I competed (and won) a Moth StorySLAM in Boston last week — my 62nd victory.
It was my 111th performance in a Moth StorySLAM, alongside another 37 Moth GrandSLAMs and half a dozen Moth Mainstage performances.
Many stories are told on many stages in New York City, Boston, Washington, DC, Seattle, and elsewhere.
I started competing in Moth events in July 2011, exclusively in New York for the first five years until The Moth expanded to Boston and beyond. Back in New York in 2011, The Moth was dominated by a collection of regular storytellers — outstanding and hilarious performers who told incredible stories night after night. Whenever I walked into The Bitter End, The Bell House, Housing Works, and other venues around the city, I would meet friends and fellow storytellers who treated storytelling as a serious, artistic craft.
Names like Diana Spechler, Adam Wade, Michaela Blei, Kate Greathead, Jim O’Grady, Erin Barker, and my hero, Steve Zimmer.
Many more.
Hosts like Peter Aquero and the great Dan Kennedy.
Over time, that first crew of storytellers began to disappear. Some moved on to bigger and better things. Others moved out of New York and quit storytelling or launched their own storytelling shows in smaller communities. Some moved away from storytelling either because the fire had burned out or they had run out of stories to tell.
A new collection of regulars emerged, and for a time, they dominated the scene. Eventually, most of those moved on, too. When The Moth arrived in Boston, it took a while for storytellers to emerge, but once they did, a band of regulars also emerged there, too.
As I continued to perform in New York and Boston, I watched as my storytelling friends came and went. Incredible performers told stories on Moth stages before moving on to somewhere else or something else.
I certainly understand this desire.
The Moth is an incredible venue for storytelling, but when you attend a StorySLAM, you’re not guaranteed to take the stage on any given night. I’ve performed more than 150 times at Moth shows over the years, but I’ve also attended at least another 75 shows when my name remained stubbornly in the bag.
Moth StorySLAMs and GrandSLAms are also unpaid performances. For someone like me who is paid to speak on stages all over the world, performing for free doesn’t make a lot of sense to people, and I get it.
But I continue to tell stories at The Moth because I love the stage, the audience, the community, and the competition.
On Tuesday night, I had a glorious moment of nostalgia when the first storyteller who took the stage was Stacy Bader Curry — someone who once performed alongside me in New York during those early days. She now lives in Maine and drives to Boston and New York to compete in StorySLAMs. To see her onstage, telling another incredible story, was a joy—a blast of nostalgia from days gone by and people I miss seeing and listening to their stories.
Stacy recently won the New York City GrandSLAM championship. She’s an outstanding performer.
Not many people remember those early days at The Moth anymore when venues like The Bitter End and Housing Works were packed with people waiting to hear stories. Few can recall that the complex form a Moth storyteller fills out to compete today was a simple slip of paper where you wrote your name, phone number, and address.
Over the years, I can clock the venue changes, rule changes (one made because of me), culture shifts, and unforgettable nights.
A night at the Bell House in 2012 when eight of the ten names drawn from the hat were all GrandSLAM champions. Many said it was the best night of storytelling they had ever seen.
Diana Spechler was judging that night and spoke some of the kindest words ever said to me after the show.
The night at Housing Works when a woman told a story about murdering her husband and spending two decades behind bars. Thanks to a quick Google search, we discovered she was telling the truth.
She won that night.
The night host Peter Aquero pulled a person’s name from the hat who had already performed, meaning he had put his name in the hat twice – a cardinal sin. It took all of Peter’s self-control not to verbally destroy that storyteller, and it took all of my self-control not to urge him to destroy the scoundrel.
The night at the Bell House when a storyteller began preaching the Gospel and the founder of The Moth, George Dawes Green, sitting in the audience, stood and shouted, “Tell a story, damn it!” until the preacher finally fled the stage in shame.
I was sitting beside George that night. It was hilarious.
The night at a venue in the Bronx, the thunder outside was so intense that it set off the fire alarm, causing the audience to partially evacuate before turning back when it was determined there was no fire.
I won that night.
The night in some small town in New York when my friend, Jeni Bonaldo, won her first Moth StorySLAM, and I was at least as happy for her victory as I am for one of my own victories.
Those memories and many more thanks to 14 years of performing at The Moth. Not many of those old friends remain. Comedian Ophira Eisenberg still hosts The Moth, and at a recent GrandSLAM, said to me, “We’re still here. Huh?”
Yup.
So, to see Stacy take the stage on Tuesday night was quite a joy. To see an old friend who remembers those early days and is still performing today was like seeing a friend from high school after many years, except we’re both still in high school, still walking the halls, still doing our thing.
Stacy was brilliant, as always. A section of her story was as good as anything I’ve ever heard onstage before, and thankfully, her name was drawn first from the bag on Tuesday, or I may not have won.
Satisfaction and joy come from doing something well for a long time, but alongside those positive feelings are also the feelings of erosion and loss as the world changes around you, but you remain.
I often feel this after 27 years of teaching in the same school, and I often feel it at The Moth:
Thrilled to be a part of something great. Honored to continue to play a role. Excited to remain at the top of my game. Still as enthusiastic as ever about taking the stage.
But I also long for those earlier days in New York City when Stacy and I were performing alongside brilliant people whom I don’t get to watch shine anymore.
Stacy shone on Tuesday night. For the briefest of moments, the old and new collided, and I was so happy to be there to see it.
