Ted Conover (8:08)

To.

Bilal Mubarak (8:11)

But my flight is non refundable, so I can't change it. And I think it's too late for her to be on my flight. Sorry, I can't. And she looks at me and she says, that's not a problem. I bought both of your tickets at the same time. I look at her and I say, okay, fine. I'm only Taking that one bag of hers and nothing else, and I walk off. Two weeks, two days before the flight, I walk into the living room and I see my suitcase. It's on the left side of the living room and it's fully closed and filled. Next to it is my grandmother's bag, and it's also completely filled and closed.

Kathryn Burns (8:54)

And.

Bilal Mubarak (8:55)

And on the floor, I see my mother sitting next to my grandmother, and they're filling two extra suitcases. And I look at them and I say, what is this? And my mother looks at me and says, they're not yours. Mind your own business. And I say, no, whose bags are these? And my grandmother gives her some kind of signal to, like, say, I got this. My grandmother looks at me and says, these are for your cousins and they're my responsibility, not yours. I look at her and my grandmother can barely take care of herself, and she's my responsibility. And my cousins, they're six years old and four years old, and if they're her responsibility, they're my responsibility too. I can't say this, so I look at them and I say, no, okay, besides these two bags, I'm not taking anything else. And that's final. The day of the flight comes. We're at JFK airport and we're done with the whole check in, and we're waiting by security checkpoint. And because my grandmother is flying, the whole family is there to see her off. So my two little cousins, my uncle, his wife, my mother, my father, my two brothers, and my grandmother, and all there were saying goodbye. And my two little cousins each has one of those little string bags. One of them is blue and it says mermaid, little Mermaid. And the second one is pink and says princess. And I have my carry on, which is a duffel bag. And because my grandmother can barely walk anymore, she has to have a carry on, but I'm carrying it for her. So I have two bags, and they're kind of heavy, so I put them down and I hug everyone goodbye. And then afterwards, I go to my uncle, I say goodbye, and then I go pick up my two bags off the ground, put them onto my shoulder. And my uncle picks up three bags off the ground and tries to hand them to me. And I quickly grab my chest and pull back. I'm like, what is that? And he says, oh, they're gifts for your cousins in Egypt. And each bag is a totally different shape and size. One is a square, the other is a duffel bag, and the third one is a messenger bag with a long strap going to the Floor. And I look at him. I'm like, what's in those bags? And he says, oh. And one thing about my uncle is he hoards just like my mother and my grandmother, and will only give things away if they think the people they're giving it to will put them to good use. And he looks at me and says, oh, this is a VHS player. There's two camcorders and a few Sony Walkman CD players. And I look at him and I say, it's 2009. They all have smartphones. No one even knows what this is. And I stood my ground. I said, no, I'm not taking these. And I turned around and started walking towards the the gates. From the corner of my eye, my grandmother passes me and says, these children don't appreciate anything. I'll take the bags. I turn around, and she goes to my uncle and tries to wrestle the bags out of his hand. He looks at me like it's my fault. She takes it out of his hand and she tries to walk, and she limps away. I look at this, and I see that this is happening. So I run over there and I grab the bags. I'm like, give me the bags. I'll take them. Now I'm carrying five bags. We walk towards the gate, and I look at my cousin, and she looks really stressed out. I look at her and I'm like, what's wrong? And she says, my bag is kind of heavy. I can't carry it. So I say, give me the bag. So I take on the bag. Now I'm carrying six bags. Her sister looks at me and says, mine, too. Mine is heavy, too. So I give me the bag. So now I'm carrying seven bags onto the plane. And the long strap of the messenger bag is hitting the back of my leg. So now I'm limping. I walk onto the flight so mad. I put everything above my head in the compartment, lock it. I sit down, put my headphones on, and I don't speak to anyone for the whole flight. We get to Egypt, and I take all the luggage up to my grandmother's house, and I walk outside to get a fresh breath of air. And I come back and I say, hi, but my grandmother doesn't hear me. She's talking to my aunt. And they're both talking, and I can't really tell what they're saying, but then I hear my name being called. So I listen closely, and they're talking about me in a way that isn't pleasant. And I listen. And my grandmother uses this word. She calls me hengil. And hengil is an Arabic word that I can't translate to English because it means a few things. It can mean arrogant, perfectionist, selfish, rebellious, to be honest. It's not a real word. It's a word my father made up to put me down. So it could mean. It could mean anything. But my grandmother calls me that and it was hurtful. This is the first time she ever said anything mean about me. If there's one rule in a family, it's the children are off limits. She only spoke badly about adults and that's when it hit me. She only spoke badly about adults. Thank you.

Kathryn Burns (14:40)

That was Bilal Mubarak. Bilal is a poet and writer who was born in Alexandria, Egypt and raised in Queens, New York. He says that writing is how he learned to finish his stories and poetry is how he learned to tell them with the fewest number of words possible. You can find his poetry published in Columbia Poetry Review, Newtown Literary and the Blueshift Journal. Coming up, a son discovers that his law abiding rule following father once lived a very different life when the Moth Radio Hour continues.

Production Team (15:34)

The the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole.

Livegood Speaker (15:39)

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Bilal Mubarak (17:10)

The Apple Watch Series 10 is here.

Ted Conover (17:12)

It has the biggest display ever.

Bilal Mubarak (17:14)

It's also the thinnest Apple watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes.

Apple Watch Speaker (17:27)

The Apple Watch Series 10, available for.

Bilal Mubarak (17:30)

The first time in glossy jet black aluminum compared to previous generations. IPhone XS are later required. Charge time and actual results will vary.

Production Team (17:40)

By prx.

Kathryn Burns (17:44)

This is the Moth radio hour from prx. I'm Kathryn Burns. We're hearing stories that take place in transit. Next up, trains. Ted Conover told this story at the New York Historical Society, a lovely space right off Central park in New York City. The theme of the night was give me liberty. Here's Ted.

Apple Watch Speaker (18:08)

A few years ago, I gave my son a book. It was a book I wrote. It was a book I wrote about riding freight trains. I had done this for a few months as an undergraduate working toward an anthropology degree. It was ethnography. I did it to learn about the people who live on trains. But it was also an adventure. And it became a book written in the first person when he was about 14. I gave him a copy because I wanted him to know a little bit more about me and see this cool thing I had done. And I waited because I couldn't assign him to read it. You can't do that with a book you've written. And so I waited and I waited. And it was about four years later when, to my surprise, on a spring break his senior year of high school, he said, oh, dad, I'm reading your book about riding the rails. And I said, oh, what do you think? He said, it's good so far. And I said, okay. And a few more days went by. And he said, it's awesome. It's an awesome book. And I said, thank you. And a couple more days went by. And he said, dad, you know you wrote that book about riding the rails. Does that mean that I can ride the rails, too? And I thought, shit. It's not that this question hadn't crossed my mind before that that was a possibility. It's just I hadn't pictured being put on the spot. And I couldn't say no because that's hypocritical, right? I did it. Yes, he has the right. But I thought there must be a better answer than yes to something that's illegal and dangerous, like riding a freight train. So I said, well, yes, but how about we do it together? And he said, okay. And I was mostly relieved because I would get to do it with him. But I was also alarmed because I had never thought of doing that thing. But I looked forward to it. We decided we would take our trip that coming summer when we flew to Denver from New York to celebrate my dad's birthday. I grew up in Denver, and a lot of my adventures began from there. And fast forward to the day our trip begins. We are buying food for the journey. We buy power bars. We buy fruit sandwiches, water in jugs, which is, if you are riding the rails, what you need, because you can go a long time between places to eat and drink. And we were going to do this like I did, except the goal wouldn't be to meet those people. It would be to enjoy each other's company and have some fun. In Asa's mind, that's my son's name. Asa pictured himself catching a moving train, as happens in the movies. And in fact, that that was my picture before I ever did it. But I was happy to be able to say no. Real tramps don't catch on the fly unless they have to. They sneak into the yard ahead of time and find a good place to ride, and that's what we'll do. And he said, okay. And so we headed to a yard I had once known quite well. But in 20 years, that had changed. Nine, 11 happened. Fences went up, barbed wire, lights. It was a little bit scarier than it once was. That said, we snuck into the yard. There's still a hole in the fence. We found a place to ride. We waited a couple hours until a brakeman checking that train that was about to leave also discovered us and said to get out of there. That was too bad. But because it was an adventure, we checked into a motel instead of sleeping under a bridge, and went out again to try the next morning. Now, for better or worse, the next morning it was too bright to sneak into the yard, so we had to wait outside a yard for a train that was leaving and, yes, catch it as it went by. So we waited under a bridge. I had done this many times, but always kind of by myself and as a younger man also. But I laid out the plan. I would wait when the train appeared, I would be there. I would locate the car, we would jump on. I would jump if it was always good, then he would jump another 20 yards down the way and we'd be on our way. We waited. We waited two or three hours, and then we heard it. And this is typical of how you know the train is coming. You feel it a minute before you see it. You feel these deep bass vibrations. And then you see the first part of the train. It's several engines connected, this pure energy pulling this giant metal thing forward. The engine is smoking. It came up on us. It goes by. It's picking up speed, and the cars behind it are rocking gently back and forth. They make a sound of steel wheels on the steel rail. It's incredibly exciting. We stood up, and I declared the train was going too fast because, well, maybe it was. But you don't want to try and catch a train going faster than you can run. And in my judgment, it was going faster than I could run. And Asa accepted that a little disappointed. We waited. We waited. Another train came. We got up yet again, it was going too fast. And this time, he got a little frustrated. He said, you could have caught that. And I thought to myself, yes. But I said, no, this is the most dangerous part is catching a moving train. The third train we had to get on, basically. And so we did. It was a little harder than I remembered to pull myself up on that ladder, but I succeeded. Asa did me the favor of carrying the heavy pack, but he nimbly climbed aboard. And I've got to say, it's pretty exciting. We made our little nest there on the end of what's called a bulk loader or a covered grain car. It has a platform on the end. You can kind of stay out of sight. And the train rolled over a bridge, over a creek, and then through people's backyards. And I had told him we would be heading over the Rocky Mountains to Salt Lake City. When I realized we were headed north to Cheyenne, I said they must have had a change of plans. I'd lost some of my knack, but I knew I had the basics down. And again, he wasn't too concerned with that. He was just having the time of his life. We went through a crossing with the clanging bells and the arm down, and there were three young women approximately his age standing there who got. Who saw him. And he waved, and they waved, and the world could not have been better. I just had a good feeling about this. We headed up to Cheyenne, Wyoming, and there took advantage of another development of the last 20 years, the smartphone, which lets you actually see on this app called Google Maps, where you are when you approach a city on a train, and you can tell that that road has motels on it. And one such road was quite near where the train slowed almost to a stop. We jumped off, and it must have saved us probably four or five hours that it would have Taken to go all the way into the yard and then, you know, make our way kind of in the dark back to a place to sleep. So it was going pretty well. The next day, we walked into Cheyenne looking for a train headed west. I told Asa that the last time I was here, the police had followed me every step of the way because I was with a group of guys who were riding freights, and the police will follow you sometimes. This day they did not follow us, which led to a discussion about who the police follow and why. We then spent a long day waiting in a very hot place for a train to come by. A couple people with bedrolls did walk by and waved at us. And I said, ace, do you want to talk to them like I did? And he said, you know, I don't think we need to. I meet a lot of guys on the subway like that. And, you know, I'm really, dad, I'm happy just to be doing this with you. And he paused and he said, and watching how you break the law, because honestly, I'm surprised. Your book is full of descriptions of you doing that, but you've always acted like a very law abiding person, and it's a real surprise. I can't stop thinking about it. And I said, really? Because I never thought of myself that way. But I was a little sad to have become a father who's sort of the scoutmaster kind of dad who, yes, says, follow those rules instead of, you don't need to follow all those rules. You. You can hop that freight train. Anyway. He was learning these things about me, and I was learning something about who I had become. We finally got a train. It was a few hours out. The train stopped in the middle of nowhere. Well, it was a small depot for refueling. The boxcar behind us had ladders up the sides. And Asa asked if he could climb the ladders and walk down the top of the train car, which was exactly the kind of thing I would have done because it's cool. And I said, no, it's dangerous. The train could start with a jerk at any point. You'd topple off. Or maybe someone would drive by on that dirt road and see you and call the police. It's really, let's just stay low. And then I thought, why am I like this? But I was nervous. I was truly nervous. And that feeling grew as the night went on. The scenery was fantastic. In the late day, you get to see these parts of the west that you don't even. You can't see from highways. We were going through low, rocky mountains. Lots of red soil, green evergreens, beautiful clouds that, you know, built and burst into rainstorms. But then it got dark, and I was focused on the wheels of the car behind us, because in the very short vision are these wheels, which is where people riding freight trains can be hurt very badly. And Asa was standing on the edge of the platform, kind of too close to the edge. And there's bars you can hold onto to steady yourself. There's ladders. I'd explain. Even trains going 50 miles an hour can suddenly jerk as they pull up slack. And I just got so nervous. I got closer to him because you can't hear each other talk very well on a train going fast. There's wind, there's shaking. There's a steel on steel sound. I said, ace, could you just step back a little? And he said, what, do you think I'm being careless? And I said, no, no, really. You've paid close attention. You know how trains work. You've listened to what I said. You're brave, but you're not reckless. This is pretty much my highest praise for anybody. But I said, it just. I can't explain it. I'm so nervous. If you would just stand back like a foot from the edge, I would feel so much better. And he looked at me funny, and he said, yeah, okay. Yeah, sure. And then I felt I had to explain, and I said, you know, this is new for me. Your whole life, I've been. My job has been to keep you from getting hurt. And now I need to let you be in charge of yourself a bit more. And I'm having some trouble with that. And he just nodded, and a few seconds went by, and he put his arm around me, and he put his head on my shoulder. And my son, who I had spent a lifetime comforting, was comforting me as I was trying to move. Move on in my life. And it was one of the best things. Best things I could remember happening. Thank you. Thanks a lot.

Kathryn Burns (32:37)

Ted Conover is one of the world's most renowned immersion journalists, someone who steps into the shoes of the people he profiles. He's the author of numerous books, including New Jack, Guarding, Sing Sing, and Rollie Nowhere. He's the director of New York University's Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. So after hearing this story, I was curious about what Ted's son, Asa, would have to say about the trip. Asa wrote, I would say the trip finally showed me what Pop looks like in action. It had previously been a mystery to me, reading his books. Prior to our train hopping journey required reconciling in my mind Ted Conover, my law abiding father, awoken by the TV at night, easily subdued in a wrestling match with Ted Conover, the train hopping, border crossing wild man. After the trip, I at last saw the two Ted Conovers as one. And that was important for me. Ted told me something that didn't make it into the story. One night in Denver, he and Asa were secretly waiting in a rail yard and they accidentally dropped a banana peel which was immediately spotted by a vigilant brakeman who was passing by. They were busted and thrown out of the rail yard. Asa said the trip also taught me that you never know which banana peel will be your downfall. To see photos and videos of Ted and Asa on their trip, go to themoth.org just a quick note from me and the Moth team, please do not try to go jump a train. It is really, really dangerous. I grew up in a small town crisscrossed by train tracks and you always hear about someone slipping off and getting run over and losing their legs or falling to their deaths. Sorry to be so grim, but please listen to Mama Catherine and don't do it. Coming up, Roseanne Cash moves to New York City and gets her butt kicked. That's next on the Moth Radio Hour.

Production Team (35:01)

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange.

Kathryn Burns (35:10)

Prx.Org this is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Kathryn Burns and our final story is from the singer and songwriter Rosanne Cash. A few weeks ago, she was kind enough to let us visit her and talk about how she ended up on the Moth stage. So tell me how you first came to know about the moth and I think we sort of slowly sucked you into our world.

Ted Conover (35:33)

You did. It's been years now, but a friend told me about it and I went to one of your story nights and I loved it. And I think you or one of your colleagues came up to me and said, we'd love for you to tell a story. And I said, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, I am not going to do that. And then I went to another one and you came up again and you said, well, I want you to tell a story. And I went, no, no, no, no, no, no. It was so scary to me. But I finally said, yes, you were very persuasive.

Kathryn Burns (36:09)

We'll hear more of my conversation with Roseanne in a minute, but first, let's listen to her story. Here's Roseanne Cash live at Lincoln Center.

Ted Conover (36:27)

When I was a kid, my dad brought me to New York City many, many times. He loved the city and so did I. We always stayed at the Plaza and we took carriage rides in the park.

Apple Watch Speaker (36:42)

We.

Ted Conover (36:42)

We had dinners at Trader Vic's and ice cream at Rumpelmeyer's. We went to the last remaining automat in the city. We saw Lauren Bacall on Broadway. I spent many happy afternoons shopping at Bonwit Teller. It was a city of magic and wonderful. When I was 15 years old, he took me to Greenwich Village to a hippie shop that made custom leather and suede jackets. And he had me fitted for a green suede jacket. And I stood in front of that full length mirror in this shop and I looked out at Bleecker street and I looked back at myself in the mirror and I thought, that's the real me. I belong here. This is my city. And it seemed a long way from where I was growing up in Southern California, but I kept it right here at the edge of my dreams. And the jacket still fits. Kind of almost 20 years later. I was living in Nashville and I had just come off a really big record called King's Record Shop, and it had had four number one singles on one album. It was the first time a woman had ever done that. And it was a very sexist industry in Nashville at that time, so it was a big deal. I garnered a lot of respect and even leverage with my record company. So I asked them if I might produce the next record myself, and they were sufficiently impressed with me that they said yes. They thought that I would repeat the prior formula for the successful record. But I decided to go another way. I wanted to make something that was really the real me, really authentic. So I made this dark, spare, lyrically troubling acoustic based record that I called Interiors. Unrelated to the Woody Allen film, but it was an apt title for this dark, reflective record. So I finished it and I was so proud of it. I thought, this is the most authentic thing I've ever done. This is the real me. I was in the studio waiting to play it for the head of the record company for the very first time, was so proud. He came in and he sat down at the recording console and we played the album start to finish. He didn't say a word in between songs, and I thought, he's speechless with the sheer beauty of this record. He stunned into silence as the last note faded away, he turned to me and he said, we can't do anything with this. What were you thinking? Radio's not going to play this. And I was taken aback momentarily. But then I went straight to it's the little minds who don't get the masterpieces right at the beginning. He'll come around. So when he left the studio, I turned to the engineer and I said, he's wrong. I'm going to prove him wrong. Well, he was right. Radio wouldn't play it. The marketing department at the record label dropped it after a few weeks. They wanted nothing to do with it. I was devastated. It turns out they didn't want the real me. They wanted the successful me. I was somewhat heartened by the reviews. There was a review in Rolling Stone that said it was a deeply troubling record, but they gave me four stars. The Village Voice said it was a divorce record. It turns out he was also right. And the next year I got divorced. It was then that I started to think about New York. We're still right here. And it wasn't long before I packed the green jacket and moved to the city that was 1991. So far from being the city of magic and wonder of my youth. Bonwick Teller was closed. Automat was gone. Everything fell apart in my life in the most spectacular way. An unscrupulous sub lesser scammed me out of a year's rent. I was mugged in the Jack and Jill deli on Carmine Street. A homeless guy threw a rock at the back of my head and hit me square in the back of the head. But the worst part was that my kids weren't doing well. My three year old daughter in particular was very anxious. She was so anxious that I had to go to nursery school with her every day and sit there all day long so that she would feel comfortable enough to stay. It was mind numbing. They had a musician come in once a week to nursery school to play songs for the kids. Songs like Peanut Peanut Butter Jelly. And I would sit there glazed over. And one day he came in and he couldn't get his guitar tuned. And I felt my old self kind of rising up in me. The musician self who knew something about something that was going on. And I said, it's your D string. If you'll just turn your D string just, you'll get. And he looked up at me as if to say, who the hell are you? You're just some mom who goes to nursery school. The truth is, I was thinking the same exact thing. Not long after that, I got in the subway. I got out in midtown, walked up the stairs to the sidewalk into a torrential downpour which I had not expected. So I reached in my handbag to get my wallet and get some money so I could go into a deli and buy a cheap umbrella. I realized I had left my wallet at home. And I realized at that same moment that I had also just used my last subway token. So I was standing there, drenched, penniless, humiliated, looking at a really long wet walk home when at that moment my cell phone rang. So I hoisted my early 90s 5 pound cell phone out of my handbag and said very miserably, hello. And this cheerful voice on the other end said, roseanne, hello, It's Al Gore. Mr. Vice President, hello, how are you? Nice to hear from you. He said, I know it's last minute, but I'm in the city, I'm at the Regency. I just wondered if you had time for lunch. I wanted to ask you if you'd perform for my environmental group as we head off to South America was so great at the conference you did last time. You know, you have time to come over and talk about it, do a few songs at that conference. And I thought quickly, could I walk to the Regency, get there before mid afternoon without looking as if I had drowned? I could not. I briefly considered asking the vice president to meet me on the street and pay for my taxi. He thought it was might be inappropriate. So I made up an excuse to avoid having lunch with the Vice President of the United States to talk about saving the planet. And after I hung up, it was then that it hit me. This was my New York. This was the New York who would kick your ass until the real you showed up because it really wanted the real you and it would keep at you until it got it. This was the New York who would give you humiliation in one hand and a tremendous gift in the other. And you had to take them both. You couldn't have one without the other. This was the New York I wanted and didn't even know. This was the New York where you would stand penniless, drenched, with the Vice President of the United States on the line. So some weeks later I got in a taxi and the taxi driver, as he pulled away from the curb, without even looking at me very matter of factly, he said, roseanne Cash. I reviewed interiors for Rolling Stone. And there it was again. This was my New York. This, my taxi driver who wrote these words that I had clung to that meant so much to me about a project that meant so much to me. And here we were in our New York together. And then he glanced at me in the rearview mirror and he shook his head and he said it should have been the lead review. Thank you.

Kathryn Burns (48:29)

That was Rosanne Cash. She's the author of the memoir, composed and is currently writing the lyrics for a musical of Norma Rae. She's also working on an album, album of new songs. Interiors went on to be nominated for a Grammy in the folk category. And she's continued to put out critically acclaimed and Grammy winning albums ever since. She definitely found the audience who wanted the real her. By the way, you're listening to a song from Interiors right now.

Ted Conover (49:05)

Sat and looked out my window last night. I knew that things had changed with this girl. Cause what I really found is love. What I really feel is love.

Kathryn Burns (49:19)

Here's more of my conversation with Roseanne. She still calls New York City home. And we were sitting on her sofa in the living room of her brownstone, which has a ceiling that's painted a beautiful deep peacock blue. So the theme of this whole radio hour is actually travel.

Ted Conover (49:34)

Yeah.

Kathryn Burns (49:35)

And how some of the most poignant moments of our lives happen, like on trains and planes and in cars. In your case, a taxi. And as a musician, you spent so much of your life on the road. And the story of yours, I actually read in your gorgeous memoir, which is called Composed, is about you being on a nearly empty flight to Nashville.

Ted Conover (49:53)

Yeah. One night I was on this, a late night flight to Nashville, like the last flight of the day to Nashville. And the plane was almost empty. And as we landed, we landed and the flight attendant came back to me and said, the pilot wants to know if you know where gate four is. And she says, he figures you've been here more than he has.

Kathryn Burns (50:19)

Which was true. Which was true. Did you know where gate four was?

Ted Conover (50:23)

Yeah. I said, you go up here and turn left.

Kathryn Burns (50:27)

Oh, my God, I love that so much. One of my favorite albums of yours is the river and the Thread, which I understand it because it's kind of a road trip album.

Ted Conover (50:44)

It is. Well, it's a map.

Kathryn Burns (50:46)

Yeah.

Ted Conover (50:47)

I mean, there are road trips within it, but it's definitely, definitely a map. You know, it touches on Appalachia a lot in the delta, down to Mobile, Memphis, Mississippi. All of these kind of haunted Southern places show up in it and haunted Southern characters, too.

Kathryn Burns (51:04)

I adore it. But one of my favorite songs of yours, maybe my all time favorite Roseanne song, is A Feather's Not a Bird. And I was just gonna read some of the lyrics here and ask you about them. There's never any highway when you're looking for the past, the land becomes a memory, and it happens way too fast.

Ted Conover (51:20)

Yeah, well, it's exactly the restlessness that I just said that, you know, you feel like you're on this physical journey sometime of going place to place, but you're really looking for something else that's inside yourself, you know, reconciling the past, fears or hopes for the future, the restlessness of the present, you know, and you can't quite ever touch the past, even though it looms so large sometimes. And not just your own past, but your ancestral past. So that's really what I was talking about, you know, and going from Florence, Alabama, where I was when I started writing this song, onto Arkansas, where my ancestral history is from, on my dad's side. So, you know, there are remnants of it and it lingers and there's a resonant ringing bell to it, but you can't ever really touch it.

Kathryn Burns (52:27)

Amen. Yeah, there's something very moth like about that idea, right?

Ted Conover (52:30)

Absolutely.

Kathryn Burns (52:31)

When we start trying to find meaning in the past that the past can change. And we think the past is the past, but it actually sort of changes based on our framing of the memories.

Ted Conover (52:45)

When I was crazy, I used to think you actually could change the past like that you could alter the timeline, you know, I mean, I don't think that anymore. But you can certainly reframe the past.

Kathryn Burns (52:57)

You certainly can. Like, the past can have a very different meaning depending on how you choose to see it today. Right.

Ted Conover (53:03)

It's all about the prism you look through, isn't it? I took the long way home Just to end up in your arms that's why I'm going down to Florence now. I got my pretty dress Going down to Florence.

Kathryn Burns (53:23)

That was Roseanne Cash. That's it for this episode. We hope you'll join us next time for the moth radio hour.

Apple Watch Speaker (53:30)

The rain is not the sea A.

Ted Conover (53:33)

Stone is not a mountain But a river runs through me.

Production Team (53:55)

Your host this hour was the most artistic director, Kathryn Burns, who also directed the stories along with Larry Rosen. The rest of the Moth directorial staff include Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin, Janess, Jennifer Hickson and Meg Bowles. Production support from Timothy Lou Lee. The moth would like to thank the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation for their support of the moth community program. Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift and other music in this hour from Hamza al Din, Imogen Heap and Roseanne Cash. You can find links to all the music we use on our website. The moth is produced for radio by me, Jay Allison with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour is produced with funds from the National Endowment of the Arts. Moth Radio Hour is presented by prx. For more about our podcast Podcast for information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website themoth.org.