Taking Risks: The Moth Radio Hour

At the math, we offer a free summer workshop that helps students find, shape, and tell their own true personal stories.

“You don't need to be a performer or even an extrovert to tell your story.”

Workshops are offered in-person in New York City, and virtually for students across the United States. Applications are open now until July 3. To learn more and apply, visit theMouth.org/EDU. This is a Mouth Media Hour. I'm your host, Jodi Powell. In this hour, stories of taking risks.

A few months ago, I said yes to swimming lessons. I would have two weeks of lessons, where would actually blow bubbles, float, tread water, the whole nine yards. I was terrified. The thought of water engulfing my body was horrifying. Yes, I grew up on an island, and I loved to be near the water, but in the water is quite a different thing. So I set out to my lessons, goggles and swim cap in hand, with a very trusted instructor, and after two weeks,

I have discovered that I love being underwater, but I hate the bubbles. And the coordination escapes me.

But the wages have been set. I will keep at it, though my inner voice never fails to say, "What are you doing?"

I hear that, and then I jump in anyway. In this hour, stories of taking chances, going the extra mile, beating the odds and making small moments visible or lifelong dreams come true. Our first storyteller, Anne Vermigill, takes a chance in a taxicab. Live in Hawaii where we partner with the Hawaii Theatre Center, here's Andrew.

Thank you. Hey, everybody.

“So growing up, the best way I could describe my mom was, like, LeBron Jam, and it's 2006 season in the Cavaliers.”

Literally the MVP from my brother and my sister, myself. She did everything. Whereas my dad was like the rest of the Cavaliers team that year. Wasn't really around. Wasn't really present. And just like LeBron left the calves and my mom left my dad, but she took the kids with her.

So I never really had my dad growing up in a house, and he was always this mysterious enigma to me.

This mysterious figure. And I remember asking my sister, what was one memory she has of our dad in the house? And she said, he told her not to get involved in credit cards. She was 12, y'all. She was 12. But she said she hasn't pickable credit now, so I don't know something. Might have stuck.

And my dad was this mysterious guy, but I really only knew two things about him. One was that he was a New York City taxi driver, and he drove a yellow taxi cab. And two was that anytime he would show up, he would always have a gift. Now my brother and sister were a little older, so they didn't really mess around with him too much. So that meant I automatically got the gift.

And the visits would always be the same. He'd call the house, say I'm on my way.

And then we'd hear him honking his horn from the fourth floor of our apartment. And I would run downstairs, go into the front seat of his taxi. It always smell like whatever food he was eating in his colon. And he would give me the gift. And the gifts were always different. Sometime it'd be shoes that didn't really fit too well. Sometime he gave me a fedora.

I love fedora's. Another time he gave me a star at David necklace. I don't practice, but it was cool. And but the best gift he gave me was a PS2 with this game Batman vengeance. And I was from that day I was like, you know, my dad can do no wrong.

In our house he had a lot of names. My brother and sister said he was crazy. My mom said he was a deadbeat, but I was like, no, he's the dude that gave me the PS2. That's my guy. That's my dude. And I would defend him at home, but I would also defend him at school when kids are talking crap. And kids would be like, you know, my dad is faster than your dad.

And I'm like, not on the streets of Brooklyn, he's not my dad. He's moving through those streets in this car. And he knows how to make that left turn. And he's like, yo, my dad beat up your dad. And I'm like, yeah, but my dad knows where the nearest hospital is.

So he'll get a medical attention faster than your dad. And then my friend said this one thing that really got me. He's like, at least my dad is around. I've never seen your dad. He's not at the PTA meeting.

“He's not at the PTA meeting. He don't pick you up. Where is he?”

And I went home that day and I felt weird. And I called my dad up and I was like, hey, what do you have?

And he pulls up and I, you know, he comes.

He was here to honk in. I go down, sit in the front.

“And I want to ask him. I want to say, hey, man, where have you been?”

Why have you, why aren't you there to pick me up for PTA meetings? Like, where are you? But I didn't say any of that. And he says, hey, I got this for you. And he hands me this gift. And he says, you good. And I say, I'm good.

And I walk out the car. And I like to examine the gifts. I'm to see if they're cool. And I look at this. And this is brown wallet. And I'm looking at it. And I open it up. And there's someone else's money. ID, credit card.

And I look back at the car and I weigh them down. And he lowers the window. I say, hey, I think this is someone else's wallet. And he's like, not us for you, this, this yours. And I was like, okay, cool. And he drives off. And I'm making my way back upstairs.

And I'm like, has my dad been giving me things that people have left and the back of his cab is gifts? And I get back in the house. And I get to my room.

“And I start looking at all the things that he's giving me.”

And I was like, and he's made me in his necessary tool of his crimes. I was like, I'm going to go to jail. Look at all this stuff. And I was like, oh, man, what am I going to do? I can't go to prison now, too young.

So I do what I always do when I get overwhelmed. I just took a nap.

And as I'm taking an app, I have this dream where I'm sitting at the front of the, I'm at the front of this line. I'm about to pay for something and I pull out the wallet. And someone behind me is like, yo, that's my wallet. And we have a scuffle over the wallet and I wake up and I'm like, I got to get rid of all this stuff. So I've take all the contents in the wallet and I put it in an envelope.

And I was like, I'm just going to mail this away. I take the shoes, the fedora, all the random things that he gave me. And I wish I could tell y'all that I threw away that PS2, but I didn't. I did feel bad every time I turned it on. I did feel bad every time I played. Batman, it was tough. It was tough for me.

And I didn't talk to my dad for a long time. And I was going on a trip. I was planning to go on this trip. And it was one of those trips where we have everything planned. You know where you're going. You have like the atinerary of like, I'm going to eat here. I'm going to do this.

But something fell through with my ride going to the airport. And I was telling my mom this and she's like, yo, just call your dad. And I was like, nah, I'm good. I'll figure it out. And before I could know she has him on the phone. And then a couple minutes later, I hear the honking and I'm like, ah, I guess I'm going to take this ride.

And I go downstairs. But instead of sitting in the front of the taxi, I sit in the back. And the back was different than the front didn't smell like his food. It didn't smell like his cologne. It smelled like a night out like drinking and like smoking cigarettes.

And where we take off and he's listening to his music and it's silent. And I feel like it's silent. And I'm like, I got to say something. I got to break this tension. I don't know if it was curiosity or fear.

“But I was like, hey, man, did you always want to be a taxi driver?”

And I thought he would just ignore the question and keep listening to his music. But my surprise, he like lowers the music. And he's like, no, I don't want to be a taxi driver. I want to be a musician. And I was like, what music do you like?

And he terms with the music a little more. It's Haitian compound music and it's these beautiful drums and these guitars. And I was like, were you good? And he's like, no, I was terrible. I was like, right? He's like, yeah, I want it.

And he proceeds to tell me this story about how his dad was a chicken farmer. And he didn't want to be a chicken farmer. So once him and my mom got married, he moved to Berlin, pursued music. He failed at that. And he was like, I'm just going to become a tailor.

And then when they came to the States because they were looking for new opportunities, he couldn't find a job as a tailor. So he started working as a taxi driver. And he's been doing that ever since for about 35 years. And he turned back the music up.

And for the first time, I could actually like see my father.

And I didn't see him as a, you know, my dad. I didn't see him as the son of a chicken farmer. I didn't see him as a failed musician. But I saw him as a person. And that started to think about those gifts that he gave me

of the things that he gave me from the back of the cab. And I was like, could it just kept all those things, but he gave them to me? And I realized that maybe it was his way of saying, "Hey, I don't have a lot, but this is what I have for you."

I thought, maybe it was his way of saying, "Hey, I'm sorry that I wasn't around." And maybe it was his way of saying, "Hey, I love you." So we pull up to the airport, and I take my stuff out, and I'm walking into the terminal.

And then I hear my honk is horny. And I pull down his window, he's like, "Hey, you want these headphones?" (audience laughs) And I take them. Thank you. (audience applauds)

And from a guilt is an educator,

but loves to travel, and especially loved being away,

to tell the story you just heard.

“Andres says that wasn't the last time his father offered him a gift.”

Recent ones included a fedora, church shoes, and a baseball glove. Andres urging everyone to take a last look before leaving your taxi. Do you have a story to tell us? You can pitch us your story by recording it right on our site,

TheMoth.org. It was Sunday, July 13th, 1969. And as my parents were driving us back to our home in Montreal, we were talking about the upcoming launch from Apollo 11 on Wednesday. Everyone was talking about it.

It was the biggest news of the year,

and I had been captivated by this race for the moon since I was about seven.

And next morning my mum woke me up and said, "If you already want to go, Dad and I will pay for your airplane ticket." The one provides, "Oh, I had to find someone to go with me."

“I called my two best friends and when I explained what my plan was,”

they both spoke to their mothers and quickly came back on the phone with. My mum says, "No way." I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. I just turned 14 and looked about 10. My parents were actually said I could do the trip solo.

I had to have a permission to get them landed in jail, but I guess it was a different time back then. Anyway, my plan was to hitchhike this 50 or so miles more landload of Taitahsfield. Sleep on the beach.

The news reports were talking about a million people lined up from miles,

so I certainly wouldn't lack for company. Watch the launch, hitchhike back to Orlando and fly home. When I was changing planes in JFK and carrying a sign saying to the moon, Cape Kennedy or bust, a man came over to chat with me.

His name was Arthur C. Johnson, he lived in Taitahsfield, and he worked for one of the contractors in the Apollo program. That chance meeting resulted in my being, I didn't lose home in Taitahsfield to stay with his family for four days. A front page story in the local newspaper about my trip,

and a thrilling unforgettable view of the beginning of one human kind, greatest adventures. The only time in my life I actually saw history in the making.

“I remember that it hasn't been for almost 50 years.”

Remember, you can pitch us at themoth.org, where you can also share these stories or others from the Moth Archive. Coming up, risky moments from a trip across the world to an animal kingdom, and an early morning bicycle lesson,

when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Do you have a connection or exit superkräfte? No, just like that.

This is the Moth Radio Hour, I'm Judy Powell. Our next story about taking risks in life was told by Dr. Estella Jones. She told this in Troy, New York, at the Troy Savings Bank Music Hall.

Here's Estella. Thank you. I was born into a world of poverty, where my parents weren't even allowed to vote. My mother scrubbed floors on her hands and knees

just so I could learn to play the piano. And my dad served as an aid to a one-star general which meant that he kept his shoes polished for the general. For ever since I could remember, and my mom says,

"From four years old, all I ever talked about was wanting to be an animal doctor." No one told me I couldn't do it, but my neighborhood said something different. See, I was in a public school in Columbus, Ohio

that was built for 700 students, but it housed 1600 students. And at 12, I have to admit I was going down the wrong path. I had a teacher by the name of Dr. Charles Tenet, and he noticed it. And he really pulled me off of the wrong road.

He said, "You can do better, and remember, nothing is impossible unless you succumb to it." So I remembered that.

And by age 14, I had turned everything around,

to a school right here in Troy,

New York called Emma Willard. [Applause] So Emma Willard was great fun. I graduated, you know,

leaving home at 14, a lot of responsibility. You grow up fast, but I still had to figure out a way to work my way through undergrad.

And I had a lot of jobs, and I can't name a mom, but to name a few bartender, skycap, and when I was working

as a slaughter inspector, I met Dr. John Malone,

“who was collecting tissues at the slaughterhouse.”

And he said, "Estelle, you really need to apply to vet school in Louisiana." That's where I was working.

He said, "You can go to vet school. I don't see you doing this as a career." So you know, a little fear took over

because I knew the odds of getting in vet school tend to want at that time. But I applied, and I got in.

In vet school,

we were doing so many amazing things at LSU,

because they have a wonderful, exotic animal, medicine department. And it was at that time, I said,

"I am going to be a primary veterinarian after I graduate. I'm going to specialize in primary medicine." Then we got an invitation

to go to the Baton Rouge Zoo, a polar bear root canal. So I don't know how many of you have ever done. A polar bear root canal? So the zoo vet comes out,

and he scares the life out of us. He goes, "Look, the drugs we use here.

“You students aren't even allowed near them,”

because one little finger prick and you're dead. A polar bear will see you as a snack, so don't let them wake up. You know,

we got these kind of instructions. And then I thought, "Oh boy, where's my career going?" And the primates, they looked a little sad.

They were in cages, and I said, "Wow, I wonder what it would be to work with them

in their environment, not in the zoo environment." So at that moment I said, "You know what? I'm going to go study,

primate medicine, in Africa, in their environment." Okay, crazy, right? Here I am,

a student with no money. I have a little girl. I started vet school at Fort, when she was 14 months old, and I was married,

and I had a difficult marriage. So, my ex-husband at the time now, ex, followed me around with a gun in his car,

and was leaving threatening death threats on my car, windows. So my daughter's safety

was my very first priority.

“How am I going to get her safe if I can make this trip?”

I wrote to this place called Institute for Primate Research. They wrote me back and said, "If you can get here, sure you can do your perceptorship here." So I called my family in Ohio.

They said, "Sure, we'll take your daughter, she's three by then." And we'll watch after her

while you're in Africa. So, how I got there, I used all my skycat miles to fly to Africa in that.

So, one of this plane, of course the flight is very long. I'm sitting next to this reporter, a whole time we're chattering,

and she was so cool, but when that plane landed, she explained, "Oh, my God! I can't believe we're in Africa!"

And I said, "Oh, my goodness, this is really surreal!" So, I get to IPR.

It's very beautiful. I take me to my hut, that I'm going to live in while I'm there, and it had running water, and at that roof.

So that night I go to bed, and I'm still excited under my mosquito net. And I hear these loud dunks on my roof, just jumps and pounding all night long,

so I really couldn't sleep. And I'm like, what is that? I'm not going to go outside and look, right? So,

the next morning, the police came to pick me up to walk me to work, and down this dirt road, and they said, look,

that's just the wild primates, and they're having fun, and they're looking for food, you know, we hear that all the time.

I said okay, then I saw this fence along where we were walking, and it had holes in it. And I said,

what's that? And they said, ah, that's just the National Park Mix door, and occasionally,

you know, an animal strayes over here, or usually it's old lions, and they're looking for slow prey. (audience laughs)

So okay, and then they said, oh yeah, that's why we walk to work together, and we advise you,

and you walk to work,

(audience laughs) And they weren't kidding. So, IPR really educated me, showed me a good time.

I worked with conservationists. I worked in tropical medicine.

“They let me rotate through the whole facility,”

pathologists, and they were doing some really cool research. Then I remembered, I had this note from the curator at the Baton Ruzou. He said,

you need to look up my friend, Mr. Don Hunt, when you get to Africa, I was in Southern Africa, in Kenya, Nairobi.

Mr. Hunt was in Nanyuki, which is Central Kenya. So I call him up on the phone, and he goes, sure,

you can come here and visit my conservatory, as long as you find a way here. So I found a way there. I jumped on that public bus, and I was off in my little trench coat,

looking weird. But, when I got to the conservatory,

“Mr. Hunt showed me the best of the world.”

I was given a guest house, this time with a picture window so wide, and you could see all the animals in the conservatory, at 1200 acres. It's beautiful.

But I stood in that window, and I had an epiphany. I said, wow, physicians are responsible for one species, male and female,

all the rest of the burden falls on the veterinarian, and no two species are like, and no two zebra's are even alike. So, we would go out in the evening in Mr. Hunt's jeeps,

and look for sick animals, and to love deer, gazelle, you know, anything that was injured and distressed,

and we would treat it. Then one evening he said, have you ever been on safaria, Stella? I said, no,

he said,

I'm going to send you on your first safari.

Wow, I was so excited. So he did that, even though I didn't really know what a safari was. And when I got on safari and saw the beauty, we were in a little jeep when we went to the wilderness.

Now I knew what it was like to be caged, and they were free in their environment that did something for my heart. Even though it's dangerous, tour guides were excellent.

They knew the land, they were local, and then they educated me about the deadly species of snakes. I saw mother elephants with their young under their belly. That's where they stand over them to protect them from the sun.

And I thought about my daughter that I had to protect. So the animal kingdom is a lot like arcing them. But I also felt that they were free,

and even though it's not always safe, they knew freedom.

So when I came back from Africa, I had a sense of taking my freedom back because I left afraid, and I was no longer afraid of that bully ex-husband. I passed the freedom for my daughter,

want to be whatever she wanted to be.

“I remember I told you my dad once the shine,”

the one-star general shoes. Well, he lived to see me, become the first black female veterinary, one-star admiral in the U.S. Public Health Service,

and assistant surgeon general. So, you know, I found that teacher in seventh grade. I went back, I hadn't talked to him for 45 years, and I told him thank you. If you have a teacher like that,

find him and say thank you. And what I now have my dad shoes, because I lost my dad last year to COVID, but he saw me pin on that star, and he was so proud.

So I now am wearing the shoes that he once polished, and I'm going to pass these shoes on to those who once thought their dreams were impossible. Thank you. [applause]

That was Dr. Selle Jones.

She is the first black female veterinary

in the U.S. Public Health Service to be promoted to the rank of rare admiral

As deputy director of the Office of Counterterrorism and Emerging Threats at the FDA, Jones works to combat global health crises. Estelle's father sadly succumbed to COVID in 2021,

so she says her work in the fight against disease is never done.

“Estelle says it's important to remain humble,”

and if she sees a little further, it is because she's standing on the shoulders of giants. Estelle is still in touch with her teacher from junior high, and she uses every opportunity she gets to remind everyone to pick up the phone, write a note to someone

who helped you to find the right path. Our next stories from Francesca Hayes who told this at the Bronx Museum of Arts in New York City where WNYC is a media partner of the math. Here's Francesca.

It was my deepest, darkest secret, and it was one that got more and more shameful with every passing year. I was 22, and I didn't know how to write a bicycle, and nobody knew this about me,

because I kept it secret. I didn't want anyone to find out my shameful secret, and I avoided bikes at all costs, so no one really did. And I didn't think about it very often, but that spring, I was in college,

and I would walk to campus, and I would see classmates whizzing past me on their bikes, and I was jealous that they were getting there so quickly, and I thought to myself, maybe I could learn. And then I thought, maybe I could learn, maybe it's possible,

and then it became kind of like an obsession

“that I wanted to learn how to write a bicycle,”

but it was a quiet obsession because I couldn't tell anyone

because they couldn't know in the first place that it didn't know.

So I started this process that I coined observation, simulation, and visualization. So I would observe people on bikes to figure out the mechanics and how it worked, and I would simulate writing a bike on a stationary bike

in the college campus gym, and I had read in Cosmopolitan magazine, very credible source, that if you visualize yourself doing something you're like 10 times more likely to do it.

So every night I fell asleep, imagining myself on a bike, just flying into campus, writing straight into the classroom, and I did this for a while, and I thought to myself, well, I'm the only adult,

I know who doesn't know how to write a bike, but there have to be other people out there, and that's like what the internet is for is to find other weird people like yourself. And so I went online and low and behold,

there was a form of adult bike learners, and I learned a lot from them.

The first thing I learned is they had great reasons

for not knowing. They were from like war-torn countries where they didn't have bicycles. They're childhood, or they had been a part of very conservative religions,

where girls couldn't write bikes, and now they wanted to learn. I had no good reason, and I just felt more ashamed, but I got good tips from them.

To use a little bit of a hill, and that gravity would help balance the bike, and to use a bike that was a little bit too small for you. And I realized I really had to get on a bike. So I needed to tell someone,

because I had to get a bike. So I selected my friend Carol,

“because I think any young person named Carol”

is the trustworthy person. And she is. And she's also that friend that just takes care of things, and she just can handle it. And so kind of in one breath,

I confessed to her, that I didn't know how to write a bike, and I wanted to learn, and I told her about the online people, and what they said,

and she said, "Okay, I'll come by tomorrow." And I didn't really know what that meant, but she showed up the next day, just like a Carol Wood.

And with her, she had a big, huge, purple enormous helmet, and the littlest turquoise bike I've ever seen. It was among us,

and it had the words, the thunder splashed across the top tube. And I knew that this was my chance. I looked a little thunder, and I thought,

"Okay, we're doing this." So the next night, that was warm and dry, I took out little thunder, and the purple helmet,

because I promised Carol, and you keep a promise to someone named Carol. And I went to the slope, because the online people said so, and I put one foot on the pedal on the little thunder,

and I cruise down, and I balanced, and it was actually really easy. And I was kind of surprised, so I did that a few more times,

and then I put both feet on the pedals, and I was still balancing, and I was shocked. And so then I thought, "Well, the next time I do this,

I'm just going to pedal and see what happens, and to my surprise, when you pedal on a bike, it just balances all by itself, and you don't have to do anything,

and you're riding a bike. If you're pedaling the bike, so all of a sudden, I was riding a bike, and I was like,

"Oh my God, I'm riding a bike, and I was laughing, and I was kind of crying, and I said out loud to myself, "I'm riding a bike."

And it's also through a clock in the morning, because I am 59, 150 pounds,

I cannot have people see me with the purple helmet on the tiny turquoise bike. I can't let anyone see this process. So I finally got it. There's no one out there.

I feel at 22, the way a five-year-old looks

“when they're learning how to ride a bike.”

I felt so free. I thought there was something like stuck in my helmet, and then I realized it was the sound of wind passing my face.

I didn't, I'd never heard that before.

It was so exciting. But I was kind of wild out there, because I'd never done this before. So my steering was like all over the place, and I didn't know how to stop,

because Carol, bless her heart, didn't tell me those levers were breaks. So when I wanted to stop, when I was getting close to the bigger street,

I would just skid with my sneakers, and that wouldn't really do it. So I would just like curl myself off the bike, and just bail completely. And I'm sure I was getting hurt,

but I didn't care. My adrenaline was like, "Pain was no match for my adrenaline. I was on cloud nine." And it was fine that I was so wild out there

on that path, just kind of creating around, because it was so late, and there was no one else out,

“except for then there was someone else out.”

And there was a guy on his bike coming towards me, and he was like helmet-free, and looking really in control, and I'm like, on little thunder with the purple helmet, and he's coming towards me,

and I realize I don't know how to steer at all. So I'm just kind of praying that I don't crash into him, and we pass each other, and we don't crash, thank God. But under his breath, he says to me,

"You know, if you're that drunk, you shouldn't be riding a bike." And I realized, in that moment, that hipster bike police guy was my first witness,

and he said, "I was riding a bike, and I was doing it, and I burst into tears, happy tears,

because this asshole had told me I was riding a bike, so that meant I really was, and I realized that with the help of online strangers, and a friend named Carol, and Lil Thunder,

I found my balance,

and I've never stopped riding since.

(applause) Francesca Haye said her experience

“that her own a new path to become a teacher.”

She went on to work for "Bite in New York" and thought over a thousand adults in the city, how to ride a bicycle. Francesca currently works in educational equity,

and lives in her hometown of Seattle, Washington. She rides a steel celestial blue-pister-seven Bianchi-9 bicycle for the last 12 years, and hopes to never replace it. In a moment,

we are off to the racetrack. That's when the moth radio hour continues. (upbeat music) The moth radio hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media and Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

Hey there, it's Jill Slesinger. I'm launching a new show, it's called Money Moves, and your money is going to move. We're going to help you make better financial decisions.

We're going to call up the BS, you're finding all over social media, we're going to give you actionable guidance to make your financial life clearer, less stressful.

We're going to answer your financial questions and take the mystery out of your financial life, follow and listen to money moves with Jill Slesinger wherever you get your podcasts. (upbeat music)

You're listening to the moth radio hour, I'm Judy Powell. Our final story about risk is told by Michael Horso, another storyteller from the Event in Troy, New York at the Troy Savings Bank Music Hall.

Here's Michael. (applause) When I was a little kid, I was a really active child. I used to run and jump and climb,

everything and anything. But when I sat down and watched television, my parents recognized that I had a hard time seeing the screen. And over time, I was inching closer and closer

and closer in order to see the TV. Of course, they took me to the eye doctor and then I had to go to some specialists.

And then ultimately, I was diagnosed with an incurable eye disease

called retina of skisis, which means the splitting of the retina. Unfortunately, on my 12th birthday, I woke up totally blind. It caused a lot of stress in my family and in my household,

some directed at me, but I was worried it's a 12 year old. Am I going to be able to play with my friends? That's what I cared about. A little while after my going blind,

And they said,

"Hey, why don't we play evil conieval?"

Do you remember evil conieval?

“He was the crazy lunatic that would drive a car,”

150 miles an hour, and jump on a ramp and go over 25 cars and break 100 bones in his body. But we wanted to do that. So my friends were sending up the ramps

and we were going to jump garbage cans. I went down in my house and pulled out my bicycle, which I hadn't written in a while. And I come back to the area we were playing and one of my friends says, "Are you crazy?

What are you going to do?" And I said, "Oh, man, I'm going to try this."

I'm sorry, everybody thought I was nuts.

I just forgot to think the same way as my friends. So I get my bike set. It's my turn. I race as hard as I can. Frankly says now.

I lift up the handlebars. I jump over the garbage cans.

“I land on down ramp with my front wheel.”

But not quite with my back wheel. And I blew the whole ramp out. Face down, I go on to the concrete. My friends come running over to see if I'm okay. They turn me over.

Then, historically laughing. How much fun was that? I said, "Well, I lived a couple years later. I got to have some more fun when I was about 15 or 16. I went out to Long Island to see my cousins.

They were motorheads. And what they did was race their muscle cars at national speedway. And they invited me to come and hang in with them in the pit. And I was in total excitement because I love cars. And I love their cars.

One of my cousins had a 69-road runner with a 33-engine. My other cousin had a 67-chivalcess with a 427.

“One cousin that I didn't like too much had a...”

Blimey gold duster with a 340-engine. And my least favorite had the best car. Of Olzambio 442, fire engine red and convertible. And I got to hang out in the pit with them. And I got to smell the gas and smell the rubber burning.

And be part of the chaos in the excitement and the fun.

But the one thing that I always did in that pit,

wonder and think, "Oh my God, all I really want to do is race one of those cars." Well, of course, that's not possible. So my dreams stayed somewhere tucked inside and I went on. When I was 18, I moved on to go to college. I moved from a small town called Brooklyn to the Metropolis of Albany.

And while I was in college, I still wanted to keep my adventures and my activities. So I learned how to downhill ski. I then learned how to tandem rally bicycle race. And then yes, folks, I learned how to play golf. Now you wonder, "How does a blind guy hit a little ball into a little hole 400 yards away?"

I wondered the same thing. And I found out, "It ain't easy to do." But what kept me going was, "All my sighted friends, condo it either." [Applause] And then I was 40 years old in the middle of my career.

And out of the blue, the phone rings, and it's my friend Marty. And he's all hyperventilating. And he said, "Hey, do you have a radio in the office?" I said, "Yes." And he said, "Turn it on."

I'm like, "Why?" I'm working. He's like, "Oh, no, forget it. You got to turn on a radio." He said, "I'm driving into work."

And I'm listening to picks 106. And Bob Wolfe is having a fundraiser called the Iraq 500. E.Y.E. 500. Oh, what a cool name. But what are they going to do?

He said, "It's going to be a stock car race for 14 blind drivers." [Laughter] I'm like, "How the hell are they going to do that?" And he said, "Call them, call them. They're on number 11.

They only have room for three more people." I hang up the phone. I start going back to my computer. I can't think about it. I'm like, are they kidding?

That is friggin' nuts.

[Laughter] I pause. And I can't wait. I just grabbed the phone. I dial 476, WPYX.

“And the guy, the guy actually answered the phone.”

I never got a busy signal, which I never had happened before.

And I said, "Hi, my name is Michael, and I'm blind." He didn't even say anything. He just shot me into the studio. And I'm talking to Bob Wolfe, John, and Ellen live. And they're interviewing me about being a driver in this race.

And I'm like, answering the questions. And next thing I know Bob Wolfe says, "Okay, you're in. Hang on. We're going to get your contact information. And we'll see you at race day."

[Laughter] I hang up the phone. I scratch my head. And I say, "What the hell did I just do?" [Laughter]

It's race day. And all the drivers and their support teams, along with the officials from the track, are in the infield. And we're getting huddled up for a little quick meeting with the track officials and to tell us the rules.

First rule, it's a fundraiser.

If you end razor, you don't get hurt. Don't do anything crazy. We're just going to have fun.

“So, every one of you blind drivers are going to be paired up”

with a professional stock guard driver. And I wondered, "Can they see?" [Laughter] We met and we learned that the place was going to be packed. They usually get 100 people at the raceway and fund the speedway.

And they were all motorheads or mechanics and drivers. No one else goes. This day, for the Iraq 500, they had 6,000 spectators. We're all excited and nervous, and we go to our cars. Everybody picked a number, so you would get your car assignment.

My car assignment was 12. I was so bummed because that meant I was in the back row. And the front, it was 1, 2, and 3. And in the back, it was 12, 13, and 14.

I want to win this damn thing and it is no chance sitting in the back.

It's just not going to work. So, we're in the car. We hear the announcement. Start your engines. Everybody turns the key.

I hear the engines going. And the gun goes off. And the race is on. The race is on, but we're not moving. And I say, Jake, what's going on?

How come we're not moving? He says, well, it's a bit of a cluster. Everybody's in front of you trying to figure out what to do. There's left turns and right turns and spins going on. Just wait, you'll get your turn.

Oh, my God. I said, I don't believe this. I'm sitting stuck behind a bunch of blind people that don't have a drive. Then I hear engines behind me.

And if you know about stock cars at all, one of the features is they don't have any glass, which keeps it safer. Glass is the thing that could really hurt. There's no windshield.

There's no rear windshield. There's no side windows. And there's no headlights. Not that I would need them if I had them.

“But I hear engines behind me and I said, Jake, what's those engines?”

What is that? And he looks behind and he says, oh, that's cars, one, two, and three. They made the first lap. Jake, we didn't even move yet.

I was so bummed. It's a four lap race. And I'm down one lap. It's my turn to go. He says, okay, you can start going.

I step on the gas. And the gas pedal doesn't move much. And we're crawling. And I said, Jake, what's going on with this gas pedal? I'm trying to move and it's not going.

And he says, every car has a governor underneath the gas pedal. It's a block of wood. So you stay at a reasonable hour. Remember fundraiser?

I said, boom. Something else. I took my foot. I kicked underneath the block and I knocked it out. I put the car in neutral.

I rev it up. Jake says, you're sick. I said, no, no, I just want to win. I've got the whole car now and I'm so excited. I said, Jake, just tell me where to go.

Tell me exactly the directions I will pay attention. He's like, oh my god, this is not the rules. I said, what rules? No one told me I couldn't kick the block out from under the gas pedal.

They didn't even tell us we had that.

Go left. Go a little right. Go a little left.

“Oh my god, he goes, you're responding beautifully.”

I said, of course I am.

What do you think I want to do?

Kill myself. But guess what? He was definitely pooping his pants. But I was going to be smart and listen to him and do my best. So I tell him, where do we go?

Where do we go? Come on, I want to win. He says, go left. Go left, go left. Go right, straighten it out, straighten it out.

You're at a clear path. Go. He says, go, go, go. You're doing great. Go, go, go.

I'm flying past a bunch of cars. He says, Michael, go into the right. Now straighten it out. Okay, you're in the middle of the track. And you just passed a shit load of cars.

And I'm like sight. And we're going and we're going and we're going.

“And I feel the wind blowing through my hair.”

Yes, folks. I had hair then. And I feel the dust blowing up off the track. Hit me in the face and be in sticky. But I'm so excited because I'm moving.

What I think is about 40 miles an hour. Not 15. So he says, you're doing great. You're really doing great. He says, you're holding the road in.

You're doing the nice bend to the left. The track. Of course, bends to the left. It's a counter. Counter clockwise track and it bends into the left.

And I'm just following the contour of the track. So I said, where are the other cars? He says, cars, one, two, and three in front of you. They're about 200 yards up. And they're making the turn on the last lap.

And I'm like, OK, let's get them. So I start stepping on the gas. And I'm going. And he says, OK, you're good. They're on the right side.

So stay right there. Stay right there. Go a little bit left. A little bit left. Go, guinea, guinea, guinea.

I fly past these cars. And he's like, you're doing great. He says, hold on. Slow down.

“He goes, you're going 100 miles an hour.”

I said, nah. I grabbed my head. And he goes, what you please hold the wheel? Oh, shit. I grabbed the wheel.

I'm like trying to be cool. I'm a nervous wreck. Everything's going crazy. My heart's going 200 miles an hour. The car's only going 100.

Finally, he says, OK, you're coming up to the checkered flag.

You're coming up to the flag. He says, stop, stop. You won. You won. You won.

I am friggin' thrilled to my core. Got jam on the brakes. I get out of the car. I stand there, listening to the crowd roaring. And then I hear, out of the blue, a car.

Drive right by me. And I said, Jake, what was that? And he said, get back in the car. That was the winner. I didn't think you were going to stop so short

and you stopped 50 feet short of the flag. I complied. I put it in drive. I went forward. The 50 feet.

Not a foot further. Pulled the car over shut the engine, put my hand on the steering wheel. And I was so bummed that I lost this race. I shouldn't have lost it.

But only a second or two went by.

And I realized that was so fun. That was so unbelievable. That was so sick. That was so dangerous. That was so stupid of these guys from Pix 106.

But I felt the same way right now as I felt that day, because today is 20 years ago to the day of that race. [Applause] And I actually was amazed because I actually realized I had a dream come true.

I got to drive a race car. [Applause] That was Michael Corso. Sadly, Michael passed away a few months after telling this story. Michael excelled in many activities thought to be just for the sighted.

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