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From the producers of Anything for Selena and the Pulitzer Prize-winning podcast Suave comes My Divo, a podcast about roots. Dive into the legendary life, music, and lasting influence of Latin America's most prolific songwriter and showman, Juan Gabriel El Divo de Juarez. Hosted by Maria Garcia, this is
My Devo, an Apple original podcast produced by Futuro Studios. Follow and listen on Apple Podcasts. This autumn, fall for moth stories as we travel across the globe for our main stages. We're excited to announce our fall lineup of storytelling shows from New York City to Iowa City, London, Nairobi, and so many more. The Moth will be performing in a city near you, featuring a curation of true stories. The Moth main stage shows feature five tellers who share beautiful,
unbelievable, hilarious, and often powerful true stories on a common theme. Each one told reveals something new about our shared connection. To buy your tickets or find out more about our calendar, visit themoth.org slash mainstage. We hope to see you soon. Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Alex Roman-Peters, associate producer at The Moth and your host for this episode.
There's something special about the moment right before somebody tells a story. They step on stage, take a breath, and the audience is on the edge of their seat waiting for the tale to begin. In that moment, the story could be anything. It's all possibility. The only thing more magical is when the story actually starts, and it knocks the audience's socks off. These remarkable moments happen at our live shows all over the world, from Miami to Melbourne, from London to Louisville.
This episode will be visiting Louisville, host to so many magical moth moments and playing two stories from that city's story slam. I was lucky enough to visit Louisville a few weeks back. My fresh off of an early flight, admittedly somewhat grumpy self immediately fell in love with the people that I met in Louisville. One storyteller, Alan, goofed around a bit during our sound check. He had fun at the mic and helped shake off some of that pre-show energy.
Alan later found me before the show to apologize for his biting sense of humor and hoped that I didn't take it personally. I immediately thought of Alan's playful, benign jokes at the mic and thought, "Alan, I think you're the nicest person I know." And it wasn't just Alan.
I could see and feel this entire group rooting for each other. Joyful, truly delighting in one another's success throughout the evening. And there were successes aplenty. This group, this audience, was connected through each other's stories. Our first Louisville story is from Ethan Sweetland-May, who told this at an open mic story slam where the theme of the night was happy. Here's Ethan, live at the mall. Just a little bit, just a little.
So the only reason why eight-year-old me would be in the cereal aisle at 5 p.m. on a Friday night and jazzed out of my mind is I'm about to have a weekend with grandma and grandpa. Now you understand, being the fourth born of 11 kids, getting to pick your own cereal, and not only your own cereal, but a sugar cereal. When your mom is like a granola and natural peanut butter in the five-gallon bucket that you have to mix with like a drill.
Every time I did a sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa's, I got to pick my own cereal, and it could be anything, and we didn't have to tell Mom. And so I was in the checkout with Grandma, and I had my Frosted Flakes, and that would have been enough. The fact that I was going to wake up in the morning on the couch in their den, and I was going to turn on the TV, and I had TV, and I was going to watch cartoons, and I could watch cartoons, and all of that was great. That was expected. But that Saturday, my grandfather, my grandfather,
was gonna teach me how to shoot. My grandfather was a Golden Gloves boxer. He was a race car driver, a professional race car driver. His front, in his garage, he had one of the old, like, no roll cage, everyone died but the guy that won, like, race cars. Like...
He was a hunter. He had three deer heads in his house, like mounted on the walls. They lived on a lake, and he was a fisherman, and he could do everything. And he was going to teach me how to shoot. And I was pumped. I woke up early. I ate the whole box of cereal. I was ready when he came down the stairs, and I watched him drink coffee out of the percolator. And we went to one of his friends' house. And my grandpa's friends are all people like him. They're all like...
40-year retirees of plumbers and steamfitters. They drive trucks, but not douchey ones. Like they are like, they are like the salt of the earth. We farmed and worked and we have, you know, hemorrhoids and we don't brag. Like, and, and I was the only kid there. I was like eight years old and I'm jazzed on sugar and I am so nervous as he puts the actual shotgun into my hands.
And I mean, I watch Red Dawn, I've got the basic idea, you know? I saw Patrick Swayze do it. And so I think I'm doing it right as I kneel down and I hold it about an inch in front of my shoulder and I'm kind of looking down the... And when I shoot, it knocks me all the way over onto my back, the gun goes across the gravel, his friends all duck, and I burst into tears and run to his truck.
And after about 20 minutes he comes and gets in without saying a word and he was like, "That's okay. It's like that sometimes." And we drove back to his house and I was devastated. I was so let down. It was like a moment to shine with like Grandpa. And so I did what the only thing left to do in the afternoon. I went down to the lake on the little dock and I was fishing and I was okay at fishing for bluegill. I've got a cane pole and I'm fishing for bluegill and Grandpa's mowing the grass.
And I'm just like, like simple, like sad and like I, you know, like I'm just like I blew this moment with my grandpa and out of nowhere he's, I hear the lawnmower stop and he comes down onto the deck and he says, "Hey, catch me one of those bluegill." And I'm like, "Oh." And here's this dough ball. I put it on the hook and like, you know, five seconds flat, I can catch a bluegill. I'm eight years old, I'm good at this. And he pulls out this case and he sets it down and he unzips it and he pulls out a knife.
this big long knife with a heavy black handle and I'm standing there holding the bluegill not totally sure what's about to happen and he takes the bluegill from me and he sets it down and I'm like I catch a bluegill, bluegill goes back in the water I'll probably catch him later we're like basically playing tag and he puts the bluegill on the deck and he goes
Wham! And there's just blood. And it's a dead bluegill. And I didn't scream, but I almost screamed. And he starts cutting it into strips. Just cuts it into strips like a crazy person. And he cuts it into cubes. And he puts a big cube of it on my cane pole. And he makes it way deeper than I ever do. And he drops it into the water. And he says, come get me.
And I'm sitting there holding this and I like no bluegill are coming for their buddy and I'm just watching it not totally sure what's about to happen and after about 15 minutes I see these big dark shadows coming down the inlet.
And like, these blue cats, these blue catfish know what's up. They know what's up because they've been doing this with my grandpa for decades probably. And they come right up to the dock and like one eye floats out of the water, I swear to God, and looks at me and he's like,
and goes back down and I am shaking and the lawn mower is running and I'm like, just keep going buddy. I don't even, don't stop for me and he goes down the inlet and for a minute I think I'm safe and he doubles back and I just watch him go down into the moss and for like three seconds nothing happens. And then, whoo! And he goes and I'm like, I'm tall now. I was not that big and he's like pulling me to the edge of the deck and I am screaming for my grandfather. I'm like, whoop-a-ha!
And he doesn't hear me! And I am locked into a fight with Moby Dick. And he's like, for revenge! And my palms are sweating, this little cane pole is bent in half and sliding out of my hands. And I'm just like, if I lose this pole, I will have to run away. I will have to get in this boat and go down the end to somebody else and find new grandparents. And...
At last, like, I hear the lawnmower stop. And I'm like, Grandpa! Grandpa! And he, like, comes down and he, like, takes the pole from me and just, like, old man strength, wrenches this, like, blue cat in and pulls it up out of the water. And he's like, here, take this. And I'm like,
I put my hand where his hand is and I get it on the lip and I'm holding it and he's like and he steps back and reaches into the black bag he's got a little Polaroid camera, a little black bag. He's like, "Hold that up." I'm holding it up and I smile for him and he takes a picture and I have this picture, this blue cat about as long as my torso and you can see just this part of my smile. And that's the only thing I really have to remember that day by, this little moment of smiling. My grandpa helped me get a win. Thank you.
That was Ethan Sweetland-May. Ethan has loved telling stories ever since he was very young, even when they have to be true. He enjoys cheering for racing and Lew City FC, running campaigns for D&D, and riding motorcycles.
Whether you're a native of Louisville or someone who says it Louisville, a sincere thank you, by the way, to the person who emailed us to correct our pronunciation. We have themed open mic story slams in cities all over the world. And you can find our upcoming shows, themes, and dates by visiting our website at themoth.org slash events.
At the Louisville Grand Slam, I met a storyteller who grew up in Kentucky, but spent 10 years in New York just down the block from where my partner lives today. We would have shared the same subway stop and gone to the same local pub. But here we were, meeting some 750 miles away from that pub, at a theater in Louisville. As our next story shows, Louisville is special.
This one's from one of our annual Grand Slams, where winners from the local open mic story slams compete for the title of storytelling champion in their city. Here's Trevor Norris live at the mall. Three of us went into the cave that day. Yeah, I get a little fuzzy on details, but I know Jamie was there because he's the one who threw the rock.
And I know my friend Terry was there because he kept going on about his watch. My friend Terry was a techie before that was really a thing. And he had just gotten this new watch. Timex had come out with this Indiglo watch line. And this watch had this new cool feature. You hit a button and it lit up this fluorescent bluish green color. And a funny thing, I told some kids this story and they all wanted to know, did the watch have GPS or could you play games on the watch? Yes.
I said, no, it was the 80s. The watch lit up. That's what it did. They weren't impressed, but we thought it was cool. And since I was the only one who had been into the cave before with the older kids, I had the flashlight and I led the way. Now, the entrance to the cave was a rite of passage all on its own. It was less than 30 inches in diameter. It was a 40-foot claustrophobic crawl that not everybody could make. But for those who did, it was worth it.
Because it then opened up into this massive ballroom-sized cavern and it had all these connecting tunnels that led to other caverns. There was a steep drop-off section with a shallow ledge that forced you to kind of hug the wall as you maneuvered across. There was even an underground river. And we had made it just about that far when we started to hear noises. We heard these squeaking, scratching, rustling noises. So I shined my light
towards the sound and the ceiling and there were bats. There were 50 bats, 100 bats, there could have been a thousand bats hanging from the top of that cave. And that's when Jamie threw the rock. Now, I don't know if Jamie actually hit a bat, but he might as well have, because those bats got pissed.
And those bats descended into that cavern like a big black bat tornado. And I don't know where I got the thought. I don't know if I read it in a book or if I heard it in a movie, but my only thought was that bats attack the hair of the head. And so I fell to the ground and I threw my hands up to protect my head. And somewhere in the midst of all of that bat frenzy attack, yelling, screaming, calamity and commotion, I dropped the flashlight. It went out and it was dark.
It was pitch black, jet black. It was deathly black. Now, apart from being home to some of the most magnificent cave systems in the world, a lesser known fact about South Central Kentucky is that it's also full of ghosts. No.
The ghost of a well-to-do southern debutante who in her vanity and anger cursed the sky and God above and was struck down by lightning. The ghost of a freed slave who was killed in a clearing at the end of a dirt road in the old county. On one of my earlier forays into the cave, the older kids had told me another ghost story. They told me a story about an awkward shy boy named Lonnie who was lured into the cave by some of the older kids of his day.
kids who played a prank, a prank that went tragically wrong and according to the legend, Lonnie never made it out of that cave. And it was right then with my head full of ghost stories that something appeared before me there in the darkness. I seen a face floating there in the darkness and I was frozen stiff and I reeled back in shock when the face spoke and what the face said was, "You dropped the flashlight in a river."
I had three reactions, the first of which was confusion followed quickly by realization and relief. I was relieved when I realized that the face that I saw there floating in the darkness was not the face of the ghostly face of a boy named Lonnie, but the face of my friend Terry, illuminated by the glow of the in-the-glow watch.
It would be eight years before I would become a soldier in the United States Army and get the kind of night navigation training I could have used that day, but I'd get a crash course.
Because, you know, the light of the watch only allowed us to see a few feet in front of us, so we were forced to crawl most of the way, clutching tightly to each other's belt loops. And we encountered several creepy crawlers, and it took us twice as long to get out as it did to get in. But we were able to find our way out of the darkness by the light of the Indiglo watch.
And our adventures didn't end there at the cave. There would be many more close calls and narrow escapes, but somehow we managed to survive those restless and reckless southern Kentucky summers. And I don't know if there ever really was a boy named Lonnie, but if there was, I hope he found his guiding light as well. Thank you.
That was Trevor Norris. By day, Trevor does work climbing trees. The highest one was 125 feet. He still loves exploring out-of-the-way places all over his home state of Kentucky and the world at large. Remember, you can find Louisville's Story Slam dates at themoth.org slash events, where there will also be details about all of our other open mics and shows. We'll also have a link in our episode description.
That's it for this episode. From all of us here at The Moth, we hope to see you and hear your story soon. Alex Roman-Peters is proud to be a lifelong New Yorker. Yes, Staten Island is part of New York City. She is a firm believer in the kindness of strangers, the power of live performance, and the restorative properties of diner coffee. This episode of The Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Ginness, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Salinger.
The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant Walker, Leigh Ann Gulley, and Aldi Caza. The Moth would like to thank its supporters and listeners. Stories like these are made possible by community giving. If you're not already a member, please consider becoming one or making a one-time donation today at themoth.org slash giveback.
All Moth stories are true, as remembered by the 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.