O’Grady vs. Cereghino: First-Ever National Story SLAM-Off

Summary

Summary of "O’Grady vs. Cereghino: First-Ever National Story SLAM-Off" Episode of The Moth Podcast

Release Date: November 24, 2008
Podcast Title: The Moth
Host: Dan Kennedy
Episode Title: O’Grady vs. Cereghino: First-Ever National Story SLAM-Off

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Introduction

In this special episode of The Moth Podcast, host Dan Kennedy presents the first-ever National Story SLAM-Off, featuring two compelling storytellers: Jim O’Grady from New York and Josh Cheragino from Los Angeles. Both storytellers competed at the annual Mothball event, vying for the title of the Moth Grand Slam Storytelling Championship before advancing to the national stage.

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Story 1: Jim O’Grady – "Viva Lamoth"

Overview: Jim O’Grady recounts his adventurous journey as a journalist at Fordham University in the Bronx. His tale intertwines journalistic integrity, campus politics, and a humorous yet poignant exploration of personal identity and the unintended consequences of storytelling.

Key Points:

1. Journalistic Encounter:
   O’Grady begins by describing his role as a reporter for the student newspaper, The Ram, at Fordham University. He narrates an intense encounter with Dean McGowan, the architect behind a controversial tuition hike policy. [02:21]

2. The Pie Incident:
   During a confrontation with Dean McGowan, an unexpected event unfolds—a figure affectionately dubbed "Pie Man" assaults the Dean with a cream pie. This dramatic moment becomes a pivotal story for O’Grady, blending reality with creative embellishment. [02:21 - 09:28]

3. Creation of Pie Man:
   To spice up his reportage, O’Grady invents a character, Pie Man, portraying him as a masked avenger with a quirky Latin catchphrase, "ego sum non an bistia," meaning "I am not an animal." This embellishment captivates readers and ignites campus buzz. [02:21 - 09:28]

4. Unexpected Consequences:
   The fabricated persona leads to real-life repercussions when "Pieman" nearly surfaces during a campus event, leaving O’Grady grappling with his identity and the blurred lines between his storytelling and reality. [09:28]

Notable Quotes:

• “Reporters call this making shit up, and they recommend against crossing that line.” – Jim O’Grady [04:15]

• “I am not Pai Man. As far as I knew, I had never seen the guy out of costume.” – Jim O’Grady [08:45]

• “She had been flirting with her and with such nuance that there was a question about whether she knew I existed.” – Jim O’Grady [08:45]

Insights: O’Grady’s story highlights the ethical dilemmas journalists may face when balancing factual reporting with creative storytelling. It underscores the impact of narrative embellishment and its potential to blur personal and professional boundaries.

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Story 2: Josh Cheragino – "Love Letter from Ventura Jail"

Overview: Josh Cheragino shares a vivid and humorous account of his tumultuous experience with love, incarceration, and poetic expression. His story captures the chaos of youth, the complexities of romantic relationships, and the unexpected friendships formed in the least likely places.

Key Points:

1. Youth and Rebellion:
   Cheragino introduces himself as a 19-year-old poet from Thousand Oaks, California, whose rebellious streak leads him to petty crimes like stealing a golf cart, culminating in his arrest and subsequent probation. [10:00]

2. Love and Consequences:
   His romantic pursuit of Karen Johnson, an English major and poetry enthusiast, leads to grand gestures such as stealing roses, resulting in his arrest and a brief stint in Ventura County Jail. [10:00 - 13:50]

3. Jail Dynamics:
   Inside the jail, Cheragino navigates the perilous environment filled with diverse inmates, including recidivist drunk drivers and outlaw flower thieves. He faces potential violence from a fellow inmate, Little Sleepy, compelling him to channel his fear and longing into poetry. [10:00 - 13:50]

4. Unexpected Alliances:
   Through his creative expression, Cheragino forms an unlikely friendship with "Junior," a 300-pound Samoan inmate, and gains the respect of "Biker Dan," the head of the Aryan Brotherhood in the jail. These relationships play a crucial role in his survival and eventual release. [10:00 - 16:39]

5. Reflection and Growth:
   Upon release, Cheragino reflects on his experiences, recognizing the unintended consequences of his actions and the profound impact of his time in jail on his personal and romantic life. [16:39]

Notable Quotes:

• “Why the fuck didn't I just buy the roses?” – Josh Cheragino [12:30]

• “I am so humiliated.” – Josh Cheragino [13:50]

• “If you've got nothing better to do for six to 18 months, you're going to play like Gary fucking Kasparov.” – Josh Cheragino [12:45]

Insights: Cheragino’s narrative delves into themes of love, regret, and redemption. It portrays how youthful impulsiveness can lead to unexpected challenges and how creative expression can forge meaningful connections even in the most adverse circumstances.

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Conclusion

The National Story SLAM-Off episode of The Moth Podcast showcases the art of storytelling through the engaging and heartfelt narratives of Jim O’Grady and Josh Cheragino. Both storytellers adeptly blend humor, personal anecdotes, and introspection to convey their unique experiences. O’Grady’s tale underscores the ethical intricacies of journalism, while Cheragino’s story highlights the resilience of the human spirit amidst adversity. This episode exemplifies The Moth’s mission to present genuine, live stories that resonate with diverse audiences.

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Notable Production Details

• Audio Production: Paul Ruwest at the Argo Network.
• Podcast Sponsorship: LivePerson.com provided sponsorship, emphasizing their world of experts platform.
• Listener Engagement: The episode encourages listeners to engage with the storytellers' performances and share their opinions via email.

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Final Thoughts

"O’Grady vs. Cereghino: First-Ever National Story SLAM-Off" is a testament to the power of storytelling in connecting individuals through shared experiences. Whether navigating the corridors of academia or the unpredictable environment of a jail cell, both storytellers offer intimate glimpses into their lives, inviting listeners to reflect, empathize, and find humor in the human condition.

Transcript

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[Dan Kennedy]

Welcome to the Moth Podcast Hi, I'm Dan Kennedy. The Moth features true stories told live without notes. All stories on the Moth Podcast are taken from our ongoing storytelling series in New York and Los Angeles and from our tour shows across the country. Visit themoth.org this podcast is brought to you by liveperson.com liveperson.com, a world of Experts this week we're featuring not one story, but two shorter stories. The storytellers were competing in the first ever National Story slam off Jim O'Grady representing New York, and Josh Cheragino, representing Los Angeles at the annual Mothball last Tuesday. This first story is by Jim O'Grady, who won the Moth Grand Slam Storytelling Championship in New York this spring, advancing him to the National Slam Off.

[Jim O'Grady]

Viva Lamoth. And this is my story. I began my illustrious career in journalism in the Bronx, where I toiled as a hardballed reporter for the Ram, the student newspaper at Fordham University. And one day I'm walking toward the campus center and out comes the elusive Dean McGowan, architect of a policy to replace Fordham's traditionally working to middle class students with wealthier, more prestigious ones. So I whip out my notebook and I go up to him and I say, Dean McGowan, is it true that Fordham University plans to raise tuition substantially above the inflation rate? And if so, wouldn't that be a betrayal of its mission? And he stops and looks at me and he says, listen up, punk. And right then, there's a blur in the corner of my eye, which becomes this figure holding a cream pie, which becomes the guy standing next to me mashing a cream pie into Dean McGowan's face and then runs away. And the Dean is covered with cream. So I give him a moment, and then I say, Dean McGowan, would you care to comment on this latest attack? And the Dean says, yes, I would care to comment. Fuck you. So I race back to the newsroom with my scoop, and I find the editor, Jim Dwyer, who's a senior, and he will go on to win a Pulitzer Prize. That is true. And he's a big guy. I pitch him my story, I tell him what I've seen, and he says, Dean McGowan, that guy's a dick. Write it up. So I'm banging out my story, and I know it's good, and then I start to make it better by adding an element of embellishment. Reporters call this making shit up, and they recommend against crossing that line. But I had just seen the line crossed between a high powered Dean and a salt with a pastry, and I kind of liked it. So the first thing I did was I gave the figure a name. I called him Pie Man, Capital P, capital M. And I described him as a cape wearing Masked Avenger, though in fact, he'd been capeless. And I said that as he fled the scene, he clicked his heels in rakish glee and I gave him a catchphrase in Latin. I said that he cried out, ego sum non an bistia, which means, I am not an animal, which makes no sense. I needed something. I'm Catholic. Latin just comes to me. So I finish my story and I hand it to Dwyer, and he reads it and he says, pie Man, I love it. Page one. And that's how the first line got crossed. A few days later, I get a letter. It says, dear Jim, good story, nice details. If you want to see me again in action, be on the steps of Duane Library, Tuesday at 3:00. Signed Pieman. So I was there with a photographer from the Ram, and sure enough, out comes Sheila Beale, Student body President. Sheila was different from me and all the other Fordham students who wore flannel shirts and worked part time jobs. Sheila was well bred. Sheila had school spirit. Sheila was the kind of student that Dean McGowan wanted more of, although rumor had it that he got plenty of her in his office on his desk. But that's just a rumor. Please do not spread that outside this room. I myself would never say that. But the fact was, Sheila had collaborated with the dean to ban outdoor drinking on campus. The infamous no more beer at barbeques rule. That's right, boo. That rule. Sheila thought drinking in public was in poor taste. I think you know what happened next. Pie man emerged from behind the late night library Dropbox, made his delivery and fled away crying, ego sum non al bestia. Or at least that's what it said in my story in the newspaper the next day, which ran with a photo of him leaving the scene, cape flowing behind him doing this. And that's what made him a sensation on campus. People started dressing like him and quoting him in class. The Ram ran five major stories about Pie man, all of them by me. And toward the end of this run, I was out at a bar one night and I came in. I saw in the corner Angela from my Brit lit class drinking with some friends. And now Angela and I had been flirting for two months, or I had been flirting with her and with such nuance that there was a question about whether she knew I existed. So I saw her there and made a mental note to do nothing about it. And then I went to the bar to buy a round, and I felt a tap on my shoulder, and it was her. And she said, jim, we were just talking about how you always seem to know when and where pieman will strike. And we were wondering, are you pie Man? And I knew by the way she said it, I knew that if I said yes, she would have sex with me. And wasn't I really pie man for having brought him into being? Didn't she only know about him through me? But she had asked me a straightforward question that came with a straightforward answer. In fact, I wasn't Pai Man. As far as I knew, I had never seen the guy out of costume. So I looked at her and I said, yes, Angela, I am Pai Man. And she said, oh, good. Now buy me a beer and tell me all about it.

[Dan Kennedy]

Jim O'Grady is a research director at the center for an Urban Future, a think tank in lower Manhattan, and the author of Dorothy Day with Love for the Poor and co author of Disarmed and Dangerous the Radical Lives and Times of Daniel and Philip Berrigan. The second storyteller in the slam off was was Josh Cheragino, who won the moth grand slam in Los Angeles earlier this year. He represented the west coast in the national slamming.

[Josh Cheragino]

When I was 19, bad poetry saved my life. I hail from the mean streets of Thousand Oaks, California, once voted safest city in the Nation. And at the time, I fancied myself 100% underground bohemian outlaw poetry. In reality, I was like 20% dime store baudelaire, 80% pot smoking misfit. The highlight of my days of rage and glory was me stealing a golf cart and joyriding until I was arrested by the police after a brief low speed pursuit. The stoner version of Bullitt earned me a year's probation and community service. And while I'm raking leaves in the orange vest, I meet Karen. Karen Johnson is beautiful. She's sensual. She's an English major who writes poetry, and we fall in love. A month into the summer of bliss, she's transferring to UC Berkeley and heartsick like some suburban John Genet, I go into the Alpha Beta and steal a dozen roses for her and am immediately arrested in the parking lot. I stand tall before the same judge, and he gives me 10 days in the Ventura County Jail. And he says this like it's the chorus of a Johnny Cash song. But I figure, fuck it, man. I'm an outlaw and a rebel and a poet. I read Soul on Ice and I'm doing Time for Love. Three days later, my mother drives me to jail in our 1971 Ford Pinto. She's chain smoking Merritt one hundreds and telling me how disappointed she is. I don't hear her. Karen's leaving in eight days and I won't get to see her go. But the sadness is soon eclipsed by the fear as I in process, the jailers are screaming at me to strip, to lift my sack for delousing, to put the fingers of my hands into my coin slot and get ready for inspection. And as I'm bent over like a hungry chicken pecking for corn, I think, why the fuck didn't I just buy the roses? Now Ventura was largely settled by migrant farm workers come north from Mexico and Okies who had come west from the Dust bowl to work in the oil fields, hence the name Ventuckee. And while the jail had its smattering of, like, recidivist drunk drivers and outlaw flower thieves, these two groups largely made up the population of the jail. It was like a fucking high school. They ran the place. But instead of settling grudges like at the big game or with a freestyle dance jam, the popular kids settled them by stabbing each other in the neck with pencils. So I'm really afraid now. And I'm walking small up to my cell. I meet my cellmate, Junior. 300 pounds of brooding Samoan, contrary to my worst nightmare, is the nicest guy in the world. But the fear is intense and the longing for Karen overwhelming. And I take it and I channel it into a poem called Love Letter from Ventura Jail. I take a 45 second shower and go to bed. And in the morning, I mail the letter and I go to breakfast. And Junior says, pick up your apple, explaining that goods and services in the jail are paid for. Things like tubes of toothpaste and razor blades and fruit cups. On the way back to the cell, I make eye contact with a vato named Little Sleepy. He stands up and he shouts, fuck you looking at, bitch? Show me your keys. And I'm paralyzed. And he says, I'm gonna beat your ass. Now. In the cell, Junior explains that direct eye contact is a challenge. Show me your keys means where are you from? Who are you with here? And then I'm gonna have to fight Little Sleepy or they'll be all over me for 10 days. It's a matter of pride and honor and dignity. And I cower in my cell at lunch, thinking that I'm gonna die by the hands of a man named for one of the least menacing of the seven dwarfs. Okay, so. But Junior comes back in a couple hours and he says, you got a free pass, dude.

[Dan Kennedy]

Little sleep.

[Josh Cheragino]

He caught himself. He went to the hospital for at least a week. I can finally breathe. And I walk down across the pod and I see a mountain of a biker sitting at a table towering a head above his henchmen. He's got 88 tattooed on his hand. He's got lightning bolts on his neck and vice marks across his chest, which means white pride. He's got a chessboard in front of him. And I think, ah, fuck it, man. I'm a letter man of letters. I played some chess. Here's my chance to gain some street cred. I pay an apple and we play chess. And if you've. If you've got nothing better to do for six to 18 months, you're going to play like Gary fucking Kasparov. His chess game takes my chess game out to the yard and stabs it to death in the heart before grudge raping it. I am so humiliated. But I stand up and he says, hey, college boy, you want to buy a poem? And I look and I read my words, but they've been changed. Where it said, we'll be together, though I won't be there with you, it now says, we'll get so fucking high and then we'll fuck too. And I said, hey, I wrote this. Junior cuts in bag of apples, three pudding cups and Biker Dan, the head of the Aryan Brotherhood in the Ventura County Jail, drops an apple in the bag and looks at me with respect. I asked my new friend and benefactor without too much eye contact what to do about Little Sleepy and he says maintain your kick, explaining that good behavior they'll shave three days off my 10 day sentence. I don't have to fight Little Sleepy and Karen and I get our train station farewell. Two nights later I walk down to dinner and the pod is silent. All eyes are on me and I look where the vatos are and Little Sleepy's back, arms crossed, stone faced but to the right in the middle of a long table sits Biker Dan, henchmen to the left, minions to the right. It's like the last fucking supper. Mine maybe, I don't know. With an up nod of the chin he calls me over to an empty seat beside him and I sit down at the right hand of my jailhouse savior and he says, be cool. Little Sleepy wants to talk and I'm shaking, which he takes for a nod. Little Sleepy comes over, rocks back on one heel, throws his hands up and says that poem was badass. Could you write me one to get my little ruka back? And I'm thinking, how many fucking apples is this thing worth? But I write a vulgar poem for Little Sleepy's woman. I get the three day kick and as mom and I are driving up the camera grade in silence, she hands me a letter and without opening it I know Karen is through with me and a year later I'm studying at UC Berkeley. I meet her on Sproul Plaza and we talk about the breakup and she says, you know, it wasn't so much that you went to jail for stealing flowers, it was the bad poetry. Thank you.

[Dan Kennedy]

Josh Chiaragino is a writer who lives in Los Angeles, travels extensively, and surfs as much as possible. At the Mothball, a team of eight celebrity judges chose Josh Cheragino as the winner. Do you agree with the judges? Email [e-mail] and let us know what you think. Moth Story Slams are held on the first Tuesday of every month at Tangier in Los Angeles and three times per month in New York. Story Slam winners advance to compete in our Grand Slams. To learn more about this and all of the Moth's upcoming shows and our corporate events and training program, Visit our website, themoth.org and please tell us what you thought of today's episode. Tell us what you think of the Moth podcast in general. What do you love? What do you hate? What would you like to hear more of or less of? Email [e-mail] thanks to all of you for listening. We hope you'll have a story worthy week. Podcast Audio production by Paul Ruwest at the Argo Network.

[Josh Cheragino]

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