91: Escape the Box

Ira Glass

Sylvia's parents are immigrants, very traditional. And in Sylvia's house, the men are men, the women are women, just like back in the old country.

Ira Glass

It's a typical American story in this country. From the time she was little, Sylvia spoke English better than her parents. She was the one in the family who'd call the phone company or the utilities. She translated teacher conferences. If the family was going somewhere and needed directions, Sylvia was the one who would walk up to a stranger and ask for them. And now, nearly grown up, she wants to be an American girl in a way that her parents don't completely understand. She goes to a big, integrated public school. A few years ago, she started listening to The Cranberries and Nirvana and Metallica, not the kind of stuff her parents knew growing up in small towns in rural Mexico.

Ira Glass

This weekend, this is a particularly urgent question in Sylvia's life. This weekend, January 31, 1998, Sylvia turns 18. She's legally recognized as an adult, capable of deciding for herself what she'll do with her life. And she and her mom have been talking about what she's going to do. Sylvia wants to go to a four year college, wait to get married, wait to have kids. And her mom is trying to understand.

Ira Glass

When her mom was young, back in Tamaulipas, her mom wanted to go to school. She was admitted to a good school nearby, but her grandfather told her no. He said the only reason the girls go to school is to get boyfriends. So she stopped going in sixth grade. Now she spends most of her time at home, raising Sylvia's brother and sister, taking care of the house, rarely leaving the house.

Ira Glass

Well, today on our radio program, Escaping the Box You were Born Into. From WBEZ Chicago and Public Radio International, it's This American Life. I'm Ira Glass. Each week, of course, we choose a theme, bring you a variety of different kinds of stories on that theme. Today's program in three acts. Act One, An American Girl Turns 18.

Act Two, $33 Million Box, the true story of a successful Cincinnati businessman millionaire who escaped his old life and created a new one in one single day by robbing a bank.

Act Three, The Feeling You Want and the Feeling You Get. We have an excerpt from David Cale's funny and thrilling story of a middle-aged woman who escapes the box of her own life. Stay with us.

Ira Glass

Act One, American Girl Turns 18. So Sylvia is living at home, senior in high school, engaged in an ongoing discussion with her mom about what she should be after graduation in four months and whether she'll live a life like her mom's.

Ira Glass

I suggest to Sylvia that her parents might understand her situation better than she acknowledges. After all, they themselves escaped the box of their own early lives, uprooted themselves from rural Mexico to inner city Chicago, to a country where they didn't even speak the language. Sylvia doesn't buy it.

But as we talk, one of the most striking things is how there's still a part of her, the biggest part of her, that wants her parents to simply understand her and how she sees her own life. She still wants to be part of the family.

Ira Glass

Sylvia turns 18 this weekend. Happy birthday. Good luck.

Ira Glass

Act Two. You know who it's been a hard week for? It's been a hard week to be an intern. In fact, you could reasonably argue that in the history of interns, this past week or two, in late January 1998, they have been the low point. An intern here at WBEZ Chicago, home of This American Life, told me that she was waiting for the L train this week. And she's standing there, and this guy strikes up a conversation. And they're talking about this and that. And he says to her at some point, so what do you do? And she tells him that she's an intern. And he says, oh, really? As if she'd just told him, my job, I'm a slut. That's my job.

Our senior editor Paul Tough was once an intern. I started in public radio as an intern at National Public Radio in Washington 19 years ago. In fact, I would not have escaped the box that I grew up in if not for that internship. I would not be in radio at all. We at This American Life are a staff of former interns. Producers Alix Spiegel, Nancy Updike, Julie Snyder, all former interns. And so, to strike a small blow for the dignity of interns everywhere in this dire, dire hour our own This American Life intern, the capable and serious-minded Rachel Day will introduce our next act here on the program.

Act Two, $33 Million Box. Barry Miller didn't have the kind of life you'd think he'd want to escape. He owned a clothing store in Cincinnati that was worth $33 million. He could buy whatever he wanted, took $15,000 vacations with his family. But he was unhappy. And one day, he permanently escaped his old life and entered his new one with one simple and unorthodox act. He robbed a bank. Alex Blumberg talked with him at the Hocking Correctional Facility in Nelsonville, Ohio.

Alex Blumberg

If you ask Barry Miller what was wrong with making lots of money, he'll tell you this. He used to go to Rome at least twice a year, but he never saw the Coliseum. He never went to the Vatican. If his business was over in the morning, he'd find a flight back in the afternoon. He was driven. His relationship with his family suffered.

Alex Blumberg

Looking back, he says he was shallow and vain. He says he was worshiping false gods. At the time though, he only felt a vague nagging that something wasn't right. But he says gradually that feeling became more insistent and took stranger forms. For instance, he says, he started blacking out, losing hours in the day.

Alex Blumberg

Sometimes you actually make a real decision to change your life and you set about doing it. But just as often, you find yourself sort of edging toward the new life, half consciously. Part of you goes on as you always have while another part secretly plots an ambush. Barry Miller's case is as extreme as you can get. When he describes what happened, it's like he's describing a person in a trance.

Alex Blumberg

When he robbed the bank, he was earning well into six figures a year. His take from the robbery, $8,000. It's a lot to swallow, really, rob a bank, then claim not to remember it, especially when you bought a ski mask and rented a car the day before. And it's possible that Miller made up the story about not remembering when he went to trial.

He plead innocent by reason of insanity. The judge didn't buy it. I talked to Steve Tolbert, the prosecutor in Miller's criminal trial. He says it's possible that Miller was in a kind of a haze when he robbed the bank. He'd certainly never heard that defense before. But for Tolbert, it was immaterial. Either way, Miller was guilty of the crime.

But even Tolbert questions why a man who could have gotten a substantial loan from any bank in the city would actually need to hold one up for money. And more importantly, why would he have bungled the job so badly? When Miller lays out the facts, it's hard to believe this workaholic, super achiever was really trying to get away with it.

Alex Blumberg

This is maybe the hardest thing of all to swallow. Talking to Miller, I got a familiar feeling. He sounded like a new convert to a religion or a junkie who's gone clean, like someone desperate to believe what he is saying is true. And who can blame him? When Barry Miller gets out of jail in four years, he's going to have to rebuild a life from scratch. No family, no job, 68 years old. Despite my doubts, I wanted to believe him too.

Ira Glass

Alex Blumberg is a writer in Chicago.

Coming up, lizards, awkwardness, and falling in love from Public Radio International. That's in a minute when our program continues.

Rachel Day

It's This American Life. I'm Rachel Day, the intern here at This American Life. Each week, of course, we choose a theme, invite a variety of writers and performers to take a whack at that them. Today's show, Escaping the Box of Your Own life. We've arrived at Act Three, The Feeling You Want and the Feeling You Get.

Ira Glass

In this act we have a story from David Cale from a show that premiered here at the Goodman Theatre here in Chicago. And in this show, David Cale comes out on stage in black jeans and a corduroy shirt. And without dressing as a woman or changing his voice in any way, he simply becomes this middle-aged, good-humored British woman named Lillian.

The story he tells is of how Lillian escapes the life she's in. She launches herself out of her old life in this kind of half trance, like the bank robber we heard from earlier but not quite so severe. Lillian take steps to destroy her own life while she's only kind of half conscious that that's exactly what is it that she's trying to do. And the incident that gets her out of her old life turns out to be so small and awkward and a bit disappointing, but it does the job.

Before we begin this story, a quick warning that there's some sexual content in the story. No nasty words and, of course, nothing as graphic as the network news this week, but some mild sexual content that might not be appropriate for some younger listeners.

David Cale

The thought of someone else inside you is something I could never come to terms with. Keith had said to me before he went up north on that job, "I could get over somebody kissing you or cuddling, but if someone else went inside, I don't think I could ever touch you again." "Don't be dramatic," I said. "Nobody's going anywhere with me." Then almost a minute, the door shut. Keith was hardly in his precious Volvo when I meet little Jimmy in the store, 15 years my junior, with a look on his face the could drag a shipwreck up from the bottom of the ocean. "Wipe that dirty look off your face, Jimmy Foyle," I said, "and stop trying to put your fingers in my mouth. I'm a married woman."

I couldn't believe the words were coming out of me. It was like my husband just flew out the window. Jimmy was really what I had in mind for a lover before I said yes to Keith. He was. He was the kind of person I always wanted when I was his age but who never seemed interested in me. I wasn't generally a Jimmy's type. Jimmys didn't generally take notice of women like me. We seemed too tame. Jimmy was a wild one. Rough around the edges, he was a bit of a devil. Didn't give things a lot of thought the way Keith did. And he was funny. Keith had nothing approaching a sense of humor. Actually, Keith was the only person I knew that didn't find me funny in any way.

"I can't believe that, Lillian," Jimmy said. "You're a riot." "Oh, how refreshing," I thought, "to be found funny again." It was really the idea of a Jimmy coming along that kept me from completely giving over to Keith. I've been holding out for the thought of a Jimmy for a long time. So when he aimed his eyes at me and came on so strong that day, something in me was saying, it would not be a good idea to turn Jimmy down. It'll be a little fling.

You have to work out this Jimmy thing. Lillian, it's between you and yourself. Jimmy knew Keith was out of town. I think he'd even been watching the precious Volvo to see if it was still in the front. He invited me over to his house to see his lizards. "Lizards?" I said. "Yes, lizards," he said. "How peculiar," I said. "All right, Jimmy."

He drove his car like he just robbed the bank. We ran a red light. "Hold on to your seat, Lillian," I thought. His car didn't have safety belts. "I cut them off," he said. "They were uncomfortable." I thought about Keith. Keith wouldn't start the engine unless everyone was strapped in.

Jimmy's house was lined with tiny aquariums. He got all excited as he told me what the various lizards were and where they came from. He was quite the authority. Outside of the store, he looked much younger. "God, Lillian," I thought, "what are you doing?"

When he made his move on me, it was so sudden. Talk about a pounce. Even the lizards scuttled behind their plastic rocks. I immediately felt like I'd been thrown into a wrestling ring. As we were rolling around on his leopard blanket, I must confess, my first thought was, "Am I really enjoying this?" He was so rough and young. There was no warming up with Jimmy. In fact, much to my surprise, it was dreadful.

It's funny, I realized I'd gotten used to Keith's mouth. Jimmy had a smaller mouth. I think Keith's tongue was wider, too. There was nothing sensual about Jimmy's tongue. It just sort of flickered around in my mouth, like the tongues of one of those lizards of his.

Whatever was wrong with Keith, the sexual part was all right. Or maybe I'd overrated it, but he was considerate. Sexually speaking, I'd say Keith was like a really good waiter in a pretty good restaurant. Very good service but ultimately disappointing food.

Jimmy seemed to approach the whole thing like it was some form of kung fu or that I was something that needed to be overthrown. But believe me, I was just laying there. He was nervous, bless him. I tried to get him to ease up. "Slow down," I said, in a voice that was supposed to sound seductive. But I have to admit, it did come out rather motherly. Then he breathed into my ear. "Can I [BLEEP] you, Lillian?" I thought about Keith, what the thought of someone else being inside me would do to him, how it really would be the final straw. And I said, "Yes, Jimmy. If you want."

Ira Glass

What follows is a brief scene that's too graphic to play for you on the radio. Let's just say things take awhile. Jimmy keeps his eyes scrunched shut. Lillian keeps hers open, lays there thinking about her husband, staring at the aquarium.

David Cale

And I'm looking at Jimmy's lizards. Can they really be happy in those little tanks with a light bulb over their heads morning and night? And he took so long. [YAWNS] It is starting to feel a little like a visit to the dentist more than a sexual fling.

Then Jimmy makes a noise like he's been shot in the leg. And I realize, "Thank God." He rolls over to the other side of the blanket. "That was sexy," he says. "Yes," I said. "It was very. Thank you." Lillian, polite to the end.

But then Jimmy did some really sweet things. He ran a bath, put something blue in the water. He showed me his muscles. "Ooh," I said. He lit candles. He was quite romantic after all. He was a boy, really. I half expected the police to come barging in and arrest me.

"Did I disappoint you?" he asked. "No, of course not," I said. And for a moment, he looked so vulnerable, I thought my heart would break.

We sat in the bath. He was behind me. He did my back. Drew objects on my shoulders in soap and had me guess what they were. "It's a giraffe," I said. "No, it's a crane," he said. "You win," I said. He was laughing. He looked even younger with his hair wet.

And I'm thinking of Keith in these Volvo, following the taillights of another car with his radio on-- he probably near Scotland by then-- with that perpetually anxious look on his face that he inherited from his father. And they're both nice men. I mean, sweet men, good people.

And as the damn television is chattering away in the background, all I can think is, "Well, my dear, now what?"

Ira Glass

Now we skip ahead five years. Lillian is out of her marriage, working in a bookstore. She decides to go away to Brighton for a little vacation.

David Cale

Well, I was walking along the front, past the chalets on the beach when I hear somebody calling my name. I turned around and see this young man with a beard waving at me. "Who on Earth are you," I thought. I presumed it must be a customer from the store. "It's me," said the man with the beard. "It's Jimmy. Don't you remember?" "Jimmy," I cried, totally taken aback, "You look completely different. I would have walked right past you." Besides the beard, he was much slimmer. And it's probably my imagination, but I think he'd grown.

"What are you doing here," I asked. "I live here," he said. "Since when?" "Since about four years ago." I could not get over how different he looked. "I don't know lift weights anymore," he said. "I do tai chi. Lost a lot of bulk. Don't have muscles anymore. And I've gone vegetarian." "And you have the beard now," I chimed. "Yeah, my wife says it gives me authority." "Your wife?" "Can you believe it?" he said. "I got hitched."

The whole episode was quite disorienting. Having Jimmy suddenly pop up in the middle of my Brighton after how many years? Five, was it? He asked me if I'd like to grab a bite. I said I would. I have to say, though, it was immediately comfortable between us. One thing about Jimmy and I, we always got along.

"I don't drink coffee anymore," he said. "Only herb tea. I'm watching my health, but I can have a chamomile tea and a tofu sandwich. I'm very strict." "Tofu sandwich," I said. "Oh, dear. I should be having a glass of wine, a pastry, a cappuccino, and a cigarette, in that order. Health kick." He laughed. "Oh, good," I thought. "I'm still amusing to him." While he wasn't looking, I glanced at the side of his face. He'd become quite beautiful, delicate almost. In the looks department, I have to say, the little bugger had really come into his own.

We went to an awful health restaurant where they had a lot of attitude and no pastry. And when I tried to light a cigarette, I got a lecture on secondhand smoke. He wanted me to meet his wife, thought the two of us would get along. "Why," I couldn't help wondering. "She reminds me of you," he said. "She's a bit older than me, very successful in business, has her own company. She trains executives how to speak in public and how to alter their image so they'll become a more effective tool in the marketplace." The whole enterprise sounded positively creepy. I asked him what his role in all this was. He said he videotaped the executives speaking and that Donna, the wife, would identify their weaknesses and therefore help to rectify them.

"How old are you now," I asked, somewhat shifting the subject. "26," he said. "How old are you?" "I'm not telling you how old am," I said. "Let's put it this way. When I write down my date of birth now, I put the word circa next to it."

Then he asked if I thought he seemed more mature. Apparently Donna was working on having him project a more mature version of himself. "Have you noticed I'm speaking slower," he asked. "Donna got me to do that. She made me watch a video of myself. I had no idea I talked so quickly." I'd never noticed it. Poor Jimmy was beginning to sound a bit like someone who's had a complete nervous breakdown and who's slowly pasting themselves back together again. And I was gaining the impression he'd married Eva Braun.

"She's not pointing any cameras at me," I thought, just as some horrendous-looking alfalfa something or other arrived. God knows what it was, but I wasn't going to eat it. He asked me how what's-his-name was. "You mean Keith," I said. "I have no idea. I haven't seen Keith for nearly two years. The last time I tried to talk to Keith, he said he still wasn't ready to speak to me yet." "Was it because of me," he asked, with a tone of slight self-satisfaction. I have to say, it did irritate me for a moment. I mean, there was a reason Keith and I stayed together for six years. It wasn't a complete waste of time. "Let's just say you didn't help."

One thing about Keith, he could read me like a book. He immediately knew what had happened with Jimmy. "The way you talked about him in the store, it was obvious," he'd say. "It's sad," he'd go on. "You're like a little girl. You'll fall for anyone who flatters you." Keith always referred to the thing with Jimmy as the episode. "You haven't been the same person since the episode," was how he put it.

I really didn't want to meet Donna. I imagined her as exuding sex appeal and confidence, and I really wasn't feeling up to comparisons. But I went along with it. For some reason, Jimmy was so eager for us to meet. He called her up, warned her we were on our way while I excused myself for an emergency one-on-one between myself and my face in the bathroom mirror. "I hope it's the light in here," I thought. "Either that, my dear, or it is time to lay off the lattes."

Donna was on a business call when we walked in, with her back to us. Well, she was nothing at all like I'd anticipated. Donna was a big girl. I mean literally. She must have been at least six feet two. And I have to say-- and this will sound awfully ungenerous on my part, and it is-- but the first thing that drew my attention was her hips. She's probably given birth to something, I presumed. When she turned around, I thought, "Oh, I'm much better looking than you." And I was sort of surprised at myself for how juvenile I was behaving. But I have to say, I did suddenly feel in the mood to be a little threatening.

Finally she gets off the phone, waltzes over, extending her hand. "I'm sorry," she says. "The Americans just think I've got all the time in the world. But they're where the money is, so can't be complaining too much now, can we?" Then she kissed Jimmy on the mouth in front of me, which seemed a bit unnecessary, and said, "Hello, James." "James," I thought. "James. Well, excuse me." Jimmy may have been many things. One thing he wasn't was a James.

Redirecting her attention towards me, "What line are you in, Lillian," she asks. "Books," I say, "though I seldom read them." "Oh. Publishing," she says. "No," says I. "Secondhand mostly." "Oh," she says. "What a pretty shirt you're wearing." And I thought, "You cow."

I was only there for about 10 minutes, which was quite long enough. Donna said she had a meeting to go to. "Oh, AA?" I inquired. "Oh, you're hilarious," she said. "So are you," I replied, which got no response. She said she was going to Germany for the rest of the week and that James had the car. Every time she mentioned James, I had to think for a moment who she was talking about. "You two can get reacquainted," she said. "You don't need me around, now, do you?" For a second, it felt like she was throwing him at me.

Jimmy wanted to give me a tour of the south coast. So the following day, after Donna left, he picked me up at the hotel. We went driving in her BMW. "What happened to your car?" I asked. "Donna made me get rid of it," he said. "I liked that car," I protested. "It suited you." "She approves of you," he said. "She thought you were down to earth," which, from a pretentious person, is not a compliment.

"She said she thinks you're the kind of woman she could imagine me being with much more than her." "What does she mean by that?" I asked. "I don't know," he said. "Sometimes I think she's tired of being married to people." "I'm her fourth husband." "Oh," I said. Then we just go drove for a while without saying anything.

The countryside along the south coast is lovely. I remembered how much I like to be in the passenger seat of a car. While Jimmy was driving, I happened to notice his hands on the steering wheel. They looked older. I looked at mine. I'm sure they do too. He slipped in a cassette tape. I lowered my window. A gust of wind blew through the car. My hair went everywhere. Care and all its relatives seemed to fall out of me. I don't know if it was the sea air or the music, too many cappuccinos or Jimmy, but I felt something like a sudden wave of enthusiasm. He must have thought my mind had just fluttered out the car window. "Right now," I explained, "I feel like I'm right in the world."

Driving along the coast, we came to a huge fun fair. Jimmy wanted to get off the road and investigate. I did not take much convincing. As we were going in, he stopped in his tracks. "I always get excited around you," he said. I said, "I feel the same way." I realized what it was. You see, you can be romantic with Jimmy and not feel like a fool. I had been waiting a long time to be romantic with someone.

Jimmy was immediately drawn to an enormous roller coaster called the Big Plunge. The Big Plunge was a ride that would go up extremely high and then plummet. Now, I have a terrible fear of heights. "There is no way you're going to get me up on that thing," I said. "You go if you want to. I'll stay here and have a cigarette." "Oh, Lillian, you're afraid of everything," he said. "How dare you?" I said. "I'm not." "Come on," he said. "Fear at a certain point just becomes another bad habit." Which had to have been something he'd picked up from Donna.

The only way I could go on the Big Plunge was by going through a complicated psychological snow job in which I rationalize that my fear of heights actually represented my terror of life and that going on the Big Plunge was extremely important for me and could lead to a personal breakthrough. Besides if 10-year-old children could brave it, so could I. "I'm sure I'm the oldest person to ever take the plunge," I cried. The terrified wit.

As the ride yanked everyone forward and the squealing began, first off I was petrified. Then I seemed to push through the fear. I have to say, the whole thing did seem like a personal breakthrough. Donna would have been proud of me. Jimmy held my hand for the duration, which was sweet of him. I've never been able to go on those rides before, but I ended up loving it. Went on three more times. It had become completely easy between us.

Midway through the day, a strange notion crossed my mind. "I can imagine myself being with you for a long time," I thought. By late afternoon, I realized I really was getting a little lightheaded around Jimmy. I stood at a distance as he was buying tickets for the next ride and tried to give myself a little talking to. "He's 26. He's married. He lives in Brighton," I said to myself. "Lillian, stop it."

Then out of the blue, on the Ferris wheel, he gives me a peck on the cheek. "What are you doing?" I asked, trying to not sound delighted and failing abysmally. "I wanted to kiss you," he says. "James," I scolded, "behave."

The Ferris wheel then abruptly jolted to a halt, fortunately with us on the low end. While we were waiting to move, Jimmy came out with what seemed like an out of the blue question. "If somebody told you your life would end in, say, a year, do you think you'd start to really live or do you think you'd slip back under the covers and wait for it to be over?" "I think I'd get a move on," I replied. Just then the wheel began to turn. As we were passing the arcade, I noticed a photo booth. "I don't have any pictures of you," I said. "Come on. I need some proof that you exist."

We were clowning around in front of the camera. Pictures took forever to come out. When they finally did emerge from the machine, I wasn't quite prepared for what I saw. What took me back about the photos was that we looked like two people who were completely in love with each other.

Ira Glass

It's a year later. Lillian and Jimmy are married and happy.

David Cale

He had next to nothing in the way of possessions. Everything had belonged to Donna. One of the few things that was actually his was this little tent that he took everywhere just in case he ever felt the urge to sleep outside, he'd say. One Saturday, we took a bus ride into the country. Sure enough, little package came along too. No sooner we're off the bus than Jimmy said, "Let's forget about going home. I want to sleep under the sky." I have to say, the idea did appeal. So we bought some sandwiches and supplies, walked what must have been miles till we found this spot that met Jimmy's definition of the word remote, by which time the sky was quite black. He set up a little tent and pulled out a sleeping bag he'd had all along.

By the time we'd eaten, it was late. Jimmy went pretty much straight to sleep. I, on the other hand, just laid there. The ground was uneven to put it mildly. I think we were parked on top of a mole community. My spine was wondering what the hell was going on, and it was damp. But I didn't care. It was so quiet in the open. You could almost hear your moods change. If you laid still enough, you could feel your instincts wriggling to the surface.

Hours go by, and I'm still wide awake, thinking, "I'm 41 years old. It's 3 o'clock in the morning. And I'm laying in a field." And the whole thing seemed so absurd. I just started laughing. "You know what?" I thought. "Good things are going to happen. I'm ready for them now. I wasn't before. I am now." "Yes," I thought. "I'm ready to roll my sleeves up. My sleeves are fairly twitching to be rolled for the good things."

Ira Glass

David Cale's one woman show Lillian premiered at the Goodman Studio Theatre in Chicago. It was directed by Joe Mantello. They're currently in the process of putting the show up in other cities. Watch for it. It's really great.

Ira Glass

Our program was produced today by Nancy Updike and myself with Alix Spiegel and Julie Snyder. Senior editor Paul Tough.

To buy a cassette of this program, call us at WBEZ here in Chicago. Our phone number 312-832-3380. Our email address [email protected]. This American Life is distributed by Public Radio International.

[FUNDING CREDITS]

WBEZ management oversight by Torey Malatia, who's not trying to escape any boxes.

Ira Glass

I'm Ira Glass, back next week with more stories of This American Life.

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