The Moth - 20 Years Later: Nancy Mahl

Episode Date: September 10, 2021

This week, we're observing the 20th anniversary of 9/11 with a touching story from our archive. Hear how our storyteller, Nancy Mahl, reflects on this story 20 years later. This episode is hosted by The Moth’s Senior Curatorial Producer, Suzanne Rust. For years, The Moth’s Community Program worked with the tour guides at the 9/11 Memorial & Museum on true personal stories. To hear them, visit the museum in lower Manhattan. Hosted by: Suzanne Rust Storyteller: Nancy Mahl

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's the Moth.org forward slash Houston. Welcome to the Moth podcast. I'm Suzanne Rust, your host for this week. I was born and raised in New York City, and on September 11th, 2001,

I was living with my family in Harlem. That morning, my husband had dropped our eight-year-old son, Julian at school, and I was getting ready to take Sofia our two-year-old to the park, the routine. Then the news broke. What I saw on the TV screen was surreal. In a complete days, I foolishly made my way to playground, where a handful of equally-dazed parents paced anxiously to the soundtrack of sirens while their children

played. Back then there were no smartphones in hand, so I asked the incoming parent if there were any updates on the situation. She told me that the towers had collapsed, and that was when I truly lost it. It hit me. Racing from the playground to pick up my son from school, I ran into another mom that I barely knew and we fell into each other's arms. The walk home was long and otherworldly and the fears and uncertainty that followed the next days, weeks and months, I can remember them vividly. There is no chance of ever forgetting. So it's hard to believe that 20 years have passed since the tragedy at the World Trade Center.

We still see it eak into our day-to-day lives on the news at the airport, and banners still hung at firehouses here in New York City. But the experiences of a day and its aftermath is incredibly personal and specific to everyone who lived through it. Today we'll hear a story from our archive about the surprising and touching way 9-11 changed two lives in particular. Nancy Maul told the story to showcase from our community program where the theme of the night was across the divide. Here's Nancy. Thank you.

It was a regular Tuesday at work. It was a beautiful day. And I was standing on the roof of the New York Times, building in Times Square. I was on the roof because I'm an elevator mechanic. And that's where the elevator machine rooms are. I was drinking a cup of coffee and watching the traffic below, and I heard the phone ring in the motor room.

That usually is a bad thing. It means somebody's stuck in an elevator or somebody's complaining about something. So I went in to answer the phone, and it was my mother. Now, I hadn't spoken to my mother in maybe two years, so it was strange on so many levels. It was strange that she would call me, that she would call me on the roof of the New York Times,

that she would know that I was on the roof of the New York Times. And she said, are you OK? I said, I'm fine. Sorry, I haven't called. And she's like, no, really, are you okay? And I said, I'm okay. Are you okay? She said, I'm okay.

I said, okay. That's great. She said, a plane hit the World Trade Center and I was worried about you. And I said, well, that's dad. And she said, no, really, it's serious. And I just wanted to make sure you were OK. And I said, OK, I'm OK.

And we hung up. And I, you know how the rest of the day went. The next day I was back at work in the phone rang in the motorroom. And it was my mother. And she said, how are you doing? Are your friends okay? Where do you live?

Is your house okay? And I said, most of my friends are counted four, and the house is okay, and I'm back in Times Square. I'm safe, and she said, well, how's my city? And I'm a prefaceist by saying my mother was a New Yorker. She lived in Jackson Heights, Queens, and then in Murray Hill, and in 1937, she was Miss Largemont. She'd have, you know.

And we didn't get along. We didn't agree on really much of anything. She was a Republican and as a Democrat sliding toward Communist. And she's a devout, like Catholic person, and I'm very much not. And she was straight and I'm gay, and she had a really hard time with that. And so anytime we tried to talk about anything,

food, movies, politics, religion, we'd end up in opposite corners of the room, hissing at each other, and we just sort of gave up, because there wasn't much in the relationship that fed either of us, and every time we got together, it ended in a terrible fight, and we just sort of let it go. So here she was calling me a second time, and I was really touched.

It seemed like she actually cared, which I did not think she did. And she said, during the war when your father was overseas, all us ladies had to go out and keep everything open. We had to go to concerts and sports events and museums. And you're going to have to do that. You're going to have to keep my city alive for me. My mother had left New York and gone out to take care of a sick relative in South Dakota

and was foolish enough to marry a cowboy. So she was calling me from the West. And she hadn't been back to New York in decades. But she still thought New York was her city and she wanted to know how it was. So we developed a kind of a rhythm every morning. I'd get a little five minute phone call from my mother to see how her city was

and she'd asked me what I was doing and so I said, well, I got tickets to Joe's pub, and I saw Justin Vivian Bond. And they sang Benny Goodman songs to kind of keep everyone's spirits up. And she told me about going to the Waldorf Astoria and dancing to Benny Goodman. And she said, what are you going to do tomorrow?

So every day, I had to come up with like a little what did I do? And how was I keeping her city alive? And I you going to do tomorrow? So every day I had to come up with like a little what did I do? And how was I keeping her city alive? And I was going to theater and I was going to sportsmen, which I hate. And I was, one night I was on emergency call back walking through Times Square going up 6th Avenue and my little flip phone rang. And it was my

mother because at this point she got in my phone number so she could call me whenever she wanted to and she said how's my city doing tell me about it hold up your phone and let me hear so I walked along sixth avenue and she could hear the horses clapping around central park and she could hear the taxis honking and she said what's it look like and I said well every taxis got this little plastic flag hanging out of the window Every business has a flag on it even the gay bars have flags on them Said it looks like Kansas and

My mother found that touching and she's like well, I'm glad you finally got some patriotism She said well I'm glad you finally got some patriotism. She said, I'm thinking about visiting you. So just put that in your mind. And this was a scary thought. So I thought, I'll just keep her at bay with a few more stories. And I got tickets to the opera. So the opera was something I never wanted to go to, and I spent four hours listening to this Mozart thing that went on and on and on. And everybody was dressed like my mother,

and it was very stuffy, and it was very boring. And then at the end, this red-haired lady came out, and she sang this aria, and it was gorgeous. And I knew nothing about opera, but I discovered that night that they sing without microphones. They're just freaks of nature, and they can fill this huge auditorium with just what God gave them. And at the end of this area, all these stiff-looking people

stood up, and they started pounding on the boxes, and screaming, and throwing flowers, and shrieking, and stomping. And it was like Yankee Stadium in the cheap seats. And I was like, this is really raw. This is really visceral. I get opera. So when I told my mother about that,

she said, we're going together. I'm coming. I'm coming to JFK. Come and pick me up. So I drive out to the airport and I'm terrified because we've been having this beautiful little relationship where I make the city come alive for her and she makes the city come alive for me and everything's great in five minute increments but now

we're gonna be stuck together for a week and I don't know how smart this is because it's a beautiful thing and I think it's all gonna go So I pick her up, I get her gigantic suitcases, I put her in the car and we're driving in semi-silence because I think she's also scared. And she says, so have you been going to Mass? I just let that sit there for a minute. And I was like, no. And then there was silence. And then she said, well, I have some things in the suitcase

for you. And I'm hoping, chakla, chakla, chakla, chakla, chakla, chakla. It turns out the Legion of Mary went all over Sun City and bought every dust mask they could find, which was really sweet, because we had none. All of the people who were working downtown were out. And we appreciated that. And she said, and I've got something else for you.

So we got back to Jersey City to my little skinny 12-foot wide house. And we went upstairs to the guest room, and she unzipped this bag. And inside it was the flag from my father's coffin. I think I mentioned he is a B-17 pilot in World War II. And those coffin flags are big, and my house is small. And she said, do you mind if we hang it on the house? I know you're not patriotic, but I say, yeah, I would love it. So we opened the two windows and

we dropped it down the front of the house and it basically covered the whole house. And so if anybody doubted my patriotism, they doubted it no longer. And the rest of the week went really well. We had one little fight and we worked it out. And we stayed away from religion. And we stayed away from politics. And we stayed on culture.

We went to things together. And we loved each other and we enjoyed each other and we had those five minute phone calls for the next nine years of her life and I missed every one of them and I have tickets to the opera for next Saturday. That was Nancy Moll. Nancy retired from the elevator business and now works for illuminate food, which brings produce to people's homes directly from local farmers. We followed up with Nancy to hear how she feels about this story today.

Here's Nancy. When I did this moth recording at the Bell House in Brooklyn, it was a year before COVID hit New York. There's so many similarities between the 9-11 times in these. New Yorkers cheering for first responders, New Yorkers banging pans for healthcare workers. New Yorkers caring for one another, New Yorkers protesting, New Yorkers grieving. When my mother was a child, there was a polio epidemic in New York, and she could never forget

the whales of the grief-stricken mother next door when her playmate died. She would have been the first in line for the COVID vaccine. How else can you get the city up and running again? There are shows to see and dinners to enjoy and jobs to save. And I'm sure all of my mother's masks would have matched her outfits. That was Nancy Moll. We're thinking of everyone who's still affected by this tragedy today and every day. From all of us here at the Moth, we're sending our love and support. Thank you for listening.

Suzanne Rust is the Moth Senior Curatorial Producer, a host of The Moth Radio Hour, and of The Moth Podcast. This episode of The Moth Podcast was produced by me, Julia Purcell, with Sarah Austin-Jones, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Suzanne Rust. Nancy Moll's showcase story was directed by Michelle Jalowski. The rest of the Moss leadership team includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Boles, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Klucce, Brandon Grant,

Inga, Gladowski, and Aldi Kaza. Mott's stories are true as remembered and affirmed by storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org. The Moth podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.