Faces of Long Island celebrates the uniqueness of everyday Long Islanders. In their own words, they tell us about their life experiences, challenges and triumphs. Newsday launched this social media journey into the human experience to shine a light on the diverse people of this wonderful place we call home.

‘Singing and speaking were my greatest fears, but I realized that I had already jumped off a cliff once and broken my back, I might as well jump again. What’s the worst that could happen?’

Shirley

“Kaila Mullady is the name, beatboxing is the game. I have been beatboxing since elementary school, when I was doing it for fun and didn’t even know that’s what it’s called. If you told me that this would be my job and I’d be on Broadway doing it, I would have laughed. The cool thing about beatboxing is it was the one thing that couldn’t be taken away from me. I could always be in my room making beats or music. I was beatboxing at my lunch table, the back of the school bus, or at parties, where kids would rap over it.

“In high school I fell in love with improv. I imagined myself being on SNL one day. I went to college to be a teacher and didn’t like it, so I dropped out. My family said, ‘You can’t drop out of school. You have to have a career path.’ I looked them right in the eyes and said, ‘I’m going to beatbox and do improv comedy.’ They had the local priest on speed dial because they thought I had demons in me! At this time, I had also met a beatboxer from Long Island named J-Flo. He heard me beatbox when I was out with friends and introduced me to the community in NYC.

“I started taking classes in New York, but got sidetracked when I was with friends and jumped off a cliff at Kings Park Bluff. I broke my back and I was in a brace at my first ever beatboxing event, where I also found people speaking the same language. It was inspiring to me. When I broke my back, it was difficult to get on stage. What was I going to be? A robot? It paused my dreams. But even when I came out of the hospital and I was bedridden for two weeks, I could beatbox. I was watching the World Beatbox Championship. I thought, ‘Everyone in NYC wants to be an actress or singer. Maybe if I could win the next championship in three years, I will have something different going for me.’

“When the championship came around in 2015, I had completely fallen in love with beatboxing. I met Kid Lucky, who did a style called Beat Rhyming, which is when you rap or sing and beatbox at the same time. Singing and speaking like that were my greatest fears, but I realized that I had already jumped off a cliff once and broken my back, I might as well jump again. What’s the worst that could happen?”

If I can become an improvised Broadway beatboxing educator, anybody can do whatever they want to do in life.

“I began taking the train to NYC every day and would street perform with Kid Lucky. I learned how to freestyle and beatbox at the same time. We would also go into libraries and get kids to read poetry because we were teaching them how to beatbox, rap and beat rhyme. They would get so excited.

“I realized I could be a teacher without working in a school. I was going into the city at 10 a.m. and coming back at 5 a.m., hitting every open mic night, trying to make enough money to come back the next day. I had no connections when I first started. Slowly my reputation started to take off. I found a group called North Coast who did a hip-hop improv show. I thought it was incredible. There was also a big battle scene in the U.S. I started battling and winning in the states. I became the first girl on a national level to beat a guy in a competition.

“I’m really happy that I helped pave the way for newer women to come on the scene. I went from that to being on TV shows and on Broadway in Freestyle Love Supreme. As a beatboxer, there aren’t many road maps. I never knew Broadway would be an option one day. My ultimate dream was to mix beatboxing and theater together. Now I just performed at the Tony Awards, and I am in one of the first Broadway shows that is improvised with Wayne Brady, Lin Manuel Miranda, James Monroe Iglehart; incredible artists, every night going on stage with just our talent and hearts.

“Nobody knows what’s going to happen; there’s no script. You really have to believe in yourself. I’m so glad that where I am now looks completely different than where I was 10 years ago. I’m so happy with the hard work and the obstacles I’ve had to overcome to be where I am. Now I have my own company called the Academy of Noise, where we are trying to bring beatbox education to kids to have a fun way to practice their speech goals and communicate better. We like to say, ‘The first step to speaking up is making a sound.’

“When more people are able to create careers out of their passions, that’s when we can make more positive changes in the world. If I can become an improvised Broadway beatboxing educator, anybody can do whatever they want to do in life.”

Interviewed by Iris Wiener

‘One of the things I always say to people is you can never make a person sadder than the day that they were notified that their child died. Ever.’

Kings Park

“On the morning I lost my 20-year-old daughter, Laura Lee Snyder, to suicide by train, Oct. 27, 2010, everyone in the house woke up at 4:50. I looked in the bedroom that two of my sons shared and they were awake. Then I went to the room Laura shared with her sister. She wasn’t there but her sister was awake, and I thought she had left for school. I heard sirens in the background but didn’t think much of it and went back to bed. When I got everybody up for school, I noticed Laura had left her books, iPod and some papers in a pile. I put it on her bed and sent my kids off at 7:40.

“At 7:50, two men from the railroad knocked on the door and told me she’d been hit by a train and passed. I didn’t understand she had done it on purpose. Strangely, the time we all woke up was the time of her death. The sirens I heard were people attending to her. I found out from the funeral parlor that she laid prone on the tracks.

“We were completely blindsided. We loved her for who she was, a little quirky. She was a gentle kid. In her note to us, she said she didn’t fit into this world. That she’d been battling a mental illness since she was a child and couldn’t deal with it anymore. We’ve since learned that for someone dealing with mental illness it’s mentally exhausting to keep this mask on all the time, trying to `fit into’ the world. None of them want to die; they just want their pain to end. But she was carrying that around for so long.

“She had planned this for eight months. A week before she had started cleaning her room out, which I was so happy about. We later found out the only thing she left was an outfit she wanted to be laid out in, which she had shown me the week before and asked me if I liked it. Now I see the signs as clear as day, but then I didn’t.

“After the funeral, a strange thing started happening. I got messages from people all over the country about, `I think my son is suicidal’ or `my neighbor’s daughter just committed suicide, can they call you?’ I was working with the Joe’s Project with the Family Service League. I sat at wakes for children that I didn’t know to be a source of support for the parents. I don’t want them to feel like they’re alone.”

If a parent has a gut feeling that something is wrong, something is wrong.

“It would’ve have been nice to have somebody there with me at Laura’s funeral because nobody really understands what you’re experiencing. A child’s death by suicide is a parent’s worst nightmare because you go through a lot of second guessing your entire parenthood with that child and there’s a lot of regret and guilt. Suicide is unlike another death. There’s no closure. You’re in a group where you’re all floundering and there’s a lot of should have, could have, would haves. We started to raise money through Laura’s Voice to donate anonymously to help others bury their child. I still get phone calls from all over the country.

“Laura’s suicide completely changed me. I think I’m a better parent than I was back then. I don’t think I was a bad parent, but it sure puts your life into perspective. As her mom, I don’t know why she never said anything to me. I don’t know why she never asked for help. I have no idea. I wish she did. And I wish I didn’t chalk everything up to being a kid. I want all parents to know the signs.

“If a parent has a gut feeling that something is wrong, something is wrong. It’s not normal for them to be in their rooms all day. If you think your kid should be in therapy and it makes them angry with you, bring them to therapy; they’ll get over it. I also don’t believe in privacy with teenagers. Parents need to dig a little. My kid Googled everything she did. I did not know that checking her history was even an option.

“The trauma of her passing brought out a multitude of illnesses. I was diagnosed with primary progressive multiple sclerosis, type 2 diabetes, hypothyroidism, fibromyalgia, IBD and recurring pneumonia. All of our children rebounded. They’re all doing really well. You don’t get over it; you learn how to deal with it.

“I’ve also done a lot of lectures and one of the things I always say to people is you can never make a person sadder than the day that they were notified that their child died. Ever. If you want to talk to them about their daughter or son, they would love it because that means you didn’t forget them. Bringing up a child that has passed on will never make a parent sadder. It’s impossible for it to happen. So, we talk about Laura all the time.”

Interviewed by Liza Burby

‘My advice is: Just go out and film, learn by doing, don’t wait for somebody to throw a lot of money at you. On an independent film, you’re your own boss.’

Kings Park

“As an independent filmmaker for 42 years, my career has had crazy highs and lows. One of my films was shown in 2017 at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan, as part of an exhibit on the Lower East Side.

“I became fascinated with filmmaking when I was 8 or 9, growing up in East Northport, watching “Dark Shadows” on television. My parents explained that the people who died from vampire bites or being torn apart by a werewolf were play acting for a living, and that the old creepy mansion was not really a house, but a set. I thought, that is so cool!

“I got my father’s home movie camera and started shooting my first movies. In Northport High School, I made more elaborate films in Super 8, one period at a time. You’d set up all your equipment, corral everyone, shoot and wrap the scene – all in 45 minutes.

“When the teacher showed my 30-minute thriller to a class, there was this one shock moment – an axe murder – when the students screamed and clapped. I said to myself, ‘If I can do that to an audience, then this is what I should be doing.’

I show my films to teach and encourage new independent filmmakers.

“I’ve made nine films, both features and documentaries, worked in 16 mm and now in digital. You do everything as an independent filmmaker. I write the script, direct actors, do cinematography, edit, and even do crowd control. I work with very low budgets, use Long Island actors including friends and family. We shoot scenes on location, sometimes without permits, often on the run, a technique called guerilla filmmaking.

“Early in my career, I filmed a foot chase through La Guardia Airport until a security guard made us leave. In 1998, we utilized a lot of LI Revolutionary War locations for a period drama about a vigilante attacking a British soldier camp. We got this beautiful shot of a Revolutionary War battle reenactment – it looked like a multimillion-dollar film.

“We started “Deed to Hell” in 2007 while in Europe. We filmed a chase scene in the Coliseum in Rome. I plan to make another horror film next spring and summer. I show my films to teach and encourage new independent filmmakers.

“My advice is: Just go out and film, learn by doing, don’t wait for somebody to throw a lot of money at you. On an independent film, you’re your own boss. Experiment!”

‘My mastectomy was on April Fools’ Day, and I think I fooled everybody because had I not had the surgery, I probably wouldn’t be here today.’

Jericho

“In 1991, I was 34, married with two children, ages 9 and 6, when on a routine checkup with my primary care doctor, she found a lump in my breast. Nobody in my family had a history of breast cancer. I had none of the risk factors. My husband, my strongest support—we’re married 42 years—supported me through everything. The doctors didn’t want to do a mastectomy. Thankfully, we didn’t listen.

“My husband advocated for me because 30 years ago, women didn’t have as much of a voice as we do now. They agreed to do a mastectomy and additional cancer was found in my breast. My mastectomy was on April Fools’ Day, and I think I fooled everybody because had I not had the surgery, I probably wouldn’t be here today. My journey started during the chemo sessions. I would sit there alone, petrified and nauseous. My oncologist recommended I meet with the oncology social worker; that opened my eyes. He was an emotional support; he validated my feelings. He also told me about the Adelphi Breast Cancer program. I made a phone call to them that changed my life; I joined their support group. They were caring, supportive, nurturing women. After I wanted to give back, so I volunteered at the Adelphi Breast Cancer Hotline.

If I had not advocated for myself, I wouldn’t be here.

“I decided the journey I needed to take was to become a social worker. In 2009, I became a licensed social worker. I am now a medical social worker for Northwell Health Hospice Care Network. I see patients at the end of their life. My role is to offer them emotional support and educate them about hospice and end of life. A big part of it is advanced directives, specifically health care proxy. Many people come to us without it, and that causes a lot of family struggles.

“I think without a diagnosis of breast cancer 30 years ago, I wouldn’t be where I am today. About five years ago, I had another mastectomy, which required no further treatment. As a hospice social worker, I’m very mindful to make sure my patients get the best care they’re entitled to. I’m a big advocate for all their needs. If I had not advocated for myself, I wouldn’t be here. Women diagnosed with breast cancer should do their homework and reach out for support. There’s a lot of support available.”

‘I walked with my 30-pound bag until the skin was coming off my feet when I decided to rest…I walked into the woods, grabbed a bunch of branches, and made a kind-of hut.’

Babylon

“I think it was where I grew up that made me ready for what happened. I was born in the Dominican Republic, where we had a house in the country. There were cows and goats, and sometimes electricity; that’s just how it was at the time.

“After moving to Queens, things got bad. It all started in 2017, when I lost everything due to a scam someone pulled on me. I lost $40,000 and all my forms of identification. I was going to school and had an apartment, but without money and ID, I lost it all. I contacted a friend who said she was living in a house in Baiting Hollow. I asked if I could stay with her until I got back on my feet. She said yes, so the journey starts May 30 with a train ride to Riverhead around 11 o’clock at night. I arrived at the Ronkonkoma station and was told the trains to Riverhead had stopped for the night. I called my friend to come get me, but she never showed up, so I slept there overnight.

“In the morning my phone was dead, and I had no money in my pocket, so I started heading toward Riverhead on foot. I walked and I walked. I tried to flag people down, but nobody stopped to help me. I walked, carrying my 30-pound bag, until the skin was coming off my feet when I decided to stop to rest. I’m country, so I walked into the woods and grabbed a bunch of branches and made a kind of hut. I ate some wild berries, and found some blueberries, but I went two days without drinking water, and I was attacked by animals in the woods. My Abba Kadosh sustained me.

“Once I started walking again, I ran into people working at a vineyard, and I asked for a few grapes but they told me they weren’t allowed. At this point, I was hallucinating, imagining I could see rivers of water.

“Eventually I made it to Sound Avenue and found an abandoned house. I saw there was a hose, and when I unscrewed it, water came out! I felt like the heavens opened up for me. I found a working socket and charged my phone. I finally made my way to my friend’s home in Baiting Hollow, and stayed there for about five days, but then the real owner arrived—my friend said it was her home, but it wasn’t—and the owner told us we had to go.”

I’m not going to question God and ask why all these things happened, but even though I’m still traumatized, I survived.

“I reached out to social services, and they placed me in a shelter. I’m a trans woman, and they tried to stick me with a bunch of men, and anyone who sees me knows I am not a man. I got a lot of stress in the shelter when they found out, and it was tense. At the same time, things outside were dangerous too, like gangs and stuff all around. I remember one time a bunch of guys came up to me on the street and told me they were going to take me! I ran and they chased me, I found a farm and I hid. I was convinced my platinum hair was going to give me away, but after hiding for about 45 minutes, they gave up and I got away.

“Things at the shelter finally got out of hand when somebody slapped me. I defended myself, fought back and ended up banned for 30 days, so I went back to the woods again. I was lucky though, as after three days someone from social services found me and the ban on me was lifted. I was brought back, only this time not the shelter but more of a house-like scenario, and that was where things took off with my partner.

“We had known each other for a long time at that point, but honestly I never paid him any mind, as I wasn’t ready before and neither was he, but by this time he was settled down and working. We got to know each other, and after I was able to get back some of the money stolen from me, he helped me learn to handle and invest my money. We have been together now for three years since July, and we live together in our home in Babylon Village. I’m now back in school studying radiology and working.

“Sometimes I can’t believe what happened to me, but I realize that everything happens for a reason. If I had never went to that girl in Baiting Hollow, I would never have met my partner. I’m where I am now because I took a risk, and even with all the bad things that happened, I succeeded. I’m not going to question God and ask why all these things happened, but even though I’m still traumatized, I survived. There are people who’ve had it worse than me, and I guess God found mercy for me. At the same time, wherever I go I shake the trees, take the coconuts, and then go. I’m a survivor.”

Interviewed by Ian J. Stark

‘I wasn’t looking to reopen but I couldn’t let what my father built to go down that way. I knew I had to bring it back.’

Amityville

“My grandfather and parents were immigrants, I’m first generation. They opened a pizzeria in Amityville in 1969. I’ve been in the pizzeria business all my life. By 10, I could make a pizza for myself, but then one day a customer tells my dad ‘I want a cheese pizza with pepperoni, and I want the kid to make it for me.’ I was shaking, but I made it, and the customer said, ‘you did good,’ and gave me a $10 tip. I felt triumphant and got addicted to the business for life.

“The pizzeria life did consume my family. We were open 365 days a year, from nine in the morning to midnight. The family suffered, but my father didn’t know he was doing something wrong; he’s thinking ‘we have to make money, we have to pay the bills.’ I don’t blame him; this is what he knew. My dad worked from 1969 to 2004, every single day until he was diagnosed with cancer. He tried to work but got weaker, and when the doctors said there was nothing else to do, that was the last day he went to the pizzeria. He went home, got into bed and deteriorated until he was gone. From watching this, I have always known to include balance to have a life.

With all this, my family’s soul is alive, and still lives in the pizza.

“My dad and I had also opened an Italian restaurant together, and I got out of the pizzeria. It ended up changing hands before going out of business badly. I wasn’t looking to reopen but I couldn’t let what my father built go down that way. I knew I had to bring it back, but didn’t know in what form, so I started an underground pizzeria club; just delivery.

“I couldn’t take on many customers at first, but demand spread from Suffolk to Manhattan. It got to the point where I needed help, and after hiring some good talent, now anyone who gets the phone number can use it to order. I’m using my dad’s sauce, my grandfather’s sauce, everything I’m doing here is what they taught me, except with a few tweaks.

“My father, back in Italy, worked in a bakery and knew how to make the peasant bread from that time, so I took that bread aspect and added it to the pizza dough, like preferments and yeasts, and this gives the dough a whole different complexity. Once you add the sauce and the cheese, it just all marries. With all this, my family’s soul is alive, and still lives in the pizza.”

‘I’m human. I have a regular life. I have bills. I have regular trials and tribulations and stress that I go through on a daily basis where everything is not about music.’

Bay Shore

“I’ve always had a head for music. No matter what genre. I was raised by it. It was always a part of me.

“I started rapping when I was young, but I didn’t really start to take it seriously until the end of 2008 into early 2009, when I released my first project on a public platform called, “The Arrival.”

“Most of my inspiration comes from prior experiences that either I, myself, have been through or that my right-hand man or my family members went through. I try to stay true to myself and only talk about real-life experiences. I’m not getting on the microphone and lying. I’m not talking about shooting or killing people. Nah, that’s not me.

The independent grind is different, but in a good way. It forces you to really reach for something unique.

“I’m human. I have a regular life. I have bills. I have regular trials and tribulations and stress that I go through on a daily basis where everything is not about music. Sometimes I will take a little time off away from music to deal with real life. This way, when I decide to get back into my music zone, I have more things to talk about. I could write every day. That’s cool, but if you’re not taking time to live your life, to travel, and to just be outside, you’re going to start sounding repetitive.

“The independent grind is different, but in a good way. It forces you to really reach for something unique. It’s just as competitive as the mainstream, if not more. There are so many talented people, and it makes you stay sharp.

“Performing with The Walkers at Tuff City Tattoos in the Bronx, the Mecca of Hip-hop, was a game-changing experience for me. The only thing was that I only had two and a half days to cram this verse before getting on stage. I was going to sleep reciting it. Waking up and reciting it. But on the day of the show, while we were doing the soundcheck, I kept messing up the words because I still didn’t know the verse. I had written it so long ago and I had worked on so many other songs in the eight months since then.

“This was before anyone else got there, but I’m still mad at myself because I am supposed to know my stuff. But once it’s time to grab the mic and go on stage, my brain automatically flips a switch and I just remember the words. I thrive under pressure.”

Interviewed by Dan Offner

‘We’re a little less than three years in and we’ve donated more than 225,000 books to organizations that serve children in need.’

Hewlett

“In the summer of 2018, I get an email from a parent at the school where I work. It’s six in the morning and he tells me, ‘I don’t know who else to call. Hindi just died.’ Hindi Krinsky was a parent at the school where I worked. She had five kids: triplets who were 8, a 4-year-old, and a 1-year-old. She was working in the high school as an English teacher and she had just been given the opportunity to be the literacy coordinator for the entire institution.

“Hindi was not by any means ill. She had Crohn’s disease, but was managing it, and yet she passed away from a complication. It was very sudden and unexpected. She was that rock star teacher and we always knew to put her in the spotlight when doing recruitment.

I don’t like to say everything happens for a reason, but it came to me at a time when I needed it most because I was going through a personal crisis, and I just had to get over it and move forward.

“Once school started, one of the principals called me and said, ‘We need to do something for Hindi for her kids.’ This family was known as the bookworms of the school. When her triplets came to kindergarten, people were talking about, ‘Hey, did you meet those 5-year-olds reading Harry Potter?’ So we knew whatever we had to do would be revolving around books. We chose to build a little free library box in the courtyard of the kids’ school and asked parents to donate one children’s book.

“Two weeks later, I got a phone call from the principal, asking, ‘Why are there 500 books in my office right now?’ So we started collecting these children’s books in our garages and distributing them to different places on Long Island. And this just snowballed into what we’ve become now.

“We’re a little less than three years in and we’ve donated more than 225,000 books to organizations that serve children in need. We’re in all 50 states, Africa, Israel, Puerto Rico, Morocco, India. The team is me and Hindi’s husband, David, and a few volunteers. I don’t like to say everything happens for a reason, but it came to me at a time when I needed it most because I was going through a personal crisis, and I just had to get over it and move forward. It kept me going.”

Interviewed by Hannah Fusaro

‘We’re hoping to build a program in a school and we’re hoping this can be a gateway to a better life.’

Massapequa

“I have been involved in lacrosse for years and I’m being recruited to teach fundamentals in Kenya. I know a guy named Isaac Kirinya who teaches orphans in Kenya. I started becoming his teacher in lacrosse. He gives the orphans sticks to play lacrosse and goes around helping people; he’s the most amazing person I know.

“Lacrosse is this yuppie sport now and it has become a cash cow for lots of people, but the spiritual roots of the game are Native American. They called it the medicine game or the giving game; it was a healing game. I coached the Australian national team for eight years and I also coached Spain, so I know the international game. I also coached at Adelphi this spring. I’m more interested in the education of lacrosse and getting these kids in school. Many of them can’t afford school.

“In America, we’re whining because we didn’t get playing time. When kids in Kenya come to lacrosse, they get a meal, and it may be the only meal they get all week. I’m meeting with a woman who is at the Kenton College Prep School and hoping to create opportunities for kids to use this game to get an education.

When you lose hope, then you go downhill fast.

“For these kids, it’s way more than just the championship. We’re hoping to build a program in a school and we’re hoping this can be a gateway to a better life. Fundraising is going to be massive to make this happen at kenyalacrosse.org. I was supposed to go in July, but it was shut down because of COVID.

“The world doesn’t seem to be getting better but I’m pretty sure I’m going to go in October because we have a camp. I’m retired as the director of social studies at Oceanside High School. I’ve written four books about hope, grit and determination. I’m teaching at Molloy College, offering a college experience for young adults with severe challenges like autism spectrum disorder and Down syndrome.

“Most of my doctoral work was on hope — it’s a positive psychology construct and my research was that kids in alternative schools, kids who can do the work but choose not to, have lost hope. When you lose hope, then you go downhill fast. Whereas hope is the best predictor of college graduation. I see lacrosse and all these aspects of my life coming together to build hope.”

Interviewed by Rachel O’Brien – Morano

‘I have a lot I want to do and try, but for sure I just want to figure out how to be happy. It’s about time.’

Plainview

“My family life was very chaotic. I never knew what school I’d end up in, or who I’d be living with. There was violence. I never knew when I’d be moving again. I managed to cope with it all through my passions like singing, acting and writing. I figured out it could help me, and then in the future, help others.

“I always enjoyed performing, but my parents never told me growing up I could just sign up for a school play or chorus. Once I got into middle school, I figured out that I could try out for the school show, and I got the lead. But when I came home, my mom thought I was lying. Middle school ended as the problems in my household were peaking.

“A family friend saw this and found a program where I could travel and get an education. I spent two years at a school in the south, which also involved mission trips to Jamaica. We were working with disabled children, abused orphans; I even remember a girl with cigarette burns all over her. I was 15 to 16 years old at the time, and it made me a different human. When I returned home things had gotten a lot better.

I ended up founding Drama for Disorder, a nonprofit where adolescents dealing with personal problems can have a safe space to express themselves.

“My dad said, ‘there’s hope, you’re going to find a college and you’re going to pursue whatever you want.’ He helped guide me to the Long Island High School for the Arts, which I joined as a junior. I took a course called ‘Activism and Performance,’ and it was inspiring to learn I could use originality toward creating change. I knew I wanted to do that.

“I ended up founding Drama for Disorder, a nonprofit where adolescents dealing with personal problems can have a safe space to express themselves. I’m also part of a band, and while my parents both have seen me, it’s my dad who has made the effort.

“One time while on stage, I saw him help sell our band’s T-shirts for us, and that’s an image I want to keep. I can’t say I forgive him for my hectic childhood, although maybe without that I wouldn’t be who I am today. It was beautiful, to see him really trying and supporting me.

“I got into the NYU Tisch School of the Arts, where I’m an acting major, but also double majoring in musical performance. I have a lot I want to do and try, but for sure I just want to figure out how to be happy. It’s about time.”

Interviewed by Ian J. Stark