The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: The Kindness of Strangers

Episode Date: August 2, 2022

In this hour, six stories about finding kindness from an unexpected source. This episode is hosted by Moth’s Artistic Director Catherine Burns. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Hosted by: Catherine Burns Storytellers: Laura Zimmermann loses herself . . . and her stuff in Portugal. David Cole does all that he can to return to sender. Niccolo Aeed faces scrutiny at the airport. Denise Scheuermann shares a ritual of good hope. Caroline Abilat struggles to show herself kindness after the birth of her first child. Ed Gavagan is called upon to show grace to the boys who stabbed him.

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 theMoth.org forward slash Houston. This is the Moth Review Hour from PRX and I'm Catherine Burns. Today we're going to hear stories about the kindness of strangers.

Each week members of the Moth's artistic staff listen to about two hours worth of audio from our live events so we can discuss the stories and decide what to put on this radio show. Over the last few months I noticed a pattern. We were hearing a lot of stories about someone helping out someone they've never met or being helped themselves. So I decided to put them together in one hour. Our first story was recorded at one of our open mic storytelling competitions in St. Paul, Minnesota. Here's Laura Zimmerman live at the Moth. When I went to Portugal 20

years ago it was way before there were Google maps. We just had these things that were, they were maps. And I don't know, the thing about those maps was that if you, if you didn't already know where you were, they were not helpful at all. So essentially my husband and I were lost in Portugal for nine days. But it was a beautiful country, lovely people, and we had learned the important phrase, ham and cheese together on the same bread.

And if you can, if I can get a affordable sandwich, then it's almost as good as not being lost. But our last stop was to be this national park reserve where there was supposed to be a beautiful view of the ocean. The next morning, we'd fly out, fly home. So we stopped at the park reserve, and the guidebook warned that there were thieves and pickpockets.

So I cleverly took all of our items of value, which included some money, passports, plane tickets, and a bottle of Vino Verde wine, and put them in a green eddy-bower shoulder bag and locked them in the trunk of the car. This turned out to be kind of an unintentional courtesy on my part because then the guy who broke into the car had something to take our valuables away. So, a little bit of history, never a good idea to leave your loser passport.

20 years ago, it was almost as bad to lose your plane tickets. They just gave you one plane ticket. It was, you had to keep track of that one plane ticket. You couldn't go to the kiosk and print a new one because we didn't have kiosks. And if we did have kiosks, they would have used them to sell cigarettes to smoke on the airplane. That's how different travel was 20 years ago.

So this was a really big deal. Making it more complicated was the fact that it was some kind of one of those European holidays where we couldn't get through to the airline. So the police said, go to the airport in the morning, see if someone can help you but you're probably not going home tomorrow. I was desperate at this point to go home. It is exhausting to be lost and robbed and eating only ham sandwiches for nine days in a row. So this was terrible. So next morning bright early, we will go to the checking counter.

And I say, we don't have our plane tickets. And the agent interrupts me. And she says, I think someone found your plane tickets. No one found my plane tickets because they were stolen two hours south of here, or possibly east of here, or we were a long way away. But she gets on her walkie, and pretty soon there's this big guy in a suit with an airport badge striding toward us through the airport.

He is beaming, and he's holding a green Eddie Bauer shoulder bag. So this is the story he tells me. The day before, in honor of the holiday, a woman had gone mushroom hunting in the national forest. Deep in the woods, she found this bag discarded. The money was gone, the wine was gone, but our plane tickets and our passports were there. She called the airline, and as you know, they weren't answering. So she knew she had a call back the next day, but she noticed that the plane tickets were to New York and they were for the first thing the next morning

and she knew if she waited it would be too late to help. So Maria Teresa Cavallo calls the United States Embassy and they are also closed for business, but she finds an emergency number, which I think is supposed to be for when the ambassador's son gets a DUI or something. But she called on our behalf, and somehow this woman talked them into tracking down the home address of the airport director. And then, at two o'clock in the morning, this Portuguese mushroom forager that I'll never meet

drives 40 minutes to a stranger's home to deliver this bag so two lost Americans can find their way home. So I start crying at mushroom and I sob the entire way over the Atlantic or the Pacific or whatever that big one is on that side. And I think, how can you repay that kind of kindness? One with a bag of wild rice and some malbamerica magnets.

Obviously, we sent those. That's so nice. And then, two, 20 years later, standing on stage and telling you, Maria Teresa Cavalos instinct for generosity and compassion and responsibility for strangers, who are not even from her country, who didn't speak her language,

is the only acceptable model for diplomacy there is. Thank you. Laura Zimmerman writes books for young people. She says that you might find her in a softball game, a jazz concert, or a nonprofit board meeting, but you'll never find her on a ladder or entering a triathlon. I ask her if she ever spoke to Marie Teresa again. She wrote, the only time we ever talked was a few months after the trip. We'd sit in a little Minnesota care package and a letter we hope someone would be able to translate. One morning she called out of the blue. Her English was very basic and as you know,

my Portuguese was limited to Hammond cheese sandwich. She said she was sorry she had not found the bottle of wine we'd lost, and we tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to piece together information about each other. She was either telling me that she was in the Portuguese parliament, or that she liked the ban parliament, or maybe she smoked parliaments? Even if we had spoken the same language, I don't think I could convey just how grateful I was, and still am. Not just that we got our stuff back. I'm forever grateful to know that there are people in the world who are so clearly good, outlandishly, irrationally, even if it's inconvenient good. That is an amazing gift.

You have a story about helping out a stranger or being helped out by a stranger? If so, we definitely want to hear it. Call our pitchline and leave a two minute version of a story you'd like to tell. The number to call is 877-799-Moth or you can pitch us the story right at our website Our next storyteller, David Cole, also came to us from our StorySlam series. He told a story in Houston, Texas, where he partnered with Houston Public Media. Here's David Cole, at the mosque. My wife and I are relatively recent transplants to Houston. We moved here from Austin and several years ago, we lived in Austin. We have young kids and she has friends who have young kids and some of her friends lived

in Dallas. And a couple of weeks before Christmas, these were close enough friends where we would send presents to their kids and they would send Christmas presents to our kids. And we get the box from her friends in Dallas and we open it up to get the presents out to put them under the tree. And there's like seven or eight presents in there and they're all addressed to Ben, love grandma.

Now, neither of our children are named Ben, and my wife's friend is not grandmother to nobody. So we call her up and we ask her, hey, what's up with the presence addressed to Ben Love Grandma? And she says, I have no idea, but I'll get to the bottom of this. So she says, she'll go to the post office and figure it out.

So I'm thinking myself what on earth are they going to know about it. So she goes and comes back and says well I went down and asked and turns out they had no idea what happened. So I'm thinking I know exactly what happened. I'm going to have all had some kind of boring jobs and you do what you do to entertain yourself. And so I'm sure someone someone in post office decided to be funny to open up two boxes and just switch the Contents, haha, haha, very funny. So we put the presence aside and just kind of let it alone and weeks go by, Christmas comes and goes and then finally it's getting close to Valentine's Day and I'm like, you know, well crap, we never got the presents for our kids

feeling a little betrayed here. Um, so I'm like, well, before we go by Valentine's presents for our kids, let's open these presents up and maybe there's something we can, you know, regift here. So we open the first couple and they're the normal, weird kind of grandma gifts you would think. You're not the first couple and they're the normal weird kind of grandma gifts you would think you're not even sure really what they are. I'll open about the third

present. It's a little stuffed bear and I'm finally thinking okay that's something we can use and fourth present with some pajamas. They're way too big for my son but you know he'll grow into him and the whole time my wife is like oh that's a bear was for bin. It's not going to get this stuffed bear and all the pajamas, he's not going to get the pajamas. And then there are two presents left and they're kind of the big ones and we open up the second to last one and it's this sweater. This hand knit sweater, we can tell because there's no tag. And my wife is like, oh, grandma, knit that sweater just for Ben.

We've got to find Ben and I'm thinking, oh, she's crazy. And then we opened the last present, the biggest of the bunch. And it's this old blanket with this design of a fire truck. And there's a note. And it says, dear Ben, this is the bed spread that was on your father's bed when he was a son, when he was a boy. And just as it covered and protected him, now it will cover and protect you. And so now, even I'm like, well crap, we gotta find Ben. So we look and all we have are the names Ben and grandma and that's not a lot to go by.

So we kind of keep pouring over and one of the weird little trinkets, the weird little grandma gift kind of thing, on the back had a sticker that said, Spring Hill Hospice. So I do a Google search for Spring Hill Hospice and the only thing I can find even close, there was a Spring Hill Day Hospice in this little town called Rochdale in England. And we're like, well, there's no way that's it. This was a box sent to us from Dallas to Austin. I mean, we could see the return address. And my wife looks at the pajamas and she said, you know what, I've never seen this brand of pajamas before. So we do a Google search for that and it turns I've never seen this brand of pajamas before.

So we do a Google search for that and it turns out it's an English brand of pajamas. So we're like, well, this is really strange. So I'm thinking, well, what can we do here? So I find the Spring Hill Day Hospice website and I email what happened. We took pictures of all the gifts. I email every email address that's on their website. There's maybe 10. I got maybe two responses, both saying,

sorry, I don't know what the heck you're talking about. Then, Karzmiew, you know, Rothdale's a pretty small town. I look it up. It's about 20,000 people. So I figured they have a relatively small newspaper. So I find their website and and email all the editors. None of them are willing to help. I start looking on their website and emailing the reporters.

I finally find one email address of this reporter. She said, I'll run the story. She runs the story and I figure, we'll see what happens. Weeks go by, I don't hear anything. I get an email from her. She said, guess what? I think I found Ben. I sent them your contact information. And sure enough, the next day I get an email from a guy who

lives in Austin. He said, I think you have my box. Can I come by tonight and get it? So he comes by, and then he shows there. He has his son Ben with him. And he pulls me aside. He says, you cannot imagine how much this means to us. My mom, grandma, on the gifts, died December 23rd.

And we were just beside ourselves, trying to figure out what happened to this package. And he said, what, in it up happening is at the funeral, a friend of the family overheard me telling someone what happened to the gifts, and she was the one who happened to see the story, and that's how it all came together. David Cole was raised in a small town in Texas. He says that when he's not pretending to be a private detective,

he practices tax law in Houston. I ask him if he's kept in touch with Ben's family. He writes, we did. They had us over for a very nice dinner shortly after we connected, and we exchanged Christmas cards with him every year. Most importantly, little Ben has his daddy's quilt.

Most importantly, Little Ben has his daddy's quilt. Coming up, a man is detained at airport security for the hundredth time, when 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 Katherine Burns. In this show, we're hearing about the kindness of strangers. And our next story was told at one of our open-mic story slams in New York, where we partner with Public Radio Station, WNYC.

Here's Nicolo Ayein live at the Bronx Museum. Oh, thank you. How thank you. So I've been to Israel about 20 times. My family is from there. And last time I went, it was last July, and it was from my little cousin's wedding. But I'm always nervous when I go to Israel

because of security. And I should suppose I should mention that my family's Palestinian. And so you always get stopped when you get to the airport. And this time it wasn't actually going that bad until the second I stepped out into Bengurian airport and someone just said, step over here. And they stopped you several times

and the main stops at the Passport Check and they send you off to this kind of room to the side with like a bunch of other Arabs and people who kind of look Arab-y, like a little like a couple of Indians, like a lost Ethiopian, and like one Chinese guy who's just like, damn it, I shouldn't have traveled with a son.

But when you're there, it's clear everyone speaks Arabic because everyone's Arab there, but no one will speak Arabic. No one wants to be identified. Because the questions they ask you when you're there are why are you here? What's your family's ask you when you're there are why are you here? What's your family's, where's your family from? Why are you here?

What's the religion? What do you do? Identify as Arab? What's your race? What's your religion? What's your ID number? What's your uncle's ID number? What's your cousin's ID number?

What's your father's ID number? Where are you from? What's your Facebook account? What's your Twitter account? What's your password? And all over and over and over again, then you get sent back to the room to sit in silence and not speak Arabic.

And then someone else calls you in and assures you, this is for your safety. And this person also usually carries a big gun with them. And so you do this again, like, what's your race? What's your ethnicity? Why are you here? And the question, they keep asking. And the thing in my heart, which I always kind of think, is how is this protecting anyone?

How is this keeping anybody safe? Because kind of the purpose of it really is just to remind you that your Arab and this is not your country And then so when you leave the airport you can drive up this highway that cuts up to where my family's village is and Along the highway you can see the wall this separation wall, which is enormous and it's gun towers every hundred feet But then I get to my cousins. And you know, it's all good. You like your aunt's cook, you food, and you kind of forget the place you are in. You're just kind of with family celebrating a wedding.

And then you kind of forget it until you try to drive back to the airport. And the last time, two times ago, when I tried to drive back to the airport, my cousin drove me, and my cousin drives a wheelchair accessible van because my cousin's paralyzed, and he drove me with a van to the airport, which is a terrible idea, because they just saw two Arabs in a van driving up to the airport. And like, four men with assault rifles come and separate us out and ask us the questions, what are you here, what's your race, why are you here? And it's exhausting, And it weighs on you.

This way of being stopped and we fly away and you kind of breathe an audible sigh of relief when you leave the ground and you fly over. And in that flight last July, what they did was somehow on the plane, there were a bunch of FBI agents and NYPD agents who were training with Israeli security. And like the announcement was like, thank you for your service, guys. And I just reminded you of the same policies

that are in place there and in place over here. And then you touched down the airport and I'm thankful to be on those lines, those passport control lines where they stamp your passport and say welcome home and they stamp me and my family's passport and they say step to the side. And that one didn't last as long. The first, you know, in Israel, it's like a usually a three hour or four hour wait. This one was like 30 minutes, so, you know, thank God.

And so we get out and we get into the cab. We could try to get a cab in the cab drivers' Arab. I think he's from Alexandria or something. And he's speaking to us in Arabic like, how is your trip? Where you from? He's like, Palestine. He's like, oh, yeah. Cool, cool, cool.

I'm from Alexandria. How was the flight? And we said, yeah, not that great. And he's like, yeah, they do their best to treat us like shit. And then when you're driving back from the airport, there's that point where the kind of road turns. And you can see in New York look like Emerald City. Do you know what I mean?

It just rises out. And we're looking at this as we're kind of silent after. And he just goes, welcome home. Thank you. Applause. Cheers. Applause. Cheers.

Applause. Cheers. Nicola Aied is a writer and director based in New York. He's half of the comedy duo, Marino and Nico, whose work has been featured on Funny Your Die in New York. He's half of the comedy duo, Marino and Niko, whose work has been featured on Funny or Die in Comedy Central. He recently co-wrote and directed the plays, unpacking, a ghost story told in the dark, and room 4. Sometimes a stranger can end up saying the perfect thing to you without even realizing

it. And our next story is about having someone do something nice for you when you don't even know they're doing it. All the unseen kindnesses of strangers, people who are looking out for you, even if they don't know you at all. The story was told at one of our story slams in Pittsburgh, a repartner with Public Radio Station, W-E-S-A. Here's Denise Shoreman, live at the mall. Something really good will come from this. I said that to myself while I was raising the box, up a little, you know, higher, out of respect, closing my eyes and saying that to myself. Something really good will come from this. Unfortunately, I got caught in the act. One of my

co-workers had seen me doing my little ritual. She didn't know that's a mantra that I pretty much to this day even use when I'm trying to do something and trying to put my best intentions into it. No, all she saw was me doing my little ritual and she said, what's going on? Do you have narcolepsy? Are you all right? And I said, I was just thinking I was wishing good things for these patients. I was hoping there's a good outcome for whatever's going to happen. What it was, I was getting ready to ship out some blood for a woman who was in an in vitro fertilization program, which meant she was trying to get pregnant, and she was dealing with a doctor in Colorado.

I would usually have about five patients like that per week, but it was always funny because they're not really sick, but they're still patients, and they're hyper aware of every aspect of the process. The first time such a patient would come to me, they'd be like, are you gonna be all right shipping this all the way to Colorado? Are you sure it's gonna be okay? And I would micromanage every expectation they had,

I'd say, these are the regulations, here's how we're gonna do it, we're gonna put it in a really tight container, we're gonna put that in with an absorbent material. We're going to put that inside another container. We're going to put all of that inside another container. We're going to pour some dry ice on it. We're going to put it in another container, seal the box,

put the labels on, and you will have seen me do the whole process, at least the first time. And I said, and because this is so precious, this is your day three blood work that you can't get back. We're going to treat it like it's irretrevable. Irretrevable. And we're going to keep a spare sample of that in our minus 80 freeze or so.

If anything goes bad with the shipment, you're not going to have to start your treatments over again for the next six months. And they'd be like, oh, we're so glad. And so a lot of people knew me by name, and they would come into the lab the first time and go, is there a Denise that works here? And sometimes they would come at less than an opportune time. But I'd always stop everything I was doing,

and I would tell them everything I wanted to tell them about what they were going to experience as I was shipping their blood across the country. So part of my tradition was I would always, as it was packing up, the last part of packing it up, I would put a wish out to the universe, something good will come from this. And I got caught in the act of doing that. So now there was a lot on the line, but I didn't admit what I was doing. I just said, oh, I'm just making good wishes.

Well, over the years, I did run into some of these women I had helped. And it always took me by surprise, one time I was interviewing for something. And the woman said, oh, you helped me. And I never could get pregnant, so I adopted a little boy and I can't imagine my life without this little boy. I'm like, wow, thank you. I never get to hear what happens with these people. But now fast forward to maybe three, four years after I'd been doing a lot of IVF shipping.

And I had a big change happen in my job. They changed what part of the hospital system I was going to be reporting to, what my day of work would be like. And I was very emotionally fragile. I also had lost my husband six months before, after a long battle with leukemia. So I wasn't the most emotionally strong person on the planet, but I put myself in the care of a bereavement group

at Kildes Club. It was mostly for people who had lost their spouses, but over the summer, there weren't enough of us to make the group worthwhile, so they also added people who had lost anybody in their family to cancer. So we had this newly merged group. And the group leader asked me, Denise, how's it going with the change in your job?

And I had a meltdown. I was crying inconsolably. My body is shaking. I'm saying, I miss being part of taking care of patients. I wish feeling, I miss feeling like my job matters to somebody. I just, I just don't feel like I even belong in the healthcare system anymore. And the woman sitting next to me at this bereavement group looked to me and she said,

are you Denise from the lab? And I said, yes I am. And she said, you helped me and my husband so much. She said, the day that I met you, I called my husband on the phone and I said, even though this whole mailing the blood out every month thinks sounds scary, I think this is something we can do because we have met the most wonderful person.

And she said, we now have a son who's nine months old, we can't imagine not having him in our lives, but he really truthfully would not be here if you hadn't helped us. And it was on the darkest day of my life that she said that to me. And I'd always thought, I hope something good comes out of this, either they get pregnant or they find that they want to adopt or something, but I had no idea it wouldn't mean they would show up as an angel helping me through my darkest day. So I learned a lot from putting that kind of energy out there, and pretty much every day of my life, I think, to myself.

Something good will come of this. Thank you. Denise Schurman has worked in a hospital lab for over three decades. She says, I'm retired now, but I'm hoping that at least one of my co-workers has carried on the tradition of blessing the boxes before mailing. Our final story before the break was told by Carolean Abilat in a Moth community workshop in Kenya that was focused on stories of women and girls. Part of what makes a great Moth story is when people are willing to dig deep and talk about the hard parts of their lives. This story takes place not long

after Carolean had a baby, which could be an extremely demanding time. This story was recorded at the very end of the workshop when participants tell their stories to each other. So if the crowd sounds a little quiet, that's why. There were only about 20 people in the room. It's seven in the morning. Trying to get ready to go to work. It's been six months since I've been back to work.

I've taken really like a long matenti-lave. So today's the day, I have to go back to work. It's been different because I didn't have to do anything. I just had to look after my son. And well, my son didn't demand anything for me, but from just breastfeeding and cleaning him up. And so I'm in the wardrobe. I'm trying to find something that will not really

show the wrong curves, but at least will help me to get by. So there's a pile of clothes that I've discarded because they just don't fit. Everything is wrong, trying on days, my pants don't fit around the West. And then I find one stretchy black dress that I wore when I was the only part of my pregnant, I think, okay, this might actually work.

And then, well, I put it on and I move close to the mirror, you know, just to be sure. And there is this strange person in the mirror. I'm thinking, who is that? Who is that person? She has unkempt hair, she has a round face, and dull looking eyes. This woman is fat. And I'm thinking, oh my God, then I start doing all kinds of things to confirm, is that me? And then the woman in the mirror, she's doing the same things.

And I'm thinking, no, that's not me. That fat woman, that ugly woman, that's not me. You see, before this time, I had been that person that had great hair. I had great shoes. Everybody in my workplace knew that I was that sharp dresser. I was confident. I knew who I was. Every morning I woke up, I knew I was going to go that day, what I was going to do, what I was going to see.

But this woman did not really look like she knew who she was, who she was gonna see. She looked like she was stuck in that place. And as I looked at that woman, I recoiled from my, I actually moved away from the mirror because it was scary to see that person. And as I stumbled away from the mirror, the window is open in my room and light is peeling inside the room. But I'm not really seeing the beauty of the light because I'm really, really towards that dark place of disbelief. I'm like, what am I going to do?

What will people say when they see me? Because you see, the image that I had pushed was the image of this chapter. A star who could be accepted by everyone, you know, being groups, be chosen to lead, to represent the company, and my boss was really confident about me. Remember I said I knew I was going. Kami'a kakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakak and say, I'm sick, and then maybe after one week I'll be fine. And I'm moving towards my bed, all sorts of going to work, forgotten. And then I just call up into a bottle, and I'm crying because I cannot believe I've let myself become that person in the mirror.

I'm asking myself, what is wrong with me? How could I become this woman? And then I'm lying there, going to be consumed with such fear. And then I just turn around and open my eyes and I see my son. He's sleeping, he's sucking on his finger, which he does a lot when he's sleeping. And these cheeks are flushed, he looks healthy and really such

a sense of pride and accomplishment rising me. And I feel like, no, this child that is sleeping there is not a child of a loser. This baby is a baby that everybody would like to have. This baby is of a woman who is so hard-working. A woman who is hard to learn to make sure that the baby is looking as great as that, that is vaccinated, it is fed well, it sleeps well. And without been realizing it, I was up on my feet. And I was chanting in my head, I will go to work today. I'll go to work today.

Thank you. Thank you. I was currently a B-Lite. Caroleen works as a program officer at Action Aid Uganda. She writes, Jeremy, my son, is now four years old, very charming and such a great little person. This was a story of moving from a place of pain and fear to find you the one thing that had done well

and would always be proud of. I hope that more women can relate to this story because it was for me such a moment of triumph from such a dark place in time. What I love most about Carolean's story is that she became a stranger to herself, and then her challenge was finding a way to show herself kindness. Coming up, a young man is saved by strangers and then gets the chance to pass that kindness on. That's next on the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media, Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and

presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Catherine Burns. Our final story is from Ed Gavigan. This is a classic moth story. This is an extreme example of the way strangers can affect each other's lives. Here's Ed Gavigan, live at The Moth. with him off. So in the phone rang that morning, I didn't want to pick it up. I was in a world of pain. I had everything hurt.

My body, my head, I was an emotional and a physical wreck. And I looked over at the caller ID and I could see that it was the district attorney's office calling. And so I knew that it was assistant district attorney Kennedy calling. And I knew what he was calling about, but I didn't know exactly what he wanted. He was calling about a case where five guys were in custody for attempted murder. And they were gang members from a gang called the Latin Kings, and they had come in from Brooklyn on the night before Thanksgiving.

And their mission was to kill somebody that night as part of an initiation, where they were hoping to move up in the management ranks of the gang. And you never think that you're going to be the guy whose whole life changes forever because you choose to walk down one side of the street instead of the other side. But as I turned off of Bleaker Street to walk down the block that night, I picked the right hand side of the street and I walked into their ambush. And about 15 minutes later, I was being wheeled into the emergency trauma room at St. Vincent's with multiple stab wounds from three different knives. One of them was at a 10-inch blade.

And the surgeon operated the rest of the night to try and save me. I needed two complete blood transfusions to keep me in place until he could do his work. And I was conscious up until they put me out for the surgery. And I was pretty certain that I was not going to make it. In fact, everybody was so sure that there was no way I could live that they gave my case to the homicide detectives, I guess, to save on the paperwork

when I eventually died. But they took out organs and they moved about a third of my intestines. And I was on life support. And when I came off of life support, the nurse came in with a clipboard. And she wanted to talk to me about my insurance. Well, I was self-employed, so I

was insurance-free. And they let me, though, have a special program at St. Vincent's for people with no insurance, which consisted of a bottle of percussette and a cane and a bag to put on my crap in. And they said, as they pulled out the morphine and the catheter and the chest tubes and the oxygen mask. They said, come back in two weeks. We want to take a look at those stitches. And my mother who had sat by my bedside for the whole thing said, you need to come back to Wyoming

where I grew up and where the whole family was. And she goes, we got to leave this horrible city and you know, we get a plane ticket and just come back and be safe and get out of here. And I agreed, I felt like I could use a little break and we flew back to Wyoming and my two brothers and my sister were there and they just could not believe what had transpired. And they said, you know, what the hell went on. And I said, you know what, I want to tell you this, I want to tell you everything that happened,

but I'm so happy to be alive. I feel so lucky. I want to go out into the mountains, all right, because you know, we grew up in Wyoming and we have this camping thing, and I said, let's drive out into the hills, and we'll make a fire out on a hill. I'll look at the stars,

and I'll tell you what happened, and you can, you know, kind of understand what it was like. So they're like, all right, I'll drive out of the mountains. You can tell us a story in front of a big fire. All right. So my sister gets in her Honda and she's like, listen, I have to work in the morning. So we got to take two cars so I can drive back. So fine, she goes in the Honda with one of my brothers and I'm with my other brother.

And he's got a 1966 GTO. So we're following her driving out at dusk across the prairie into the mountains. And my brother is driving. He's looking over at me and he's like, man, you look like shit. And I had lost 40 pounds in the hospital. I was looking pretty skeletal. And I was kind of freaking out at every little bump and everything. And he started to cry and he's like,

I can't believe it was really like five guys, three knives, and I was like, yeah, but when I was in college, I was at Notre Dame, I was on the boxing team. So I knocked one guy out, and they arrested him, and he gave up the names of all the other guys who ran away. So there were five guys in jail, because I got one and knocked them out.

And my brother's like, dude, all right, all right, that's cool. But he couldn't believe that that would be a test of manhood that three guys with knives would ambush an unarmed guy. And he's looking at me and he's crying. And that was why he didn't see as we came over the hill that my sister had stopped on the road because there was a herd of antelope crossing. And I didn't have a seatbelt on because when we got in the car, I had so many stitches from the stab wounds and the surgery that the seatbelt hurt too much to put on. And he was looking at me and we hit

my sister's car at 60 miles an hour. And I hit my face on the dashboard and I went through the windshield. And I came to about 40 yards down the highway and I could just smell the burning rubber and I looked and I saw the headlights at crazy angles. We'd torn the back off of my sister's car. Both cars were in the ditch. There's broken glass everywhere and hissing radiators and they're all screaming. And I think I'm dead again.

But it hurts so much that I can't imagine that they have this kind of pain after you're dead. And I'm laying there and they all come running over and they're screaming and looking down at me. And I look up and we're in the middle. We're an hour from anything. There's no phones, there's no lights, there's no houses. I really had wanted to get out into the woods.

And we just stood there, neither car can drive. And the next car that comes along is a pickup truck. And this guy pulls over, of course, he sees everything that's going on. Calls the state troopers, the highway patrol shows up. Trooper gets out, he comes over, he wants everybody's ID, we all get more drivers license, and he goes, well, I'm not writing any tickets tonight, y'all have the same last name. You sort this out when you get home, all right? We need to get this guy to the hospital. So they're loaded me into the back of this pickup truck. And I'm in just, I'm in bad pain.

And as my sister and the pickup driver putting me in, I hear the trooper saying to my brother, that GTO was a 66. My brother's like, yeah, I had a factory try power carburetion on it. And I'm just like, one-ooming, man. All right, can you get me to the hospital? So we drive into Cheyenne, it's an hour.

We get to the hospital. And at that time, at night, it's Cheyenne. Mainly, all they deal with is car accidents. So they bring me in, and the nurse on duty goes, weren't we wearing a seatbelt, weren't you? I'm like, all right, we get up on the thing. She starts to take my shirt off to check my vitals. And she sees stab wounds, surgery scars, staples,

hundreds of stitches. She goes, honey, what happened to you? Where did you come from? I'm just like, listen, just stitch up my face. I need to get out of here, all right? Let me get on my way. So I take the next plane back to New York City. I get here, and I've got my appointment with my surgeon that saved my life.

I've got to go in and see him. Now the last thing that he told me was, stay off your feet and don't take a shower and I'll see you in two weeks. So I go in to see him and he is pissed. It's like he's just restored an old English piece of furniture and I've taken a hammer to it. And he starts looking at me and he says, you know what, if you had had that seat belt on, you would have ruptured everything inside of you

from the impact and you'd be dead. So you actually saved your own life. I'm like, whatever doesn't kill me, it just hurts me even more. It's fine. So the certain, you know, the text, everything out, I'm fine. I've got two black eyes, a broken nose, stitches from my forehead, to my brow, my nose, both lips are full of stitches, and I've got broken teeth. He just sends me on my way.

And I go back to my apartment. And I'm having a hard time. I can't sleep. I've got competing nightmares. I've got, I'm being stabbed. I'm in a car crash. I'm in surgery. I just flew through the windshield. I can't eat. I can't go to the bathroom. I'm oozing, pus, and intermittent bloody noses.

I just cry. I cry and cry. I'm racked with sobs. I can't, I have no idea what my place on earth is anymore. Nothing is safe. And then I decided to check my phone messages, right? Because the machine is completely full. I've got 36 messages.

It's like, this is Bob. I'm here with Ellen. We're waiting for you. You didn't come to the meeting. I can't understand Ed. I really thought this was important to you. I have Sam, very annoyed. Beep. Ed, Bob, thought this was important to you. I have to say I'm very annoyed. Beep, Ed.

Bob, Ellen had a leave. We're never going to work again. I don't understand. Next one. Ed, we've been waiting for the furniture to be delivered. I don't understand what happened. Beep on and on and on. These people don't even know I've been stabbed.

They were business deals that just they hadn't been notified. So I'm in a world of hurt. And I find out my van has been towed while I was in the hospital. And then the phone's ringing and it's ADA Kennedy. And he wants me to come in and make a victim's impact statement so I can let the criminals know how this has impacted my life.

And I don't want to do it. I tell them I don't have the energy. I'm not interested in it. I want to get on. I want to forget everything that's ever happened to me. I just want to have a new chance at life and I want to go on with it. I don't want to do this. And he tells me that he needs me to do it because it's going to help my case.

His case, actually. And he says that what happens is if you do it because it's going to help my case, his case, actually. And he says that what happens is if you don't come in and make this statement, the criminals come in and people feel sorry for them because these guys were 17, 18 years old. And they're going to see them in handcuffs and scared and little and they're going to want, they're going to feel sorry for them. He said, I want them to hear from the victim's point of view. So I felt like, OK, let me think about this. OK, I agree.

I'll do it. I'll do it for you. And then I think, you know what? I'm going to be in the courtroom when that guy comes in. And I'll just jump over the rail and strangle him. That'll be great. And then I realize, no, because then I'll be in jail. And they'll be four other guys that don't get strangled.

So then I think of myself, all right, what I'm gonna do is write down all of my anger and my hurt and express to this punk what he ruined and how he destroyed my business and my health and my sense in the world that you can walk down the street without something bad happening to you. And I really, it was very important to me to communicate that to him. And then as I played it in my mind,

I imagined this kid in court sneering back at me, like, hey, yeah, yuppie, you got a shitty life now. Well, I have always had a shitty life, and I'm gonna have a shitty life going forward. And welcome to your shitty life, because I don't care about your pain, and I'm not interested in hearing about how things are not working out for you and I thought

to myself you know what I don't want to miss the opportunity to communicate with this kid. My rant is one thing but I'm gonna actually get to look him in the eye and this is the guy who scars all carried for the rest of my life. And I want to communicate. I wanted to change the equation in his head, however I could. And so that's how I found myself in court with my cane. And the judge, they bring him in. He's in handcuffs.

He doesn't even look old enough to buy cigarettes at the bodega. And the judge asked me if I can, you know, get up and speak and I get up and I look at him, and sure enough, I mean, I want to choke the shit out of him, but he, I feel sorry for him. I look at him. He's just a little guy. There's no, no family members on his side of the courtroom. And I look at him and I go, you know, you set out that night to kill somebody that you didn't know. And the sentence for murder, which is what you wanted to do, is 25 years to life in New York, murder one. I said, but I didn't die thanks to the ambulance crew and the skill of a surgeon and my strength

and an incredible amount of luck, I'm here. Which means you get to listen to me and it also means that the maximum you can go to prison for is 15 years for attempted murder. But you set out to kill me. So your intention is what I think 25 to life, you should be prepared to deal with and instead you're only gonna deal with 15 years in prison maximum.

And I looked at him and they were tears were coming down my eyes and I was like I was thinking how am I going to say this? I said you owe me one. You owe me a favor because on one day you're going to walk out of prison ten years early and he starts to cry and his hands are cuffed behind his back and he starts to slam his face down on the table and I figured it might have got to him. And then I said to him, you know, on the day you walk out of prison, I want you to remember that you have gotten another chance. You get in 10 years

handed to you just like I got another chance at my life and I expect you to remember today and to make the best of that chance and I will too. That was Ed Gavigan. Ed is working on finding a publisher for his memoir. When I told Ed I was putting this story in an hour about the kindness of strangers. He said, who is the kind stranger in my story? And I said, you are Ed. That about wraps up this hour. Almost all these stories are about people are coming angels to the people around them. And my own mother believed in angels. She believed in the literal angelic beings

that came from a holy place to help us out. But she also felt strongly that it was up to us to be each other's angels here on Earth, and in looking for opportunities to help out strangers. She'd always tell me, remember that you can be someone's angel today. Get to know your neighbors. You never know who's in line in front of you at the grocery store and what's been going on with them.

Years later, what she said reminds me of the Moth's deepest values of slowing down and connecting with the people around you. That's it for this episode. We hope you'll join us next time for the Moths artistic director Catherine Burns. Catherine also directed the stories in the show along with Jennifer Hickson and Larry Rosen. The rest of the most directorial staff includes Sarah Heyberman, Sarah Austin-Jones and Meg Bulls, production support from Timothy Luley,

Lola Okosami, and Jody Powell. The Moth would like to thank the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for their support of the Moth Community Program. Moth Stories are true, is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift, other music in this hour from Modre Deos, Modern Mandalin Cortet, Adrian Leg, Kelly Joe Phelps, and Ben Harper. The Moth is produced for radio by me Jay Allison with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media, in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Ben Harper.

story and everything else, go to our website, TheMoth.org.