Pity the Poor Reader

The craft of questioning stands on five pillars: Staying impartial; knowing your prey, building trust, drawing people out and listening to the unspoken. Application of these principles requires the combined skills of a detective, therapist and diplomat.

And you just wanted to ask a few questions.

Why is interviewing so complicated?

Because truth is an elusive prey. Like a virus, it needs a host to propagate, hitching a ride on unsuspecting carriers. Many, if not most people do not understand the meaning of their lives, the truth they embody.
 

Through interviewing, then, writers perform a sort of exorcism. They tease out the truth concealed in people’s lives. Unlike exorcists, though, writers wield neither crosses, Holy Water nor amulets. Their best tool is the informed question. Yet, when skillfully applied, the informed question is as powerful as any amulet. The right question to the right person at the right moment will lay bare any truth, no matter how well concealed.

Let’s look closely now at each of the five pillars of the craft of questioning.

Impartiality is the Highest Nobility

Think of interviewing as a type of performance. It’s one in which a writer effects the persona of impartiality. He plays the independent observer who’s only interest is fair representation. A writer stays agreeable without agreeing; empathetic without sympathizing; interested without signaling a vested interest.

What does this look like?

In being agreeable, a writer remains pleasant. He may smile or look pensive. Never, though, does he say a source is right or in any way signal approval of his views.

In being empathetic, a writer acknowledges a source’s pain, anger or fear. He’ll look pained if a source expresses something painful; he’ll say “that sounds frightening,” if told a scary story. Never, though, will he say “you have every right to be scared,” or provide any justification to a source.

In being interested, a writer will lean forward, ear cocked toward a source, scribbling madly in a notebook. At times, he’ll take notes even if what a source says isn’t useful - just to convey interest. His interest remains, however, solely in the story, not the source. A writer declines any offer to champion a source’s cause or further his career. His story may end up flattering a source, but only because the facts paint a flattering picture.

Remaining impartial in demeanor allows a writer to think in two dimensions. He listens while considering: “How does what I’m hearing stack up against what I know? Is a source omitting anything important?” A writer conducts a running assessment during an interview, adjusting course as needed. He stays nimble.

It’s no small task to master the role of impartial observer. There are people who forever try to lure writers into their sphere of influence. These people tend to be those who have much at stake in how they and their interests are perceived. Think politician, executive and celebrity - or their handlers. They’ll coddle, cajole or even coerce writers into seeing things their way.

Here’s an example.

In the early 2000s, I wrote a computer column for Business Week magazine. My columns often poked fun at Microsoft, especially at its reputation as an innovator. I portrayed the company’s true corporate philosophy as “first to be second.”

Apparently, Microsoft cofounder Bill Gates demurred. He sent a team of young executives to show me the error of my ways. They traveled 3,000 miles from Seattle to my office in Atlanta to buy me coffee and a danish one morning.

At first, the executives tried to politely argue why Microsoft was an innovator, but I easily refuted the argument with examples to the contrary. Next they offered me an exclusive preview of upcoming Mac versions of Microsoft software, which I declined. Finally, the executives threatened to unleash on me the wrath of Microsoft enthusiasts in the Mac community. I knew Darth Vader had more fans.

Microsoft’s effort to win my allegiance afforded me an easy column. I used the visit as an example of Microsoft’s tendency to intimidate, not innovate. The company, never known for its self-deprecating humor, was not amused. Gone for good were any more offers of software previews or free danish and coffee.

Why did I decline to cooperate with the most powerful computer company in the world? Because I’d learned long ago that I had more to lose than gain in favoring any company, whether Microsoft or Apple. There’s no quicker way to lose the respect of a source than to bow to his interests. He’ll keep escalating the price for his loyalty, demanding ever more favors,  until a writer has been stripped of all independence and respectability.

Better to anger a powerful source than to win his disrespect.

There’s only one sin worse than kowtowing to a source and that’s trying to bully one. It’s largely myth, perpetuated by television personalities, that you can browbeat someone into talking. Intimidation makes for good theatrics - thrusting a microphone into the face of an uncooperative source who is scurrying away - but that’s about it.

Learn from my own experience. As a young reporter in St. Louis, I once tried to browbeat a powerful city alderman. He had refused to talk to me -how dare he -and I confronted him about his recalcitrance during lunch at his popular downtown restaurant.

Not only didn’t he answer my brusque questions. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me through his busy restaurant, finally tossing me out onto the sidewalk. It so happened that my newspaper was located across the street. Many a colleague returning from lunch saw me sprawled in the gutter. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. In a final indignity, my editors at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch made me apologize to the alderman.

Play Detective

A skilled writer tries never to conduct an interview ignorant about a source. Here’s where a writer plays detective. He learns through research what a source is qualified to discuss. Where does a source stand in the pantheon of his discipline or profession? Is he an establishment figure, representing the conventional wisdom or a defender of the status quo? Is he an outlier or an agent of change?

Such intelligence helps a writer sift the useful from the malarky during an interview. Experts love to expound on topics about which they know little. I’ve interviewed chief executives who’ve given political predictions and politicians who’ve given economic forecasts. As a rule of thumb, the bigger a person’s title, the more likely he’s a know-it-all.

A writer tries to know his source as a person, too. He learns his passions, his likes and dislikes. Is he on the board of the United Way or an avid fly fisherman? Do writer and source share in common a friend or acquaintance? Use this intelligence  to connect with sources. They’ll rarely confide important information without first establishing a bond with their  interviewer. More on this in a bit.

Craft questions

Informed about a source’s expertise and personality, a writer is ready for the next step in preparing for any interview: Generating a list of questions. What’s asked and how it’s asked - in what order and with what phrasing - affects the willingness of people to confide. Here’s where a writer plays therapist.

In writing questions strive for clarity. The best questions are not unlike a good sentence: Simple but well informed, direct and easy to understand. A good question embodies one idea that’s expressed in the active voice.

Avoid rambling introductory clauses that explain or justify a question. This doesn’t mean forsaking questions about complex subjects. Rather, it means probing the complex with a series of related questions that are easier to understand and respond to.

There isn’t time, of course, to prepare questions for every interview. That’s especially true if writing a story due the same day. Yet even as a young newspaper writer, I tried to quickly jot down an outline of questions before impromptu interviews on the street or on the phone. Today, it’s easier than ever to quickly prepare for any interview. The Internet can provide a snapshot of most sources in a few minutes. Take advantage of that power. It’s always important to pay attention to what you ask and how you ask it.

As with much in life, effectively questioning people comes down to timing. The best writers develop an instinct about asking the right question at the right moment. That sense of timing is perfected through practice.

It’s especially important, then, that beginning writers make time to prepare themselves for interviews. The benefits are manifold. For one, it trains novices to think through what they want to learn from a source, giving an interview direction and purpose. A checklist of questions also helps prevent a novice from forgetting to ask about something vital.

Besides, there’s nothing like a neatly organized list of questions to gracefully demonstrate respect for a source’s time and importance. And that goes a long way toward dispelling the skepticism many veteran sources hold about inexperienced writers.

Here’s another trick. Open an interview with questions that demonstrate your knowledge of a source’s profession or field of expertise. It not only conveys respect but gives him a chance to showcase his own expertise, something few academics, lawyers or scientists can resist. Let them strut like peacocks. It helps open up sources, especially during an initial interview.

While important, preparation shouldn’t be cast in stone. Interviews often veer into thrilling, unexplored territory. This is a good thing, even if it trashes a lovingly prepared list of questions. Consider any plan no more than a guide, one that’s readily amended or abandoned when necessary.

Build trust

The first goal of any interview isn’t to ask questions; it’s to gain trust. A source that trusts a writer will reveal more and more that he reveals will be the truth as he sees it - and not a manipulative spin of facts or events. It’s in gaining a source’s trust that a writer plays diplomat.

Gaining trust is no easy task, especially in a country as diverse as ours. That diversity is growing all the time. Most of those whom a writer interviews will not be of his age, ethnicity, class or clan.

How, then, to win the trust of strangers? Think of it as a chess game of subtle moves, one in which gestures count as much as words. What you wear, how you sit, your tone of voice, your choice of opening questions - all can be useful in winning the trust of a source.

The most important gesture of all is empathetic listening. It can open up the most reluctant of sources. It’s a lesson I learned early on in my career.

In the late 1970s, while a young reporter in Buffalo, N.Y., I was given a most challenging assignment: To interview members of the 60s rock band The Who. They were traveling to the city the night after several of their fans had been trampled to death at a frenzied concert in Cleveland. There, the band had been able to elude reporters. Slipping by me wouldn't be as easy. Or so I hoped.

I had a friend at the city's Convention and Visitor's Bureau and he tipped me off that The Who would be staying at a cheap motor inn out at the airport. By slumming it, the band hoped to elude fans and reporters alike.

That wouldn't include me. I booked a room the day the band arrived. That put me inside the security net - not outside it - when The Who checked in. A writer must be ever resourceful.

Getting inside the hotel was only half the battle. Now I had to find The Who and then get them to talk to me. My plan was simple. I would cruise the back hallways of the motel, keeping out of sight of management and gambling on a chance encounter with a band member. All night I wandered among the snack rooms and stairwells, all without any contact with the band.

Finally, at 3 a.m., I stumbled into a haggard Pete Townsend, The Who's lead guitarist and songwriter. He sat in the dark corner of a snack room, hunched over a half-empty can of flat Pepsi. Had he been here all night and I'd missed him earlier?

“Gee,” I said, “you must feel terrible.”

The question opened Townsend up like the can of soda in his hand. He spewed forth his dismay, frustration and sorrow. All I did was listen and take mental notes. He invited me back to his room, where the other band members, Roger Daltry and Peter Entwistle, were moping about.

I listened to the three of them for hours before I took out my notebook. Would it be all right if I told their story? I finally asked. Since I'd gained their trust through empathetic listening, they granted me permission.

Where you decide to conduct an initial interview can help to build trust. It’s best to start at a source’s den or throne, a place he feels safe or powerful. A source is more likely to open up if he feels in control of the interview.

I first interviewed media mogul Ted Turner’s oldest son - a tragicomic figure of Shakespearean proportions - at his favorite restaurant in downtown Atlanta. The restaurant staff treated Teddy Jr. like royalty,  serving him his favorite lunch without any prompting. In a corner table, dining on sweet potato fries and Diet Coke, Teddy hailed the city’s muckety-mucks as they entered the restaurant. All the while he sat scheming and chitchatting with friends and business associates. He glanced at me, checking to see whether I was suitably impressed. I tried my best to look awestruck.

This meeting with Teddy Jr. illustrates the importance of trying to schedule an initial meeting that’s not a formal interview. Think of it as a “meet and greet,” like one of those conferences teachers used to hold with your parents before the start of the school year.

Informal meetings allow a writer to focus on building trust, not taking notes. In fact, if possible, keep a notebook sheathed during an initial interview. That allows a writer to focus on listening intently. Rare are the people who can resist the charms of an attentive audience. People instinctually find themselves lowering their guard and speaking more freely. That’s especially true if they know they’re speaking off-the-record.

Listening well is hard work and it’s hardly passive. As he listens, a writer keeps an ear cocked for clues: What encourages a source to talk, does he speak with authority, is what he says reliable?

I was doing all this in my initial meeting with Teddy Turner in the restaurant. Not once did I take out my notebook. Instead, I sat and watched, encouraging Teddy to be himself. Later, I would interview him many times in many different places, but that first meeting was the most important one. It gave me an authentic sense of the man that proved invaluable in gauging everything he told me later on.

None of this is to say that writers won’t jot down notes from memory after an interview. Any seasoned writer keeps pen and paper - or its digital equivalent - handy at all times.

Taking notes from memory is not as hard as it seems. Listening is a skill perfected through practice. In fact, it’s a good idea to practice recording notes after an interview. This exercise helps train a writer to listen better. And the better a writer’s listening skills, the more he remembers.

A word of caution about off-the-record or informal interviews. These are the times when sources tend to reveal the most sensitive and potentially explosive bits of information. It’s hard to resist rushing a story into print, especially if a source has confided something sensational. Double checking such information is often lost in the rush to publication.

Sadly, many a writer has learned the hard way why such a move is foolhardy. For one, a false sense of infallibility taunts even the best of writers. The clearest of recollections can be missing a key caveat or be wrong. Secondly, it’s dishonorable, a breech of obligation, to disclose information provided off-the-record. A source spoke with the understanding that what he said would be for a writer’s ears only. Otherwise he might not have spoken so candidly. A writer can’t change the rules in the middle of the game for his convenience or his advantage.

Why risk tarnishing a budding reputation for accuracy and fairness, two traits invaluable to any successful writer? Better to double check recollections with a source. Chances are good that, if a writer built trust, a source will let him use material from an off-the-record interview.

 There’s an added benefit. Confirming information provides writers with a foil, a way to reality check their recollections and perceptions. It’s not uncommon for a source and writer to disagree, triggering a discussion that helps to reconstruct what was really said. In the end, they may still disagree, but the give and take builds a writer’s confidence in his interpretation of events. He’s ready and prepared to defend his recollection if challenged.

A writer who’s well-read and well-traveled has little trouble winning people’s trust. He has so many ways to connect. Consider this example.

In prepping for my first sit-down interview with media mogul Ted Turner, I read that he loved fly fishing for trout on his Western ranches. I, too, had once fly fished out West, and knew I could hold my own on the topic. How, then, to subtly advertise my shared love of fly fishing? I recalled that an old girlfriend had once given me a tie festooned with famous trout flies. I dug out that musty old tie and wore it to my initial interview with Turner.

He took the bait. His secretary had penciled me in for only 15 minutes, but Turner and I talked for more than hour about trout fishing. It was during that interview that Turner first confided to me his plan to buy vast tracts of Western land. His idea was to save land with unique and endangered native plants and animals from development. I later wrote a sweeping story about Turner’s daring plan. Part of my research included fly fishing with Turner on his New Mexico ranch.

Seasoned writers pay attention to the habitats of their sources, whether they be offices, dens, dugouts or canoes. These are the kind of places that are filled with clues for how to connect with a source. Is there, for example, an autographed baseball, a mounted trophy fish, pictures of family or the source shaking hands with famous people?

Say that a writer recognizes a picture in a source’s office of him shaking hands with a former president. He’ll ask what was that president really like in person. Such a question gives the source a chance to show off. Few people can resist such an opportunity - especially someone who has decorated his office with pictures of himself with famous people.

It’s only human to enjoy talking about yourself, sharing your life story with others. That’s especially true of the restlessly insecure, which defines many  ambitious people. Why chase after title, awards and honorary degrees if such honors are going to remain unknown?

It’s also human to feel good about those who are listening to you talk, especially if they’re listening avidly. No one may utter the word “trust,” but a bond grows between talker and listener all the same.

Draw out the truth

Building trust is the first step in a campaign to draw people out. The next step involves what a writer asks, how he asks it and when he asks it. Writers think a lot about how they phrase and order questions. The most effective questions are tailored to a source’s temperament. The wording and sequence of the same question may differ with each source interviewed for a story.

A writer considers: Is a source combative or cooperative, humble or prideful, voluble or reticent. An opening barrage of pointed questions might offend a reticent person. Better to circle when questioning people of quiet intelligence, asking them a series of easy questions. That gets them comfortable first with talking. Nor would you want to flatter a humble source, while flattery works wonders in opening up the prideful. The point is to think strategically, considering how to persuade people to confide. Different sources require different strategies.

A few techniques, though, work well with most people. Avoid asking questions that require only a yes or no answer. A writer wants to encourage people to give as much information as possible. That means not asking, “Were you born in Bermuda?” but “Where were you born?” In answering this open-ended question, a source might respond not only that he was born in Bermuda. He might also disclose a love of skinny-dipping as a child. This is the kind of detail that distinguishes good writing from the mediocre.

Ask key questions several times in different ways. The first time round you’ll tend to get the party line from heads of government agencies, advocacy groups and companies. The more they’re questioned, the greater the chance they’ll stray from their organization’s dogma. That’s especially true if they’ve begun to trust you.

At times, a source’s reluctance to talk doesn’t necessarily mean he’s trying to dodge questions. He just finds talking about a subject difficult or painful. A skilled interviewer can help him find the words. Here again it helps to ask the same question several times, but each time using different wording. This technique often leads to the right combination of words that will unlock a source’s reluctance to talk.

To make a cat purr stroke its head. It’s no different with celebrities and the powerful. Few of them can resist flattery, even from the un-famous. You don't have to be false about it. There's usually something in a person's past or in his work that you can find to respect. Ask about that.

The right stroking will open up even the crustiest and most jaded of celebrities. While working in Los Angeles during the mid-1980s, I was assigned to interview a once famous but now forgotten Franco-German film director (Can you sniff out who it was?). He was visiting Hollywood to attend the Oscars.

The director greeted me in his hotel room seated in a plush red velvet armchair he'd brought with him from home. It sat in the center of the room on a sprawling oriental rug.

“Greeted” isn't quite the right word. The director wouldn't look at me and drummed his ring-studded fingers on the arm of his magnificent chair. The young flack who'd ushered me in reddened with embarrassment.

“Isn't that one of Marie Antoinette's chairs?” I asked in French.

The director turned sharply to eye me with newfound interest. My question had signaled that I understood how privileged he was to own such chair. It was rare, expensive and coveted. It hadn't hurt, either, that I'd asked in French.

In truth, I knew little about the chair, other than that he'd recently bought it at auction in Paris. I'd read about the sale in prepping for my interview with him.

With a delicate wave of his ringed hand, the director signaled that I could now question him. I asked about how he acquired the chair, although I knew the answer. It was the right question, for he couldn't stop talking about the chair. And once he started talking, he couldn’t stop when I began to ask more pertinent questions later on.

Again, a little knowledge, wisely applied, goes a long way.

Above all, a writer does whatever he can to encourage people to talk. We all love to hear the sound of our own voices. The longer a person speaks, the harder it is for him to stop. Savvy writers wait for a source to build up a good head of steam before asking a tough or challenging question. If comfortable enough, people often answer questions they previously dodged.

If talking for a good while, a source’s every thought may begin to spill onto his tongue. At times this holds true for even the most jaded and media savvy of sources. Again, Ted Turner illustrates the point. At the end of a long, leisurely chat on the veranda of a New Orleans hotel, in which Turner was expounding on the merits of trout fishing with barb-less flies, he blurted out an astounding act of personal charity. He planned to give a $1 billion to the United Nations, the largest personal gift in the organization’s history at the time. His revelation was a great story for me, although it ruined a month’s worth of careful preparation by his sizable publicity staff. They wanted to keep tight control on the spin of Turner's donation.

Notice that Turner disclosed his UN donation in the closing moments of our chat. Last minute revelations are far from uncommon. Sources will reveal the most colorful or insightful material as a farewell gesture. “Funny,” a source might say, “if I’d never been caught cheating in college, I’d never have learned to be the ethical person I am today.” Such comments are often muttered or offered as a closing aside. They’re easy to miss. That’s why seasoned writers stay attentive even as they’re escorted out the door.

The best writers learn to be inventive in drawing people out. They’re forever dreaming up and experimenting with new techniques. Here’s some of the more unconventional yet effective ones I’ve seen and used.

The power of silence

Ironically, sometimes the best way to draw out a source is to keep silent. This is especially true when dealing with naturally voluble people who, for whatever reason, are reluctant to talk with a writer. Here’s an example of the power of silence.

At Business Week, I was once assigned to profile a big company in Memphis that was infamous for its secrecy. Predictably, its executives refused to grant me any interviews. Undeterred, I traveled to the company’s headquarters uninvited and parked myself in the lobby. There I sat quietly all day, waiting to see if I could get an audience with a top executive.

Finally, my polite but unsettling presence got a response. A senior executive invited me upstairs, if only in a bid to chase me off. The moment I stepped into his office he began ranting about how his company would never talk to me. He glared defiantly, as if expecting me to leave. A reasonable expectation, I suppose, but I sat down in a chair and smiled.

I said not a word. Soon I could feel the silence growing as uncomfortable as a hair shirt. After a few minutes of the silent treatment the executive blurted again that he had nothing to say. Then he began explaining why he couldn’t talk, which led to a detailed description of his company and its strategy. Soon I had as much as I needed.

Is it any wonder that writers can be at times people of few words?

Playing the rube

 If you can pull it off (that is, keep a straight face) playing dumb can work wonders on some sources. I had a friend at the Wall Street Journal who was a master of this technique. He especially excelled at playing the rube with the powerful.

My friend even dressed for the part. He would show up at interviews with chief executives not only wearing a polo shirt, but wearing it inside out. He’d play dumber than a barrel of hair, too, asking a steady stream of the most simple-minded and ignorant questions.

Executives found themselves explaining away their businesses, telling far more than they’d planned to reveal. They never imagined that such a simpleton could understand their companies, let alone write incisively about them. My friend was Ali G a generation before the English comedian Sacha Baron Cohen dreamed up his faux nincompoop talk show host.

Vary scenery

It’s best to interview a key source several times, preferably in a different location each time. A new place triggers new associations, prompts fresh memories. You’ll find a source remembering something he’d long forgotten, say, some revealing childhood story.

In profiling Teddy Jr., I interviewed him four times. The first, as I said earlier, was in the his favorite restaurant. The second time was aboard Teddy’s speedboat as it raced through Florida’s inter-coastal waterway outside Jacksonville. Emboldened by controlling the powerful boat, Teddy boasted that his idea to start a new computer company would rival the entrepreneurial prowess of his dad.

The third interview occurred in the gloom of his new company’s sparsely furnished office in a rundown building far from Jacksonville’s central business district. Here, Teddy confided that his father’s legacy was daunting, if not smothering. The last was at his father’s sprawling ranch in New Mexico, where I could see how small Teddy figured in is father’s legacy.

Truth emerges slowly. Give it the time and space to do so.

Listen between the words

I couldn’t believe my ears as Buffalo Mayor Jimmy Griffin fumed. How dare the impoverished constituents of his old council district call him a fat cat. Couldn’t they see that he was no better off than them? Surely I could see that, the mayor said to me, rattling the gold cufflinks of his Brook Brothers suit in my face.

I sat with the mayor in a corner booth of his popular steakhouse, “Jimmy’s.” It was packed with its usual lunchtime crowd of politicians and businessmen.

The mayor eyed me expectantly, but I sat mum. I pondered what, if anything, to say. It had taken me weeks to win this rare one-on-one meeting with the mayor. I considered it a coup to have secured it outside the official confines of City Hall.

Yet I struggled to bite my tongue. The mayor’s outburst, while sounding earnest, struck me as contradictory. Surely he must know, as I did, that most of his constituents were on food stamps and could ill afford to dine at “Jimmy’s.” Nor did most of them own a car, let alone the chauffeured Lincoln Continental that the mayor used to cruise Buffalo’s streets, forever taking the pulse of his beloved city.

Tongue tied and confused, I had a revelation at the tender age of 24. It struck me that the significance of the mayor’s pleading lay not so much in what he said, but in why he’d said it.   Function - or the why - of the mayor’s utterance trumped the what.

Meaning often lies between the words.

The best writers learn to listen deeply,  asking themselves: Why is a person saying this to me, and why now and in a certain place? And what isn’t he saying and why? Mine context for meaning.

Consider my interview with Mayor Griffin. Thirty years later, I still have no doubt that chance played little role in why the mayor invited me to his restaurant. It had began as a one-room storefront, serving coffee and white bread sandwiches to grimy steelworkers. What better place to underscore the idea of lifelong struggle?

Nor do I doubt that the mayor spoke in earnest. He wanted to see himself - and for others to see him, too - as the son of impoverished Irish immigrants struggling to better himself and his people. This was, as sociologists say, his self-myth.

While false in fact, this myth was true in intent. It represented the mayor’s guiding spirit. Had I disregarded his outburst - and where he made it - as mere spin, I would have missed an invaluable clue as to what drove the mayor’s civic and political calculations.

Think of words and gestures as part of a person’s tribal garb. And we’re all tribal, except maybe the Unabomber, holed up in the rocky wilderness of Montana. As individuals, each of us wants to be identified with some group. That’s true whether we don tweedy jackets or tattoo our arms with Chinese characters; drink Iron City beer or Guinness, listen to Beck or the Beastie Boys. Be attentive to these tribal smoke signals. They reveal character.

Any interview is only as valuable as a writer’s ability to hear the unspoken.

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