City. These days, he's working on a non-historical novel

about pose cottage in the Bronx. He's thinking of calling it pose basement. To see a picture of Matt during the time he worked at the Poe House, visit themoth.org. ["Math of the City"] Next, we're going to hear a story from one of our story slams in St. Paul, where we partner with Minnesota Public Radio. At StorySlam's, tellers interpret the theme of the evening with a true story from their

lives and judges from the audience choose a winner. The theme for this story slam was fish out of water. Here's Jennifer Cohnhorst, live at the Moth. Okay, that's great. So, about two years ago, I took a little mini vacation to Santa Fe, New Mexico. And everybody that I told that I was going there had one piece of advice. And that was, you've got to go to this place, 10,000 waves. It's this beautiful spot, it's Japanese spa.

And it's lovely and you'll love it. So, after my first day of sightseeing, it's a beautiful place, you know, Adobe buildings, blue skies. I thought I'll go there. So I go back to my room and I look up on the internet because I'm like, I don't know what to bring to a spot because I'm not a spa person because I'm staying at a hostel

that costs 20 bucks a night. That gives you an idea. And it's like, you know, everything you need is provided, towels, you know, robes, slippers and clothing is optional. And I'm like, it's an option you need is provided, towels, you know, robes, slippers, and clothing is optional. And I'm like, it's an option. It's an option to not work close. It's not an option that I'd considered.

And so I considered it. And I considered it all the way there. And while I was checking in, I'm like, I don't know. It's kind of weird. It's naked. And I decided, you know, in the locker room, leave the bathing suit in the locker, and I'll do this. Because like, why not?

I'm never going to see these people again. It's, you know, it's the chance to try something new. So I, you know, put on my little robe and slippers and I go up and it's a little dark pathway lit by Japanese lanterns. It is, you know, to its credit very beautiful place. And I get to the area where the hot tub and sauna are, and you pay a day right to go there. And it's evening, and it's dark, and I get to the area, and I'm like, why was I worried? I can hardly see my feet. And I sort of feel my way to the hot tub and slip in, and there's like three, six-year-old guys in the hot tub, and I'm like, I don't care about you, and I don't think you care about

me. And so, this is a no big deal, and I look up, and the Milky Way is just stretched out and a clearing in the trees. And I'm like, why would you even look at anything else? But that's gorgeous. So I sit in the hot tub. I go in the cold plunge. I go in the sauna.

I take a cold shower. And I just I'm blissed out. I just love it. I fall in love with the experience so much that I want to go back the next day. But I want to go back during the daytime because I want to spend more time. And I'm going to go to the all-women's area because I'm naked and it's daytime. So I just really kind of want to be around women.

So I go through the whole ritual, you know, robes, slippers, and I walk up this winding path to the area. And I go through the gate. And when I walk through, I remember thinking, I need to see or this image into my brain, so that I can tell my straight male friends about it. Because there are like 12 nude and semi-nude women, and they are like the goddesses of Santa Fe. They are long and life and tan and muscular,

and they have the kind of body that requires like decades of good genes and millions of dollars. And this is probably a good time for me to talk a little bit about my body, by contrast. I'm a corn fed Midwestern girl, I'm five feet tall, and I'm 41, and I've had two children, and there has not been a lot of course correction throughout the last decades. So you know, I'm fat, and I'm fat, not like dog buty-ad fat. I'm fat, like rolls and dimples and, you know, things. And these women, I'm sure, are like,

they think fat is a myth, but I'm, you know, here I am. So, but I'm not easily daunted. So I'm like, you know, Roboth, I go into the hot tub. And I settle into the experience. And this really beautiful woman comes out. She's fair skinned, red hair. And she walks out and she's really tentative and really shy. And I look at her and I recognize something because I know it in myself.

And she hates her body. And I'm looking at her and I have no idea why, because she is beautiful. And but I know I'm like, there's something she's ashamed of. She hates and it makes me really sad. So I get up and I go into the sauna, and I lay down on the wood slats, and if you've ever taken a sauna, you know, you kind of release tension by degrees,

and you can kind of feel it kind of coming out of your body. And with every breath, I just started to think about all of the things that my body had done for me over the years. I had built two beautiful children in my body. I had burr the two children without drugs. One of them, 10.4 pounds. Thank you very much. Yeah.

Yeah, that's that. That's my body. And I had eaten all this delicious food with my body. I'd walked in foreign countries with my body. I had had really exceptional sexual experiences with my body. I had gotten a this delicious food with my body. I'd walked in foreign countries with my body. I had had really exceptional sexual experiences with my body, and I had gotten a lot of pleasure from my body. I had also treated my body not with the most respect.

I had really pushed the envelope and drug and alcohol abuse. I smoked cigarettes, I don't exercise. And in return, my body continues to perform with some regularity. And that's pretty amazing to me. And in return for that kindness, I hate my body. I just loathe it. And I loathe it because the way that I feel on the inside

is such a vast difference from the way I look on the outside. And I don't know how to bridge that difference. And so I sit in with every breath. I just try to release this feeling. And I get up and I walk out to the deck area and it's like 40 degrees, it's December. So I'm hot and the steam rising off my body, which is cool. And the wind is blowing and blowing through my pubic hair, which is a thing. Really? It happens.

And I'm like out there naked in the world, in nature. And I have this thought. It's like, I don't have a body. I am a body. And when I hate my body, I hate all of the things that make me who I am. And I got us to Santa Fe. Doesn't have time for that.

Thank you. Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Jennifer Cohnhorst is a mother, writer, ad maven, and her words, low-rent Bonn-Vivont. We asked her for a photo from the trip, but she said, for obvious reasons, cameras were not allowed.

When we come back, what it was like to show up for work at the World Trade Center on September 11th. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by the Public Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jennifer Hickson from the Moth. The Moth's community program sometimes works with nonprofits in New York and we're very proud of our relationship with the 9-11 Tribute Center where we met our next storyteller, Erlene Alexander. Here's Erlene live at the mall. So my mom, my mom and I, we were very close. We were so close that we would have dinner together almost every night, even after I moved out,

someone had to feed me. And we talk every day, and we'd always, in our conversation, have something to laugh about. And that laugh would get us through today, or sometimes through the week. We even worked for the same company at the World Trade Center. She worked in engineering on a 70- second floor, and I worked in aviation. So, she got to work really early though.

730. Me and the rest of the world, we got to work at about 930, 945, 10. But on this beautiful day in September, 9.45, 10. But on this beautiful day in September, I remember being the loveliest day. I had to be at work early. So since I had to be at work early, I said, I'm going to surprise my mom,

and I'm going to show by her desk with a cup of coffee, light and sweet, like like she likes it and I'm going to say well who has bankers hours now and I say that because I recall that she used to always tease me about having bankers hours she's like you know you just cannot get to work before 10 can you well today I am, I make my way to the World Trade Center. I get to the concourse where all the stores are. And I look and I just wonder, like, who are all these people up so early?

The concourse is full of people. And the coffee line is so much longer than I usually have it. But I stand in line, I get the coffee because I am determined to surprise my mom on this day. So I make my way to the 44th floor. Because at the 44th floor, you have to change over to the next set of elevators. So I'm headed to the next set of elevators to get to my mom's floor. And I see in one of the elevators my work mom, Margaret. And I see that she's talking to our friend Dan,

who's the secretary of our company. So they're talking and laughing. And I don't know, what are they talking about? I want to know. So I try to catch up to them. And just as I get to the elevator, it closes in my face. They couldn't have seen me. Because if they did, they would have held the elevator.

And then I would have been laughing too. So there's a waiting for the next elevator. And then I would have been laughing too. So I'm waiting for the next elevator. All of a sudden the building shook violently and it leaned to the side and bounced back. What was that? What is going on around me? Glass is cracking and shattering and people are just moving so fast. I don't know what's going on, but I hear a voice coming from the stairwell. Let's get out of here. Let's get off this floor. We have to go.

So we go into the stairwell and is calm, is quiet. It's almost like one of our periodical fire drills, evacuation drills. The only thing you can hear in the stairwell where people walking down the stairs. We still didn't really know what was going on. I was just hoping that the elevators were working when we had to come back in. So we get down to the concourse and we open a door to the concourse and there's nothing but flashing strobe lights and alarms going off and a police officer pushing us out of the office building, yet out of this office building, get out quickly. So I step out of the office building

and there's paper coming from the sky. I step out a little further and I look back up at the building and there's a cloud of smoke coming from one of the floors. That's a really bad office fire. I wonder how that happened. And then all of a sudden I feel myself being pushed again, pushed across the street, get away from the building.

So I go to the corner directly across the street from the building. And then I notice I still have my mom's coffee. I still have a chance to give my mom her coffee as soon as she comes out of this building. So I'm waiting and I'm looking at each and every face coming out of that building. I didn't see my mom. Two of my coworkers come up to me and they say, well, we have to leave this area. I say, yeah, I'll leave. As soon as my mom comes and then we can all walk together. Wait with me. So they indulge me for a minute and then they convince me that I have to leave. And so we're walking, and then I don't know how it slipped my mind

that I'm still holding coffee. My hand has a tight grip on his coffee, because in my mind, I'm still looking for my mom because I need to get her this coffee. And I'm looking at every face going by me. I'm looking at every face in every crowd. And I still don't see my mom.

So then a man comes and runs by us. Take cover of buildings about the fall. So we go into a store. And as soon as we walk in the store, and I look out the window, I always send like a nuclear explosion, dust and smoke, just like takes over the whole area. I can no longer see the buildings. I can no longer see the people. So when a dust cleared, I was really concerned because my mom had asthma really bad.

And all this smoke and dust going on, I just wanted to find her. Well, my cell phone wasn't working. No one's cell phone was working, so I couldn't call her. So, we went to find a pay phone. Every pay phone had like 10,000 people online. And so, finally, I'm going to sit at this pay phone and wait online with everyone else. So, I get to the phone. I call my mom's house, I'm gonna sit at this pay phone and wait online with everyone else. So I get to the phone.

I call my mom's house to see if anyone there is hurt from her. No answer. I call my grandmother's house to see if anyone's hurt from her on that side. I talk to my aunt. They're so happy to hear from me. And I'm just kind of like, yeah, that's good. But have you talked to my mom? And they were like, no, we were hoping that she would be with you. So I hang up and I keep walking.

At this point, I'm walking towards the Penn Station area to pow train. So I get to the pow station. And as they were telling me what was going on, I was still like, I couldn't believe it. That really happened. So I'm on the first train back to New Jersey. We come out at a tunnel and it's hard to believe how such a beautiful morning, a beautiful

morning, produced such a dark night. So I get to my mom's house and I notice that it's even darker. And I notice that because the portrait light isn't on. The portrait light is always on at my mom's house. What is going on? So, I ring the bell and my dad answers the door and he has tears in his eyes and he gives me the biggest tightest hug ever And he's so glad to see me

And I'm so glad to be home and see him And I'm so glad to be home and see him. But I need to know, did you see my mom? Is my mom home? Did you hear from her? So he backs up and he says, just come inside. My heart went to my stomach. But I followed him inside and I looked in the living room and my mom was there. And we hugged each other so tight and all of our emotions came out and I just realized that that moment, I was really scared that I had lost her.

And then I also thought as I stepped back, how'd you get home before me? But that day, I mean, I was like the luckiest person in the world. So many people were lost, mothers, daughters. My work mom Margaret and my friend Dan, they never made it out that elevator. But I missed that. I don't know why I missed the elevator. but I am very happy and very glad that I still get to talk with my mom every day. I still get to go to dinner.

And I still get to get her a cup of coffee, light and sweet whenever I want. Thank you. That was O'Lean Alexander. O'Lean works at the Aviation Department at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey. Through work she spends a lot of time at the Newark Airport, where they have a 9-11 memorial. She says every time she sees it, her eyes go immediately to the names of her friends from the elevator, Margaret and Dan. She also keeps a photo of them as her screensaver.

Eileen's mother, who still lives in nearby New Jersey, was in the audience the night Eileen told her story, which is significant because it was the first time she'd stepped foot back in New York City since the day of the attacks nearly 12 years earlier. Her mom loved hearing the story but hasn't been back since. To see a picture of Eileen and her mother or to get a link to the 9-11 Tribute Center visit the radio extras page at theMoth.org. If any of the stories you hear today inspire you to share one of your own, please pitch us. The number to call is 877-799-Moth, or you can do it right on our website, theMoth.org.

We're also on Facebook and Twitter at theMoth. That's it for the month radio hour. We hope you'll join us next time. Your host this hour was the Moth Senior Producer Jennifer Hickson. Jennifer also directed the stories in the show along with Bonnie Levison. The rest of the most directorial staff includes Katherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Janess and Meg Bulls, production support from Whitney Jones. Most stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Moth Events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City, supervised by Paul Rewest. Our theme music is by the Drift, other music in this hour from Tin Hat Trio, Dave Matthews, Freddie Price, and

Lawless Music. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Moth is produced for radio by me, Jay Allison, at Atlantic Public Media, in Woods Hole Massachusetts, with help from Vicki Merrick. 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. Moth Radio Hour is presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org,

for more about our podcast for information on pitching your own story and for everything else go to our website, DUMBOTH.org. you