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The Moth
The Moth Radio Hour: Misfits, The MET, and a Nursing Home Switcheroo
00:53:57
An hour devoted to misfits! An awkward teenager finds his place at a museum, a child is given a sense of structure and order in life, a woman worries she isn’t “Korean enough,” and a daughter does her best to soothe her elderly mom.
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- [00:00]
Sarah Austin Janess
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- [01:02]
Greg Odell
Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. 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. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum compared to previous generations. IPhone Xs are later required.
- [01:27]
Sarah Austin Janess
Charge time and actual results will vary. This is the Moth Radio hour from prx. Sarah I'm Sarah Austin Janess from the Moth and I'm glad you're listening. The Moth is a place for true stories told by people all around the world. In this hour, four stories of misfits, outsiders and, you know, just general awkwardness. What do you do when you don't fit in? Do you try harder? Do you run? We'll hear a story about a woman who feels she's not Korean enough, a wild student who wants rules, a daughter who's always felt a little disconnected from her mom, and our first story where a young man escapes an ordinary life in search of glamour. And as a heads up, this story contains a mild sexual reference. Here's Andrew Solomon live at the Moth at the New York Public Library.
- [02:37]
Andrew Solomon
My senior year of high school, I decided it was time for things to change. My braces were off, I got contact lenses, my skin started to clear up, and my yearbook quote was hi ho, the Glamorous Life. And I needed a summer job and I applied for several jobs, including a job in the editorial department of the Metropolitan Museum of Art that I didn't think I'd get because I knew there were a vast number of people competing for it. And to my total Delight. I did get it. And I thought, my intellect, my intellect is going to change the world, and they can tell. So I got to my first day there, and I went into the office of the woman who had hired me, and I noticed that the thank you note I'd sent her after our interview was on her little bulletin board behind her desk. And I said, polly, that's so touching that you've put up the thank you note that I wrote to you. And she said, you know, there were 200 applicants for this job, and basically what this job involves is filing, proofreading, and xeroxing, and any idiot could do it. But your thank you note was on my favorite color of blue paper. So I decided that I'd give you the job. So, indeed, the next few days were taken up with filing and xeroxing and an occasional little bit of copy editing. And I was given a desk in a room at the back of the editorial department where there were many other people with many other desks. And because of the architecture of that part of the museum, I had a sort of triangular piece of wall space over my desk with a nail sticking out of it. And I thought, I should hang something up there. I should hang up something in a frame. So I got home that night to dinner with my parents, and I said, there's a nail sticking out of the wall right above my desk, and I really should take something in to hang there. Something in a frame. Well, in my father's bachelor days, he had been a great fan of an opera singer named Lubavelic. And when he met my mother, he had a photograph of Luba Velic as Tosca that was hanging in his apartment. And when they got married, she said that she did not want photos of other women all over the apartment, but that he could hang Luba Velic in the bathroom if he wanted to. So all my life, my parents had a photograph of Luba Velic in their bathroom. And that summer they were making some repairs in their bathroom. And so my father said, well, you can have Luba if you want to. So off I went to the Metropolitan Museum with my picture, and I hung it over my desk, and there it was. And three days later, the chairman of the editorial department, with whom I had until then had no interaction whatsoever, came back into the room to get something. And suddenly this booming voice rang out. When she sang Rosalinda, New York laughed. When she sang Donna Anna, New York cried. And when she sang Salome, New York was speechless. Is that your photograph? He said. And I said, yes, Thinking I could carry it off, that I was actually the Lubavelic fan in the family. I said, yes, that is my photograph. And he said, you are coming out for a drink with me after work, young man. So off we went for our drink at the Stanhope. And he introduced me in the course of that drink to all of the big, high powered people in. In the department. And he said to me, what are you doing in the department anyway? And I said, xeroxing, filing, a little copy editing, some proofreading. He said, that's ridiculous. We'll come up with something else for you to do. I'll know by tomorrow. One of the people he'd introduced me to was the head of Classical art, a man named Dietrich von Bothmer. And the next day I found myself in the elevator with Dietrich von Botmer. And we had a very pleasant chat. And I thought, these people aren't so scary. There was no reason for me to be so intimidated. And the doors of the elevator opened on the second floor to reveal two women who were knocking on a vase. And one was saying to the other, it's just as I thought. There's nothing in there. And Dietrich von Bottmer jumped out of the elevator and he said, what did you expect to find in my amphora? Geraniums, he said, and they turned and ran. I got upstairs, and John O'Neill, the chairman of the editorial department, said, you're going to do photo research for the Costume Institute catalog. And I thought, okay, I've arrived. The Costume Institute was a nexus of glamour even within the glamorous Metropolitan Museum of Art. And I was all revved up to go down there. So I went down and I started doing photo research. And I worked with two curators, and it was the 80s, and there was a lot of jewelry all over the place at that point. And one of the curators was wearing this amazing ruby ring, a kind of cocktail ring with this gigantic ruby in it. And she wore it every day. And I'd noticed that. And after about a week, she came in one day, and I noticed she wasn't wearing it. And I said to her, your ring? And she said, oh, yes. She said, I lost it. And I said, but that's heartbreaking. I said, where did you lose it? And she said, in a caramel custard. And I said, I beg your pardon? And she said, it's happened to me before. So then I went back up to the editorial department, and they told me, we've decided that you should be the one to edit the introduction to the catalog by Diana Vreeland. Diana Vreeland, who had been the editor of Vogue, who was now the consultative chairman of the Costume Institute, who was the most glamorous person in the most glamorous department in the most glamorous institution. And I was incredibly excited, and I thought they really realized my editorial voice. My editorial voice can do anything. So off I went for my meeting with Mrs. Vreeland, and I got downstairs. She didn't come in all the time, but she came in that day, and she walked in, and there was someone who answers the telephones, who sit behind a big glass desk in the Costume Institute. And Mrs. Vreeland walked in and looked at her and said, so you're the new receptionist? And she said, yes, Mrs. Vreeland, I am, and I'm very excited to be here. And Mrs. Vreeland looked her up and down and said, you'd be a lovely creature if you could grow legs. And then she walked over to where some other curators were looking at images of what was supposed to go in the exhibition. And one of them had just picked up a picture and said, my mother used to have a dress just like this. And Mrs. Vreeland said, that's the most bourgeois outfit in the entire exhibition. And I thought, right, editing, here we go. So off we went into the room, and I said, well, Mrs. Vreeland, I said, very nervous. I said, I've made some edits, and I just want to show you what they are. I've worked from your draft, and here's the first one. And she looked at it and she said, why did you change that word? And I said, well, Mrs. Vreeland, it's the verb, and it doesn't agree with the subject in the sentence. So I was just making it agree. And she said, does it have to agree? And I said, it is museum policy that the verb agree with the subject. And she said, young man, that seems to me to show an exceptional lack of imagination. So by the time we got done, I was virtually in tears, and I went back up with the somewhat edited version of it that I had. And I said when I got back upstairs, I said, that was hard. I said to the person who'd sent me down, he said, I know none of the rest of us could bear to do it, so we sent you. Well, a few days after that, Mrs. Vreeland and I had managed to hatch some little version of a reasonable relationship. She came in and the exhibition was almost ready to open. And she walked through the exhibition and she pointed at Each of these mannequins, the exhibition, which I thought looked fantastic. And she said, her head has to move to the left. You have to change the hat on that one. This one is awful. It shouldn't be here at all, that one. And she went on and on, and I thought, this impossible old woman is making everyone's lives miserable. But when she was finished, the exhibition looked about a million times better than it had before. And she and I then went upstairs and we were walking through the great hall of the Metropolitan Museum, and she put one of her small claw like hands on my arm and she said to me, young man, stop for a minute. So I stopped and she said, I want you to look around this room and contemplate the fact that every one of these people went into a store in which other things were available and selected what they're wearing right now. I looked down. I looked down at her hand on the sleeve of my blazer, which I believe my mother had selected in a store where other things were available and hoped that I was passing muster. About a week after that, shortly before the exhibition, it was to open in its final form, she came in one day and one of the carriages had hung over her desk. A photo. It's an amazing photo. Some of you may have seen it. It's Richard Avedon's photograph of Nureyev naked, leaping forward with his arms up in the air. And Mrs. Vreeland walked in and saw up there and said, I see you have my photograph up over your desk. And the curator said, your photograph, Mrs. Vreeland. And she said, of course. She said, I had it done when I was at Vogue. They thought it was such an extravagance, we had to fly that Russian boy. We had to fly him in from Paris. But I said to them, you wait and see. This will be the apotheosis of the dance. And indeed it is. And the curator said, well, that's. That's very fascinating. What happened? She said, well, she said it was. I was with Dickie Avedon, and we went to his studio, which is like a cathedral, and we got ourselves settled in there and we. I have no my assistants, and Dickie had his assistance, and we were all making plans and figuring things out. And then that Russian arrived off of his airplane and he came in and he said he needed to warm up, and he began to dance in among us. No music, he just danced right in between everyone. And, my dear, I must tell you, it was very strange, but it was rather beautiful. And then I said to Dickie, I said, my goodness, I said, this has to be a private moment. And so we sent all of his assistants out, and we sent all of my assistants out, and it was just Dicky Avedon and me and that Russian, and he went behind a screen to take off his clothes. And what happened? She said, gesturing vertically up from her crotch. She said, you know how it can be with men in the mornings. She said, when he came out, it was like that, and we had to wait half an hour for it to go down. And I must tell you, my dear, it was very strange, but it was rather beautiful. I had gone from my family where there was a picture of Lubavelic on the wall, where we had windows that looked out on glamour. I had found the door and I had finally walked out into glamour itself. It was very strange and it was very beautiful, except that it was also often very ordinary and quite ugly. It wasn't much of a safe haven, but it felt safe to me, even though it was treacherous, because it seemed as though finally I might escape from glasses, from braces, from that tyranny of insecure anxiety that had ruled my adolescence. Thank you.
- [14:56]
Sarah Austin Janess
That was Andrew Solomon. Andrew is the author of Far from the Parents, Children and the Search for Identity and the Noonday Demon, An Atlas of Depression. Andrew is now also a trustee of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He says, I think of Mrs. Vreeland every time I walk through the Great hall of the Met. I also think of her when I'm having my photo taken. She once said, unless it's a fashion shoot, wear the simplest thing you can to get your photo taken. It's either a photo of your face or of your clothes. But it can't be both. Coming up next, two stories, one from Houston, Texas and one from Korea, when the Moth Radio Hour continues.
- [15:38]
Hilda Chasanowitz
Support for the Moth comes from Constant Contact. With email marketing, features like drag and drop editing and mobile friendly templates. Constant Contact is committed to helping small businesses and nonprofits become marketers. Learn more@constant contact.com the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by prx.
- [16:04]
Sarah Austin Janess
The Moth is supported by Audible. Audible content includes an unmatched selection of audio programs from leading audiobook publishers, broadcasters, entertainers, magazine and newspaper publishers, and business information providers. Audible content is downloaded and played back on your smartphone, portable device, or your PC. The Moth listeners might enjoy Swing Time by Zadie Smith Audible is offering the Moth listeners a free 30 day trial membership. Just go to audible.com them browse their unmatched selection of Audio programs. Download a free title and start listening. It's that easy. Go to audible.comthemoth all one word. That's audible.comthemoth and get started today. This is the moth radio hour from prx. I'm Sarah Austin. Janess. Next up, a story from Greg Odell at our open mic story slam series in Houston, Texas, where we partner with Houston public media. People ask where our storytellers come from. Greg was an Uber driver. One night when he dropped off a customer at a theater, he said, what is going on with so many people lined up, the customer described moth story slams. And it turns out Greg is a regular listener to this show. So he parked the Uber and he walked right in to throw his name in the hat. And he's been telling stories with the moth ever since. So calling all you drivers out there. We want to hear your stories. And here's Greg Odell at the moth in Houston, Texas.
- [17:32]
Greg Odell
You know, I realized at a young age that I was a very, very lucky kid. Up until the age of 12, my life was pretty normal. But then at 12 years old, my parents divorced. And, you know, my folks, you know, were occupied with their lives. You know, my mother was trying to adjust to being a single mother and, you know, figure out how to support a family. She was in a new relationship. She was learning to be a lesbian, which wasn't easy in Friendswood, Texas. She wanted my father and I to spend quality time together. And, you know, which we had never done before. She just didn't find out until years later that, you know, it was always at strip clubs and bars and I didn't really have time to go to school. You know, to say my parents weren't strict would be a tremendous exaggeration. Instead of going to school, I would, you know, do things that interested me. I would chase celebrities. I would sleep in till noon. I was in charge of my own food. So I lived on, you know, frozen pizzas and hamburgers. That's all I would eat. And I drank 3 liters of soda every single day. And I felt sorry for kids who grew up with strict parents. I would look at them, and I didn't really understand why they would put up with it. You know, I would hear kids say things like, oh, I need to check with my parents about that. Oh, I need to be home by, you know, midnight. I thought that was really strange and really kind of pathetic. In all honesty. You know, parents were to be counseled. You know, they were to be helped. But, you know, they had their own lives to Live. And then When I was 14, I was accepted to the High School for the Performing Arts in Houston, which was about 30 miles from my house. And I was very lucky that I became friends with a kid who lived very within about 10 minutes of me. And his father worked downtown. So, you know, we would often commute back and forth. And I noticed his dad was kind of a control freak. When he would pick us up, he'd be like, oh, what happened at school today? Do you have any homework to do? Did you get the leaves out of the pool, man? And I asked my friend one time, I was like, why do you put up with that? And he didn't really know where I was coming from. And also this friend of mine, he changed his clothes every single day. So one night, I don't even remember why, but it was a school night and I had to stay the night over there. I'd only known him maybe a month or so. And we got to his house and his mother had snacks for us after school. I thought, well, that's quaint. And then she said, well, why don't you all go do your homework? I thought, wow, that's interesting. I hadn't done that before. So we did our homework and then they had dinner on the table and we sat around. Everybody talked about what their day was like and what they did. And then we went and played video games. I'd never played video games before. I worked all the time. I, you know, was working from the time I was 12. So that was interesting. And then at 9:45, his dad came back to the room where we were playing video games. Okay, guys, you got 15 minutes before lights out. I can't tell you to this day exactly what happened. My eyes filled with tears and we went to the bathroom and someone put a toothbrush out for me. It's been a long time since I brushed my teeth, but that was pretty cool. And then for some reason, you know, his mother told us, you know, on the way back to your room, you know, leave your clothes in the laundry room and I'll wash them for, for you. This was like. I felt like I was in Leave it to Beaver. So we went to, you know, my buddy's room and I finally couldn't help it. I was sobbing. And I said to my buddy, I said, do your parents act like that all the time? He goes, yeah. I said, does your dad tell you to go to bed at 10 o'clock at night? He's like, yeah. I said, can I stay tomorrow night? He said, yeah. He goes, you know, my parents told me the other night that anytime you wanted to stay here, you could stay here. So I pretty much stayed there for the next three years. And their rules became my rules. Their punishments became my punishments. You know, I told my parents, you know, when I was in junior high that my report card was none of their business. And they didn't get to see. I tried that once with my friend's father. Didn't go over so well. He saw every progress report. And at school, they knew if I was in trouble at school, it's amazing. I don't think this could happen these days. But they never called my parents. They called my friend's parents. And then as I got older, I realized this thing, rules, routine, structure, there was value in it, and there was also value in being that person for others. So as I grew older, my sister became a single mother, and I tried to take on uncle surrogate father for her kids. And then it's just kind of a tradition that's gone on right now. The kids that I'm sort of Uncle Gregor to are 2 and a half, 4 and a half, 7, 10, 13, 20 and 22. And they know we're going to have a great time together when we go out or when I'm at their house or if I have them for a week. But homework's going to be done on time, their beds are going to be made. They're going to be polite to each other. And am I strict? Yeah, I'm strict and I am so proud of it. That's it. Thanks.
- [23:27]
Sarah Austin Janess
That was Greg Odell. He said a misfit who finds a place to fit in feels better than if they'd won the lottery. Greg is a sometime co host of a radio show called so what's yous Story? But the greatest job he's ever had is being an uncle. And I love this. He tells people that if their dining room table isn't big enough to accommodate their kids friends, then they need to get a larger dining room table. In this hour, we're bringing you stories of not quite fitting in. And our next storyteller is Linda Gregory. Linda crafted this story in a Moth community workshop we taught with a group called also known as they Help International Adoptees. Linda is an adoptee, and she said she was doing a cultural search to find her place. And that's where the story begins. Here's Linda live at the moth.
- [24:23]
Linda Gregory
Thousands of years ago in Korea, an ancestor dreamed of eight tortoises, which was the premonition for the birth of eight sons. To be born and carry out a long family line. This was a story I first heard when I met my boyfriend Abraham's family. Abraham is Korean American, and he had probably heard this story a thousand times, that it had become boring. But to me, I was a Korean adoptee, and I was in awe. You see, as a Korean adoptee, I was raised in America since I was four months old, and my connection to America and my family was through the American Revolution. And my only connection to Korea were through history books. But for my boyfriend, Abraham, he was connected to Korea through this living history. You see, he was actually the Chung son in his family or the eldest grandson of the eldest son. And he would carry out the long family line. And I knew that someday I would have to meet his family. I would have to meet his grandparents, who were the eldest of this long family line. But I also knew for me that I was on my own search to find how I connect to Korea, what is my identity, and what is my heritage. And so I decided that year that I would go to Korea for about a year, and I would learn Korean and I would reconnect and find these answers. And I had been there for about three months when I received a phone call from Abraham. And he said, you have to meet my grandparents. His grandparents were Both in their 80s, and their health was dwindling. And his grandfather, especially his hara buji, had advancing dementia. And it was his final wish to see his Chang son marry. So I had to see them. I had no choice. I wanted. I wanted to receive their blessing, and I wanted to connect with them. And so before I set up the appointment to go see them, I had heard one request, and that was to send a photo. The first step was to win halmuni or his grandmother's approval, because halmoni had the sight or nunchi, which is the ability to see into a person's character through a single photo. And he said, quick, send me your best photo. In this photo, I had to appear strong and healthy and maybe just a little bit taller. And we sent the photo. And all the while, I'm worrying because this could determine our relationship. Would we stay together? Would. Would it be compromised? And I worried about this internal fear, too. And that was, was I Bucho Kyo or was I not enough? Would she know that I wasn't really Korean? And so the time came to prepare to meet them. And before I could meet them, I needed to learn one simple etiquette, one simple one for every Korean. And that was to bow. To bow deeply down to the ground. It's something that's done for an elder, to show your greatest respect, something that I didn't know how to do. And so without Abraham there, without family, without really knowing this culture. Culture, I used our greatest resource, and that was YouTube. And I practiced YouTube for several days. And although it was never going to get perfect, I was never going to be able to bow perfectly. It was time, and I traveled to the edge of Seoul to visit them. And at first, I had imagined that I would arrive at a palace where I would have to walk a great distance, being escorted over to bow before them. And in reality, when I arrived, it was a small apartment with a leather sofa, a big screen tv. And I heard a shriek from the side. And it was a shriek of joy, filled with energy. And it was his grandmother, or Halmoni. And Halmoni came running toward me, throwing her walker aside with wobbly knees, with open arms. And she grabbed me. And I stood there, frozen for a minute. And I hugged her back, because I didn't really have a choice. And all the while I'm thinking, is this a trick? Am I allowed to touch her? And when am I supposed to bow? I even thought, maybe for a second, I'll just back up a little bit and bow right there before her. But the time never came. And later in that visit, Halmoni held my hand, a similar size to mine, and something felt so familiar, and she held it and grasped it and said, of course I would have accepted you. But I didn't understand why, because I still hadn't bowed. I hadn't proven that I'm Korean. I hadn't done anything. And in the background was Abraham's grandfather, or Haraboji. He was silent, and I couldn't tell if the words didn't come out or if he didn't have anything to say. But we never spoke. But there was something about his presence that I wanted to know more about. You see, he looked really similar to my boyfriend, Abraham. He had the same military physique, the same square shoulders, and this quiet and warm presence about him. And so I knew that before I left Korea, I would have to meet him again. I was looking for something, but I wasn't really sure what that was. And so, before I left Korea, I made a final visit back. And I had heard that Harobochi had been waiting the night before and all morning to think of a precious story, some words that he could share with me. And I thought of the words that I wanted to tell him to say thank you and how blessed I felt, to be part of this family and how I would try to be Korean and uphold these traditions of this long family legacy. And when I arrived, we sat facing each other. No words would come out. Each sitting with great anticipation, and nothing would come out. We sat there in silence, frozen for three hours, and nothing would come out. And it was already time to go. And as I left, I turned back, wanting to see something and nothing coming out. And so I hugged him and he hugged me back. And his embrace was warm and accepting and one of unconditional love. And then he said to me, seranghae, I love you. And I never even had to bow. Thank you.
- [32:51]
Sarah Austin Janess
That was Linda Gregory. Linda married Abraham and they now have a daughter. She told me that his family actually proposed to her. Here's what happened. One day, Abraham's family takes Linda and Abraham to get fitted for Hanboks, Korean traditional attire. And then the family says, okay, now put the Hanboks on for your engagement dinner. Linda and Abraham do, and they all go out to a restaurant where the family blesses their marriage. And they ask Linda if she would take their family. She said yes. To see a photo from that engagement dinner and to learn more about our Moth Community program where we craft stories with underheard communities, go to themoth.org Coming up next, a daughter struggles to connect with her mother, who is a Holocaust survivor, when the Moth Radio Hour continues.
- [34:01]
Hilda Chasanowitz
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange. PRX.org.
- [35:15]
Sarah Austin Janess
I'm Sarah Austin Janess, and you're listening to the Moth Radio Hour. Our last storyteller is Hilda Chasanowitz. Hilda was part of a Moth Community workshop we taught at the Museum of Jewish heritage for the 2G community. 2G is second generation Holocaust survivors. Here's Hilda Chasanowitz live at the Moth.
- [35:37]
Hilda Chasanowitz
My mother never wanted to go to the home. She'd lived in her apartment for almost 40 years, much of that time on her own. She was fiercely independent. Her third fall left her unconscious on the floor of her apartment. When EMT got there, they estimated she'd been there for eight hours. We took her to the hospital. She was there for four days and then released to the home for rehabilitation. I, of course, was thrilled. I was relieved. I knew she would be taken care of, that she would be safe. My mother was pissed. She was angry. That Thursday evening in August when I arrived, she was more than angry. She was really agitated and upset. She lashed out at me. Ganiff Treyf Goyersche cup gehen dreart. She said, go to hell. I was not offended. I was not hurt. I knew why she was so upset. Earlier that day, Dr. Chatterjee and nurse Ferguson had told my mother that she would need to change rooms. This must have been a huge blow for her because instead of moving to a new room meant that she was going to be a more permanent resident in the home. Of course, she told the doctor and the nurse, no, I'm not moving. I'm staying right here. They tried to negotiate with her. They brought the rabbi in. None of that worked. And I knew and tried to explain to them that when my mother said no, she meant no, not maybe, nothing. No. I was feeling pretty desperate because this room that was being proposed was on the long term care floor. Those rooms don't come along very often. I'd been waiting about a month. So I left my mother's room in despair. And I started thinking about what had been happening with my mother over the last weeks. She'd refused medication, she'd refused physical therapy. She had begun hitting some of the aides and she bit the doctor the week before. I was assured by everyone that this was fairly routine in the home. This happened all the time. I accepted that. I, however, started flashing back on what I had experienced with my mother only days before. I was with her one day at lunchtime. Lunchtime meant room service as she took most of her meals in her room. And Isaiah was clearing away the tray after lunch and he offered to make my mother a cup of tea. It was like her favorite thing after the meal. And we're waiting and my mother leans over and quietly says to me, they're all Nazis. And my heart sinks. This is not a casual reference for my mother. I catch a glimpse of the number on her left arm. The marker from Auschwitz that I had seen so many times before but knew so little about was filled with secrets, tales that I never was able to hear. But my mother had lived with those secrets and the nightmare of what that number meant for almost 70 years now. Talking about Nazis became fairly routine over the days that had followed. So I knew that I was in a real dilemma now. And there was no forcing my mother. So I decided to go look at the new room. I really had nothing else to do at that point. I didn't know what to say to my mother. I didn't know what to say to the home. They wouldn't force her to move. So I went upstairs to look at the proposed room. The room was 7:45. My mother was in room 245. When I arrived at the room, I thought, it's the same room. How lucky could I be? Lucky? Why? I take stock of the room and it's a little different. The wallpaper is different, the paint is different. But my mother was legally blind. And I'm immediately thinking about. About how I'm going to transform the room so this room on 7 could be my mother's room. I raced back down to the social work department, and I call a meeting, which I'm known to do, and we hatch the plan to move my mother the very next morning without her knowing where. I had the guts to even think about this, I have no idea. But I was desperate. So that evening, as I often did when I was feeling desperate, I called Rosie. Rosie is my mother's, Was my mother's aide. She had taken care of her for some time. And although she was my mother's caregiver, she was as much my caregiver and my conscience confidant. Rosie and I worked out the details of the plan on the phone. The next morning, I arrive at the home very early. I meet with the staff on the second floor, and on the seventh floor, I meet with maintenance, the social workers, and everything gets laid out. So everyone is in on this mission to move my mother from one room to the other without her knowing. So it's a secret to her. Rosie arrives several hours later, and they have their usual routine of getting ready for the day lunch. And Rosie was going to take my mother to the garden. The garden was this incredible oasis on the campus at 106th street, and I knew that I'd have a good three hours while Rosie and my mother spent time in the garden and I could make everything happen. As soon as Rosie wheeled my mother out of her room on two to go to the garden, I sprang into action. And with the help of numerous staff members, aides, maintenance, everybody, we proceeded to make the switch. Furniture had to be switched out, all of my mother's personal belongings. And she had accumulated quite a bit, I might add, in the last two months. Clothes, her personal effects, everything had to be brought up to seven. I remember going up and down the elevator maybe seven or eight times. I forgot her spare teeth in the medicine cabinet. They were in a little pink container that was pretty memorable. I had to get a new toilet seat installed in the room. Everything really had to be just so because my mother was blind. And in order for her to negotiate her way, it was very important that everything be familiar for her. With only about 45 minutes to spare. I realized I needed some help having the bed made up on seven, the new room. The bed had to be made just so. The way the sheets were folded, the pillows, et cetera. I enlisted Julia, who knew how to do that. Not everybody could do that, and I certainly couldn't do it. So together we're making the bed and I'm taking a good look at the bed. I've got 30 minutes left to complete the mission and I realize it's the wrong bed and I'm sweating. This is crucial. The handrails were wrong, the levers to lower and elevate the bed were wrong. I dial UP maintenance. It's 3:30 Friday afternoon and I asked them if they would consider moving the bed from two up to seven. My voice is cracking and they didn't say no. I begged and they agreed to do it. About 10 or 15 minutes later, I'm now standing in the new room on seven. They've pulled out the bed in that room, it's in the hallway. But I'm now standing in 7, 45, 5, no bed. And I've got about 15 minutes left before Rosie and my mom return. I'm barely breathing by this point, but sure enough, in a few minutes, I hear the freight elevator let out and the bed from the second floor room is being brought up. It's already made, it's perfect. And they wheel it in. We adjust the call button. We do everything, everything, so it's just so I can breathe again. As I'm making the last minute check, I can hear Rosie's voice. She and my mom are returning. They've come off the elevator and I hear them approaching the room. I decide to duck out, even though my mother probably wouldn't have seen me. She might have sensed my presence. She doesn't even know I'm in the building. And I hide in the corridor and I wait. I'm hiding in the corridor where the laundry cart is. There's a dirty laundry cart, there's a clean laundry cart, there's the medicine tray that they've just set up to do the medication. And I'm waiting there and waiting and listening. And I hear Rosie and my mom talking. They enter the room and I hear no explosion. I hear just the normal chatter about what's for dinner, what my mother is going to wear that evening. And I start breathing more normally now. I wait. Rosie comes out in about 20 minutes and I take her arm and we walk to the elevator, silent. We're in the elevator and we're smiling at each Other we get down to the lobby and we're jumping up and down for joy in disbelief. We're barely talking, but we didn't need to talk. Rosie goes home, and I'm getting a stage stomach ache because I have to return the next day. It's Saturday, and I am going up to see my mom. I bring the usual treats, mandatory, especially on the weekend. And as I approach her room that Saturday, I'm wondering what I'm about to feel face, thinking that the slew of insults I had heard only, you know, earlier that week would be nothing compared to what I was about to face. And I enter the room and my mother starts complaining about breakfast. It was cold again. And then she's upset with me because I'm late, which I wasn't. And then I proceed to present her with what I've brought. And even the babka from her favorite bakery is not to her liking. And I'm sitting there thinking, wow, everything is normal here. There's no mention of the room, there's no mention of anything. This is just like it would be if we had never talked about changing her room. Now I'm not cocky, so I'm just sort of taking all of this in waiting. My mother was an incredibly clever woman, and I'm just wondering what's going to happen. And when I left that day, I really didn't know what to make of it all. But I did know this. In the weeks to come, I knew in my heart of hearts that my mother really knew that she had been moved. She never said anything. I never said anything. But for me, the beauty of it all was that for the first time time that I can ever remember, my mother and I had a secret of our very own, one that we could share and one that we never spoke of.
- [49:38]
Sarah Austin Janess
That was Hilda Chasanowitz. Hilda is an executive consultant and lives in New York City with her husband. Recently, I had a chance to sit down and talk with Hilda about her experience telling the story.
- [49:49]
Hilda Chasanowitz
I found myself thinking and feeling about my mother in new ways, and that was profound. I began to see her as more heroic, as more inspiring. I mean, these are not necessarily words that I would have used 10 years earlier.
- [50:14]
Sarah Austin Janess
You mentioned that you thought this story going out onto radio was coming at a specific time or a good time. Can you tell me a little bit more about that?
- [50:25]
Hilda Chasanowitz
After my mother died, I started thinking about going to Poland, which I never could have done when she was alive. It was too loaded. But I finally did go for the first time in 2014. A friend of mine and I, we've actually gone back to my mother's hometown several times. We did an interfaith seder there last spring in Radom, Poland, which is where my mother was from. We had probably 60 or 70 people. For us, our goal was to try and remind people what Jewish life was like before the war.
- [51:06]
Sarah Austin Janess
Wow.
- [51:07]
Hilda Chasanowitz
And so this was very, very moving for us, needless to say, both personally and on many other levels. And I remember asking at the beginning of the seder who had ever been to a Seder before? And no one had ever been to a Seder before. So it was very well received, you know, and I sometimes think, what would my mother have thought of this? I mean, my mother never understood, you know, my career or any of that. But I thought that somehow she would feel that we were restoring something that was very precious. And she might not have loved the idea of it because. Because it was interfaith. But I think just the whole concept of it might have made her smile just a little bit.
- [52:10]
Sarah Austin Janess
That was Hilda Chasanowitz. For more of this interview, for photos of Hilda and her mother, and for extras related to all of the stories on the Moth Radio hour, go to themoth.org this has been an hour of of stories of not quite fitting in for a lot of us at the Moth. If we're feeling like outsiders, listening to people's stories helps to reconnect us. We hope that's true for you, too, and maybe someday you'll feel like telling a story yourself. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. Thanks for listening. We hope you'll join us next time.
- [52:55]
Hilda Chasanowitz
This hour was Sarah Austin Janess. Sarah also directed the stories in the show along with Katherine Burns and Larry Rosen. Additional Moth community coaching by Terrence Mickey. The rest of the Moth's directorial staff includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson and Meg Bowles. Production support from Timothy Lou Lee. Moth stories are true is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Most Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City supervised by Paul Ruest. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from Chili Gonzalez, Mark Orton Croca and Die Q Kwok. You can find links to all the music we use at 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 was produced with funds from the Corporation Corporation for Public Broadcasting, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the John D. And Catherine T. MacArthur foundation, committed to building a more just verdant and peaceful world. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by prx. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website themoth.org.