When to Hold 'Em & When to Fold 'Em (or: The Interview that Blew)
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Today was supposed to be my big break. And it was. Sort of. I'd scored an interview with someone famous with astonishing ease and I felt sure the name recognition of the subject--let's call him Joe--would make the story easy to pitch and attractive to publish. I'd been following Joe's career with interest for a couple of years. I wasn't in awe of Joe because of his fame, but I was in awe of him for the same reasons I'm in awe of anyone: his history and his story. After doing the interviewer's due diligence of reading every other existing interview I could get my hands on, I was even more stoked about the piece I envisioned I'd write because I saw an opportunity to approach Joe's past and his present from a totally different angle. Following my own formula for crafting a great interview, I prepared a script that seemed unique and comprehensive enough to introduce another facet of Joe and to present him to an entirely new audience without being overly demanding of his time. My phone rang at high noon, as I was told by the scheduler it would. But as soon as I asked the first question, which was returned with a silence so lengthy I thought the call had been dropped, I knew the interview wasn't going to be what I expected. There was a slightly confused tone to the response and there was even a note of exasperation that bordered on mild aggression. "Another interview," I imagined Joe was thinking to himself, so caught up in his expectation that I'd ask the standard questions he's always asked that he didn't hear what I was actually asking. The first question was answered, sort of, and I moved on. Though I never ask "yes" or "no" questions, Joe wasn't much of an elaborator, and my narrative style didn't yield the story-telling responses that are what make interviews so exciting. Maybe he hadn't slept well. Maybe he hadn't had a morning cup of coffee. I'd just tossed down my own first cuppa two minutes before the interview. I began to flounder as I realized we hadn't established rapport, the fuel for any interview, and I heard myself become less articulate with each new question as I scrambled to rework my approach. I scribbled Joe's pithy, predictable responses but realized I wasn't generating any material that would make an interesting article. My opportunity to turn the interview around and get some good content was slipping away... what to do? The words of the old country song, "The Gambler" came to mind: "You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em. Know when to walk away, and know when to run." After 10 minutes, I decided to fold 'em. I thanked Joe for his time and hung up the phone. Though plenty of fluff pieces in vanities and tabloids have been crafted around interviews with far less substance than my exchange with Joe, improbably spinning feature length pieces out of airy morsels without substance, that's not my strength. I love the quotidian. The thick description. The long take of life. "I'm an ordinary person," Joe insisted, apropos of nothing, though I hadn't suggested otherwise and didn't doubt it. We're all ordinary. And extraordinary. Joe's not more or less interesting than anyone else, but since we are the stories we tell about ourselves and Joe wasn't telling any, I closed my notebook, put down my pen, and folded.
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Julie,
This is such little gem in and of itself, the story of not quite getting the story. Reminds me a touch of "Frank Sinatra Has A Cold" by Gay Talese, one of my favorites. I empathize with you. In my own limited experience of interviewing people (around say, 20) I've learned that it's as much a craft (that takes years to master) as any other. Phone interviews are the most difficult because so much of what's being communicated can only be read through the subject's body language, and overall presence.
If you want to make an addendum to your crafting an interview story at the notebook, by all means send it.
David-
Thanks for your feedback and for directing me to "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold"-- which is an amazing example of how a skilled writer can turn even the most disappointing interview into a revealing portrait of a reluctant subject.
Here's the link for anyone else who might want to read Talese's piece:
http://www.esquire.com/features/ESQ1003-OCT_SINATRA_rev_
And while we're at it, a question for all: Who are the interviewers you admire and why?
"...silence so lengthy I thought the call had been dropped". Felt the awkwardness myself. Some people may not be "phone" people. And with sending emails, you're just never sure if they'd spend the time to respond.
Thanks for sharing. Maybe you could pen something for Notebook about when to throw in the towel on interviews. It usually boils down to personal judgment but a few good tips always help.
"Maybe you could pen something for Notebook about when to throw in the towel on interviews. It usually boils down to personal judgment but a few good tips always help." -- That's exactly what I was thinking!
Yes-- one of the reflections that I had about the interview was how much easier rapport is to establish in person-- you can use the surroundings, the food or drink, or other aspects of the place you're sharing in the moment to spark a connection if nothing else is working. By phone and internet, your opportunities in that regard are limited and the potential for distractions on both ends increases considerably. Unfortunately, a phone interview was my only option in this case, but it did occur to me that this otherwise seemingly handsome, gregarious man just wasn't a phone guy.
It's funny--it seems the less "visible" the interviewee is, the more they're open to talking...much to the point that you can't get them to shut up and move onto the next question.
I like your final notes though. "'I'm an ordinary person.' Joe insisted, apropos of nothing, though I hadn't suggested otherwise and didn't doubt it. We're all ordinary. And extraordinary...". There's a subtle tug-of-war in interviews that I enjoy...both the interviewer and the interviewed have an agenda. If the two are at odds, only one can really come out on top.
I think the last guy to make a living interviewing "ordinary" people was Studs Terkel...and he had to interview a lot of ordinary people. I'm curious to see a link to the story that comes from this!
JB-
Your comments are spot on.
What kept running through my head as I was listening to Joe was that he wasn't disclosing anything new--and he wasn't really disclosing anything at all. I didn't want to push into the boundaries of his private life--that wasn't the point of the interview, anyway--but I mean that he wasn't really sharing, period, much less generously. What was interesting is that I contrasted his responses with those of the men who were in the interview that's on BNT today. Both Dave and Walt were so generous in their sharing. They offered personal stories and details of their lives without too much information-- for instance, Walt sent a picture of himself taken on a hike in which he's in his wheelchair in front of a waterfall. He wrote "And you can tell the readers that two minutes after the picture was taken I fell out of the wheelchair and broke my leg." Though I didn't use the picture or that anecdote in the interview, I appreciated it because it said he was willing to expose a vulnerability or an embarrassing episode. I think the more "celebrity" status you have, the less you feel willing and able to expose those kinds of vulnerabilities because they are, quite often, used against you. I saw this firsthand when Francisco was a personal chef for an actress during her vacation in Puerto Rico. We went out with her one evening and the way she was treated by people on the street was utterly obnoxious...they felt they had a right to know or to speak about things that were--and should be--private.
And as for Studs Terkel, yes, he was--and still is (even at 95 years of age) a master interviewer. I love his book, Working.
Julie, I've been loving reading about your various interviews! Interviewing's not something I've done much of before (although that has to change this trip) so it all goes into the vault... Too bad about this one.
Also, I'm going to have that song in my head now for ages. Makes me want a beer.
Eva-
Thanks! I'm developing a real passion for interviewing. Even this interview was a "break" for me in the sense that I hung up and wasn't even disappointed, really. I realized that I could turn the interview into a piece even if it wasn't at all what I'd hoped for or expected. I can't wait to hear about your interviews in the South! Yeah... sorry about getting that song stuck in your head. I hope it's the Kenny Rogers version at least. ;)
curious about who Joe might be...
Of course you are! :)
But I think it would be unbecoming of me to divulge his identity here.