Chapter 1: What is the main topic discussed in this episode?
This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Jodi Powell. In my home, there's a photo of my grandmother, a beautiful, kind woman from the hills of Jamaica whose strength has shaped my entire life. She's my definition of a legend. And she reminds me that legends aren't just found in history books or on giant screens.
They're right here, in our families, our neighborhoods, our classrooms, and in our communities. In this show, we're hearing stories from and about legends. Our first story comes from Caroline Connolly. Caroline told this at a Grand Slam at the Town Hall in Boston, where WBUR is our radio partner. Here's Caroline.
I spent the summer of my freshman year in college living with my then 75-year-old grandmother in Boca Raton, Florida. If you don't know Boca Raton, it is a place with a lot of 75-year-olds. That's what my grandmother told me when I called to ask if I could stay with her while I was interning at a company nearby.
Now my grandmother goes by Lala in our family because we couldn't pronounce Abuela when we were little, and she is the ultimate Cuban matriarch, a fourth grade teacher who raised four kids, some of her nine grandkids, and never left the house without lipstick, earrings, and should you ever need it, at least five packets of Splenda in her purse.
It's worth noting that Lala is begrudgingly a diabetic. And by begrudgingly, I mean, she just doesn't feel like being one. That's really the best way I can describe it. And that summer, she had been directed to change her diet and do something that absolutely horrified her, exercise. And because I was there, it became my responsibility to oversee all of this. So we established a routine.
I would wake up early in the morning and make us two cups of Café Bustelo. I would take mine black, and Lala would take hers with milk and a huge fistful of cornflakes that she would cram into the mug every day. This is a recipe she concocted to, quote, trick the blood sugar level test. Now... I was a communications major in college, so I wasn't like questioning her science.
And the levels for the most part seemed fine. We would take our coffee out onto her back patio table where there was a small pool and we would just chat about life. She would ask me questions that had been troubling her like, why do so many white women do yoga now? And she would dispense love advice like, marry someone who you can have a conversation with for the rest of your life.
And in the same breath, do not marry someone who does yoga. And as for the physical activity, Lala had decided, allegedly with her doctor, that cleaning around the house and the occasional light stroll were sufficient forms of cardio activity.
So when I would point out to her she had an exercise one day, she would get up from the couch with a smirk on her face, walk over to her kitchen counter, and casually wipe it down. It was Lala's way of saying, go to hell, granddaughter. And on the weekend to meet our strolling goals, we would drive to the local mall and do laps inside Nordstrom.
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Chapter 2: What personal story does Caroline Connolly share about her grandmother?
They had taken all of Lala's patio furniture and thrown it into her pool. So her white table and matching white chairs were all underwater. And by the time she came back from the hospital, I had only managed to drag out one of the chairs. I was someone, after all, who had spent the summer exercising at Nordstrom. And at first I could not tell what she was feeling.
Lala is someone who has always looked just as shocked by a car crash as she does the discovery that my boyfriend doesn't speak Spanish. And so I wasn't sure how mad she would be. But as she looked from the pool to her white chair, she started laughing because the chlorine from the pool had cleaned that chair. It had never looked better.
Lala is now 92 years old, and she no longer lives in that house. But I will always remember all the trips I took there, all the ridiculous, funny things she said, and all the advice she gave me.
But I will especially remember how we spent the rest of that summer, which was once a week, we would take our cafe con leche and cornflakes out onto her patio, and we would throw all of that furniture into the pool, because that was exercise. That was Caroline Connolly. Caroline grew up in Massachusetts and spent 10 years reporting the news in cities all across the country.
These days, she's back in Boston, where she lives with her husband, their son, and their very dignified 14-year-old dog. Her grandmother Lala just turned 94 this year. She now lives with family who absolutely dote on her. She says Lala's always had this beautiful ability to find humor in any situation, and that's something the two of them share, along with a sincere love of the dessert menu.
Our next story comes from Stacy Sullivan. She told this at our Milwaukee SLAM, where Wisconsin Public Radio is our media partner. Here's Stacy, live at the mall. In two days, it will be eight years since my dad died in his sleep. And it still hurts that I didn't get to tell him that I loved him. And
I decided tonight, about a half hour ago, that I wanted to do something to remember him by that he never would have done. He never would have done something like this. My dad was kind of a peculiar guy. He had a big red mustache, he wore suspenders, and he was a welder. He loved my mom and he loved Budweiser, probably a little too much.
And my dad kind of started to become a little afraid of me, probably when I started getting boobs and hit puberty, and we'd do the kind of ass out, back patting hug. And my dad probably had some level of dyslexia and learning disability. He stopped being able to help me with my homework, my math homework, when I was in about third grade. But he worked so hard.
He worked at the same steel mill since 1974. And he showed up every day and worked tirelessly welding in Phoenix, Arizona. And those are some very hot environments. And I can remember being a kid and riding in my dad's 1987 Chevy pickup and it would be 110 degrees outside and he'd be driving me home from grade school and the heat would be on in this truck.
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Chapter 3: What does Caroline Connolly learn from her summer with her grandmother?
Of course, what I observed was they put that letter inside another letter that was addressed to my aunt in Chicago. Because in 63, if you mail a letter in Wilkinson County talking about going to Washington, D.C., I promise you that letter would have never left the county. June the 12th. 1963.
My dad's friend, after attending a NAACP meeting in Jackson, Mississippi, pulled up to his house, only to be shot in the back. His wife rushed him to the emergency room at the local hospital, only to be rejected and turned down because the hospital was segregated. He died right there on the spot.
We got the news while my parents and us, we only had one TV in the whole house, and we all was watching dad's favorite show. When all of a sudden the news flash came on announcing that Megawally Edwards was dead. That was the only time I saw my strong dad break down and cry. As a matter of fact, we all cried that night. But it was too late to run and hide.
As a matter of fact, instead of burning the stores down and looting the stores, they put on one of the most vicious boycott in that county. No black people even spent one red cent in the white stores. A few days later, people came to our house wearing their dark suits. These was men from Washington, D.C. who presented my mom a letter. The letter that she sent to Washington, D.C.
was a request for a grant to put on voter registration drive in that county, and it was approved. That next day, Thank you. That next day, it was voter registration day. And I stand before you, and I promise you, that was the only time that I can remember my mom being on time. As a matter of fact, she was blowing her horn, talking about, come on, James, we gonna be late.
She sent my sister across the street to Mr. Johnson's house because, remember, she was only five years old. So I rode downtown with my parents. They got out the car and they went in the courthouse. Dad passed me the keys to his 57 Chevy. He said, son, I want you to go and get somebody else and bring them down to vote. My dad could trust me driving his car at 10.
because he taught me how to drive at six years old. As a matter of fact, at seven years old, I had my own keys to my own transportation. I could literally drive downtown Woodville, Mississippi, wave at the police, tip my hat to the sheriff, and they didn't pull me over. Now you all might think it was that 57 Chevy, but no, it was that little 435 tractor on my way to the sweet potato field.
Because my dad was also a farmer. As I went back to our neighborhood called Kegler's Bottoms, I drove past Mr. Monroe House. And instead of turning to the right, I decided to go straight. When I got to the end of that drive, it was a dead end street. When I turned around, there sit on their porch was Mr. Sidney and his wife, the Millies.
So I asked Mr. Sidney Miller, when I got out the car, naturally, you know, I spoke, and he said, and I said, are you all registered voters with some excitement? He looked at me with a deep voice, no son, we too old to vote. I'm like, I know he was served in the Army, and he's a well-dressed person. So in my mind, I just immediately said this.
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Chapter 4: How does Stacy Sullivan reflect on her father's legacy?
When we got back to his house, he said, young man, I am so glad that you took us down and now we are registered voters. When I turned 18 years old, for my birthday present, my parents took me down to the courthouse, the chancellery court office, and I became a registered voter.
And the feeling that I got when I cast my first vote, that was the first time I really felt like I was a true American citizen. As long as I live, the story of the Millers, the Brooms, Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King, those stories will never die, not on my watch. This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine. This little light of mine.
Pastor Broom was born in Laurel, Mississippi, to the late Reverend James Dee and Mrs. Holly Pierce Broom, who were both teachers and community activists. Service was a part of his everyday life. He began spreading the good news more than 60 years ago. I called Pastor Broom with a few questions, and he answered the phone over his Friday night game of dominoes. Hi, Pastor Broome.
So a question that I asked all of the storytellers in this hour is what or whom is your definition of a legend? My definition of a legend would have to be my father, Pastor James D. Broome. And the reason being is because he illustrated what fatherhood is all about with his teaching young men in scouting, basketball coach, football coach, but
He raised me to fish, to hunt, just to be a man, a family man. And I love him for it. And, you know, he passed away on Father's Day, which means God himself feels like he's a legend to be remembered. So that's who my father, Reverend Broome, would be my legend. That was Pastor Herbert Broome. That brings us to the end of this episode of the Moth Radio Hour.
Thank you to our storytellers, to the Moth team, and to you for listening. We hope you'll join us next time. This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Jody Powell, who also hosted. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick. Associate producer, Emily Couch. Additional Grand Slam coaching by Meg Bowles and Jennifer Hickson.
The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Marina Cloutier, Sarah Austin-Ginesse, Jordan Cardinale, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Tellers, Suzanne Rust, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Patricia Ureña. Moss stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift.
Other music in this hour from Rye Cooter and Manuel Galban, Brad Meldow and Daniel Rossen, James Andrews and Trombone Shorty Brothers, Ernest Ranglin and Bruce Coburn. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including executive producer Leah Reese Dennis.
For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, and to learn all about The Moth, go to our website, themoth.org.
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