The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Pride 2021

Episode Date: July 7, 2021

A special Moth Radio Hour in celebration of PRIDE! Stories of first kisses, drag queens, and coming out -- to others and to oneself. This episode is hosted by Moth storyteller Alistair Bane. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Hosted by: Alistair Bane Storytellers: Meg Ferrill, Bisi Alimi, Bethany Cintron, Jake Haller, Walter Cole

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. From Pier Ex, this is a Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host and frequent Moth Storyteller, Alistair Bain.

It's June, K Pride Month. Most Pride celebrations involve a rather fabulous parade that creates visibility, community, and support. In this hour, a mini pride parade of LGBTQI plus stories from around the world. I'm from the Eastern Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma. Many indigenous nations here on this continent that we call Turtle Island have a long history of loving and respecting the people amongst us who express unique gender identities. It's an honor to celebrate Pride with all of my relatives who are LGBTQI plus, two-spirit, or however you choose to define your unique, beautiful, amazing self.

All of our families, friends, and allies too. Let's get our pride celebration started with our first story from Meg Farrell, told in New York City where WNYC is a media partner of the month. Here's Meg. I wrote him a letter. I wrote my data letter because at that point,

our relationship had been crumbling apart. And with each year, we became a little bit less us and a little bit more him and me. So I wrote him a letter and I told him, I'm gay. And I'm not telling you this, just to tell you this. I'm telling you this because I don't know who you are anymore and you don't know who I am anymore. And what I really want is a relationship. We hadn't always been this way, but to understand

is you got to understand, my dad's a bit of a complicated man, like most of the best people are. And he grew up in an outline of a family that never fleshed out until a full story. And he's a reclusive engineer. And when he remarried my stepmom, they moved off into 163 acres in the middle of nowhere in North Carolina, his little slice of heaven.

But when we were young, when I was young, I don't know about him, when I was young, it wasn't this distant. I was his shadow. I played the perfect doding kid. My dad was the smartest dad. He could tell you the name of any star pattern in the sky. And my dad was the strongest dad because one time our Dodge Minivan broke down in an intersection and he pushed us to safety in a parking lot. I'd factored that to be three to four tons.

And my dad was the kindest dad because one time he pulled over and he ran through traffic on a highway to rescue a turtle that was stranded. And so I played the doding kid and he played the parent. In seventh grade he built me a motorcycle and he paved a figure eight in a field and he let me speed through it, top three miles I was always a cautious kid. And he taught me how to hit a bull's eye from 50 feet away with a bullet or an arrow. And he taught me how to properly chop and store wood.

This might sound like survival training, but it was bonding. Because this was just something that we did. He didn't build my sister motorcycle. He didn't shoot at targets with my stepmom. And he certainly didn't teach the dog to chop wood. So I wrote him a letter, and I said, I want us back.

I want this relationship back. And I mailed it to him. And a week later, my stepmom got it, and she called me, and she said, this is great, not Nungay, but that I wanted a relationship. And she's like, your dad's not here. He'll call you the second he gets back. A week later, he called me.

And 10 second phone call, he said, I love you. And we'll talk about this next week when you come to visit. And we never ever talked about it again. And so once again, I acted like the kid. I took the role of the kid. And I got so mad. Because even though I was the kid and I got so mad. Because even though I was 23 and I was really secure that I was an adult, like even more

secure than I am now. Because like as you get older, you start to leave realize all the complications of being an adult and it starts moving further away from you. But that time I played the kid and I played mad and angry and hurt and I vowed to myself because I'm passive aggressive, that I would never contact him again. And I didn't for 11 years. We had four times of contact during those years. My sister's graduation from law school, her bridal shower, when he called to tell me his mother died and when he called to tell me he had a massive heart attack.

And then it happened. I couldn't play the kid role anymore. I'd asked my girlfriend to marry me and we'd start talking about all these adult things. Wedding, marriage, kids, do we want kids? Should we have kids? Am I going to be a good parent? All these things you think about as an adult.

And I started thinking about parents, and I thought, is my dad going to come to the wedding? Is he going to walk me down the aisle? Is this stranger going to attend one of the most intimate things of my life? And then I thought about roles, roles that we play. Sisters, parents, friends, mothers, some given to us and some we seek out. And I thought about my dad again and I thought maybe he was never meant to play the role of a parent.

I mean this was the 70s, like that's what you did, you got married, you had kids, you bought a house, you wore bell bottoms, and he one of those could be a mistake. bell bottoms, and he one of those could be a mistake. He wasn't given the freedom that I've been given to be me. And then I thought more, and I thought more about these roles, and I thought about with this new lens of being an adult, how I'd come out to my dad. I came out to my dad four years after I'd come out to myself. And at best, I gave him a date, and at worst, I gave him a moment to react positively

to something I had taken 1,460 days to process. Was that fair? So I invited him to my wedding. And he sat next to my stepdad who never was good at playing with stepdad role because he was always a dad. And so there, two dads sat. And I walked down the aisle on my grandfather's arm and I couldn't see anything but pride in both of their eyes. And yeah, maybe my dad was not meant to play the parrot role,

but maybe he's playing the best he can, and maybe that's okay. And maybe because I'm okay with that, I'm a little bit closer to being an adult. That was Meg Farrell. To see a picture of Meg, her wife, and two kids, visit themoth.org where you can also share this story. Meg is a Portland Oregon-based storyteller, comedian, writer, and mom. She says that she's still working things out with her father, and now that she has kids, she understands how complicated it is to be a parent. Next, a storyteller from the London Malth Slam talking about his young adulthood in Nigeria. Here's Visi Alimic. So, this wouldn't be your usual first time. You know, it's not like the first time you had a kiss or the first time you had your

prom party or the first time you met your boyfriend or the girlfriend, but this was my special first time. I was 18. And two weeks before then, my friend came back and came to my house and informed me that they've been to this party. And I needed it to be there. And I was like, was it about, say, what you need to see for yourself?

Before this time, I've practically experimented with being heterosexual. You know, I was 18, I was growing up. Everybody around me, I got a girlfriend. I think it was the coolest thing to do. So I need to have a girlfriend. Despite the fact that for two years I never did anything with my girlfriend. The first time I kissed her, I had a feeling I actually passed out. So it wasn't really like, it wasn't really my forte. So when my friend asked us to say, OK,

you need to be at this party. They know I need to be at that party, because they knew quite well the secret nobody knew. So it was fun. We went. I got dressed, they came to my house, we were excited, we took a cab and we went to this party. Now, growing up in Nigeria is funny.

And if ever you'll be damned that you are feeling for men, you're in trouble. So I had to deal with that fact by having girlfriends. So do you understand where my girlfriend came from? And why I couldn't kiss a girl. And so we went and we got there and lo and behold, we walked into this club. And the first person at the door, I had no idea if he was a woman,

if he was a man. I'd never heard of the word drag before. So I was a little bit confused. And so there I was. In this big headgear, high heels, that does not really look like they kind of high heels women were. So I was a little bit confused what was going on here. And I felt like, you know, I know my mom,

she goes out every weekend to parties, I know my sisters, she don't really dress this over the top. This must be some kind of different types of women. Oh, I'm actually in a party with aliens. And so we got in. And I saw so many people amazingly dressed and I was like my God Where really am I and then my friend told me and said we've actually brought you to a gay party I was like gay Do you think we don't know and I was like really? I've never been you know, I've never seen this kind of party before. And this is just relax, enjoy yourself and you'll be fine.

And there, the party started. And I saw for the first time, men kissing men. I was like, wow. What's going on here? This is not right. This, this, this you don't be happening. And then, you know, you know, you know, you might quite, I will I put it now, confused state. What passed me, this very cute guy.

And I think I had my gay moment just about that time. And I kind of looked at him and was like, wow. And my friend said, do you think his heart is like, well, he looks okay. And he said, well, it looks okay. And he said, don't worry, we'll get you some drinks. But in the time you leave here, we know whether you are actually the straight gay or a little bit confused.

So they got me drinking. And possibly 30 minutes into my second drink, I was kissing the guy. And it wasn't long I was dancing on the table. And I did not actually stop there. I found myself on the table dancing with a dry coin. Now, when I came in, I was straight. When I got there, I was a bit confused. Because I have no idea.

OK, well, really. But at the time we were living at 4 AM, I was as gay as gay can be. But the most important thing that happened to me that night was the fact that I crossed the Rubicon. I stopped lying to myself, I stopped trying to kiss girls, I stopped deceiving girls and I stopped being real to myself. That actually I can be gay and I can be proud of who I am and I never look back since then. Thank you

very much. Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! That was B.C. I mean, he is a renowned researcher, public speaker, and community builder. Ilemi was the first Nigerian to come out on national television, which led to threats

on his life. He moved to the United Kingdom and has been fighting for social change ever since. I'm grateful to leaders like Beeseing, who have worked tirelessly to advance the rights of people around the world. To see pictures of BC Alemi, go to the moth.org where you can also share this story. When we return, more fabulous Pride stories, two of them from our high school slams, when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX.

This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Alistair Bane. Next up, two stories from the Mallet's High School program, where we send instructors into the classrooms to help students find the best ways to craft and present personal stories. Hearing stories from the next generation of the LGBTQI plus community made me think back to my first pride parade. It was in a small Midwestern college town in the 1980s. I believe there were 12 on less in that parade.

I was Ligothkid, who was not on board with wearing all of those bright rainbow colors, but nonetheless proud in a more subdued and rageness vampire kind of way. We were outnumbered by counter protesters 2-1, but we marched past all 24 of them, and afterwards the parade committee, which consisted of one guy named Paul, thanked us for our bravery with a barbecue in his backyard. This next story is about a much bigger pride celebration in New York City. It comes from Bethany Centron who told it at the New York High School Grand Slam. Here's Bethany. I'm a little nervous, I'm be honest.

So I was a 15 year old bisexual feminist who was figuring out who she was. I was always open about who I was. So if anybody acts, I was straight up and I told them. But I never really felt like I had this space to sort of be who I was. It was always like sort of suppressed and just very like minor. And I remember telling people when they always gave me this look like, well, you don't look

gay. And I never really knew what that means. Like, what does it mean to look gay? But I remember finding out about the Pride Parade in New York, for those who don't know what the Pride Parade is, it celebrates the LGBTQ community. And I remember finding out about it, and I was so happy. I was like, here's my space. I'm going to go there, and I'm going to have so much fun.

It looked great. It's one of the biggest Pride Parades in the US, so I was so excited to get there. And I remember trying to get there, but something coincidental will always happen. It would just start raining. And my mom was like, you're not going to go outside. You're going to get sick. Or it was my cousin's graduation party. And we had to throw him a party.

We didn't even get him any cake, which I'm so out. So I was there for what. And my friends didn't want to go with me, so I would have to go alone, like, whatever friends they ended up not going. So I was like, I didn't want to go alone. I was too nervous. So I ended up not going.

And it just didn't seem, year after year, it didn't seem like I was going to be able to get there. In junior year, I joined the gay straight alliance and my school and I ended up becoming president of it. And as president, I proposed that we should go to the Pride Parade together. And it was just like, I was like, oh yeah, we just go together, it's going to be gray,

we're going to have fun, like it's funded by the school, whatever. So everyone's like, yeah, let's go. And we created group chats. We had messages. We had Facebook events. And it just seemed like it was going to happen. I was ready to go.

And the preparation isn't June. So April came up, May came up. And then finally, it was June. And all of us were super excited. June 25th was our day. And I remember June 12th, I was sitting in my room and it was, that always used to play the news in the living room.

And it would just be playing and I would be listening, not really listening, but kind of just in the back of my mind. And I remember hearing a live report in Florida, so I got up and went to listen to it with my dad. And I saw that it was the post nightclub shooting. It was a gay nightclub in Florida, and 49 people were killed in a hate crime.

And I just remembered feeling terrible. Like we're so close to this date, and someone just goes and kills people in cold blood and I just felt horrible. And I already knew what was going to happen. This was going to be my thing. This thing that was going to prevent me from getting to the pride parade.

So I went through my, the next few days I went through my messages and my Facebook events and people were dropping out. It switched from going to not going. People were like, oh, something came up or my mom said I can't go anymore or some just flat outside like, I'm not going because I'm afraid it might happen here. What if someone uses that as motivation to attack the biggest pride parade in America? And I just, it was, it was again, I wasn't going to go.

And I felt so disappointed because I knew that I was gonna go away for college, I wouldn't be in New York, so I was gonna miss this event. And I just, it was just another year of me not going. And I went to my mom, because my mom is my best friend. And I told her, like, I was just crying to her. And I was like, mom, I feel terrible. I just really wanted to go.

And this was, I'm not gonna go. And I'm just so frustrated. Jesus relax. If no one's gonna go, Mom, I feel terrible. I just really wanted to go. And this was, I'm not gonna go. And I'm just so frustrated, Jesus relax. If no one's gonna go, I'll go with you. Because no one's gonna prevent you from loving who you love. And it was said, June 25th, it was me, my mom, and my three close friends, and we were on the train going to the Pride Parade.

We watched the colors of the dull colors of just the streets in the city Transform into like these magical rainbow colors and there was like people boarding and they had like rainbow outfits like crazy outfits like frilly like puffy everything and it was just great They were making their own way to the pride parade so I was getting more and more excited getting there And I remember we got to the streets of Manhattan, and it was packed. It was impossible. There was bars everywhere.

You would have to walk three blocks down just to get to the block that you were right by. And I remember going from, I had my own rainbow outfit. I had a rainbow startrooper shirt. I had a flag that I wrapped around my neck like a cape that I bought for like $15, which I realized now is really expensive for a flag. I had a rainbow bandana.

And it was just like, I was so excited. I went from the back of the crowd to the middle crowd to the front of the crowd. Next thing I know, I'm giving high five to people in the parade. I'm seeing all these big floats. I'm getting stickers and fans. And it was just great. I'm seeing like all these big floats. I'm getting like stickers and fans. And it was just like great.

I was having so much fun. And I just wanted to scream, like, take that homophobia. And I remember taking a whole bunch of pictures on my way back from the, from the pride parade I was on the train. And I was looking over at the videos and the pictures. And I saw like this whole idea of looking gay. There were so many different kinds of body types, hair types, everything, skin color.

And I just realized that there was no particular way to look at gay physically. Looking gay was showing support for what you believe and showing support for your friends, just being there and being confident in your identity. And I realized that that day we were all proud to look gay. Thank you. Yeah.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. That was Bethany Centron. Bethany said that she made wonderful friends at that first pride parade, and they've

met up each year since. She's looking forward to when they can all gather at pride again. Since telling the story, she graduated from DePaul University. Congratulations, Bethany. Next up is Jake Haller. He was also part of a high school workshop. This story was told while under quarantine on Zoom, so you won't hear any audience reaction, but there was lots of love and applause when he first told it to a room full of people. Here's Jake. Hello, so when I was younger, explaining myself was very common. And I hated that. When little kids came up to me on the playground and asked me, are you a boy or a girl?

I just ran away. It was a mix of not knowing how to answer this question and not wanting to answer this question. When they asked me if I was a boy or a girl, I didn't know how to explain to them that I was a little girl that liked like Tinkerbell when all the other girls liked like Peter Pan. I didn't know how to explain to them that I had a boy side that would close it and a girl side and I picked every morning what I wanted to be. I didn't know how to explain to them that when they called me little boy, I like how it felt, but I needed to correct them and they needed to call me little girl. When I ran from these questions, I just wanted to be me. And I did that for a while.

But one day I was walking home from sixth grade and I walked into my house and Alex was sitting on my bed. On my couch and Alex was my sister's, sister Nanda's friend from high school and he was just automatically cool just because he was in high school but it was even cooler when I sat down on the couch with him and we talked about skateboarding and my likes and dislikes and she really found interest in me and I just felt amazing. But when Alex left that night and Ananda asked me how I liked him what I thought, of, I told her he was awesome, but she continued to explain to me that Alex was born a girl. And Alex lives fully now as a boy and she explained to me what this word meant and she explained this word transgender to me. As soon as she told me what was possible, I grabbed the word and took it.

Fireworks went off in my head that instant and I realized what was possible. I found this word that might just be the answer to all the people's questions. I found the word that finally described me. So I grabbed this word and ran to my room and only one night of that word bouncing around in my head, I knew it was mine. You see, it's different for everybody. Some people find the word and then find themselves.

Some people find themselves and then they find the word. But for me, I just needed that word and I needed that push. And I needed the right moment to tell the world. And this was it. So the next morning, I barged into my sister's room and told her, I'm like Alex. I told her that I wanted to live as a boy.

I told her I wanted to go by he and pronouns and Ananda grabbed me and hugged me and embraced me and she told me she loved me and I told her that I couldn't wait any longer and needed to tell my mom that night. So she sat me on her bed and we got everything in order. We made a list of names. We made a list of next steps. We did research. And in that moment, my heart was so full because I knew we were building me to be the person I was always meant to be.

I knew these were big steps in my life. So as that night came along, I grabbed Ananda's hand and marched down the stairs. And I sat at my mom's desk and Ananda sat right down next to me. And I looked in my mom's eyes. And I told her, I'm transgender. I want to go by he-him pronouns. I want to use the name Jake. And in that moment, I looked in my mom's eyes and, of course, I expected fear.

I expected her to be caught off guard. But I looked in her eyes and all I saw was mother looking at her son. And all the memories came flooding back to me. I remembered her every now and then checking in on me and asking how I felt in my body. I remember all the conversations about the LGBTQ community and how she would constantly tell me it's okay for everybody to be who they are. I just felt pure love in that moment and I knew that that was my label.

But my experience with that label and that word transgender did not stop there. As I grew up and as I got more settled with myself as a trans man, I found myself hiding. It felt like I was right back on the playground. Like I was right back on the playground. I felt the need to prove myself as a man so much I was hiding myself. And that's how I felt until very recently. But I took a step back and I thought about all my experiences

and I realized I love the feminine parts of me. I love my experience as a little girl. I've loved my experience as a trans boy. Those experiences have made me the strongest man I could be because I had the strength to do that. I love that I'm not your normal man. And I love that women have made me the man I am today. I love and I hate the word transgender because I love it for helping me. But I hate it because it's not the only thing that defines me.

I am who I am and my label is not a box. Thank you. That was Jay Keller. And this applause came from when he first told it live because we wanted him to hear it. To see an incredibly cute picture of Jake as a toddler with his two sisters, visit the moth.org where you can also download or share this story or any of the stories you've heard this hour. Over the years, I've enjoyed hearing stories from my friends about their journeys to define identity.

I've found that each person's path is unique, but happily, many of us arrive at the same destination of learning to love ourselves. Growing up, it seemed like people had a lot of questions about my identity. Was I a boy or a girl gay or straight? And what was my ethnicity or race? Trying to answer with the check-only one box on this form, please, type of responses that people seem to want, was like trying to achieve a co-tour fit shopping suits on the clearance rack. In my late 20s, I began thinking more about my identity as an Eastern Shawnee person.

I began connecting with an urban Indian community where I lived. In the larger society, I was used to always being an outsider. As I began hanging out in the native community, I was surprised that people seemed to want me around, and I made good friends who taught me so much. There was an elder in the community that used to always call me grandson, and one day he asked me to help him run some errands. After it, he invited me to go have a meal at our favorite diner, and as we ate, he began to talk about people from his tribe, who were not man or woman, but their own unique gender, and how they have been respected and loved as warriors, healers, leaders, and

artists, both in the past and still today by people who know traditional ways. When he finished telling me all of this, he paused and then said, I see who you are. The tone of his voice made me believe he did truly see me and saw me with love and respect. It was a new, extraordinary feeling and encouraged me to heal and grow and learn to love myself and others in the years since. My hope for each and every one of you is that you find a space in which you feel nurtured and love for exactly who you are, so that all of the talents and gifts you bring to this world can blossom.

When we return, our final story. From a Portland Oregon legend, a drag performer who's been at it for almost 60 years, that's next on the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Alistair Bain. Our last storyteller is someone I consider to be an elder of the LGBTQI plus community. He has a career as a female impersonator and cabaret owner that spans over six decades. Here is Mr. Walter Cole, aka Darcell, at the age of 90,

telling his story in Portland, Oregon, where we partnered with literary arts. Here's Walter. APPLAUSE He said, you will go in drag and I will paint you. Okay. I went to his apartment. I walked in and Max Factor had spilled all this makeup all over this table. All the colors of the rainbow, sponges, q-tips, brushes, and all the colors of the rainbow. and Max Factor had spilled all this makeup all over this table.

All the colors of the rainbow, sponges, q-tips, brushes, ready for me. He said, sit down, and I'll put the base on. He rubbed me so high, he said, stop. I said, stop, it hurts. He said, I'm getting rid of your wrinkles. I don't have wrinkles. He finished, he said, now close your eyes.

Open your eyes, look left, look right. He's putting paintbrush all over my face. He said, now open your mouth. Okay, put your lips together. You're finished except for the eyelashes. I've got eyelashes, not like these. You know, he picked those eyes, a mannelly would kill for those lashes.

Put them on. He said, you're ready and you look gorgeous. He had me a pair of fish net hose, you know, with holes in them. A French cut that cut clear up to here, but ruffles in the back. I swear it was a three-foot wig, black wig with roses in it. He put the wig on, he said, you are now a flamingo dancer.

I felt fun. It was fun. Here I was, 37 years old, in my very first dress. We went to the Hoyt Hotel. I got in the car, but I had to take my wig off because it wouldn't fit. I had it in my lap the whole time. We got out of the car and but I had to take my wig off because it wouldn't fit. I had it in my lap the whole time. We got out of the car and I quickly put my wig on. And I walked in that hotel ballroom like a peacock, proud and happy, and very, very sure I was happily looking fabulous. And I walked to the wall of a four-length mirror. I stopped.

I took a look. And I said, Oregon, and bullied by everybody in school. I went to Lincoln Grace School, Lincoln High School, and I met a wonderful gal named Jean. We dated through high school. We graduated at the same time in 1950. And in the 50s, if you had money when you graduated from high school, you went to college. If you had no money, you got married.

We got married. We got married in the first breast-patterned church. And Jean lost her mother when she was a child. And I lost my mother when I was 11 years old. After the reception, we took all the flowers over to the graves of our mothers. We started a life, a normal life. We did all the traditional things.

I worked, she worked. We bought a house. I went into the military, came back. We had our first son. Our son was born 1955, Walter, and my daughter, two years later, Mary-D. I did it all right. I thought I was happy. And then I felt no, I am not happy because I am lying and cheated to the woman I love.

One afternoon at the Hilt Children's Inn School, I sat her down, I said, Jean, I'm a queer. I like men. She said, why didn't you tell me this years ago? And I said, because I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be normal, live a normal life, but it's impossible. I didn't leave the house, because I

didn't want to leave my children. One evening, I walked into a bar called Dolan Penny, on Third Avenue. And at the bar was a handsome young man with a smile from near to ear. I went over, I put my hand on his knee and said, I'm Walter, and I have a bar down the street. He said, he was Roxy, and he worked at the Hoito Hotel. I said, when are your shows?

He said, every night, five nights a week, eight o'clock. I'll be there tomorrow. He said, oh, sure. Well, I was there the next day. In fact, I was the next day for three months. We had a coffee after the show. I took him home. We talked. I took him home. And for three I took him home, drove him home. And for three months this happened because I knew, I knew that this was, I wanted something more than being a one night stand. I knew that this man is the man I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. I left the home, I left my home,

Roxy and I got in the apartment. I told Gene the whole story, and we did wonderful things together, and he works at the Hoi-Totel, but Hoi-Tot the hotel closed and he had no job. So I'd come over to the bar with me and you can work with me. He came over, he said, let's put a show on. I said, what kind of a show? He said a drag show. I said, okay, but it's not going to take me two hours to put the makeup on like that

last time. We didn't have a stage. We used a 4x8 banquet table with a home stereo system. And our spotlight, it wasn't really a spotlight. It was a slide projector on top of the popcorn machine. . . . .

Roxy did, Roxy did, VD Polka on roller skates on that table and didn't fall off. A drag queen joined us, Tina Sandal, she could do proud Mary better than Tina could do it. I did Barbara Streisand. Of course it. I did barbers rise in. Of course, we all did barbers rise in. I said, Rosy said, you're going to have to have a name if we're going to keep this up. I said, well, how about, fine one.

I don't know what you called me Walter anymore on stage. No, you got to have a stage name. So he said, well, you dress us as too gaudy. You've got too much jewelry on, too much makeup, and too much blonde hair. You can't be a Mary Aronalis. I think you should be French. He worked with Denise Darcell in Vegas.

He said, didn't it Darcell, not Dena's Darcell? So we added a couple letters to it, and I stuck with me Darcell. One night, a reporter from Wilamat Week came to see our show. She wrote an article with pictures about the best kept secret in Portland, Oregon. That was it. The doors opened. And we were doing shows to the world. One afternoon, Roxanne, I were walking downtown and we met Jean and Marity. My wife and my daughter. I didn't know how this was going to go and I got really scared and I took a deep breath and a cordial conversation for a while and we parted.

Three weeks later, three weeks later, Marity called me and said, your mom wants to invite you, wants you to invite Rocky to thanksgiving dinner. I was getting my family back. I was getting my was back. I had Roxy and we were doing our shows. Had I not told Jean my secret. Had I not found Roxy, I would have never, I would not be doing six shows a week at eighty-seven, eighty-eight years old. As a matter of fact, there wouldn't have been a dark cell. October last, but we had 47 years together. I'm much happier. Thank you. That was Walter Cole, aka Darcell.

Recently I was able to speak with Walter from his home in Portland, Oregon. How is the relationship with your family today? You became friends or your wife became friends. We're just with my family, my immediate family. We couldn't love each other anymore that we do. I mean, we traveled together. In fact, my great-grandson was a year old Sunday and we had a party at my granddaughter's

house. And all of the sudden laws and the grandchildren of the laws, and we just love each other. And they come to the show a lot. I think they're very proud. That's wonderful. And I just loved our cell. And I'd like to know how you feel when you are on stage as Darcell. I'm I'm very privileged that I can still go on stage. I have a difficult walking but I have a

a rhinestone walker. It's just beautiful. And it also lights up. Ah, that's wonderful. Darcell has become a legend not only in Portland, but across the world. And what's your relationship like with Darcell? How would you describe her if somebody wanted you to tell them who Darcell is? our cell is. Overjeweled, overpainted, hairdo for days, and hopefully a snappy wit. And so what are our cells plans for the future as things open back up. I'm 90 years old, my plans for the future are tomorrow. Or just afternoon. I can tell you one thing, you have to be happy. If you're not happy with your job, with your companions, with your family, if you're not happy, what's the sense?

We go through this life one time. I wouldn't change one day of my life for 90 years, not one day. And before we end, I'd like to ask, does our cell have any tips for us on fashion, life, anything else. Be who you are. Find out who you are and go for it. That was Walter Cole.

How have you celebrated Pride so far this month? Perhaps this hour has been the only chance you've had and I'm glad you could join us. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter how you celebrate pride. It only matters that you remember to carry that sense of pride and love for who you are with you throughout the year. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time, and that's the story from The Moth.

This episode of The Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns, Jennifer Hickson, and Alistair Bane, a regular moth storyteller and writer from Denver, Alistair also hosted the show. Co-producer Vicki Merrick and associate producer Emily Couch, the stories were directed by Meg Boles and Larry Rosen, with additional education coaching by Catherine McCarthy. The rest of the Moths' leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Jones, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Clouche, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Gladowski, Sarah

Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kaza. Moths' stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from Chris Sturkson, a not-coen, sister sledge, blue dot sessions, Michael van Crooker, Bill Fritzell, and Thelonius Muck. This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts,

and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching this, your own story, and everything else, go to our website, TheMoth.org. Good or website, TheMoth.org.