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From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Meg Bowles, and in this show, we have stories of rulings, verdicts, and decisions. A school board versus a children's book, a battle to allow black students to enter an Arkansas high school, and a man exiled to a Soviet labor camp. Our first storyteller, Toby Price, is an educator in Mississippi. He shared his story at a main stage event we produced at the Alamo Theater in Jackson. Here's Toby Price. Thank you.
I was spinning the rack looking through the comic books that I wanted to buy before my dad paid for the gas. And he walked up to me and he said, what you got there? And I said, well, I got a few books. I can't decide on which ones to get. And he said, get them all. See, when I was little, I used to think that reading was boring, but it turns out it wasn't boring. I just needed to practice.
And my dad figured out to get me to practice, he needed to give me the books that I wanted to read. Captain America, The Avengers, Spider-Man. Y'all, I love Spider-Man. Spider-Man was a nerd just like me. He was smart. I was smart. He married way out of his league. So did I. He could climb walls. I tried too many times and it didn't work.
But all of that reading helped me become a better reader. It helped me decide what I wanted to do when I grow up. I wanted to be a superhero. But sadly, I don't think I would look as good in the tights as they do. So I did the next best thing. If I wanted to be a hero, I decided to go to school and become a school teacher. And like most folks, as soon as I graduated school, there I was running a local restaurant here in town.
I enjoyed it. I had regulars who would come see me every day, and I had one regular in particular who showed up one day with a friend. And she and the friend started speaking to me, and it turns out the friend was a principal at a nearby elementary school. She said, I have a job for you. It's with a first grade class. I said, well, hmm, okay. I did all my training with fourth grade. She said, that's not going to be a problem. All you have to promise me is that you just won't quit. And I went and met the class.
And after spending about 10 minutes with these friends, I learned what happened to the first two teachers. They were, now I would call it challenging. But every day when I walked into that room, I wasn't going to quit. And I thought about what my second grade teacher used to tell us, that everybody has something to contribute. And I thought that about my class as well.
They taught me so many things. They taught me to be patient, and they taught me to most of all see the value in every child. And I didn't know it at the time, but they were shaping the type of teacher I would become, but most importantly, the type of parent I would become later on.
Fast forward about seven or eight years in time, and I have one, two, three kids now. My two oldest are autistic. They were diagnosed at an early age. My oldest is nonverbal. My son, my middle child, he's a little more verbal. We weren't planning on having a third, and I asked God, you're giving us a third child, give me one that can talk, God. And he said, all right, watch this. Ever since she was born, we always tell folks she was four going on 40.
And I was going to do with them the same thing that my dad did with me. And I was going to share some of my favorite books with them. So with my son, we got out the Spider-Man comics, and he loved Wonder Woman. With my youngest, she was a reader. I got out Harry Potter, and she loved reading about the Titanic and World War II and nonfiction. But that was okay, because we did find some books that we really enjoyed together.
I had heard about a book on Twitter where I talked to a bunch of my teacher friends and it was called I Need a New Butt by Don McMillan. It was a picture book for kids and I found a copy at the local Walmart and I read it to my kids and they loved it. Every second of it. I Need a New Butt followed by I Broke My Butt. My butt is noisy. Yes. My personal favorite.
And most recently we were at the Walmart and we found a copy of "My Butt is So Silly" and we all kind of clamored over who was gonna get to grab it off the shelf and read it first. And we got in the car and we read it on the way home and we laughed and we giggled because kids need those silly books, those funny books. That's what hooks them into being readers and becoming readers. Well, let's fast forward from that time to Read Across a Miracle Week, Dr. Seuss's birthday. I was an assistant principal
in a school, and my boss asked me to set up a Zoom meeting with 12 second grade classes and a principal of a nearby building who would be their principal next year. I got you, no problem. So all 12 classes logged into the Zoom and I was the host, and I looked at my watch and our guest reader was not there.
Text her? No answer. I called. Nothing. I told my boss what had happened and she said, you go ahead and read. So I turned around and looked in my shelf and there it was. I needed to hook these kids. I needed them to laugh. I was going to grab I Need a New Butt by Don McMillan. And I did.
I went through and I showed them the pictures in the book and I read the story to them and they howled when they saw the little boy slide down the banister and think that he broke his butt because there was a crack in it. They giggled. They giggled when they saw him trying to sell his dog to afford to buy a new butt at the local store. And y'all, they were rolling when he thought about, what if I had a rocket butt that could blast me into outer space?
After I finished the story, I saw some of my friends in the hall and they come up and they said, "Mr. Price, we love that story. Thank you so much." It made me feel good. Made my heart, you know, grow nine sizes that day. And then I was called to the principal's office. Even when you're a grown-up, that's no fun getting called to the principal's office. And my principal, she told me, "Mr. Price, we have to talk about that book that you read today. I don't know if it was the most appropriate book. Some parents may complain."
And I said, well, that's not a problem. I'm so sorry. If someone complains, I'm more than happy to talk to them and apologize. And she said, okay, okay, we'll have to talk about it some more later. I said, yes, ma'am. I left her office, and about 15 minutes later, I got called back to her office because the superintendent wanted to see me at the district office. And I drove to the district office on the other side of town and walked into the building in the conference room with the superintendent and assistant superintendent, and y'all, they let me have it because I chose this book.
Is this the kind of thing you find funny? I said, yes, before I came here, yes. That day they sent me home suspended with pay, pending investigation, because parents are going to call. Two days later, they called me back out to the district office. Y'all, and I was a nervous wreck anyway. I've never been in trouble like that before with these folks ever. They called me back to the district office, and they came to a decision and said, Mr. Price,
We just can't get past this. I just can't get past why you chose to read this book. It was poor professional judgment, and because of which, we're terminating your contract effective immediately. And I froze. I'm a dad of kids with autism. We don't sleep at night. We just worry with our eyes closed on a normal day. You know, how am I going to pay for therapy, medicine, bills, luxuries like food, lights, and water? They told me...
You could sign this resignation and we can part ways or you go home and think about it and decide if you want to appeal this. You'll have to find an attorney and we can start an appeal process. And they left me in the room and I called my wife. I told my wife what had happened. And she said, we've been married 21 years. If you were wrong, I would tell you you were wrong, but you weren't wrong. So you're not signing that resignation. Thank you. She said, pick your head up high.
Don't let them see you cry and walk right out of that building and come home. And I did just that. I picked my head up high, didn't let them see me cry, and drove right down the street to the Dollar General for a box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. It's true. If you're going to eat your emotions, there's no better way than Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. Well, after that, my wife and I found an attorney and we began the appeal process. Y'all, I've never been in trouble before, so this was all new territory for me.
But day one of the appeal went a little bit like this. We had an expert witness come to say that reading kids' silly books is good pedagogy or teaching. They objected. We have evidence of other books. Objection. We have affidavits from other educators. Objection. See a pattern? I learned some interesting things that day that I did not know, like the superintendent had no idea who Shel Silverstein was.
Had never heard of No David. Had never heard of a cow to coddle ward. Or worst off, in this one, my wife grabbed my leg and she'd never heard of Captain Underpants. And most importantly, that day I learned that not one parent complaint was submitted into evidence. Not one. Well, the second day of the appeal was a lot more arduous than I had expected.
It was my turn to testify and they got to ask me questions and they all but accused me of being a liar, a thief, and a pedophile. It was a terrible, terrible day. The whole process is still ongoing and just stopping and thinking about it now makes me really sad. I had a friend who came to my house and told me, "Dude, after what happened, I took Walter the farting dog off my shelf and took it home." He's a second grade teacher. I know.
And it made me think that, wow, this is a big deal because teachers like him and teachers like me, they're not going to read those fun, silly books to kids like we want them to. And kids need those books, not just because they're hilarious. No. If you can hook a child with the funny and the silly books and make them think, wow, I want to read that.
They'll stick around and read more and find out all of the wonderful things that books can be besides just funny and silly. Some days as a teacher you feel like Captain America. You're up there smiling, high-fiving and changing lives. And other days you're like Peter Parker sitting in that tiny broken down apartment.
bandaging your wounds literally and metaphorically and emotionally, wondering, "Is this all worth it? Am I even making a difference? Why do I do this?" And you do it because it is the hardest job in the world, and it's the best job in the world. And now, while we wait for a decision, I'm grateful that I get to sit at home with my three friends. We're reading some Wonder Woman, some Titanic, and my oldest has developed a love for Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, and Spider-Man.
And I get to share those books with those kids today. Thank you. That was former teacher and elementary school principal Toby Price. On April 28, 2022, the school board voted to uphold his termination. There were two votes for, one vote against, and two members who were up for re-election abstained. The ruling cited that Mr. Price was fired on the grounds of incompetence, neglect of duty, and for good cause.
According to the appeal ruling, and I quote, "The book depicts images contrary to what the Harrison County School District teaches children. H.C.S.D. teaches children to keep their pants up and wear a belt. No sagging pants like the man on page 21. We work really hard to get children to understand that your bottom is your private part and that it is not something you should be out in public sharing."
Toby says he feels like he's mourning part of his life that will never be the same, but he is committed to keep fighting. And he's just released his own children's book, The Almost True Adventures of Titus the Monkey, and is currently working on the sequel. I asked Toby what his children thought of the ruling, and he said his youngest daughter said, Dad, at least you stood up for something. I always knew you'd stand up for books in school. I didn't think it would be that book, but still. ♪
Coming up, a story from the front lines of desegregation in 1959, 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 Meg Bowles.
In 1957, nine black students were enrolled in Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas. Then-Governor Orval Faubus called out the National Guard to prevent the students from attending the school. The story made headlines across the country, and images of the National Guard blocking black students from entering the school were featured on every news outlet. President Eisenhower issued an executive order commanding that the National Guard support the integration efforts.
The nine students, who later became known as the Little Rock Nine, were finally allowed to enter the school, but over the course of that academic year, they endured violence and threats. Governor Faubus continued his fight to stop integration, and in September of 1958, he signed an act that, rather than allow black children to be educated with white children, closed all of the high schools.
When the schools finally reopened in August of 1959, our next storyteller, Dr. Sybil Jordan Hampton, then 15 years old, followed in the footsteps of the Little Rock Nine and became the only black student in a class of 544 white students.
A note to listeners, when Dr. Hampton shared the story of her experience, she quoted some offensive language that was used against her. From a main stage we produced in partnership with Seattle Arts and Lectures, here's Dr. Sybil Jordan Hampton. In 1982, I lived and worked in New Rochelle, New York. One day, I got a letter from the Little Rock Central High School class of 1962 saying,
inviting me to participate in the 20th reunion. To put it mildly, I was shocked because over those 20 years I had never heard anything about a reunion, had heard nothing from my classmates. And to be perfectly frank, I had no desire to go into that school again or to be with those people. But this letter presented me with a challenge and an opportunity.
as I thought about going back to the scene of the crime. During 1957-58, the Little Rock Nine encountered many trials and tribulations. I was aware of what they encountered because I saw things on ABC, NBC, CBS, read articles in national magazines and in our local newspaper. I was aware of the harassment, the bullying, the physical violence.
And at the end of all of this, Governor Orville Fulbers declared that the 1958-59 school year would not be, and he closed all three high schools in Little Rock. The NAACP Legal Defense Fund was very active in pursuing this matter in federal courts.
and there was finally a decision that the schools would reopen in fall 1959. And I, along with four other students, were selected to begin the school desegregation yet again. As a frolicking junior high school student,
I walked every day with my friends to our all-black junior high school, laughing and talking, and we went right in front of Central High School most days. But on that first day that I began high school, my father stayed home from work, and after breakfast he prayed. And he prayed for me to be calm, to be brave, and to remember that the Lord was my shepherd and would take care of me.
And then I waited for Reverend J.F. Henderson and his son Frank and Sandra Johnson to come and pick me up so that we could drive the six blocks from my house to Little Rock Central High School. As we drove, there was just no talking in the car, and I wondered what's going to happen. And I also wondered...
how it was going to be for me because I was going to be alone and there was not another black student in the 10th grade and I was 15 years old. When we got to the school, we looked out and there were no crowds and the press was not visible. And so I thought we're not going to at least have to fight our way into the school today.
And as we went along this really lovely winding sidewalk to the steep stately stairs to the school, it became clear that from top to bottom there were Arkansas National Guardsmen standing. And I thought, are they here because they're going to have to come into the school to, you know, rescue us?
And I was very, very frazzled as I walked up those steps past all those Arkansas National Guardsmen, wondering if they really would be willing to protect us. At the front door, we were met by the principal, Mr. Matthews, and by the assistant principal, Mrs. Elizabeth Huckabee. She, and only she, greeted us very warmly. We went to her office. She explained our schedules.
gave us instructions on how to move around the building, and would be taking us to our homerooms. There was no one in the halls because we did not come to the school until after the school day had begun. We went to my homeroom on the first floor in the northeast corner of the building, and as we got near the door, I noted there was a door to the outside.
And I thought, "Okay." And it was really second nature for me to look for an escape route. My homeroom teacher was at the door. She pointed me to my seat in the middle row. We were all seated alphabetically. And I knew that she wasn't going to be my ally. When the bell rang for the first class period to begin, I was more than apprehensive because I was going to be in the hallway with all these students for the first time.
And I was alone, and I was 15 years old. My parents had reminded me that as I went out into the hallway, that I needed to hold my head up, that I needed to be very aware of everything that was going on around me, but that I always needed to look straight ahead, and I should never cry. As I went down the hall, I could hear this echo, and the echo was...
a nigger is coming, there's a nigger coming. And then the students moved to the sides toward the wall and they cleared a path so that no one was near me as I walked along. This only went on for a week or two and then it stopped. But what happened is that no one looked at me, no one smiled at me, and no one regarded me positively.
In my homeroom, the same homeroom for three years, the only time any student in that room ever heard my voice was when it was my turn to read the Bible after the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag. I always read Psalm 121. As a witness, I will lift my eyes to the hills from whence cometh my strength. My strength comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. It was...
striking to discover that over three years, nothing changed. That I was actually shunned. We were shunned. And I felt that I was treated like a ghost. But most of all, treated as if I didn't matter. So when May 1962 came around, I was really ready to dance a jig.
I was so happy because the goal we had was to be successful as students and to be successful in staying the course. And also to demonstrate that as foot soldiers that we were very proudly standing on the shoulders of the warrior Little Rock Nine. There were 544 people in my graduating class and I was the only black student.
Graduation took place in Quigley Stadium, which is the football stadium. I had never been in Quigley Stadium because by law we were not, as black students, permitted to attend any activities. Sports, we were not allowed to be on any sports teams and could not be in any clubs or organizations.
That evening, only our parents could come, no family or friends, because they felt there might be violence. It was just me. But there were police ringed around the outside and inside. I walked across the stage, and as usual, there was just silence around me. And then some wiseacre guy yelled out, "There goes black beauty!" And I thought, from first to last, only insults.
As I sat down, the students around me were talking about graduating, and they were talking about whom they were going to miss. And I thought, not a damn soul. I'm not going to miss anybody, and I certainly don't plan to ever be here in this space ever again in my life. And then I am in 1982 with this letter inviting me to the 20th anniversary. And I talked to my parents about it,
And I said, I really think that I need to go back to see what has happened. What is it like? And I told my parents, I want you to come and go with me because they could never come into the school. They were not permitted to come into the school. And so I said, I want you to see this cast of characters who are around me. But also, I just want to have this moment that you can be in that building with me.
And so I flew from New York and I said, "We'll just go to the banquet." There were some other activities and the banquet was in the school in the cafeteria. We arrived and we were met at the door by a guy from my homeroom who had never spoken to me before, as was true for everybody else in the homeroom. And he said, "Hi, I'm so glad you're here and I'm responsible for your being invited. I wanted you to come." He said, "But everybody else in the class
is uncomfortable and so they will not sit with you and your parents. And I was, I was, there was a part of me that was really quite, what the hell? And my parents gave me the eye. And so we proceeded to go in and to sit with Ron. But during the course of the dinner, students came over and some students said that they really regret it, never
reaching out to me and other students congratulated me on being very brave to come to a place where people had treated me as if I didn't matter and they didn't want me. And I thought, that's an understatement, okay. I did get an award that evening for being the most educated. But I had failed to note that there was going to be a sock hop.
And some of the people who had been friendly to me were very insistent that I needed to come to the SOCOP, stay for the SOCOP because during the course of our time at Central we had never had the opportunity to get together. And I'm thinking, but my parents gave me another eye. And so I stayed for some of the SOCOP and actually it was, you know, it was okay.
But I was very fatigued, and so we went home early. On the way home, I was talking to my parents, and I said, when we first arrived, what I was reminded of is that you can pass laws, but you can't legislate things of the heart. And that which matters to me, and that which makes me matter as a person, has everything with things of the heart. And that...
Rather than getting stuck there, I also learned this wonderful lesson about the power of one. And that was that Ron was with us and he gave others an opportunity to be less cowardly. But I also thought, okay, as a result of all of this, I have learned that roses do grow in concrete and that I have to have the strength to keep looking.
Dr. Sybil Jordan Hampton graduated and went on to earn a bachelor's degree from Earlham College in Indiana, a master's degree in elementary education from the University of Chicago, and a master's and doctorate from the Teachers College, Columbia University in New York City. She then went on to have a career as a higher education administrator, a leader in philanthropy, and as a political advisor. ♪
In 1996, Dr. Hampton moved back to Little Rock to serve as president of the Winthrop Rockefeller Foundation, which focuses on racial and social justice. Since returning to Little Rock, Dr. Hampton has become more involved with the Little Rock Central High Class of 1962. She's attended other reunions and has recently been helping out with the planning for the 60th, which she will be attending.
Dr. Hampton now refers to Ron Hughes, who she mentioned in the story, and his wife Catherine as dear friends. You can find out more about Dr. Hampton and any of the storytellers you hear in this hour by visiting our website, themoth.org. Coming up, Soviet prison camps, the KGB, and a mugshot 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. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bowles, and our final story in this hour comes from Victor Levenstein. He shared it at an evening we produced at the Walter Kerr Theater in New York City. Here's Victor live at the Moth. In the spring of 1944, in the Soviet Union,
When I was 21 years old, I was arrested by the KGB and brought to the main political prison in the Soviet Union, the infamous Lubyanka prison in Moscow.
A bunch of people in the uniform of KGB made me face the wall, strip searched me, cut my hair, took my fingerprints, and then with hands behind my back, I was led to adjoining room. There was an old-fashioned wooden camera on a tripod. In front of this camera was a chair for the prisoner being photographed.
The photographer took a picture, then the chair was turned, the second picture in profile was taken and I was let out of the room. Then the interrogation started. Together with 12 of my friends, I was charged with conspiracy to assassinate Stalin.
It was absurd. Nobody even thought about plotting to kill Stalin. Our real guilt was that we were well-educated and smart youngsters.
We read a lot, and we read good books, including American: Hemingway, Faulkner, Steinbeck. And we learned from this book that there was a free world behind the border of our country, that there are free people out there, and that we live in the closed totalitarian state.
Free thinking, free talking were crimes in the Stalin Soviet Union. So I found myself in the Lubyanka prison. I was taken to a tiny cell, four by five feet, with no windows. The sleep was prohibited by the daytime and the questioning was going on the whole night.
Under this sleep deprivation and under the hail of curses and threats and insults, seven of my friends confessed in plotting assassination of Stalin. It was not the best time of my life at all.
After sleepless days and nights, I was in semi-conscious state. My will was always broken. And I confessed, but I confessed only in being an anti-Soviet person. But...
gather somehow the rest of my strength and refuse these charges of terrorist activity against Stalin. I was sent to a labor camp for five years. Being an engineering student at the time, I lied that I am an engineer. And this lie saved my life because it made me valuable for them.
So I survived, and five years later, in the spring of 1949, my prison term was coming to an end. A couple of days before my release, I met Alexei Kravtsov. He was a senior work assigner, and I had met him before in another prison.
See, he was a nice guy, young, couple of years maybe older than me, smart, energetic, businesslike. The former military pilot, a captain, convicted for some misconduct. He was not political prisoner. And because of this, he was given this job, in fact, camp commander deputy.
And he lives in separate tiny room fenced off the barrack. He invited me to celebrate my release. We ate, talked, and at one point he said, "If I would like to see my personal file." He had taken it out of the office because my order for my release has been issued for the next day. In my file there was my verdict and
The mug shot made in Lubyanka prison. Face and profile. The picture got loose from my file and needed to be glued back in. I look at the picture. It accompanied me on all my journey through three prisons, three transit prisons, three labor camps. I just felt that I...
I wanted to have it badly. And I asked Alexei if he would give me the photograph. I was thinking, asking the photographer in the camp. I knew him. Maybe he can make me a copy and I said that original I will return to him.
Alexei said, "Are you, were you crazy? Who can make you a copy? It's official photograph. For this copy, this guy can have new prison term together with me." But I said, "Let me try. Let me try and I promise you that I'll bring you the picture back in any event. First thing in the morning."
So he gave me the picture, the photo. I ran to photographer, but no matter how I tried to persuade him to make a copy, he refused. It was too dangerous. In the morning, after the signal to wake up, I ran to Alexei to return the picture. Cluster of people was standing at the entrance to his room.
I made my way through the crowd. Alexei was lying in bed, face down. The pillows and sheets were red with blood, and an axe was sticking out of Alexei's head. A lot of hardened criminals were saving time in the same camp. I was thinking, poor Alexei.
Just a few hours ago, we talked about our future life on the outside, sitting on the very bed where he is laying dead right now. And then I realized that I still have the picture. And I decided that my file will manage without it just fine.
But the problem was how to smuggle it out of the prison. I knew that they will search me very carefully before my release. So I developed a plan. The water supply, the water supply to camp was brought in water tank trucks. And I knew one truck driver.
So I gave him the picture and arranged to take it from him, get it from him on outside after my release. And the plan worked, and I got my picture. After five years in prison camp, I was sent to exile for life.
So I found myself in the godforsaken place named Ekibostuz in northeastern Kazakhstan. The place didn't exist on geographical maps at the time. There was no city, no settlements, nothing. The only big construction site nearby. So I was allowed to live there.
I had a good job at this construction project, but there was no hope to continue my education, to get an engineering degree, to return to normal life. Four years, four years in my exile, friendly cosmic forces intervened in my fate. Stalin kicked the bucket. LAUGHTER
He died, people were mourning, but for me, spring wasn't there. And soon after his death, the general amnesty was announced, and my exile was over. I came back to Moscow, and at this time, Stalin was still laying in mausoleum, and I wanted to see him in the coffin.
For me, Stalin was personification of all evil. I knew that millions of people, of innocent people, were shot.
Millions died in labor camps, murdered by back-breaking work and hunger and cold. I was thinking about my father, who died in the labor camp behind the Polar Circle. A score of my friends and relatives with the same destiny. Nine years of my life, I just wanted to see him in the coffins.
When I saw him, Stalin's appearance disappointed me. I was expecting to see the devil, Lucifer. But in front of me, in a glass coffin, lay a very ordinary moustached man with a low forehead and a pockmarked face. But the point was not his appearance.
but the fact that I saw him dead in the coffin. My life after Stalin's death, it was still Soviet power was there and KGB was there. And living in Moscow, I had strange feeling from time to time that my free life
was kind of temporary or something. Especially I felt it when I walked close to the KGB headquarters in Moscow. And I had this feeling that I belonged there. And the fact that I'm walking as a free man because of somebody's oversight. And sooner or later, they will catch me.
We immigrated to the United States in 1980, and this feeling disappeared only when I first time walked on Florida beach and saw the Atlantic. I told myself, "Look, the ocean is between me and KGB. I am finally safe."
When we immigrated, the country we were living in was still the Soviet Union. And I knew that all our belongings were checked very carefully. And I didn't even have hope to take my precious Lubyanka mugshot with me. It was illegal. It was property of KGB.
So I left the picture with my cousin. A couple of years later, I received a letter with a Belgian address. My KGB photograph was in the letter. My cousin, an avid stamp collector, met a Belgian stamp fan at the...
philatelic show in Moscow and ask him to send it to me to America. Now, since that, this picture hangs in my house and reminds me daily that I survived deadly Soviet prisons and labor camps, that Stalin has been dead for 69 years, and I am still alive. applause
Thank you. Thank you. This summer, this summer, in three months, God willing, I turn 100. Could you imagine my shock and frustration at this passage of my life, seeing as a former KGB officer, being president of Russia, unleashing unjust, deadly war
on Ukraine. I was born in Ukraine. I was born in beautiful southern city of Nikolaev. The best time of my life, my childhood, I spent in Ukraine. And I see it, I see it was going on as a KGB man
trying to bring free Ukraine back to the prison camp of the Soviet Union. My heart is with brave men and women of Ukraine, and that's why I decided to tell you this story. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Victor Levenstein was born in Ukraine in 1922. He immigrated with his family to the U.S. in 1980 at the age of 58 and started a successful career designing underground mining machinery and received three U.S. patents.
After retiring, Victor wrote two books in Russian and recently published a book in English entitled 13 Nasty Little Snakes, The Case of Stalin's Assassins. Victor says as a seven-year-old, he was lazy and his parents insisted he read. That's when he found The Three Musketeers and understood that reading was one of the greatest joys of his life.
As he got older, he would read and exchange books with his friends, which led him to discovering a world beyond the Soviet Union, which eventually made him a threat to and target of the KGB. Recent polls now show that the popularity for the Russian dictator Joseph Stalin, who was responsible for the deaths of millions of Soviets, is rising again, thanks in part to his greatest admirer, the former KGB officer Vladimir Putin.
To find out more about Victor and how you can support the people of Ukraine, go to our website, themoth.org. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us again next time.
This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns, and Meg Bowles, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch. The rest of the Moth leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Jeunesse, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kazza.
Most stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Julian Lodge and Chris Eldridge, Rhiannon Giddens, The Westerlies, and Mola Dusty Chabot.
We receive 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.