Hi, I'm Dave Isay, founder of StoryCorps.
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Hey folks, this is Max Jungreis from the StoryCorps podcast.
Just want to remind you that we want to hear your personal stories.
So call our voicemail at 702-706-TALK.
This week, we want you to tell us about someone who never gave up on you.
Give us that story in a voicemail at 702-706-TALK.
One of the unique things about a StoryCorps interview is that it's a conversation between two people who mean something to each other.
If there's anything you ever wanted to ask, I can ask you now?
Yeah.
Okay.
Those two people sit down face-to-face, ask each other questions and a lot of times say things to each other they've never said before.
Well, I just wasn't ready for that.
I'm sure.
Thank you for telling me.
Did you ever give up hope?
Never.
Never.
I really owe you guys for that.
You saved my life, you know.
I'm Jasmine Morris, and it's the StoryCorps podcast from NPR, where we bring you into our archive the largest collection of human voices ever gathered.
And, in this episode, stories about people who never gave up on a family member, a relationship or the hope of finding someone they thought might be lost forever.
Our first story takes us back to the 90s in Dallas, Texas.
That's where Hannah Mitchell grew up, and her home life was difficult.
Her father died when she was young and her mother was living with schizophrenia and manic depression.
So when Hannah was 11, she spent a lot of time at the house, across the street, playing with Steve and Patty, Erickson's daughter.
But it wasn't until later in life that Hannah realized the true extent of the Erickson's kindness.
As an adult, she decided to sit down with Steve and Patty to talk about it.
I remember it was nice to see how a normal family acted with each other.
You'd come over to spend the night and we knew that there were issues with your mom and we were more than happy to always have you over to try to give you a little break from that and try to give her a break too.
After one of those visits, we asked you about school.
I asked you where you were going to school, because I knew that you obviously weren't, and I didn't think you were being homeschooled and you looked like a deer in the headlights.
I didn't think anything more about it until the next morning when you got up really early and you announced very suddenly before breakfast I have to go home.
I'll be back later.
And you never came back and I walked across the street and knocked on the door and nobody would answer the door and tried that for several days but she never let you come over again.
And then it was sometime in October and the weather had turned cool.
I looked out the window and I saw your mom.
You were following after her toward the bus stop.
You looked like you had on every article of clothing you could possibly wear.
And your mom was carrying a bag and I thought, they're leaving.
I was really worried about you.
And I ran outside and you weren't there.
Everybody was gone.
So I jumped in the car and I drove around.
It was just like you'd walked off the planet.
And I told Steve, I don't think they're coming back.
After that, we saw the landlord and he said, I'm evicting them.
And so when they started putting out boxes at the curb, we started going through and we saved everything of yours that we could.
We pulled out your schoolwork.
Some school photos.
One of your baby shoes.
I mean it was just all sorts of random stuff, but it was all the stuff that means something to someone.
So I don't actually remember leaving.
I do remember being at the Greyhound bus station.
We got off in Marshall, Texas.
And then we went to Memphis to a homeless shelter.
And we were there for a good while.
And then to Windsor, Ontario, Canada.
Until one day I thought, I have to get help.
I'm not in school.
I'm not getting fed.
I think I need to go to the police.
And so they put me into a foster home.
Mm-hmm.
We kept your things in the garage for 20 years.
Every time we went through those boxes and moved them aside, I thought, should we get rid of these?
No.
One of these days, one of these days, we're going to find her.
Just about a year ago, I was thinking about you again, and so I started searching on Facebook.
The elementary school that I went to was Idaho Elementary.
I posted on that page and I said, hey, does anybody have any school photos from these years?
I have four kids.
I desperately wanted to see if my kids looked like me in any capacity, because I feel like they all look like my husband.
On Facebook, I found that note of someone from Idaho looking for photos.
And there it was.
I got that message in church, and I looked at my husband.
I started crying.
What person saves things for that long for someone else?
Yeah, two old crazy people.
I never thought I'd see anything of my past ever again.
Pictures of myself, baby items, just childhood.
It's back.
P.S.
My son looks just like me.
It means the world for y'all to have done that for me.
It's been an incredible joy for us.
It really has.
We did think of you multiple times a year for years.
It was good to be able to find you and become such a strong, confident woman.
We couldn't be prouder of you than if we were your own parents.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Hannah Mitchell in Dallas, Texas, with friends and former neighbors, Steve and Patty Erickson.
Next, friends and fellow soldiers who never gave up on each other, even after losing touch for decades.
Kaylee was a combat medic from San Francisco, John Nordean a soldier from Seattle.
They were in their 20s when they served together in the same army platoon during the Vietnam War.
Five decades after leaving the military, they came to StoryCorps to remember when they first met.
We were hiking through the jungle one day and you had an inordinate amount of stuff on your pack and you were just tripping and stumbling.
I was just about to pass out, and fortunately, someone else passed out before me.
So being the medic, I had to treat him.
That gave me a chance to catch my breath.
You were one of the first person I talked to.
And, you know, I'm from San Francisco, Chinatown, a very sheltered life.
So I thought you were a little crazy.
I was a pretty rowdy kid.
I'll give you that.
And that was part of how we survived.
A firefight is pure chaos.
Everything you plan goes out the window and I would yell cuss, scream and cry all at the same time.
And we knew that if we got hit, you'd be there for us.
Cool, calm, and collected.
Well, I tried to, but during the fight, you just try to stay alive, basically.
We all thought we were Superman and invincible.
But when we needed a medic, by God, we certainly wanted to see you.
After one firefight, you came to me and showed me a helmet with a bullet hole in it.
And I can't believe that you're alive.
All I can say is, John, I think you have a very hard head.
Yeah, I remember that day.
But that was a day where a lot of other guys weren't as lucky as me.
Our platoon went from like 29 guys to 10 guys in two days.
So we had even stronger bonds because we had survived this together.
I wouldn't trade experience for anything, but I wouldn't want to do it again.
Yeah.
You know, when you lose friends, you develop a hard exterior and you don't want to make friends with anyone else.
So I don't have a big circle of friends.
I think that's just one of many hang-ups I brought home with me.
When I got home, I finished college, get a job, get married and have kids, which I assume that's what everyone else would be doing.
Yeah, that's what I did.
Nobody wanted to hear about Vietnam.
Vietnam vets didn't get treated very well.
Most of the time, I tried to forget the whole experience and not think about it too much.
And I didn't try to contact anyone because I'm not sure you guys wanted to be contacted.
Yeah, like you.
I just melted into the woodwork like a chameleon.
But I thought about you, Kay.
And around 2010 I was down in San Francisco and I ripped a page out of the San Francisco phone book that's got all the Lees with the first initial K And I started going through making phone calls.
How many Lees do you think are out there?
A lot.
Yeah.
It took years to find you.
48 years we were apart, but I found my long-lost buddy, and it was just like a dream come true.
One of the things that came to my mind right away is that John's looking for me.
I don't think I owe him any money.
Yeah.
Yeah, our hair might be gray and some of our hair might be gone and we put on a couple pounds, but your voice is the same.
We made plans to get together, and it was wonderful.
You know, all in all, John, we were so lucky.
We survived Vietnam, and we're still here.
Yeah.
I've learned from you how to try to stay calm at times, even when the world's exploding around you, and that's why your friendship means the world to me.
Well, it's hard to describe, but the friendship and the bond that you form during battle is different than most friendship.
It's like family now.
So I'm very grateful for your effort to find me.
Well, I feel like I'm a treasure hunter, and I found the treasure when I found you.
John Nordean and Kay Lee in San Francisco.
After a short break, a family who didn't lose hope for their young daughter, even when everyone else did.
I had heard for the umpteenth time from another professional that she was never going to speak, that we should just give up.
So I called you and you said, no, you can't give up.
Stay with us.
And professionalism, giving you the peace of mind that you've done all you can today to remove any burden from your loved ones tomorrow.
For additional information, visit DignityMemorial.com.
Our last story comes from Kalamazoo Michigan, and a grandmother who refused to give up on her granddaughter.
Mary Lee McNellis was born in the mid-90s, and she grew up with significant developmental delays.
By age six, she still wasn't able to speak.
That's when her grandmother, Phyllis Knighton, a retired public school teacher, stepped in.
At StoryCorps, Phyllis sat down with Mary Lee's mom, Laura, who starts their conversation.
I had heard for the umpteenth time from another professional that she was never going to speak, that we should just give up.
So I called you and you said, no, you can't give up.
You asked me if I'd be open to Mary Lee coming to stay with you that summer and you would try to make something happen.
Mary drew my heart because the lack of language set her apart socially from other children.
As a child I had had some problems with my skin, and children used to be nervous about sitting next to me.
So I knew what it was like to be lonely or cut off from people.
So I went back to school at 70 years old the oldest person on campus, I think and took courses in speech therapy.
But I didn't know if I'd be able to help Mary or not.
I remember she had a little Peter Rabbit book that you had given to her.
And I realized she never looked at the pictures, but she always looked at the words.
And I found that fascinating because to a little child, they would just be squiggly lines on a page.
And you said, you just watch, she's going to be a good reader.
And you were right.
We discovered that seeing it in print gave her the use of the words.
It started out with a very simple story, like, Mary has a doll.
Mary likes a doll.
I read it to her, and Mary read it back to me.
And then, in two weeks, Mary wrote a letter, and she read you on the phone.
That was the first time I'd ever heard her speak.
She said, Dear Mama, how are you?
I love you from Mary.
I'd never heard her say I love you before.
She'd always signed it to me and I knew she felt it.
I couldn't stay away any longer.
I drove right over to where you were.
I just had to be there to witness this miracle that was starting to happen.
And I remember we met with some of the doctors.
I said, you have to see this.
Mary Lee sat on my lap and she went ahead and she started reading.
I finally looked up at the doctors and their jaws were hanging open.
And when Mary was done, they reached over and they put their hands on her and they said this is a miracle.
We've never seen this in all of our careers.
Well, Mary is a miracle.
There's so many wonderful things about her.
I think she's a lot like you.
I love Mary Lee so much, and I've always been so proud of you.
That interview was recorded almost 20 years ago.
Phyllis died in 2015, and Laura recently came back to StoryCorps with Mary Lee to honor Phyllis.
So Mary Lee, I'd like to just ask, first of all, how are you doing today?
I am magnificent.
Magnificent.
That's a million-dollar word, as Grandma would say.
Yeah.
Yes.
How do I remind you of Grandma?
Oh my gosh.
You and Grandma are kindred spirits.
You have her energy, her optimism, and her go-for-it attitude.
You bring sunshine and light into every room.
Aw, thank you.
I remember after she passed away, I went outside onto the deck and I heard you talking.
And it was dark out.
And then I realized you were looking up and you were speaking to Grandma.
Yeah.
Right?
Yes.
And what do you say to Grandma when you look up at the stars?
Hey Grandma, how are you doing today?
I'm so glad that you taught me how to talk.
And you were telling her that one day you'll meet again in heaven.
Yes, that we will meet in heaven.
And someday you will.
And she'll be overjoyed.
Yes.
That's Mary Lee McNellis with her mother, Laura Livingstone McNellis, in Kalamazoo, Michigan.
That's all for this episode of the StoryCorps podcast.
We love hearing from you, and our voicemail line is always open.
This week, tell us about someone who never gave up on you.
Leave us your story in a voicemail at 702-706-TALK.
That's 702-706-TALK.
The stories on this episode were produced by Joe Corona, Judd Esty Kendall, and Grace Pauley.
They were edited by Amy Drozdowska.
Special thanks to StoryCorps facilitators Susan Lee and Mia Raquel.
This podcast is produced by Max Young-Rice.
Our senior producer is Judd Esty Kendall.
Amy Drozdowska is our executive producer.
Our technical director is Jarrett Floyd.
The artwork for our podcast is created by Liz McCarty.
I'm Jasmine Morris.
Thanks for listening.
Support for this podcast comes from the corporation for public broadcasting, a private corporation funded by the American people.
