Monday 17 August 2015

REMEMBERING MOMENTS THAT WERE FUNNY, WEIRD, EMBARRASSING OR OUTRIGHT DISASTROUS . . .as I interviewed people who featured in biographies I wrote


I loved writing biographies. Not long, dry, pack-in-every-word-he-ever-said biographies, but shorter ones, a bit like novels except they were illustrations that truth really is stranger than fiction.

Some of you may have read Jodie’s Story, which is actually a biographical novel as I have improvised all the dialogue, some of the settings and other details. But this book opened the door for publishers to ask me to write wonderful testimony-type biographies and to fly me to the cities where they were set.

Through interviewing people who featured in these stories, I met talented, even quite famous people I would never otherwise have met. I had a lot of fun. I also had some hilarious experiences and some weird ones.

 

NOTE: For obvious reasons, I will use different names and venues in this article. I had permission to interview and write about everyone mentioned but this is, well, that famous underside of the tapestry.

  
I muse on those days. Colourful times. I remember interviewing Dr Roberts. I was nervous. He was famous in his field. A brilliant top level medical professional. And I was just a shy young writer, using his valuable time.

I dressed in my most professional-looking outfit. Clambering out of the taxi outside his rooms, I tidied my ever-unruly hair. My heart was galloping. God, help me to be cool, calm and collected. Don’t let me make a fool of myself, I prayed.

As I stepped into the building, I slipped my professional mask into place. (Perhaps my acting talent, as well as my prayers, came in handy.)

I forced myself to relax as I waited in the foyer.

A middle-aged, expensively dressed man appeared and greeted me in cultured tones. English, perhaps, I thought.

He was charming and funny as he chatted to put me at my ease. A young girl brought us Styrofoam cups of coffee.

“Well,” he looked at me inquiringly. “You’re wanting to know about one of my former patients? James?”

James had had trouble relating to other people. His problems had been trashing his life. I asked a few questions and then, “So he said all the wrong things?”

Dr Roberts chose his words carefully. “Not wrong. Just . . . inappropriate. He said things inappropriate to the situation.”

At that exact moment I noticed Dr Roberts’ Styrofoam cup was leaking. It was dripping onto his very expensive-looking tie, drop by drop wetting it. I peered carefully to be sure it was the cup that was the source of the dripping. It was.

Dismay gripped me. Would it be an inappropriate thing – like James – to comment on it in the middle of an interview? Would it be rude? I watched in dismay while he talked and sipped – and dripped.

Perhaps I should ignore it. It would be rude.

Drip, drip, drip.

That lovely tie was being ruined.

Suddenly I couldn’t bear it. “Excuse me, but your cup’s leaking onto your tie!” I blurted.

He froze. A tense silence filled the room. He became very, very professional and clinical. “Perhaps it’s my mouth that’s leaking,” he said in chilly, sarcastic tones.

“No, really, it’s your cup!” I protested, sure of my ground now. “It’s ruining your tie!”

Reluctantly he scrutinised his cup. He was surprised (and no doubt relieved) to see a small hole in it.

“Well!” he exclaimed, suddenly jovial again “So it is.” He called the girl, who replaced the cup.

The rest of the interview went well but the things that stand out in my memory are the elegant doctor, his new tie, and that cup of coffee going drip, drip, drip. And my own mixture of dismay and near-explosion of giggles. 

Soon after, I interviewed a teacher who told me about their school’s resident ghost. “None of us wants to be the last one to leave,” she told me. “The ghost turns off lights, fiddles with the heating, even plays the piano!” I decided to wait and see before drawing any conclusions..

The next day a teacher from another school told me about their school’s ghost! I began to pray about my current interviews, wondering what it was all about. I was glad of my security as a Christian!

The next interview was with a nurse in a quaint, antique flat. She served me a cup of tea and began to answer my questions. Then she interrupted and asked, “Can you notice anything about the atmosphere here?”
 
I knew what was coming. I shook my head and assured her I could not. “We’ve got a ghost here,” she told me. “It must like you or it would have smashed a glass or something.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It usually does. But I enjoy its company. It likes me.”

I brought that interview to quite a rapid close – not because I was scared but I couldn’t ‘go there’. I had my own views, as a Christian, on what might or might not be behind it, but this was not the time. . . Besides, it was getting chilly.

 

My most disastrous one, unless I’ve deleted something from my memory, was interviewing a girl we’ll call Kelly. I had to catch two buses to that interview. Kelly spent two or three hours answering my questions and pouring out her feelings about her situation. Diligently I recorded it all and wrote copious notes. The next day, soon after I had begun to type the article about her, I received a phone call. “Sorry. Do you mind not using any material you have about Kelly? She found that interview traumatic and was so upset after it that she rang us and asked if we could cancel it.”

I looked at my notes, and my audio tapes. The scary thing was: I hadn’t picked it. I’d seen other interviewees weep (and I’d even wept with them) but they’d been happy with the result. After years of being told I was a good interviewer, I felt FAILED, REJECTED.  I suppose Kelly simply was not ready to ‘go public’ about her life.

 

There were many other strange interviews, many very normal ones and a lot of fun. It was a wonderful, enriching time for me.