How did the podcast À Moda d’América first come into being?

I have always been drawn to stories—the quiet gravity of them, the way they linger in the air long after they are told. The idea of sharing them in a more relaxed, intimate format has long appealed to me. Years ago, I even sketched out a podcast on an entirely different subject, though it never moved beyond paper.

It was only after returning to Terceira that something shifted. Over lunches with colleagues—those unhurried conversations where memory becomes almost tactile—I began to hear, again and again, the “stories from the base.” Stories at once ordinary and extraordinary. Then came the book Jazz, Golf e American Dream, by Tânia Santos, and with it, a kind of quiet ignition.

The podcast emerged from that convergence: memory, return, and recognition. Anyone born or raised on Terceira has grown up within earshot of these narratives. And yet, beyond the island—and even within it—so many remain unaware of this layered, lived reality.

We are witnessing a renewed focus on the Lajes Air Base. How important is historical depth when approaching this subject?

Curiously, everything was ready to launch the day before the United States struck Iran. A coincidence, perhaps—but also an opening.

Yet this podcast does not seek to debate geopolitics, nor to take positions on war or military presence. Those conversations exist elsewhere. What I seek instead is something more human, more grounded: to illuminate the social, cultural, and economic imprint that the base left on the people of a small Atlantic island.

In 1944, under the weight of the Estado Novo—poverty, scarcity, restriction—the arrival of the Americans introduced a sudden and almost surreal abundance. Terceira became a paradoxical threshold: the only place in the country where one could drink Coca-Cola, the first to glimpse television—American television.

Here arrived the early signals of modernity: new technologies, branded clothing, unfamiliar rhythms of music. These were not mere novelties; they were disruptions of the everyday, openings into another possible life. And such transformations deserve to be told—not as footnotes, but as central chapters.

The podcast suggests that Lajes profoundly shaped everyday life. What stands out most to you?

At the end of each episode, I ask a simple question: “What if the base had never existed?”

One person answered, “We would have been just another island.” And that, I think, reveals everything. For those who lived within that orbit, the presence of the American base did not merely mark history—it altered its trajectory. It created opportunities, alleviated hunger, reshaped habits, even transformed the ways we eat.

Eighty years after their arrival—and nearly eleven since the downsizing of the military presence—we remain, in subtle and enduring ways, a little “American.” In our expressions, our customs, even in the cadence of certain phrases—à moda d’América.

Of course, the story is not without its shadows. There are difficult, unresolved chapters—such as the adoption of Azorean children, not only from Terceira, often surrounded by silence and ambiguity. These are histories that have left deep social imprints. They must be spoken of—openly, honestly, and always with context.

What conversations can listeners expect to encounter?

At this stage, I have recorded six episodes, which are being released weekly. I wanted to establish a narrative thread from the beginning.

Historian Francisco Maduro Dias helps us understand how the Americans first arrived on Terceira, while Tânia Santos offers a broader historical, cultural, and sociological portrait.

Then there are the voices of lived experience: Humberta Barcelos, 81 years old, daughter of one of the first base employees and herself a seamstress for the Americans; musician Luís Gil Bettencourt, quite literally born within the perimeter of the base—a living embodiment of cultural intersection.

We hear also from João and Alice Melo, married for forty years, whose love story began there—one of many such stories—and from Valter Peres, who grew up in what was once called the “little America” of Lajes, through his father’s role in the Portuguese military.

And this is only the beginning. There are so many voices still waiting, so many stories not yet spoken.

Is there a sense of urgency in preserving these testimonies?

Absolutely. As I often say, there are stories that do not fit inside books.

We are living in a digital age where it has become remarkably easy to preserve them—not only in words, but in voice, in gesture, in presence. While those who carry these memories are still with us, we have a responsibility to listen—and to record.

What does the podcast format offer to a project like this?

Although it is available in audio form, I chose to record it in video. I am drawn to the visual—the expressive nuance of a face, the pause between words.

The format allows for freedom: no rigid script, no imposed duration. These are unhurried conversations, capable of expanding naturally. And they can travel easily—shared, revisited, carried in one’s pocket, ready to be heard whenever the moment invites.

In what ways have these interviews surprised you?

Though I am from Terceira and aware of this American influence, I never had a direct connection to the base. And yet, it always fascinated me—that enclosed world, that other reality behind the fences.

Through these conversations, I am discovering an entirely new dimension of my own island.

I did not know, for instance, that American medical facilities provided incubators for premature babies born outside the base, or that they helped finance hospital equipment on the island.

What becomes clear, again and again, is this: despite contemporary debates, despite criticism of the base’s presence, none of the people I have interviewed see it solely through that lens.

What endures, above all—or perhaps despite everything—is a sense of gratitude.

Translated and adapted from an interview in Diário Insular newspaper from Terceira Island, José Lourenço – director