When I speak to student journalists about the requisite skills in this line of work, I almost never start talking about a gift for language. Sure, it’s wonderful to be able to tap dance on a keyboard the way that Sally Jenkins or Wright Thompson or Mark Leibovich do. And no doubt, being able to make a point like Margaret Sullivan or turn a phrase like Steve Rushin or write a 6,000-word profile with the elegant understatement of John McPhee will serve you well. But the guts of great writing is great reporting, and the guts of great reporting is careful, patient, intentional listening. That’s it. Listening. It is one of the most important – and least appreciated – journalistic skills out there.
As a young reporter, I would often speed through questions I had for my interviewee, instead of truly taking in what he or she might be saying, and coming up with fresh questions as a result. Remarkable things happen when you listen closely. At the top of that list is that you learn things, as the Dalai Lama said. Several years after Jennifer Capriati left the women’s tennis tour because of a debilitating shoulder injury, I visited her at her home in Florida for a Sunday feature in the New York Daily News. I had covered her career almost from the start, including her epic 1991 U.S. Open semifinal – at age 15 - against Monica Seles, one of the greatest matches I’ve ever seen. Jennifer hadn’t retired officially, but when surgeries and other treatments failed to correct the problem, her odds of returning to Grand Slam champion form were slim. I could sense how much this weighed on her. After all, she had turned pro – and been on the cover of Sports Illustrated - at 13. She had won an Olympic gold medal at 16. Tennis had been her whole life. As she opened up about the pain, mental and physical, she seemed almost relieved to be talking about it, and at one point said there were times she was so down she thought about taking her own life. I just tried to be sensitive and let her talk, taking it in. She never followed through with those thoughts, mercifully. For me, the takeaway was that by listening and showing basic human compassion, I may have helped cultivate an environment that made Jennifer feel comfortable sharing about a deeply painful time in her life.
Listening may not be a lost art, but doesn’t it often appear to be approaching it? No doubt this has a lot to do with our social media-saturated world that rewards hot takes and self-promotion and calculated outrageousness much more than it does being measured, or nuanced. On the Talking/Listening continuum, it’s noise, not quiet, that is dominating, which reminds me of Mark Twain’s observation: “If we were supposed to talk more than we listen, we would have two tongues and one ear.” Doesn’t it seem that people are faster to judge and condemn than ever? When a left-leaning person talks in support of LGTBQ+ rights and more restrictive gun laws, it takes mere seconds for someone on FOX News or Newsmax or wherever to prattle on about Wokeness and people who hate America. On the other side, if a right-leaning person talks about immigration and bloated bureaucracies and tax cuts, how much time will pass before ardent leftists mock him/her for being a deluded Trumper and shill for corporate profits?
Better listening won’t repair the fractures in our world, but it would be a start. When you actually listen to another person – whether it’s a spouse, colleague, friend or kid – you honor them. I once worked with an editor who often wouldn’t let me get halfway through a sentence before he would finish it for me. It happened again and again. I liked and respected this editor, but I came away from almost every conversation feeling belittled at best, inconsequential at worst.
I have just one more thing to say about listening, and it’s pretty deep, so please stay with me. Unless you are fluent in sign language, your ears need to work if you want to hear people. This is a lesson I’ve learned the hard way, because of my own obstinance. You see, my hearing is not good. It has never been good. I had a series of painful ear infections as a toddler, and the result was I had to make many visits to a specialist whose mission, I was convinced, was to torture me. The infections became less frequent when my tonsils were removed, but the damage was done; I had about a 20 or 25 percent hearing loss in my right ear. It was annoying at times, but it didn’t interfere too much with life at school or home or work, though my wife would argue that it did interfere because she was the one who had to repeat herself three times (sometimes more). Decades went by, and as shocking as this may be to you, my hearing got worse. Now it was getting to be a problem, and I couldn’t deny it. I’d sit in church and could only make out every third or fourth word. I had to crank up the volume on the TV to a level that was uncomfortable for everyone else.
Finally, not too long before the pandemic, I went to an audiologist and got tested. My hearing loss was now in the moderate-to-severe range. A friend of mine – a scientist by training and a tech guy to the core – had hearing aids and told me he got his at Costco and was very pleased with them. So off I went to Costco, where I got tested again, had the diagnosis confirmed and got a pair of hearing aids calibrated for my specific loss. The audiologist warned me there would be an adjustment period of at least several weeks. She was right. I’d head down a carpeted hallway and it sounded like I was walking on popcorn. A flush of the toilet was like a mini-Niagara Falls. I adjusted the volume and had them recalibrated, but I still felt weird wearing them, so one day I stopped.
And that was it. I didn’t wear them again for more than two years. When my wife asked why, I said, “I just don’t feel comfortable. I don’t think they’re right.” The truth is I never gave them a full chance, even though it was explained to me that it would take time. What can I tell you? It was a lame performance by me.
Then, one night last summer on the Maine coast, two of our dear friends, Mark Peterson and Jane Margolis, came over for dinner. Mark and Jane live in Los Angeles and work in academia at UCLA, and spend summers at their lovely cabin overlooking Muscongus Sound (it’s a very nice gig, yes). We’ve been going to the same sweet harbor village for 25 years. Somehow, organically, the subject of Jane’s new hearing aids came up.
“They’ve changed my life,” Jane said.
I told her about not feeling comfortable with mine. Denise, no doubt weary of answering the question, ‘What did you say?’ told Jane, “He hasn’t worn them in a couple of years.”
An educational researcher by profession, Jane was now set to embark on a new study. The topic was me and my hearing loss. She wanted the details. All of them. She wanted to know my experience wearing the hearing aids. She wanted to know how long I stuck with them, and why I didn’t try another kind. Jane is a woman of uncommon passion and persistence. She can empty a thesaurus describing the beauty of a full moon rising over the water. She uses the word “amazing” more than any non-teenager I know, yet somehow, coming from her, it sounds much more true than trite. She could talk a dog out of chasing a cat.
“Wayne, you have to give it another try,” she said. “The change in your life will be amazing. My hearing aids are my best friends.”
“OK, Jane, thanks,” I said. “You are probably right. I’ll think about it.”
I was sincere, kind of. But I also wanted to change the subject. This approach does not work with Jane Margolis. She knew what I was up to. She proceeded to tell me about research showing that even moderate hearing loss can triple your risk of dementia. It can also lead to social isolation, balance issues and a decline in cognitive skills.
“You have to promise me you will try, Wayne,” she said. “You are going to feel the same way about your hearing aids that I do.”
As I sit and write this newsletter nine months later, I hear the birds chirping on a cool spring afternoon, and the clacking of my keyboard. The blinkers in my car make a sound again. Imagine that. Sometimes I can even make out what Denise Willi is saying. I wear my hearing aids every day, and they have become my best friends, too.
So to Jane Margolis, I’d just like to say this: “You are a relentless pain in the butt. You have no idea when to stop, and I am so grateful for that. Thank you for caring, and changing my life. My hearing aids are amazing, and so are you.”
Just loved it. Amazing! So many gems in there too - like being the guy who finishes your sentences… reminds me of a conversation with my dad when in a meeting in Beijing - bless him! Thanks as always and Marîa Esther is always wanting me to turn the TV down.
Nicely done, Wayne. Listening is key.