Rollerskates and Legacy: The Moth Podcast

I'm Germaine Archer, Executive Director of a nonprofit called Rehabilitation to the Arts

“or RTA, which is celebrating 30 years of using an arts to teach life skills to incarcerated”

New Yorkers. I'm also a Moth storyteller and I'm so excited to be hosting this episode of the Moth Podcast. Today, we're featuring two stories from the Moth's Community Program, which through workshops and events, bring storytelling to nonprofits, cultural institutions, and a bunch

of other cool places around the country. The Community Program has feature stories spanning topics from veteran and immigrant experiences to mental health and cultural identity. On this episode, we focus in our stories from our justice initiative. In 2026 alone, we've recorded stories from family members navigating incarceration, entrepreneurs

who've used experiences and skills acquired in the penal system, and survivors of violence who found forgiveness.

Together, these stories tell of the many ways people are working together to reimagine

what justice can look like.

“Our first story is from Dolores Canales, who told her host story at a community workshop”

in San Francisco. He is Dolores, live at the Moth. I was in Chouchila State Prison for Women serving seven years on a nine-year prison sentence, and this is where much of my community still resides. During my incarceration, I had many jobs within the institution, and one of those jobs

was working in the program office. I worked in Defacility Program, and this is where the captain, Lieutenant Sergeant, all had their offices. We all had our own office, my peers and my colleagues, we had our own office, and in the morning, we'd show up to work, and I'd take my Kirk Franklin and my Shirley Caesar gospel

CDs, and one morning I was playing amazing grace by Shirley Caesar, and my co-worker,

Ty, who was serving life without the possibility of parole, and is who still isn't prison right now to this day, began to cry, but it was a gut-wrenching cry, like deep within her soul. You could hear the agony as she cried out, and I went up to her and I hugged her, and I just, I knew, I said, "Your tired of being here aren't you," and she said, "Yes."

So I let her continue to cry in my arms, but we became very close. We bonded at that moment, and we say we're each other's sister from another Mr. One time Ty had shared with me that all she ever wanted when growing up was her very own roller skating party, so Ty had a birthday coming up, and I had decided I was going to find a way to get her some roller skates.

I thought to myself, should I ask some staff to bring roller skates because roller skates are not allowed in prison, we don't have any, but then I thought about it, and I thought I would not want anybody to lose their job over roller skates, so I thought I'll make some roller skates, so I thought if I could just get wheels, I started looking at everything with wheels, I was looking at the mop buckets, or then I thought, "Oh, they were too hard

to take off plus the women would get angry if we didn't have our mop buckets." So then, one day I go into the chapel where I used to work there at one time, too, and I go with the two clerks, they were both lifers, and I'm telling them, "I need some wheels. I'm going to make Ty some roller skates." So I said, "I'm going to get one of the chairs of chaplain dorties, and I'm going to take

those wheels because they have five wheels on them, and I only need it for, so I was going to leave one behind." So of course they had my back, and we're going to let me take the wheels, so I get my wheels, and the chaplain ends up walking in. Chaplain dortie looks, and he's talking to us, and we're all laughing in everything, and then

he looks at the chair, and he says, "Wasn't there wheels on that chair?" And everybody, with the three of us, we just stay quiet, we're looking at him, but then I don't want him to assume that maybe one of them had something to do with it. So I said, "I took them chaplain dortie, I have the wheels." So he looks at me kind of fuzzled, and he goes, "Am I going to get them back?"

And I said, "Well, probably not," I mean, and he just looked at me, shook his head, and walked away. So at this time, I have my wheels, and I'm thinking to myself, "Okay, I'll get a pair of brand new state tennis shoes. They have the white rubber around them with the black.

They're like imitation converse." And so I thought to myself, "I'll get some of those, and I'll just make some holes in the rubber, and I'll put the wheels in them." But then I was thinking, and I was walking around the yard, and people started asking me, "What's wrong with you?

What's going on with you?" Gypsy and sleep, actually. And I shared my vision. I said, "I have some wheels. I'm going to make ties to roller skates."

I said, "But only thing I could think of doing is just sticking them in the tennis shoes."

“So then they said, "Well, how about we send the wheels behind work exchange?”

We get the tennis shoes and crazy glue them on there and carve the wood precisely to the size of the shoe and drill the wheels in the shoe."

All we have to do now is smuggle them.

“It's time work exchange, but no problem at all."”

We get the wheels behind the work exchange. We get our shoes made, and then now to bring them back. They said, "You know, the shoes are ready. And they got them through and they showed them to me, and they were the most beautiful pair of shoes that you could imagine."

And I immediately thought to myself, "If I would have just hung onto those wheels, tie would have ended up with just like some holes in a tennis shoe, but sharing the vision and what transpired, but then something else started to happen." People started to catch onto the vision. So they immediately said, "We'll draw a backdrop.

All we need is a round new state sheet. We'll draw a backdrop of a snack bar and a skating rink.

And so they became involved and they offered to do the art for the backdrop.

Then I got a box of state-issue gloves at the staff use. And if you blow them up, they blow up like a balloon. But if you just leave them like that, it's going to kind of look like a cow or something.

“So you have to get the fingers and tie them together and then put bows around.”

It makes some bows and then you can use them as balloons. So we had our balloons, we had our backdrop, we had everything ready to go. And then I got a hold of some pink chalk. So I thought, "I'm going to dye her shoe laces pink." So I dye her shoe laces pink with the chalk.

And I'm in my room with my other roommates and I'm telling them what's happening. And then one of my roommates has some gel pens, pink pens. Well, if you know tie, you know, she's all that sass. So there was a song at the time called "I'm Bossy." It says, "I'm Bossy."

The one you really love to hate though. So come on, you know, and so I thought that's totally tie. So we wrote on her shoes in the gel pen with music notes. I'm Bossy. And then we get everything ready to go and we wrap it.

We have five, sixteen, the unit, that's a housing unit. We decorate the whole front of the housing unit. And you know, staff just kind of, you know, there was no drinking, no fighting. So they were on board. We were going to have a roller skating party.

So we decorate everything and then we bring tie out because it's a surprise birthday party. And she sees her shoe. She sees the roller skating rink and she's just in disbelief. And then we took it to the next step and we have tie put on the shoes. Babyface and Brooks hold ties arms and we walk with her and we roller skate her around

DRD.

“And I will never forget the pictures for ever cemented in my heart.”

She's rolling around DRD in her roller skates with tears just rolling down her eyes. And you know what I learned to believe in the impossible to make anything happen and that hope is the anchor to the soul. Thank you. That was the Laura's comments.

The Laura's is the director of Community Outreach for the Bell Project. The co-founder of California Families Against Military Confignment and was previously a Soros just this fellow. The Laura's told her story would help from a men at University of California San Francisco. A program that uses public health practices to transform U.S. correctional culture and improve

the health of those who work and live in these facilities. Our community workshop there was generously supported by the Langa Loth Foundation. When I think about the role storytelling has had on my life, I recognized the power story telling holes. I was convicted of a crime I did not commit, partly because I refused to tell my story

by testifying in my own defense. During my 22 years of incarceration, I learned how vital it was to share my story and establish my own narrative. At my parole hearing, I maintained my innocence, which usually is seen as refusing to take responsibility and results in being denied parole.

Most of my peers were surprised when the parole boy voted to release me. Upon my release, I shared my story with the Legal Aid Society of Westchester County and that resulted in full time employment within five weeks of my release. Several years later, I told my story in a courtroom and the judge ultimately vacated my wrongful conviction.

But I not learned the importance of storytelling and how to tell my story, I don't know the way I would be today.

There's something powerful about taking charge of your narrative, sharing your own story.

Whether it's on the stage, to someone you care about, before a parole boy, I want a month community workshop. After the break, a story about anger and healing, back in the moment. Welcome back. Our next story was told by Christopher Blackwell at a community showcase, which featured

five remarkable workshop participants whose stories were selected from the hundreds heard through our community program each year. Christopher was able to share his story from inside of Washington State Prison. After the audience watched a prerecorded version of his story, shared alongside family photographs,

Guero, with each of both the story and conversation, his Christopher live at the mouth. I don't know how old I was the first time I wore a Philadelphia Epo's jersey, or when I watched that first game, but I was young, I was very young, all I knew was the men I idolized, my father and grandfather, a lot of those birds.

“I remember when I was barely five years old, my dad would record the game on his old VHS”

player. He worked Sunday, so he had to make sure the game was there when he came home after a long shift at the woodmill skin and lots.

When he picked me up on Sundays from the babysitter after his shift, I was always excited.

Because I knew we were going to watch our game, we'd get home, he'd make us TV dinners, grab a beer, and we put ourselves in front of the TV, pop in the recorded tapes and watch the state of our birds. It didn't matter that I barely understood the game. I was sitting next to him, the person I wanted to accept me more than anyone, but there

was a dark side to the relationships with my dad. How the Eagles did, when I didn't have any fears, my dad drank, what you did in terming how that night would look, translation, my dad was a vicious alcoholic. If the Eagles lost, I could easily become his target, and he would take his rage out on me.

In these moments, I knew the walk on egg shells, so the question was always, would I get

it for simply being me? I'd keep that never did the right thing after my dad drank too much. Something my dad picked up from his dad, as I got older, I learned a lot about the Eagles in our family. I learned that I'd come from three generation of diehard Eagles fans.

Since the creation of the Eagles in 1933, the Minimum family had been devoted to supporting them. Like me, being an Eagles fan was chosen for them by the thoughters before them. It was handed down like a family heirloom or a person, so on and as our birds have had many years of discouraging moments.

Like the loss in the 1981 Super Bowl to the Raiders, the year I was born, my dad blamed me for that loss, plenty could receive too blessing, so close to each other.

Tony, when he said he, I never felt like I was a blessing.

“My grandfather always said, "There's a lot because of being an Eagles fan, never forget”

that." He would look down on my own friends and say, "We're known for being aggressive, no bullshit fan base." And have even been described as having an uncontrollable, quite a few times throughout history.

A smile would crawl at the corner of his lips and maybe we are each day to be gripped my shoulder tighter. Shit, we don't know about this, Santa, and when I was growing up, we were the only NFL stadium to have a jail built under it. A lot of cowboys fans got beat up at the back.

He was proud when he talked about this history. I can see him rebooting those moments of his younger years while attending Eagles games. The more of the history I learned from my grandpa, the more I had raised the culture and identity of what being an Eagles fan met to him and guys like him. And in your face, aggressive, gallant cowboy hate mother fuckers.

“I was all in, and honestly, for most of my life, I loved it.”

And then one day, when I was in my early 20s, a close friend started bragging about a Seattle Seahawks beating my Eagles, tossing shit while friends games are playing, it's pretty normal. But it never felt normal to me, and it always felt like a personal attack. In this moment, we were sitting in a prison day room watching TV.

I noticed that the game went on and it continued to disrespect the Eagles. A real anger began to fester deep within me. I don't even think he noticed how angry I was to be done. Now, finally, I stood up and in a bitter rage, I shoved him the ground. When he jumped to his feet and challenged me for putting my hands on him, without a word,

I punched him as hard as I could in that face and yell, "Fuck your dumb ass seat box." I looked around and see if the prison guards or anyone else had seen the interaction. When I noticed they didn't, I lost the way, I wasn't embarrassed. I attribute this scenario to me just being a typical Eagles fan. We eventually made up his friends, but things were never the same between us.

There were other instances altercations of an Eagles, and me defending them as if they were my first and more in child. I would threaten people with violence for talking about a player or break a TV over a bad call by a rest, the list goes on and on.

Martin, especially when it was cowboy fans, to the point where I would literally shake him out with so mad. As I started to process what brought me to prison, taking another two in life, I had to hide deep into how I used and thought of violence as a solution to solve my issues. Luckily, I was able to be mentored by other men and women who long worked through such

complications with their lives, as they worked towards what were more than accountability looked like for them. In my 30s, while working on earning my college degree and fighting the past, it was for a lunch situation, I met in a incredible woman, Chelsea. We met through our love of advocacy and community-centered work.

We fell in love and our love for each other developed in a beautiful way.

She never judged me from my violence act and continuously reminded me she loved the man

I'd become a person that would abuse it to use violence to solve my problems, and someone would think of others first. Except when it came to the eagles, this was a play that, you know, held a slimmer of the half-stility, I'd sintered my entire life around while growing up one day when I was stalking over a bad loss and simply reduced the pool from the dark rabbit hung over

my head. Chelsea can turn it in, but hey, what's wrong? It's just a game.

“Why aren't you so invested in something you have no investment in?”

At first, I'd request a question, I think, and I'm an A equals friend, duh.

I even tried to explain that she could never understand as she wasn't a sports fan.

You didn't grow up like me who understand, I said, but when I thought about it this time, something clicked, I didn't even understand the response I'd given her or my behavior. And I'm respected her and I wanted to answer the question she posed, why did I act like and plead to fool when it came to the eagles and why would I harm another human over a sports team?

I had to find the answer, while exploring, I came to the conclusion that the eagles were my only real connection to my dad and grandpa, I realized that when someone was talking about the eagles, I took it as it was saying something about them, I refused to hold back and defending the honor of the two men, I felt obliged to defend, why that obligation was there?

“I honestly couldn't say, over the years, I've moved further and further away from both”

men. My grandpa left us to start an editor family and my father continued on with his drinking and abuse away. From time to time, we were going to add, my grandpa would bring me something related to the eagles.

One time, there was a small silver cast, he watched it, had the 1980s logo in the Senate. Another one with that first rental cutting hand jersey he gave, he instantly became my favorite player. My dad and I would call him and talk about the eagles, once we talked to all the coaches mistakes, we really had nothing to comment, aside from that mountain of unresolved traumas

that will never be processed.

It's handed down like a whole jersey of a favorite player.

“I've come to realize that the eagles are just a sports key, and most importantly, I no longer”

carry around a toxic masculinity that has been passed down since 1933, but a men that created me. That cycle has finally been broken. In 2017, when the eagles weren't their first super bowl, I sat in a prison cell and let ears roll down my face.

I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed, my friend watched in this movie, he said, "Ah, my dude, are you crying?" I looked at him without fear of being judged and said, "Yeah, I just witnessed something I grabbed, but never got to see these. I need to love those eagles, it's whole life."

Today, I teach younger men my story. I expose them to terms I talked to masculinity, so they think what it about the role of to play the their lives before it's too late, I've been blessed to turn my pain and struggle into a tool to help others, just like I would let the married child be. But if I'm being fooled on it, I still cannot fucking stay, cow won't think.

All right, all right, well, hold up, hold up good people, everybody cross your fingers. Hey, Chris, yes, sir, what's up, man, what's up, man, how you doing?

got a room full of people, we just heard your story, there's a few of them beautiful,

a lot of applause. There's a little bit of a delay, folks, if it sounds weird, don't worry about it. How do you feel today, man? Oh man, I feel great, man, I feel great, I feel great, I feel honored, I feel like it's a gift to do this with you, man, it's a gift to present for everybody and it's a gift

to have the opportunity, it's an incarcerated person. Yeah, man, no, it's a real honor to have you with us and be a part of the month, thank you so much. So, I've been thinking a lot about your story, just just as everybody else knows, I mean, we talked the other day, I had that random kind of hand jersey when I was growing up, my

dad was an EOS fan, he had season tickets never invited me.

You're still an EOS fan, no, I know, I know, I know, but you know, you made a really amazing connection with that really intense fandom and toxic masculinity, I was just wondering, defining that to you, toxic masculinity, what does that mean to you and why is it important to bring it up? Yeah, I mean, for me, man, it was a big thing in my life that was consuming how I interacted

with people, how I solved life issues and problems, you know, how I interacted with that male friend and stuff like that, like, you don't mean you had talked about it that the other day, but I, you know, like, instead of just being over the hug of friends and hey, man, I love you, man, I got you, man, I'm here for you or Brian, front of a friend, you know, we, we punch on each other, you know, we kind of got that tough love thing, right?

We're talking, that's, that's really the way to live, but that way heading fluent, even living such a toxic way throughout my life that I thought, I went, it was okay, I thought those things were right, but really, people were nervous when they were around me when I acted like that and I didn't really pick up on that until I started to grow up and develop a little bit of skills and knowledge around that and once you do, you kind of feel embarrassed.

Well, okay, now when I look back on some of those things or some of those actions,

“well, Chris, I will say to one thing I've learned in my life is one of the reasons”

why people were nervous around you is that you were wearing clothes that said Philadelphia. Like, when I wear, when I wear my hair, I feel like you might be right about that. Homey, you know, when I wear Philly's hat every day, it was like, when COVID happened, I was like, I already get six feet, like, 'cause I'm already, people give me in a space, you know? You're right about that.

We talked about this, it's like that beauty of being able to, you know, I'm very lucky. I got good male friends, we hug each other, we tell each other, we love each other. If you, like, really feel like the opposite of that kind of, that really hard way to live in is tenderness and vulnerability. And I'm curious, where do you get a chance to have tenderness and vulnerability in your life because it's necessary and the way you're living, it makes it very difficult.

So where do you find time and the space for tenderness and vulnerability? I mean, I find it every day, and now I'm able to do that, right, because I'm comfortable and I'm confident in having those relationships, right?

“I know that it's a good thing to give my home voice and love, right?”

It's a good thing to hug all my friends and mess around in a nice way where we care about each other, right? It's okay to cry, right? Like, you know, when one of my friends are going to swim or I'm going through something that's okay, right? I just got on there to the other day, my friend from grade school at B.J. and I've known since I heard grade, you know, big things for it for black and native, just big, really strong.

You know, a bunch of time and friends, all broke it was hit the way. You know, so fully tattooed, many writes me a message, "Hey, man, I love you, bro. I just want you to know I'm out here thinking you, man, I love you, man. Everything you do for me, man. Every time you call me, you know, he was shooting me some real love. You can get to your home, you, right? And it really means a lot.

But you don't do that a lot when you're younger and you grow up in a lot of foreign firements. That's what we're talking about. We're talking about that person, right? It feels good to talk it to you that every day. Isn't that the thing, no, Chris, we talked about it.

Like, if the idea is that you're supposed to have tough love, love shouldn't be tough, right? Right, right, right, right. I love should be tender, man. I should be comforting.

“And I think once man or boy is growing up in there,”

able to kind of see that, they're able to see that in a more comforting way. And what I really learned is you're going to get no pretty loving,

amazing woman in your life if you're acting like the tough guy.

Well, Chris, I know our time to tell my wife.

“Tell me, man, I'd share it with you real quick.”

Go ahead. My wife tells me all the time. And the scariest thing you could do is assault another human being in front of me. You know, before when I was younger, man, I would have thought that was the one thing that she would have thought was cooler than all shit. Yeah. But now I know that in true, man. And that's a beautiful thing.

Oh, yeah. Everyone, please show your love on my time for Christopher Blackwell. Give them all your love. All the way to Washington State. Give it up. That was Christopher Blackwell.

“In the words of Peter Aguero, it was incredible to watch the audience explode with joy when they heard Christopher's voice booming through the room.”

Peter described a bit of silence before Christopher responded as, quote, "just perfect."

A moment he would never be able to replicate.

Christopher Blackwell is an award-winning journalist. The co-founder and executive director of Look to Justice. And his writings have been featured in a New York Times and many other places. Christopher dedicates his time to advocacy and storytelling by amplifying the voices of those impacted by the carceral system. We were able to meet Christopher doing a workshop with Galaxy Gives, a foundation that supports leaders and organizations working to dismantle systems of oppression. Both of these stories, Delores his and Christopher's, reminded me of this past April when RTA performed sister-rakin Bedford Hills Correctional Facility to New York State Women's Maximum Prison.

One day before opening night, the cast was running their final rehearsal in front of a small audience.

Any entire backdrop fell during the scene.

“The character's pause briefly but continued on for about 15 minutes until the director stood up, applaud it and said, "That's why we rehearsed before we go live."”

We paused the rehearsal to remove the backdrop and the superintendent sitting in the front row, turned to ask me, "What do we need to fix that?" She gave us the okay to bring in glue and tape and the next morning the backdrop was secure. We ran the show that evening and by all accounts it was a major success. For me, the collapsing backdrop showed the cast discipline and diligence, the way to women, so a custom to diversity and having to overcome it, carried on no matter what was happening behind them because that's what life had taught them.

It also showed what is possible when we support each other when we all work together to make space to hear each other's voices. If you'd like to hear more stories like Dolores' and Christopher's and you're in New York this summer, don't miss our next community showcase, it'll be featuring stories both monumental and intimate. Come be a part of our audience, a community that, together, creates this magical space. We hope you'll join us on Friday, August 7th at Roulette Intermedium in downtown Brooklyn.

Get to get set to Moff.org/events. That brings us to the end of our episode. Thanks so much for joining us. From all of us here at the Moff, have a story worthy week. Germaine Archer is an artist and storyteller. Over 22 years in prison, he earned a master's degree, paralegal certification, co-founded several programs including voices from within, and joined RTA. Since his release, he has been a sentence mitigation specialist, social justice advocate,

and in 2025, Germaine was named Executive Director of the Organization that changed his life. If you'd like to know more about RTA's work, you can check out their website and watch the Oscar-nominated film, Sing Sing. This episode of The Moff podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Geness, Sarah Jane Johnson and me, Mark Solinger. The rest of the Moff's leadership team includes Gina Duncan, Christina Norman, Marina Cluchai, Jennifer Hickson, Jordan Cardinalay, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Tellers, Suzanne Rust, and Patricia Urania.

The Moff podcast is presented by Odyssey, special thanks to their executive producer, Leah Riesdennis. All Moff stories are true as remembered by their storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, TheMoff.org.