The Moth Radio Hour: Driven
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From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Jennifer Hickson. Have you ever heard the advice that if you want to have an important conversation, have it in the car? There's no place to go at 55 miles an hour, so it's a pretty strong strategy for getting your talking points heard. And the car is an intimate space. The content of the conversation will hit targeted ears only.

It was completely unplanned, but during one car ride, I explained the very basic elements of how babies are made to my children. My son was silent for a moment and then asked, but how do they talk the men into doing that? I had to add a couple extra miles onto that trip. In this hour, stories of the driven, both literally and figuratively.

In this first story, both. A beloved car and very fierce determination. Juliet Holmes' story begins in the 1940s when she was still a little girl. Juliet told me, growing up in the segregated South, many places that were called public were actually restricted for black people. It wasn't unusual for her family to observe the world from the safety of their car.

At the Williamsburg Hall of Music in Brooklyn, where WNYC is a media partner of The Moth, here's Juliet Holmes. Well, I guess you all can tell that I had two men walk me on the stage. In other words, ladies, you are never too old to have two men. Not one, but two.

and I'm going to tell my age tonight so that you all can say, "Huh?" I still have it going on at 84. I'm not gonna talk trash tonight. I'm gonna get to the business of telling my story. I grew up in Savannah, Georgia, in the Lowcountry. And Savannah was like all segregated, apothecary cities in the South.

and what an experience. But I really didn't know that I was living in a segregated world because my mama and my daddy took such care of me and my sister and the community. We lived in the village. Savannah is a beautiful city with a lot of

other islands around the mainland in Savannah, like White Bluff, Pinpoint, Skidaway Island, so many other islands. But one of my favorite places to go was to Tybee Beach. Tybee Beach was like 28 miles from the city of Savannah.

And on Sunday afternoon after church, my daddy and mama would take us on rides or drives in our green Chevrolet. And my daddy loved that green Chevrolet. And so did we. My sister and I would sit in the back and each one of us would have a window. My mama would sit in the front and my daddy would drive.

And my baby brother many times would sit in my mama's lap or either crawl in the back and sit between us. And on our drive to Tybee, oh, it was wonderful because the savanna, you could see the grass so even. Not one blade trying to out-row the other, but it was like a carpet.

and the marshland and the sea life, and to smell the ocean, to smell the Atlantic Ocean. And on our drive, we would talk because we couldn't wait to get to Tybee Island. When we would get on the island, my daddy would say to us, "Now look, look, look to your left. Look, look, look. I'm going to pull over." And we knew what that meant. The amusement park.

all with the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel, all of the excitement. And you could hear the children and the people laughing and having so much fun. And we wanted the same thing. But we sat in the green Chevrolet watching and just having fun too and laughing.

As my daddy would slowly go down the main street, we would look out the window and we saw women walking with their bathing suits and shorts and sunback dresses and hats. And the men, the same thing, walking with their bathing suits and just having so much fun. And the little children going in and out of stores and restaurants and the ice cream parlors.

And after a while, someone would hit on the car. "Where you going, boy?" My daddy wouldn't say anything. "Did you bring her down here to work?" Or, "Are you working in one of the restaurants? Are you playing in one of the bands?" There was silence. And every time we would go, we'd go through the same thing. My daddy didn't answer.

We don't want any trouble down here this day. So I would say to you, turn that car around, boy, and you go back. Go back to Savannah. Everything would be quiet. And as we were leaving Tybee, my mama would say, one day, one day, it's going to be different. That is God's Atlantic Ocean story.

And that's God saying, and we have to abide by someone else's rules. And she would start to hum. God's gonna trouble the waters. Wade in the water.

Wade in the water, Lord, Wade in the water. God's gonna trouble the water. And one day, one day, my girls will be able, my son will be able to go on Tybee Beach, my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren

and people who look like me, who look like us. Everything would be quiet. And then Daddy would turn on the radio to listen to the gospel music. And we would sing and hum. And the closer we got to Savannah, my Daddy would say, "We're going to stop and get some ice cream." We lightened up this mood in the car. As I look back, and after I finished college,

I moved to New York City, but the movement was on, the civil rights movement. I would call home to find out what was going on in the movement. And one of those times I called, my daddy said, I got a telephone call from one of the members of the NAACP. And they know that I have a

good car, a fast car, and I could drive. And they want to know if I would take some of the young members of the NAACP to the wade-in down at Tybee Beach. I said, "Well, Daddy, what are you going to do?" He said, "What do you think I'm going to do? I'm going to take them." Every now and then I would call back to find out how was the wade-in going.

and he would tell me exactly how it was going on. And many times they would try to go into the, to swim in the Atlantic Ocean, but the policemen would stop them. And there was a lady who owned a restaurant and a rooming house, and she told the members of the NAACP that some of the people could come and change into their swimming suits

outfits to go swim in the waters. And when the powers that be found out about it, they told her, "If you permit, if you let them come and use your house, we will chase you off of the island." So she didn't permit the children to come. But the children started to wear their bathing suits under their clothing.

and some of them would wade with their clothing on. And sure enough, Tybee became integrated. If you go or visit Savannah and go to Mark Gilbert's Black Museum, you will see a picture of the front of the Green Chevrolet and a plaque with my daddy's name where he helped to integrate Tybee Beach.

Now as a grandmother, first a mama, then a grandmama, one time that we went down to visit and my mama was still living, the grandchildren, the great-grandchildren who were my granddaughters, and all of us, the family, was able to go and sit on the sand at Tybee Beach

and to wade and swim in the Atlantic Ocean. And that is how it was growing up in Savannah, Georgia. Thank you.

That was Juliet Holmes. She was resplendent that night, dressed in gold. She got a standing ovation and said this to the audience. I am thrilled and overwhelmed. And this cane that I'm carrying is a Sankofa bird that I bought when I was visiting Africa. And the head is turned.

because it says, never forget where you came from. Never forget. And that's why I'm carrying my cane tonight. Juliet told this story in June, and just two months later in August of 2022, a plaque was erected outside of Tybee Beach to commemorate the wait-ins. The first official wait-in was in 1960. Eleven students were arrested on the whites-only public beach.

Undeterred, the protesters kept coming, sometimes driven by Juliet's father in his beloved green Chevrolet. Wait in the water to run away. Tybee Beach was integrated just months before the Civil Rights Act of 1964 officially prohibited discrimination in public accommodations. See that I hold you

To see a picture of the plaque at Tybee Beach and of Juliet's parents, visit themoth.org, where you can also download the story and share one of your own on our pitch line. Do you have a story of being not just a witness to history, but part of history? We'd love to hear a pitch from you. You can pitch us by recording it right on our site or call 877-799-MOTH.

That's 877-799-6684. The best pitches are developed for moth shows all around the world. Wait in the water to run away.

In a moment, a very different definition of drive. Stories of determination. That don't-take-no-for-an-answer sort of drive. That's when the Moth Radio Hour continues. 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 Jennifer Hickson. Driven is the theme this hour, and in the case of these next two stories, the odometer is internal only, pushing forward. Tracy Quasier was on a mission. Here she is at the Seattle Grand Slam, which was supported by public radio station KUOW. Here's Tracy. I was a little nerdy child once.

I did not engage in a lot of spontaneity. I might have just been born this way. I also moved around a lot, so by fourth grade I had already been in five schools. And I found a lot of comfort in both the band hall where I played flute and piccolo and also in the library. I decided at age 10 that I needed to pick a career path.

This is what you do when you don't actually have playmates. You think of into the future of happier days. And I decided that I loved Barbara Walters and that she would need to be replaced. God bless that woman. Man, she didn't retire until a couple years ago. But in 1974, I was 10. I did the math.

And I figured out that when I was 30, she'd be 65 and ready to retire. So I had it mapped out. Then I got to high school and you know how fun that is. And I sort of thought, I don't think I'm the person that can actually stand in front of a microphone. I just don't think that's my thing.

And so I was also loving Mary Tyler Moore and Lou Grant and Ted Baxter, and I thought, "That's it. I am going to be a newscast writer, and this is going to be my thing." And so I went to college in the fall of 1982, and I decided that the best way to really kick off my newscasting career is I would apply at the radio station that the college had.

And the one problem was that they just played music on the radio station, really all the time, from 8 a.m. until midnight. It was just music. Now, this was in Dallas, Texas. They did not even do football scores. There was no news at all. And so finally, in January of 1983, and Barbara Walter's still on the air, good Lord. Good Lord.

I decided I needed to take matters into my own hands. And so I called and I left an answering machine message for the station manager.

I gave him a little elevator pitch which kind of went like this: "Listen, I get that your demographic is the young, hip college people of today, and I get that you're competing with MTV," which at that point was one year old, "but this is what I think: even if you're cool and you're going to, like, parties or whatever it is that everybody else is doing that I'm not invited to, even if you're a cool rock and roll person,

you're gonna need to know if it's raining because you'll want to put your little marijuana cigarettes in a Ziploc bag before you go to your fun outdoor concert, or so I'm told.

This actually worked because the station manager called me back. I'm envisioning I'm talking to Lou Grant, and we make an appointment for me to come in the following Wednesday at 3. Now, it's not that I have a good memory. It's just that Wednesday and 3 are important things to remember. So I go in, and...

My station manager is not Lou Grant by any stretch. He is more like, you know in Scooby-Doo there's his friend Shaggy? It's like Shaggy, only he's drinking a beer. You know I'm a little bit of a nerd, but he's drinking the beer during my interview, which I'm trying to...

I'm trying to look slightly cool, you know? And then as he's drinking his beer, the phone rings and he actually takes the call and it's short, yep, yep, mm-hmm, yep, okay, Friday. And then he spins so that he's not even looking at me anymore and this is really getting awkward very fast.

And he's packing up his backpack, and he puts it over his shoulder. He stands up all shaggy and ripped jeans and everything. And he says, well, that's my dream job. I'm starting in Houston on Friday. And I said, like two days from Wednesday, Friday? And he said, yeah. So I got to go because I got to find a place to live and stuff. And then he reaches into his shaggy jeans, and he throws me the keys. And I'm not being...

I'm not being figurative here. I mean, he gave me a key ring and he said, "This one's to the front door. Please play the music until midnight and lock up when you're done." And I said, "Is there a host?" Because again, I'm still Mary Tyler Moore and I'm typing and I'm handing my witty words to Ted Baxter. And he said, "No, I was the host and I'm leaving. So don't overthink it, kid. The one rocker switch, you push up and the mic comes on and then you talk."

And then the red button is if you want to cough, and it's a three, so yeah, just spin some records for another nine hours. And then he leaps! And so there's an album on the turntable, which some of you may remember. And first of all, I'm a little pissed off, because I put a lot of time and effort into this news station proposal that I had put together for Shaggy, and now he's not even here to hear it.

Second of all, as a nerdy, librarian-loving, band flute-playing person, did I know rock and roll? I didn't. I didn't. My musical expertise stopped with John Philip Sousa, who I think died in 1890.

So then I'm mad because I feel like I have been booby-trapped. Well, if you want this little news nugget here, you're going to have to do something that terrifies me. So then I go from mad to terrified because the other thing he said is, listen, you can't have more than five seconds of silence or you're going to hear from the FCC in the morning.

Yeah, no pressure. And you know how many rocker switches there are on a board? There are a lot. So I'd look at it and I think, okay, I have two choices, both involving crashing and burning failure. The first choice is that I just leave because no one knows I'm here. I don't work here. I sure as shit don't know anything about no rock and roll stuff.

And I can leave. But then, being a good kind of Lutheran person, I was like, but who would I give the keys to? Because you can't leave a radio station unlocked, because then whose fault would that be? It would probably be mine. So then...

and B is that I will just suck it up. And I figure that my public humiliation is going to be less than the FCC yelling at me for some kind of five second silence. And so I'm so scared of the music that I don't even, I wait for the album to go to the end where it makes that noise. And I had a fistful of press releases and a window

And so I looked out and I said, "Good afternoon and welcome to your campus radio station. We've had a mild January day here in Dallas with temperatures in the 50s." And then there were clouds and I'm like, "Looks like it's going to be a rainy rush hour home." And then I just did it for nine hours and I put albums on and I got albums and bands mixed up. I kept saying, "Here's that nice Breakfast in America group with their new Supertramp album."

I probably cut off Bohemian Rhapsody more than once in my career because Sally Ride was going to be the first astronaut, the Dow Jones Industrial Average was now holding its head above 1100, first time in history. I mean, music could wait, news was important. Now here's the funny thing, there was no station manager and I had the keys and so nobody fired me, I just kept coming in.

And then about ten days into this, this girl stops me on campus and she goes, "Wait a minute, I recognize your voice. Are you the Tracy from the radio?" And I was like, "Oh, this is where it starts." And I said, "Maybe." And she goes, "Oh my God, my whole sorority, we love your show. And we tune in all the time and we love how you just play like really random music."

So half the very small campus thought I was being irreverent on purpose, and the other half thought that I needed a little help. And at the end of the day, I connected with people like I never had before, and I actually had fun along the way. That was Tracy Quasier. Tracy did launch a nerdy financial advice radio show for a hot minute, but eventually landed her dream job as a high school librarian.

Tracy is also the proud mom of twin girls and an avid dragon daughter. I asked her about her first concert. She said her parents were very strict. They even forbade her to attend a flute concert. But I think she made it out okay because her first official concert was Prince in Austin, Texas. Pretty cool, Tracy. Mommy dear, mommy dear They gotta have a man, Taysom Cause everyone's a millionaire

Our next story is by Jennifer Leahy. She told it at the Oberon Theater in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where we partner with public radio station WBUR and PRX. Here's Jennifer Leahy. So I arrived to the hospital about 30 minutes before my shift.

I'm a resident doctor and the night shift is both exciting and just terrifying. I show up with my backpack full of snacks, a pager, and just a can-do attitude. And I sit and listen to the daytime team tell me about all the patients I'm going to take care of for the night. And one I remember from the week, and that's Mrs. P. And she is currently dying.

She's also DNR/DNI, which means that if her heart stops or if she stops breathing, I'm meant to do nothing. Which is hard for a Type A personality like me, who went into medicine to help people, to just not do anything.

I actually met Miss P a couple nights previously. I had been called to her room by her nurse because she was having trouble breathing. I went in and the first thing I noticed was that she had one of those homemade crochet quilts on her bed. And that's one of my favorite things I see in a patient's room is something from home. It reminds me that they're loved. It's a nice gentle reminder that there's somebody's someone. She felt better after some oxygen and I left her room only to run into some family members.

I personally love talking to family members, but it's really hard when you're the nighttime doctor because really I just know enough to just get through the night. And oftentimes people come in after work, which is really reasonable, and they want to talk to the doctor about what's going on with the person that they love. And all I can say is, they're still here. I have no idea what happened during the day, but I will get them through the night. And most of the time that's true.

So, my night that night just starts off like it normally does. I have a pager that just is non-stop and I run around. This is the only job I've had where I could work 18 hours and still wish I had two more. And as I'm going about all the things that I have to do, my pager goes off and it's the nurse. She believes that Miss P has died and she would like me to come evaluate.

I look to my attending, who's so kind and offers to take the pager, and then he asks me if I'm okay with taking care of this. And I say, "Sure, I totally got this." And in my head, I'm like, "Oh, shit. I've never done this." I've seen it once, and there's a motto in medicine: "See one, do one, teach one." And so, in my head, I think, "I don't know if I can do this, but it's expected of me, and I think I'm just going to try." But it feels impossible.

So I do what any person would do is that I Google how to declare someone dead. And I think there's a wiki how. And like a good student, I take notes. And then go upstairs. When I enter the room, I realize that she's actually not alone. She has two family members with her. And at first, I'm really excited or glad that she does because that meant she didn't die by herself.

And then this just scares me because it means that someone's going to be watching me as I fumble about. And so I approach her, I rub her chest and call out her name and she doesn't answer. If you've seen any TV drama, there's normally like this big beeping thing that then flatlines and the doctor takes off the cap, throws it down and says, oh my God, we've lost her. Time of death.

And that's not what happens here. There's no machine because since we knew she was dying, we didn't have her hooked up because the beeping is just so annoying. And so I pull out my stethoscope, which has been with me since med school and has been with me for births, but this is our first death together. If you've ever been to a doctor, the doctor's probably listened to your heart and lungs for, what, a total of five seconds? Like, oh, you've got them. LAUGHTER

But this time I'm trying to listen to see if there's anything. So I listen to all the parts that you're supposed to get heard on all your visits. And I close my eyes and just sit in the silence, just thinking, whose breath am I hearing? And I hold her hand so I can feel for her radial pulse, if she has one. And my stethoscope's on her heart just to see if I can hear or feel anything. And all I feel is my own heartbeat that's just beating so fast. And I take a moment to try to collect myself.

And I realize I haven't heard anything. She's not moving. So I look up, I look around the room where all of her stuff is. I take a look at the clock, and I turn to the nurse, and I call time of death, which I think is just ridiculous because she's died before I even walked into the room. But it's me saying the time of death that makes it so. And then I pull up a chair and sit with her loved ones, and I talk about as much as I can about her because, remember, I don't know her. And I tell her about that one time I met her

So at least they know that she just wasn't, you know, just a name, just this random person. They, of course, call her daughter on the phone and then hand the phone to me. This is someone else I haven't met. And so now I'm telling someone over the phone in the middle of their night that their loved one has passed away. I stay with them as long as they want me to because people want time with, you know, the person they love by themselves. And I stand up to go.

And they offer me their gratitude, which I begrudgingly accept, but I feel like it's not my place to take in this moment. I step outside, I go in the stairwell, sit down and cry. There's a lot in my job that's impossible. And there's a lot that I'm asked to do that I just say, sure, and I just find a way to do it. And with every person I meet, it's because of them that I feel like I can do the next impossible thing. So I sit there and take a moment and thank Ms. P.,

Because even in death, she took a moment to teach me on how to do something, to remind me that I can do that next impossible thing, even when I feel like I can't. And then I stand up, go back to the workroom, get handed the pager, and that time that had just stopped just speeds back up into double time, and I start all over again. Thank you. Jennifer Leahy is a family medicine obstetrical physician just outside of Boston.

Being a doctor and mom to a toddler during the pandemic was a huge challenge, but she's grateful to be on the other side of it now. In a moment, a harrowing car chase through Chicago when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org.

You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jennifer Higson. Our final story is told by Omar Qureshi. Omar told this for us at the Broad Stage in Santa Monica. Here's Omar.

Yeah, I like hearing my dad tell stories. It's one of my favorite things. And my favorite story that he tells all the time is about when he came to the United States for the first time. So he came to the United States from Pakistan to go to school. He was going to Western Michigan University. But they had no money at all. So really, they had to graduate as quickly as possible. This is my dad and my uncle. And so my dad graduated college in two years, and my uncle graduated with a master's in two and a half years.

Yeah. And it was amazing. In between times at college, they would go to Toronto where their other brothers lived and they'd go like work at a machine shop like late, late into the night. So that way they'd have enough money for like food and rent when they got back to Western Michigan. And so when they were scheduled to graduate in the winter, but they were back in Toronto and they knew there was no way the family could afford to come all the way to Western Michigan just for a graduation. So they were like, all right, I don't think we can do this.

But as the day of graduation got closer and closer, my dad and uncle were like, all right, you know what? Let's just do it you and I together. Let's just go to graduation together. And they had no money, so they took a 76 gas station credit card, which you can just use for like gas and like candy. And they got in a beat up old car. And in the middle of winter, they took the drive from Toronto to Western Michigan. And about 15 minutes into this drive, the heater breaks in the car.

And it's the dead of winter in one of the coldest places in the world. And so they just wrap themselves up in like coats and blankets and then just like try to stay warm. And then the windows start fogging up. So they occasionally have to look out the side of the window to just see where they're going. Like they're driving Ace Ventura style on their way. All right. And so once they get to around Detroit, like very, very late into the night, they're in a pretty bad area and they're going to fill up gas. Their car breaks down.

and they have no money and they don't know anybody. And so my uncle Nader says, "Oh boy, we better, I think I got a plan. You see that phone booth right over there? I'm gonna go and I'm gonna go call somebody and we can agree that that's not enough of a plan. You gotta have more to it than that." And so he's like, "No, no, no, trust me. What I'm gonna go do is I'm gonna go look for a Pakistani name and then call."

And so he's looking through the phone book for the most common Pakistani name he could think of. And he looks up the name Khan, and he sees a guy named Shakir Khan. And he gives him a call. So he dials up Shakir Khan, and he's like, Hey, Shakir Khan, it's Nader and Ghazan for Qureshi from Pakistan. And our car just broke down in Detroit. Would you come get us? And Shakir Khan was like, Yeah, Nader and Ghazan for Qureshi.

I'll come get you, just sit tight." And so this man drives in the middle of a snowstorm into the most dangerous part of Detroit and picks up my dad and my uncle, and then he takes them back to his house. And he and his wife cook them an amazing dinner. Like it's totally incredible, and they're really hitting it off as the night progresses. And Shakir Khan, he says, "You know, I gotta admit, I don't remember you guys from Pakistan." And my dad and uncle admitted that they lied.

And I said, "Look, the reason why we lied is because we were on our way to our own graduation." And Shakir Khan and his wife were so proud of them for sticking together and for going to graduation together, they said, "Hey, we want you to sleep in the master bedroom and we'll sleep in the living room because it's an important celebration for you." And the next morning they woke up and Shakir Khan took them to the gas station, got their car repaired, and gave them some money and said, "Look,

I only ask for one thing in return. And that is that when you get home, you call me so that I know that you're safe. And to this day, they have never called that man. Dude, not even once. I'm like, what kind of monsters are you people? I was talking to my dad about this the other day. I'm like, yo dad, don't you feel guilty? He was like, yeah, not till you brought it up right now. I was like, oh. I couldn't even, I was like, what the? That, I couldn't believe it. And we owe such a debt to this dude.

And we don't even know who he is. We don't know where this guy is at all. And I resolved then that to pay back my debt, I was going to make any Pakistani that came to this country feel awesome. I was going to treat them to a good time because of what Shakir Khan did. And so a few years back, my cousin Hamza came to visit from Pakistan. And I'm like, I'm going to Shakir Khan it up.

So I'm like, I'm gonna show him the best time, all right? So we're in Chicago and I was taking him to all the sites. I took him to Wrigley Field, I took him to Navy Pier. We put him on a Ferris wheel and the whole time this guy looked mad, all right? My cousin Hamza looked infuriated the whole time. And I was like, what's going, have you ever seen somebody frown on a Ferris wheel?

It's weird, I mean it's such a joyful thing. And so he was feeling bad and I just wanted him to have such a good time so badly that I decided, alright, let's go take him to Chicago style pizza, maybe that'll like make him feel better. And so we're standing outside waiting to get our table and Hamza is still looking kind of nervous and I'm like, yo Hamza man, what's going on? And he's like, I don't know, I guess I'm just scared of gangsters. I'm like, dude, you're from Pakistan.

Al-Qaeda is from Pakistan. It's the most gangster shit imaginable. What are you talking about? And apparently he'd seen The Sopranos. And so there was a car parked right in front of us and there was a guy wearing whitewashed jeans and like an Ed Hardy shirt with like a bedazzled lion on it. And Hamza was like, is that guy a gangster? I was like, no, Hamza, that's not a gangster. That is a tool. All right, that guy's...

That guy is not a threat, alright? He's... That guy's a total scrub. Don't worry about him." And Hamza was like, "Umerbaye, what's a scrub?" And I didn't know exactly. So I was like, "Alright, um... A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly and if you don't know what I'm talking about right now, it's 'cause you're white." I'm referring to the hit TLC song, "No Scrubs."

In which they describe a scrub as a guy that absolutely could not date one of them. Like, just a total loser. And so if you know anything about that song, when you start singing it, you're not going to stop, all right? And so I'm in it. I'm like, no, I don't want your number. And I'm now in front of this guy's car dancing. And no, I don't want to give you my... And he is justifiably upset. He knows what a scrub is, all right? So we go inside and we enjoy our pizza. And everything's good.

Then we all get out. It's my cousin Hashim, my little brother Sean, and Hamza from Pakistan. And we all get back into the car, and as we're about to pull out, another car comes and cuts us off. And out of that car is Ed Hardy guy, and he's pissed.

He was like, "Get out of the freaking car!" And I was like, "Yeah, we shouldn't do that at all. This guy, he seems so upset." And he walks up to the driver's door and he pulls it open and my cousin Hashim is buckled in. So he's in an incredibly vulnerable position. So my little brother Sean jumps out of the car. And one thing to know about my little brother is that he is a nuclear physicist. So he's never been in a fight before.

And you could tell because he hadn't like workshopped any of his insults. As soon as he got out of the car he was like, "Step back before I punch you in the penis, bro." I was like, "Alright, not great." And then the guy was like, "Well then punch me in the penis then." And I was like, "Alright fellas, let's take it back. This is embarrassing to all parties."

And now these guys are yelling at each other, man. You know when guys get a little too emotional and they're yelling at each other and they're so close that they could kiss? That's how close these guys were. And at this point I'm thinking, man, this guy is... There's four of us and just one of him. Meaning this guy is either crazy, has a gun, or is crazy and has a gun.

So I was like, "We gotta get out of here." So I pull my brother back and we all get back in the car and we like jump onto the curb and we back out and we drive away. Humza is hyperventilating in the backseat. He's like, "There are gangsters! There are!" I was like, "Alright, Humza, that was... I admit that that was not great, but let me just tell you, America's totally safe. Don't worry about that." And...

So we're driving and I'm just like, "We gotta do something for this guy." And I think, "Let's go take him to some ice cream to calm his energy." And so we're driving for like 15 minutes and then I hear thuds on the side of the car and it's Ed Hardy's shirt throwing quarters at us. And I've never known like monetarily how much someone had hated me until that moment. That guy hated me at least 525. Could have been more. He might have just run out of change.

And he rolled down his window and he yelled, "Pull over, you Indian rats!" And Humza rolls down his window and he says, "We're actually Pakistani!" I was like, "Neither the time nor the place, dog. I don't think he cares."

So we're panicked at this point. This guy is crazy. He's following us, throwing change at us. We're like, all right, we got to just, let's go drive to a police station and park there. There's no way he's going to continue to harass us if we're at a police station, obviously. And so we go to a police station. It works like a charm. He drives away. We sit there for 10 minutes, and I'm like, okay, let's go ahead and get that ice cream because I can feel that I'm not doing my duty to Hamza here. So I'm like, all right, let's go ahead and try to make this right. So we go to ice cream, and he has the best time. He absolutely loves it.

And so I'm like, "Alright, let's go home. It's been hectic." And when we're about five minutes from home, I look in my rearview mirror, and it's that hardy shirt guy again.

And he is pissed. And he's right behind us and we are weaving in and out of traffic because we don't want to go back towards home because then he's going to know where we live and he's going to hurt us. And so we're weaving in and out of traffic, freaking out. And I decided I got to call 911. So I call the cops and I'm like, hey, there's a guy who's been following us. He threw quarters at us. I danced into a scrub song. I don't know. Can you please then help? And they were like, sir, please don't prank call us. And they hung up. And I realized that, okay, the authorities were not going to help me in this particular dispute. So I was like, ugh.

I don't know what to do in a situation like that. Never been in it before. So what I decided to do was have Hashim drive us to Wisconsin. Now I don't know if you know how much of a coward you have to be to leave the state because someone threw quarters at you. But the answer is this big a coward. And as we sat there in the Kenosha, Wisconsin, Buffalo Wild Wings, I had failed my duty to make Hamza feel at home.

And I could not make eye contact with my little brother or my cousin Hashim who were so mad at me. And I definitely couldn't make eye contact with Hamza. So I'm just looking down and Hamza says, "Umerbai, that was freaking awesome! What are we gonna do tomorrow?" I'm like, "Nothing dude, there's gangsters down there, man." And I was so happy in that moment that Hamza felt great. And I know that no matter what I do, I'll never be able to repay the debt

that my family owes Shakir Khan. But I'm going to keep trying one Pakistani at a time. That was Omar Qureshi. When we first met Omar at our story slams in Chicago, he was a law student. I was always astounded that he found the time to come tell stories and be in law school. He's now a lawyer with his own firm and has less time to get out there, but said he's angling to get back soon. As for Hamza, he still talks about his wild ride with fondness.

Shakir Khan, the man that Omar's father cold-called from the White Pages, if you are listening to this story, won't you please contact the Moth office? We'd love to put you in touch with Omar's family, who finally want to thank you and give you that callback you asked for. To see pictures of Omar's dad and uncle around the time of their graduation and pictures of the family out eating in Chicago, visit themoth.org, where you can also download this story. ♪

Thank you to all the storytellers in this hour and a special shout out to everyone listening in their cars. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time. This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns, and Jennifer Hickson, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch, additional Grand Slam coaching by Larry Rosen.

The rest of the Moss leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Ginesse, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Caza.

Mall Stories are True is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from The Fearless Flyers, The Staple Singers, Supertramp, Brad Meldow, and Ramsey Lewis. We received funding 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 us your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.