[Editor’s Note: This feature was pulled from an email Chris Lydon sent to a colleague.]
Basic starting point: imagine in an interview you’re on a flight (90-minutes or so) to Chicago… You fasten your seatbelt and, to your amazement, find you’re sitting next to this person you’ve been wanting to interview…Magic Johnson, or Jane Austen or Paul Revere. Your mind is jumping to the moment when you can call home and say: you’ll never believe who I just talked with, heart to heart, no kidding.
Try these on the person in the next seat on the flight….
10. You have a definition of victory before you say hello. You’ve got an idea of what you’d like to phone home.
9. But: You’re ready for something entirely different. Jane Austen wants to talk about God, Paul Revere about sex… Somebody says: I know this isn’t what you’re interested in, but… and you know you’re launched.
8. The assignment is essentially about getting people to laugh, or cry. Or gasp. The novelist Alexander Theroux once told a prison writing class I was teaching that Buddy Hackett had it right about comedians and writers: the job is to go out there on stage, bang a nail into the wall, and then pull it out with your backside. I think with pleasure about interviewing Harold Evans about his book The American Century and intuiting from the book that the key moment was Harry Hopkins’ arrival in London with the Lend-Lease promise in 1940, or ’41. Harold Evans was 13 at the time, scared that his country (starting with mum and dad) was going down. I asked him just to talk about Harry Hopkins and sure enough he got to the moment when Hopkins recited from the Book of Ruth to Churchill and his Cabinet: “Whither thou goest, I will go… to the end.” And dear Mr. Evans cried like a baby. Bingo! He said Hopkins made Churchill cry, too.
7. Broadcasting, as audio ad genius Tony Schwartz told me insistently, is “not a medium of information; it’s a medium of (emotional) effects.” That must go for most interviews, most conversations. It’s not those facts and figures that sink deep so much as the excitement and passion, boredom or hypocrisy they’re pitched with. Studs Terkel celebrated “that fabulous instrument, vox humana.” Voice came first, in evolution and to everyone in childhood; and voice is still freighted with endless key signals of connection. So use the hell out of it.
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6. Public conversation is not psychiatry, not seduction either. But it has something in common with both. It should turn on some lifting of veils, some unrehearsed and maybe unintended revelation of self.
5. Play doctor. I think Dr. Bernard Lown is the best interviewer alive.Latvian born, a natural Jewish lefty modern Marxist who looks at patients in their productive/professional situations and inevitably in some pain of alienation. (He’s also a great scientist who invented the defibrillator, and a great humanist who won the Nobel Peace Prize for organizing doctors against nuclear war…) Bernie Lown is an old-school diagnostician who’s written that the taking of a patient’s history is the most valuable medical device ever known; and that the laying on of a doctor’s hands is the most valuable treatment ever conceived. He examines you inch by inch. And then he sits there with you in what feels like a sealed room. No interruptions, no distractions of any kind. “Half like a general, half like a bishop,” as Henry James writes about Dr. Luke Strett in The Wings of the Dove. Like Henry James’ doctor, Bernie sets on the desk between the two of you “a great empty cup of attention.” Bernie listens and watches….Bernie is a doctor on the William Carlos Williams model, who is willing and able to become us, to become the patient, for half an hour, or an hour at a stretch. You leave his office, as Henry James’ Milly Theale did in The Wings of the Dove, feeling that you’ve confessed and been absolved.
4. Cock a third ear to the phrases and sentences, the sound bites, as they’re unfurling. We remember aphorisms. I am thinking of the Lebanese novelist Amin Maalouf (Leo Africanus and others) remarking: “I love to hear Arab and Jew debate. As long as Arab take Jewish position, and Jew take Arab position. Otherwise, is just tribal lies and bullshit.” Take that, Alan Dershowitz! With Maalouf, I sat right up. If your subject is staggering forward without anything that sounds like a “good line” or a strong paragraph, you can always change the subject.
3. It always helps to have three main points, specified up front, or implied. Faith, hope and charity. Sex, drugs and rock’n’roll. Cornel West’s great sermons and talks of every kind always seem to pivot on what’s American, what’s modern, what’s human. Stanley Hoffman, a three-points guy, says they’re built into French education. His prose is Exhibit A. Recently I heard Stanley ask: what could Europe possibly make of Woodrow Wilson, who brought 14 points to a peace conference? Alex Theroux, again, says Ivan, Dmitri and Alyosha Karamazov form a three-points masterpiece: mind, body, spirit — and the model of every other three-character act, including Jack, Bobby and Teddy; the Three Tons of Fun; and the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion. Three points ease and organize all minds in range of the conversation.
2. By all means, give something of yourself. So you’ve never played for the LA Lakers, but you owe it to Magic to tell him where you stand on the Celtics — and then a lot about yourself. You are not a potted plant, as the saying goes.
1. The best interviewing technique, as Susan Stamberg used to say, is to listen.