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Hey there. We here at The Moth have an exciting opportunity for high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors who love to tell stories. Join The Moth Story Lab this fall. Whether for an aspiring writer, a budding filmmaker, or simply someone who loves to spin a good yarn, this workshop is a chance to refine the craft of storytelling. From brainstorming to that final mic drop moment, we've got students covered.
Plus, they'll make new friends, build skills that shine in school and beyond, and have a blast along the way. These workshops are free and held in person in New York City or virtually anywhere in the U.S. Space is limited. Apply now through September 22nd at themoth.org slash students. That's themoth.org slash students. From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jennifer Hickson. In this hour, stories about what you wear on your feet.
How sad the world would be if all the shoes were sensible. Think about all the different kinds: Mary Janes, wingtips, clogs, cleats, Birkenstocks, loafers, stilettos. You can tell a lot about a person and where they've been and even sometimes where they're going by what they're wearing on their feet.
Our first story takes us from the Bronx to Puerto Rico and then back again. Here's Edgar Ruiz Jr. live from a show in Detroit, Michigan, where we partner with the Music Hall Center for the Performing Arts and Michigan Radio. Back in the summer of 1993, I was 12 years old, living with my mom in the Bronx, New York.
And she decided that she was gonna send me back to Puerto Rico to live with my dad for the entire summer. You see, when wealthy kids act up, they probably get sent to boarding schools. When New Yorkians act up, they sent us back to the island. I wasn't a delinquent or anything like that, but let's just say puberty was hitting me really hard and my mama wasn't feeling me.
She divorced my dad when I was two and we left Puerto Rico shortly after for New York, leaving him behind. As a child, I barely remember my pops. Like the earliest memories I have of him are long distance phone calls from my birthday and sometimes on Christmas. Now you could say that the summer of 1992 started off on the wrong foot. Literally, the only pair of sneakers I took with me to Puerto Rico were stolen out my suitcase at the airport.
So I had to wear flip-flops in the mountains for a few days until my mom, who was in New York, forced my dad to get me some sneakers. Now this is probably a good time to let you know that at the age of 12, I was already 6 feet, 1 inch tall, 230-something pounds, and I wore a size 12 sneaker. Not a lot of size 12 sneakers in the small town of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, where I'm from.
So after unsuccessfully walking out of three discount shoe stores in town without a sneaker, my dad was heated. He knew he was gonna have to take me to the mall and actually spend some money on me. He was mad. Not me though. I was excited. I'm a true city kid. We love sneakers in the hood. On my block, what you wore on your feet represented where you were at in the food chain.
You wore some busted looking kicks. The kids were gonna eat you alive. So when we got to the mall, I went straight to the Nike section, picked out some Air Force Ones, and brought them back to my pops. My dad had a serious face on. He looked at the sneakers, he looked at the price, then he looked at me and in Spanish, he said, "No." Y'all speak Spanish. It's a way to get something cheaper.
So my next logical step was to get some rebounds for like $29.99. But before I could even get to him, he was shaking his head emphatically. By then I could see the frustration on his face. And I barely knew this guy, so it was kind of intimidating. I gave it rather quickly and I allowed him to pick out whatever sneaker he wanted. Now I don't really remember the name brand of sneaker he chose, because I think I repressed it. But I'll never forget how ugly these sneakers were.
They were like a topish, tannish, grayish, brownish. And they were complete knockoffs of the Reebok pumps. Y'all remember the pumps? They had a little ball on the tongue. Your sneaker would fill up with air. Those sneakers were so dope. These topi knockoffs were not. They cost them $13.99. And I was so disappointed.
He didn't buy me those Nikes. I was 12 years old. So him not getting me those sneakers obviously meant to me he had no love for me. I was gossiping with my mom on the phone that night and I was telling her, "My dad is so cheap." Mom, I promise you, when I have my own kids, I'm gonna buy them the most expensive sneakers that I could afford to show them that I love them. Those are lies now. Mm-mm.
Yo, my two and five year old wanted some sneakers. Yo, they better get a job. Even though my dad didn't have love for me, I definitely had love for my father. So much so that I actually fell in love with those ugly sneakers just because he bought them for me. And when I got back to New York, I literally wore those things till they ripped apart. People made fun of me for wearing them things. I didn't care. My dad gave me those sneakers.
and my dad never really gave me anything. Those ugly things hugging my feet were the closest I was going to get to a hug from my dad. And I held on to them as long as I could. After that trip, I went once or twice as a kid, but then I took a long hiatus from Puerto Rico. I didn't go back till I was 19 years old. By then I was a high school graduate, college sophomore actually. I was working, so I had a little bit of money in my pocket. So I went back to Puerto Rico wearing brand everything.
It was the early 2000s. So I was rocking them shiny Sean John shirts, super baggy Pele Pele jeans. But most importantly, I was rocking Jordans. Not just any Jordans either. We talk about the shiny patent leather Air Jordan 11s. If you don't know anything about sneakers, just know that the Air Jordan 11s are on top of the food chain. I was showing off.
I was trying to show my dad the man that I was becoming without his help. But I realized a few things on that trip. I realized that I was completely wrong about my father. My dad wasn't cheap. He was just struggling. He lived most of his life living paycheck to paycheck. I looked it up. Minimum wage back in '92 was like $5.25. If he was lucky to be making that in the factory. So those $13.99 that he spent on them ugly sneakers must have been like half a day's work for the dude. And I was embarrassed.
And I was humbled. But it was that trip at 19 that I finally laid the foundation for a relationship that I always wanted with my dad. And the more I got to know about him, the more I got to know about myself. Ironically, several weeks prior to that trip, I wrote this psychology paper on nature versus nurture. And when I wrote that paper, I was on the side of nurture because I thought I was a product of my mama, a product of the streets of New York. But then I got to know my dad.
And I realized I had a lot more of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico coursing through my veins. And it was scary. I wasn't raised with this guy. But there we were, liking the same types of music and movies. Personal philosophies that we shared. Little things from the way we signed our names the same to even the type of girls we liked. All of them. We liked them all. It was scary. It was like looking into a mirror for the first time and seeing your reflection. I love my dad.
Last summer, I finally allowed him to be my father. Now I want to tell you things have gotten better for the guy, but we've probably seen some of the news coming out of Puerto Rico. Political unrest, earthquakes, Hurricane Maria. And that was before the pandemic. But my dad is a survivor. He does what he has to do to make ends meet. And I try to do as much as I can for him, but he's one of these prideful Puerto Ricans that rather live in a house with half a roof and no power than to take a hand out.
But I do what I can. I have to. He's a part of it. Not too long ago, we were hanging out. I was on vacation and I noticed that his sneakers was looking run down. Like I seen better sneakers hanging off power lines in the hood. So I tricked him. Took him to the mall. The same exact mall he took me to when I was 12. And I told him pick out whatever sneaker he wanted. And after like a 20 minute argument, because he's hard headed, just like me.
he finally picked out a $20 pair of no-name brand sneakers. And I turned to him, and in Spanish I said, "No." That day, my dad walked out with a fresh pair of Nikes. And I know he loved them, but not as much as I love those old, taupey knockoffs. Thank you.
That was Edgar Ruiz Jr. Edgar's a proud Nuyorican, born in Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, and raised in the Bronx. These days, he lives in Westchester County, New York, with his wife and kids. He's restoring their old house that he says might be haunted. Edgar also does stand-up comedy and has an impressive sneaker collection. His favorites are Nike Air Trainer SC, a.k.a. the Bo Jackson.
His feet are now a size 15, so he hasn't been able to get them in every single color yet, but that won't stop him from trying. To see a picture of Edgar with his father that first summer, and a picture of them together now, visit themoth.org. Our next story is from Isabel Rafael, who told it at a story slam in New York City, where WNYC is a media partner of The Moth. Here's Isabel.
So I just moved to New York, 2011 summer. I didn't have a job, I didn't have any friends, I didn't know what I was doing, but I was, I have a lot of laundry. So I spent the days kind of going up and down the elevator to the laundry department downstairs. And one of these days I was kind of
Going back up in the elevator, swinging my keys around my fingers and the keys, as if by magic, dropped down the shaft between the doors and the elevators. So I heard them kind of clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, down the shaft to the bottom and I just kind of stood there and I was like, oh my god, I have no idea
No wallet, no phone, no keys, I don't know anyone. I had no, I did not know my neighbours. I had no bra on and I had no shoes and I was so hungry. I like basically was dead in New York, I had no idea what to do. So as I like sat there just like thinking about my death, I um...
I remembered that my sister building had a doorman. If I knew anything about doormen, they had keys to every single apartment. So I was like, okay, all I have to do is walk 13 blocks without shoes. I can totally do this. I'm Australian. I love no shoes. So I started the walk, and the minute I started the walk, I thought,
I was like, A, 13 blocks is actually a really long way. B, people in New York kind of stopped to yell out feedback on the street. A total of like four people yelled out, you don't have any shoes on! Like, I know, I was twirling my keys around me and they fell down the elevator.
And at one point, a homeless man kind of shuffled along next to me and, like, whispered in my ear, you're going to regret this. I'm like, oh, God. Um... So eventually I get to the door and the guy kind of shrieked about lack of shoes. I was like, yeah, I was swinging around. And, um...
And he's like, "Well, actually I do have the keys, so I can take you back, but I need to piggyback you, because I don't think you can walk without shoes." I'm like, "Oh my God, what on..." I'm not like a get-on-your-shoulders-at-the-band kind of girl. I don't jump over fences. So it's like, how do you even get on someone's back?
I started really far away and I kind of like flopped myself onto his back to his heart I'm sure. So we started the long way back and
I don't like to piggyback in awkward silence. So I was chatting away about how I'm not very good about getting on people's backs. I was really lonely in the city and I just moved here. All the way, I'm slipping lower and lower on his back until my feet were just kind of dragging along the ground.
So eventually I got back to the house and he let me in. And then a few days later I come home and there's a little bag on my door with my keys, which he fished out, and a pair of, like, pink, spangled child slippers, I guess he probably got my style, and a little note that said, for next time. So, okay. CHEERING AND APPLAUSE
That was Isabelle Raphael. Isabelle is a creative director. She says she wishes she could say that she only got locked out of that apartment without shoes the one time, but no. Eventually, she started hiding a key elsewhere in the building. Laundry room, anyone? So she never had to walk that far. Isabelle now lives in Austin, Texas, where she can enjoy barefoot walks in her backyard as much as she likes. ♪
When we return, a woman needs some great shoes for a job interview, and a recent immigrant gets shoe-style advice from an American friend. 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, a director at the Moth.
This hour, stories wear shoes make an appearance. Satori Shakur told this story in Austin, Texas, where we partnered with the Austin Theater Alliance, aka Paramount Theater. Here's Satori. Last year, May 2011, I'm sitting on my couch, clutching the remote, stressed out and codependent with Congress over whether they're gonna vote to extend my unemployment benefits.
Now I'm surrounded by boxes because in two weeks I'm moving out of my loft of nine years into a bedroom in my sister's house. And I'm trying to figure out how to pay for the U-Haul and the storage unit. On top of that, I'm menopausal. I'm having hot flashes and mood swings every five minutes. So when I hear myself screaming at the Congress, "Lazy my ass! Vote, you constipated bitches!"
I vow that I will never let Congress or anybody else decide my destiny in life. I sacrificed for years to develop myself, to become who I am so I could do what I love to do. I'm an artist, an actor, a storyteller. And I've temped in offices from Brooklyn Penitentiary to Hostess Cupcakes factory in Detroit.
I cleaned toilets in LA and catered in Toronto to keep my schedule open for auditions and other opportunities. I was fairly successful. My investment portfolio looked healthy. My 401k was growing. I was bouncing back and forth between two hit shows, traveling, performing, winning awards. Life was good. Until 2005 when it all fell apart, when I lost my mother to ovarian cancer. And then nine months later,
My husband calls and asks, "Was I sitting down?" And he told me that our son had died an hour before from a massive seizure, that it was quick, and that he felt no pain. Well, I didn't hear anything else because I died. I died right there. And after crawling for six years on my hands and knees through a place of grief so dark God couldn't even reach, finally, I was ready to live again.
to connect with my life, and I'm running out of money. There's not a theater job in sight. I got to move in two weeks. I need a job. But I don't want a job. I want to do what I love to do for the rest of my life. So I'm sitting there immobilized with fear and indecision, scared because there's no jobs, scared that I'm not looking for a job, and scared that if I look hard enough, I might find one.
It's not that I don't want to work. I just don't want to work for anybody that would hire me. Well, fear will test anybody's faith. And I was so scared, I started applying for jobs everywhere. Non-union acting jobs, Walmart, U.S. truck driving school, script supervisor on a CC Dynamite porno film. Craigslist was the only thing giving me hope. Nobody called me back for an interview except Macy's.
Now Macy's want to do a background check, they want to do a drug test, fine. But Macy's just needed to know two things: I'm menopausal and don't put me in customer service. Well my gym is right next door so after my workout I realized I forgot my makeup and the shoes that go with my outfit. So I said okay well I'll buy a pair of shoes in Macy's then take them back after the interview.
Because I can't afford $59 for some cheap shoes. And I'm plotting to take the rug route so the bottoms don't get dirty because I don't want no mess when I go to get my money back. Well, a guy brings me the shoes. I can't even get my toe in. That's when I have a mood swing and snap on the guy. I said, look, these corporations are going to ship the shoe jobs overseas. They need to ship them to a country that knows something about big feet. And I stormed out of the shoe department. And that's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I'm looking militant. I'm looking like a cross between Cornel West and Lil Wayne. Nobody's gonna hire me looking like this. So I got 10 minutes and I rushed to the makeup counter to put on some lipstick to fix it. Now the lighting is bad so I got to take the makeup girl's word for it. She's like, "Mmm, you look good in that color." So I'm going up the escalator, nothing but pure light and mirrors. I look like a cross between Cornel West and Lil Wayne with black lipstick. I mean, she lied to me with her purple hair.
Now I'm walking through the doors of personnel looking like something out of Predator 2. The little guy that's interviewing me look like he's almost 13. I apologize for my gym shoes and we sit down and start the interview process. Now he asked me, is it ever okay to steal from your employer? I'm thinking, is this part of the drug test? Right mind gonna say yeah. And then he proceeds to ask me more questions just as stupid as that.
So finally I said, "Well, I'm a grandmother. I can do anything. How much does this job pay?" So he said, "Well, it's an on-call job and it pays $7.40 an hour." I'm thinking, $7.40 an hour? You mean to tell me Macy's can't kick in another dime so I can get almost two gallons of gas to get to work? Then he asked me, "Do I have any conflicts?" I'm thinking, I'm conflicted I'm even here. I'm conflicted I would have to work eight whole hours to pay for them cheap shoes downstairs, and I'm a conflict away from walking out of here.
But I don't say that because I'm broke. I just smile and say, no, no, I don't have any conflicts. And I shake his hand and I leave, pretty certain I'm going to get this job. Matter of fact, before I get to the parking lot, I'm already paying my bills with the piddly check. Three days later, I get an email from Macy's. Dear Ms. Shakur, we regret to inform you we cannot hire you at this time, dot, dot, dot. Your skills are strong. We'll keep your application on file.
Well, I don't know, this feeling of relief just came over me. It was like a message from the universe saying, you better do what you love to do for the rest of your life, because nobody's going to hire the incredible menopausal Hulk. And then I panicked. I'm terrified, because what am I going to do? Well, the next morning, I'm driving home from the gym, which is my health care plan.
And I get a phone call. It's from a Dr. Jim Boggs. He says he has a company called Effective Arts, and he trains businesses in high-stakes interactions. And that he's coming to Michigan to an iBank to train the people who ask for cornea donations. And that his company hires actors to help facilitate with the training. And that he was very impressed with my resume. I was suspicious because Macy's had just turned me down.
Plus, I had sent my application to millions of people. He could be a Craigslist crazy. But then I remembered the audition notice because the online site that posted it warned the actors, "We're not familiar with this company, so submit at your own risk." So I pulled my car over to the side to Google him. Turns out he's legit. So I perked up my ears. He said, "Well, do you know anything about cornea donation?"
Well, I'm thinking, well, it had occurred to me that things got really bad. I could donate my blood for money, but I tell him, no, no, no, not really. So he says it's a very delicate operation. A cornea has to be recovered within 23 hours of the death or it's not going to be able to be used. So most of these deaths occur unexpectedly, tragically, as accidents. So you can imagine the shock and devastation of the family.
So when the requester calls for the donation, they're going into a high-stakes interaction, a crisis situation that's time critical. So our company helps to improve the communication to reduce the risk and mistakes of getting to the donation. And at the highest level, the communication is human and it's able to move that family member from devastation to seeing the possibility that even in death, their loved one can give the gift of sight.
I was blown away. I was like, that is awesome. And he engaged me in a conversation. And then he tells me, you know, we don't usually hire actors over the phone. We like to see them in person. But I have a feeling you'll be perfect for this job. And I'd like to hire you. Tears were rolling down my cheek. I was so thankful. And so he tells me it's a nine-day job. And he offered to pay me 200 times what Macy's had offered.
All I can say was the most amazing nine days of my life. And if I had known about cornea donation before my son died, I would have said yes. And I realized that not only could I do what I love to do to pay the bills, I could use it to help make a difference. Well, for the next year and a half, just little miracles started popping up like that, little job miracles. And two months ago,
I moved out of my sister's bedroom into my own beautiful 1921 two-bedroom apartment in Detroit, in a neighborhood that was once elegant and that has seen the worst and is on the rise with a new beginning and a new life, just like me. So here I am, ladies and gentlemen, doing what I love to do for the rest of my life. Thank you. That was Satori Shakur live in Austin, Texas.
Satori is an artist, storyteller, and a social entrepreneur. Among her many accomplishments, she recorded with George Clinton, Parliament Funkadelic, which means she is officially one of the Brides of Funkenstein. I wish we had a picture of whatever shoes she wore for that gig. Satori never regrets sticking to her guns and making the choice to do what she loves. She's the founder of the Secret Society of Twisted Storytellers in Detroit.
To see a picture of Satori posing in some fabulous leopard print pumps, visit themoth.org, where you can also download this story or any of the others you heard in this hour. Our next story is from Sufian Zhmokov, who is a professor at George Washington University. He told this at our Story Slam in Washington, D.C., where we partner with public radio station WANU. Here's Sufian. Hi, everybody.
You probably can guess by my weird accent that I spent some time of my life outside of the United States. And when I moved here in my forties, my intention was to fit in, whatever it costs. And I was asking my friends, do I need to develop different communication skills?
or maybe I need to develop a different dream. And one of my friends said, "You need different shoes." Nobody's wearing pointed-toe shoes in town. And I went to DSW shoe store, and I found myself nice rounded-toe American shoes. And while I was trying my shoes, I saw this man
He was a little bit older, kind of looking over his shoulders. We made an eye contact and he approached me and he said, "I have a message." I said, "Okay, what is it?" He said, "Jesus is coming." I said, "That's good news." I said, "But how do you know?" He said, "He told me himself." I said, "Thank you very much for letting me know."
I'll be looking forward to it. And he went away. So, I'm a Muslim from Russia. And where I'm from, I never met people who communicated with Jesus directly. And those people always fascinated me here. I met another man earlier, a homeless guy, who was with a portable stereo and listening to a song. Are you ready for Jesus? Are you ready for the day of your Lord?
And I asked him, "What's the music?" But instead of telling me about the music right away, he told me the story of his life. He said, "Several years ago, I was so depressed that I wanted to kill people. And then I prayed to Jesus, and he spoke to me. And he told me, 'Instead of killing people, go and collect all Bob Dylan's songs.'"
So this is a Bob Dylan song. I thought that's a great advice actually. So while I was thinking about it, this man came back. I'm still at DSW. We kind of knew each other already, so he approached me again and he said, "I didn't deliver the whole message." I said, "Okay, what's the rest of it?" He said, "Since Jesus is coming,
"You want to get rid of everything named after devil and hell." I said, "Actually, I have this vacuum cleaner called Dirt Devil." He said, "I was sent to you on purpose." I liked him, and I decided to confess, and I said, "Actually, I'm a Muslim." And I never could understand why Americans named things after devil or hell, like "Hellburgers" or "Hell of a Cheese."
or devil's eggs. I said Muslims would never do that. And that's when he amazed me. He said, "That's because Muslims are better believers." And he left me speechless and he walked away. And I thought, "How this can even be?" This man who thinks he speaks to Jesus, he's so tolerant that he could say that just to make me feel good.
That was Sufian Jumokov.
Fun follow-up: exactly 90 days after telling this story, Sufjan was at a social event where he was recognized by a woman named Margarita. She remembered his round-toed shoe story from the DC Moth Story Slam and introduced herself. A romance was born. Sufjan has since written a show about their relationship called "Flirting Like an American." Look it up. It may be coming to a theater near you soon.
To see a picture of Sufjan and Margarita performing together on stage, visit themoth.org. In a moment, new shoes for a little girl and the world of shoe design 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 Hickson, and we're hearing stories about footwear. Stacey Miller told this story at a New York Story Slam, where public radio station WNYC is a media partner of the Moth. Here's Stacey. So I adopted my daughter out of New York City foster care when she was 10 years old. And...
When you adopt out of foster care, they don't just give you the kid in an emergency the way they do if you're an emergency foster care parent. You have a getting to know each other like once every weekend. So it was my first day I was going to spend with her alone. And I was nervous. And it was one of those days in March when there was a snowstorm and the snow was like up to here.
You couldn't walk. They had just like single aisles on the corners. It was really wet. It was really cold. And she arrived in white cotton sneakers. And I was like, don't you have any other shoes? And she was like, no, I don't. So I was like, I'm going to take her shopping. And I didn't even know because I wasn't ready to do that yet where to go. So I was like, where do you get shoes? And she told me Payless. I was like, we're going to go there.
So we went up to Payless and I got her galoshes and we were trying on shoes and we got two pairs of sneakers and she put on one pair of shoes and she said, oh, they look too small. And she said, that's okay. I can curl my toes under. And it was so, it was just so terrible, the awareness of that. And I said, you're never going to have to do that again. We're just going to get you shoes that fit.
So I got her all the practical shoes. We got like four pairs. And then I felt like we needed something else. And I saw these magenta glitter ballet shoes. And I was, we're going to get those. She put on these shoes and it was just this wonderful, wonderful thing. And a month later she moved in and I started feeding her. And in a year and a half she grew a foot and
and her feet went from a child's two and a half to a woman's eight. So we were in Payless like every four weeks buying shoes. But every month we got a pair of those glitter shoes. And Payless, you know, we couldn't find the pink ones, so we get whatever color we could get. And I started scouring the Paylesses around the city. Like whenever I walked past one, I'd go in and see if they had them and get a pair of shoes.
And the last pair we got was a woman's size 8, and they were multicolored glitter shoes, and they were ballet shoes, and they were just wonderful. They were these wonderful, wonderful shoes. And I thought about it when I did the money thing, you know, and I thought, we don't have a photograph of those shoes, but the way they look is just in my heart forever, those shoes. And we didn't keep any because we're not hoarders, and we don't have...
We don't have pictures of them, but I just, I will never forget. They're so clearly etched into my memory, into my heart. And now, of course, my daughter buys fry boots. So that's what happens. But thank you very much.
That was Stacey Miller. Stacey was a jewelry designer for many years, but recently made the switch to fine art and is making beautiful paintings. Her daughter Bella attended two iconic New York City institutes of higher learning, LaGuardia High School and then the School of Visual Arts, where she majored in film. To see a picture of Stacey and Bella with matching tiaras, visit themoth.org.
Our final story is from Mun Jan Eng. It's another one from our New York Story Slam, and the theme, coincidentally, was shoes. He was right on topic with this one. Here's Mun. Growing up in Chinatown, New York, my parents gave me career advice very early and very often. They said, Mun, whatever you do, don't study art. You'll never find a job. You'll never make any money. You'll probably starve to death.
It sounds much worse when you say it in Chinese. So in 1996, I decided art school sounds like fun. I enrolled in a place called Pratt up in Brooklyn. I studied something called product design. That's where I met my friend Evan. Evan was also from Chinatown, and he's Chinese. And the first time I met him, he wore a white sweatband bandana on his head, but it was tilted sideways. It had the Air Jordan logo on it.
Nike basketball shorts and Air Jordan sneakers. When he wasn't drawing in class, he was playing basketball. We'd work late into the night all the time at the studios. And then one night he told me, "Man, I think I know what I want to do with my life. All I want to do is design basketball shoes and work for Nike." So for his senior project, he designed a super futuristic basketball shoe
He took a block of foam and then he carved out the shape of the sole. Then he spent weeks cutting out the tread designs. He took some fabric and he sewed it all up and he glued it on top. The result was it looks like something you would buy at a store. If any Chinese person could get a job in art and design, it would be Evan. But we graduated in 2000, right after the dot-com crash, and nobody was getting a job.
For seven months, all my friends sent out resumes and samples of their portfolios, and they didn't hear anything back. I sat in my bedroom and I drew the shades down. I remember thinking, "Oh man, I made a huge mistake. Maybe my parents were right. Maybe you can't have a career in art and design." Sometimes we attach our self-worth to our career, and if we don't ever have a career, then we think we're worthless. That's a bad thought to have when you're just 22.
Bad thought any age. One day, sitting in my bedroom, I get a phone call. A design company I had sent my work to says, "Hey, Mun, we like your stuff. We don't have the budget for a full-time designer now. How about an internship?" And I thought, "An internship? I'm a graduate!" But honestly, after sitting in the dark for so long, I'd be happy just to get out of the house. I managed to ask them a question that my parents would be so proud of: "Does it pay?" And they said,
Yeah, it pays $10. I'll take it. You should have seen me the next morning. My dad's like, where are you going? I was like, I'm going to work. I work pretty hard, and I guess I make an impression. One of the designers comes up to me and says, man, I don't know what's going to happen after this internship, but my friend works at a company, and they're looking for a full-time designer. Are you interested? I'm like, yeah, of course. What is it? He said, the company is called And One. They design basketball sneakers. Oh, wow.
At that time, I would have loved a job just to prove my parents wrong. But I knew somebody that would have loved that job more than me. So I called Evan, and he freaked out. And One at that time was the hottest street basketball shoe company ever. He took all the designs he took and he sent them in. They loved it. They hired him on the spot. They loved him so much, they promoted him after a year, and then they doubled his salary. He was now making more than my parents combined.
Eventually, I got my own job. But, no, I keep in contact with Evan. We talk about life, we talk about art, and we talk about what it's like being a professional designer. One day, I get laid off. Evan hears about this and he calls me up. He says, "Mun, I know you don't know anything about footwear, but if you're willing to learn, I promise you we'll have so much fun." I sent my stuff in to N1 and they hire me. And oh my god, let me tell you about this job.
Evan and I traveled all around the world. We ate at the best restaurants. We played video games all afternoon. When the mixtape players came in, Evan would challenge them to basketball. And in the middle of all that, I learned how to design footwear. 2014, Evan calls me up. He says, "Munn, you're never gonna believe what just happened. Evan works for Nike in the Jordan division." He says, "Munn, I just got out of a meeting with Michael Jordan, and he's telling me how much he loves the shoes I've designed for him."
Thank you. If it wasn't for you 14 years ago, I would have never gotten that job. And I'm sitting in my design area, and I just finished designing footwear for the U.S. Navy SEALs. If it wasn't for Evan giving me the opportunity, I would have never been there. Evan and I are just two kids from Chinatown. We wanted a career in art and design, and because we helped each other out, here we are.
That was Mun Jen Ng. He and Evan are still friends, and they still love sneakers. Mun went out to visit Evan in Portland and was so blown away by his closet full of sneakers, he made a little video. To see that, and to see pictures of the guys and some of the projects they've worked on, visit themoth.org.
Munn was invited to speak to a graduating class at Jefferson University. He ended the speech talking about his friendship with Evan. He closed it by saying this, I know all of you have dreams of things you want to do and where you want to work. But remember, the person sitting next to you also has dreams. If you're willing to help each other out, I promise you they can all come true.
Munn says he still believes that to this day. And it all started with a pair of sneakers. Whether you're comfortable in cha-cha heels or work boots, we hope you enjoyed this hour. Thanks to all the tellers who shared their stories. 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. Jennifer directed the stories in the show along with Maggie Sino. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch.
The rest of the Moth's leadership team include Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Gines, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Casa. Moth Stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers.
Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Tommy Guerrero, Andrew Bird, The Transatlantic's Bob Dylan and Blue Dot Sessions. 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.