March 14, 2013
Guests: Claire Vaye Watkins â Jake Tapper
TERRY GROSS, HOST: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. Yesterday our guest Claire Vaye Watkins won two cash prizes for her debut collection of short stories "Battleborn": The American Academy of Arts and Letters Rosenthal Family Foundation Award for a young writer of considerable literary talent; and the Story Prize, an annual award devoted to short story collections.
The Story Prize citation described Watkins as a fierce and original new writer and praised her for taking, quote, an unflinching look at the apocalyptic dimensions of our culture boom-or-bust obsession, unquote. Watkins isn't yet 30, but her stories about life in Nevada are informed by an eventful life and a sense of the region's rich historical legacy. She was born on the edge of Death Valley and raised in a small town outside Las Vegas.
The characters in her stories include the prostitutes and gay manager of a desert brothel, an aging rock collector who lives in a trailer near a dry lake bed, small-town teenage girls out for adventure in Las Vegas, and two brothers risking everything to strike gold in the 1840s. In one story, Watkins deals with an unsettling part of her family lore: Her later father was once part of the Charles Manson family.
Claire Vaye Watkins is an assistant professor of creative writing at Bucknell University in Louisburg, Pennsylvania. She recorded this interview last week with FRESH AIR contributor Dave Davies.
DAVE DAVIES, HOST: Well Claire Vaye Watkins, welcome to FRESH AIR. Congratulations on the book. These stories are so rooted in place, in Nevada, in the desert and its cities. Tell us about where you grew up, first, on the edge of Death Valley, right?
CLAIRE VAYE WATKINS: Right, yeah, actually, and I wouldn't be a good Nevadan if I didn't insist that you don't say Nevada. It's really the only thing we care about as it's a (unintelligible) we have as a people. But yes, I was born in Bishop, California, which is about as close to Death Valley as you can get and still have a hospital for being born.
My parents were living in Tecopa, California, which is on the southeastern edge of Death Valley. And then my dad died when I was six, and when my mom remarried, we moved across the state line to a little town in the desert called Pahrump, Nevada. And I spent most of my childhood there. It's about an hour away from Las Vegas. They have a mountain range between them.
DAVIES: I wanted to talk about the story "The Diggings," which is about two brothers who set out to find gold in the West, I guess in 1849, from Cincinnati. And it just - it's a great tale. And I wonder if you could - there's - if you could read a bit from page 184 here, kind of describing the times and what these folks were facing.
WATKINS: Sure, yeah, this one is fun to read. (Reading) In California, gold was what God was in the rest of the country: everything, everywhere. My brother Errol(ph) told of a man on the stool beside him who bound a round with a pinch of dust. He told of a child doddling in a gulley who found a queerly colored rock and took it to his mother, who boiled it with lye in her tea kettle for a day to be sure of its composition.
(Reading) He told of a drunkard pike who'd found a lake whose shores sparkled with the stuff but could not, once sober, retrieve the memory of where it was. There were men drowning in color, men who could not walk into the woods to empty their bladders without shouting eureka. And there were those who had nothing. There were those who worked like slaves every single day; those who had attended expensive lectures on geology and chemistry back home; those who had absorbed every metallurgy manual on the passage westward, put to memory every map of those sinister foothills, scrutinized every speck of filth the territory offered, and in the end were rewarded without so much as a glinting in their pans.
(Reading) And there was a third category of miner, too, more wretched and volatile than the others, the luckless believer. Here was a 49er, ever poised on the cusp of the having class, his strike a breath away in his mind. Belief was a dangerous sickness at the diggings. It made a man greedy, violent and insane.
(Reading) This fever burned hotter within my brother, than in any other prospector among the placers. I know because I lit him.
DAVIES: And that's our guest, Claire Vaye Watkins, reading from her story "The Diggings," which is in her collection of stories "Battleborn." So that guy and his brother set out to find gold and end up in Nevada, right, and things don't exactly go well. Where did the story come from? You did a lot of research here, didn't you?
WATKINS: Oh sure, yeah, yeah, tons. It's actually the last story I wrote for the book, and one of my teachers in grad school, who had read the draft, he said why don't you put some robust young men in this book. Why don't you give me some cowboys? And at first I thought oh, I think we've all had just enough cowboys. But then I thought maybe he was right, that there was kind of a blind spot in my writing.
So I tried to think of really robust figures of the American West. And I thought about the Overland Trail and what incredible fortitude that must have required. And then I also thought of the Gold Rush. And it occurred to me that you can't really write a book about the West without the Gold Rush, because without the Gold Rush you wouldn't have had the Silver Rush, and without the Silver Rush, we would probably just still have a Nevada-shaped hole in our country, because Nevada would be of no interest to anyone, likely.
Maybe we would start blowing up nuclear weapons in it, eventually, but it would have taken a lot longer. So it started there and just kind of exploded with research. I just became really obsessed with all the details of the era: the food. One of the characters is kind of a foodie, you would have called him in another age, but he's stuck at the diggings, eating, you know, gruel and rancid pork, and he's just like dreaming of going to San Francisco and getting a cream puff, you know. So it was a lot of fun to write.
DAVIES: And of course they end up not striking it rich, and the brother who you describe in the reading, kind of goes crazy. It kind of struck me, you know, so much of what you write about is a West today that is connected to the West of the past, and that this sort of mad rush for gold is in some ways not unlike the gambling fever that people get in Las Vegas and other places in Nevada, where you can forget who you are, come out and strike it rich.
But so often, and I think in a lot of the stories in this book, people really are not just rooted in history, but kind of defined by their past and somehow kind of unable to overcome it.
WATKINS: Yeah, I think you're totally right. In a way, we haven't really gotten over the Gold Rush, you know, which was a lie, even when it was happening. And that kind of instability of history, is something that's always really fascinated me. A lot of the characters are, you know, kind of, I think, internalizing this, like, John Wayne masculinity or this mythic rugged individual, and really suffering for it.
DAVIES: Claire Vaye Watkins' book of short stories is called "Battleborn." We'll talk more after a short break. This is FRESH AIR.
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DAVIES: You're listening to FRESH AIR, and our guest is writer Claire Vaye Watkins. She has a new collection of short stories called "Battleborn." So what kind of things did you and your sister do, as a kid? I mean, were you playing out in desert a lot?
WATKINS: Yeah, that's pretty much all we did. In Tecopa, we lived in this sort of compound-type of place that my dad had built up, a little bit, himself. The family legend is that he was squatting in an abandoned house and then kind of built it and made it his own and rigged up some water and made it his little homestead out there. So yeah, we spent a lot of time traipsing around naked through the desert, and wandering, and playing with our dogs, and finding creatures and rocks.
My parents were rock hounds and taught us a lot about rocks and the desert and the natural world, and it was really sort of our playground.
DAVIES: And were you in the habit of telling stories or listening to stories from your parents?
WATKINS: Yeah, absolutely. My mom, especially, was a terrific BSer. She told tons of stories, especially because where we lived was so remote. We had to drive for - when I was really young, before Southern Nevada kind of exploded in population, we had to drive for maybe like two and a half hours to go to the grocery store, really. You know, we had to drive from Tecopa to Las Vegas and back, to get groceries or hardware, really, anything you needed.
And so my mom would - often she would talk on the entire trip, and what she would tell us was stories about what we were seeing. She was sort of an amateur geologist and natural historian, and she would tell us all about how a certain mountain range was formed or how everything that we were seeing was once under the ocean and this, sort of, you know, ancient sea.
So there were her stories, and then there were also both of my mom and my dad ,and then later my stepdad, they were in recovery, they were recovering alcoholics, and so AA was a big part of our lives. And on these trips we would either be talking to each other and telling stories, or listening to these tapes, these AA tapes, you know, the speaker tapes where people tell their stories about how they hit rock bottom and how they got sober and, sort of, what they've learned. And you can imagine those are pretty gritty stories.
So that was definitely kind of the storytelling context, was the car was an important place for us.
DAVIES: You know, there's a story in your book about a couple of high school girls who drive to Las Vegas thinking they want some sexual adventure. And one of them is the, kind of, the one whose point of view the story takes, is clearly familiar with the scene. She knows kind of how to navigate through these labyrinthine, kind of, casino floors to get where she wants to go.
And it struck me, it must have been interesting to be a teenager because you're out there in the desert, and you're close to the natural world, and yet you're so close to this place where other people go to be anonymous and hedonistic. And I wondered what that was like as you became a teenager, to, kind of, have that so close by.
WATKINS: Well, it certainly wasn't the kind of juxtaposition that was lost on me, I don't think, as a teenager. I mean, from my town in Pahrump, you can look, if you looked east at night, you'd look, you'd see a dark mountain range and then the glow of the city of Las Vegas behind it. You could see the lights of the city every single night.
And eventually, as my friends and I started getting our drivers license, we would zip over there against our parents' wishes and unbeknownst to them, and we would, sort of, traipse up and down the Strip and try to get into as much trouble as we thought we were comfortable getting into.
I remember the feeling of, just like, elation, that it was a dangerous thing, you know, thinking we could meet someone, my girlfriends and I, we could go to a hotel room. And I was really elated by that kind of danger. It might have something to do with this little factoid that my step dad, who - my step dad was a construction worker. He built those big, gigantic casinos, especially the parking structures. That was sort of specialty.
But anyway, he told me once, that casinos in Las Vegas, they're not built like regular buildings. They're built in order to be demolished themselves, you know, and that's in the mix when I remember that time of going to the Strip and looking for trouble, this feeling of how powerful destroying things could be.
DAVIES: The West, reinvention.
WATKINS: Mm, hmm. Right. My parents, my mom was born in Las Vegas, and in Las Vegas that means we're a pretty old family for Nevadans, you know. But it never felt like this is my parents' city. It was like this is my city, partially, probably, because my parents were always talking about how different it was. My grandma was a change girl at Caesar's Palace basically her whole life, and her Las Vegas looked nothing like my mother's Las Vegas, and mine, it was very much my own.
So it's sort of you're absolutely un-tethered by any convention of legacy, I guess, or history of no obligation to anyone in that kind of context, or so it seems when you're 17, you know.
DAVIES: There's a story called "Man-O-War" in here. It's set in a really remote, I guess it's a dried lake bed in the desert, and an old guy, 67-year-old divorced character named Harris(ph), lives out here with his dog Milo(ph). And I wanted you to read this little piece of a description, here on page 134. This is a guy who split up from his wife many, many years ago, but she had sort of pestered him while they were together about his smoking. And if you could just read this little bit of a description of him.
WATKINS: Sure. (Reading) Somewhere in their bickering, Harris decided to cut back, to exercise a grown man's discipline. But what was once discipline had, over the years, become mindless routine: four smokes a day, morning, after lunch, mid-afternoon and sundown. His cigarettes helped mark the passage of time, especially on days that seemed all sun and sky, when he scolded poor Milo just to hear the sound of his own voice.
(Reading) The dependable dwindling of his cigarette supply reassured him that he hadn't been left out here, that eventually he would have to ride into town, and things would still be there, that the world hadn't stopped whirling.
DAVIES: You know, I just love this little insight into this 67-year-old guy's life and mentality, and when I read that paragraph, I said: How does 28-year-old Claire Watkins get into that guy's head?
WATKINS: My parents were smokers. I guess it's - gosh, you know, it's so simple, isn't it, just go back to your folks. But my parents were big smokers, and I remember being a little - I was sort of repulsed by it. I was like, you know, my generation had been - we'd been debriefed about smoking and its horrors and all.
But I still remember being, sort of, transfixed by the routine of their smoking and, you know, the accoutrements - my step dad has a special pocket, he only buys a certain type of shirt that has a special kind of pocket for his cigarettes. And I guess I, kind of, just got thinking about why the ritual of it might be such a comfort, especially because there is kind of this sense if you are way, way out in the desert, that the world might have - you know, people always say that they feel like I might be the last person on Earth, but you do.
It's a clichÃ©, you know, but you do actually feel that quite acutely if you haven't seen people in a long time. I went to college in Reno, but my family lives down in Southern Nevada. So I'd have to drive across the state every once in a while. And inevitably, on that drive, you start to get like a really warped proportion of scale, like about humanity and loneliness.
And then you drive through a little town and a gas station, and everything gets shuffled back into place again. But it's, kind of, a wild feeling. I guess I was trying to get at that.
DAVIES: This guy Harris, he's a rock collector, a former foreman in a mine. But he lives out in this trailer, and it's a truly, truly remote place, and encounters a teenage girl who is pregnant and kind of brings her in, because she would have probably died of dehydration had she remained down on the lake bed.
But their lives are really in many respects defined by, I guess, their isolation. Did you know people like this, that lived out in areas that are just so remote?
WATKINS: Not exactly, but there are houses like Harris's throughout Nevada. If you make that drive across the state, you go for so long without seeing, you know, so-called civilization, and then you would just see one trailer out there. And I cannot help but ask myself, like, who is out there, you know, who is that person, what did they do and then, you know, crucially what might disrupt them.
And there are sort of these mythic landscapes, like mythic architecture in the state, these very, very - houses. Sometimes there are these little brick houses, which are even more interesting because that type of architecture is not common at all in the area. So I've always been a little bit obsessed and curious about them. I mean, there's a lot of architectural kind of triggers, I think.
The brothels are another one of those. You know, I grew up just down the road from a couple brothels, and one of them was a stick-built - what we called stick-built rather than a trailer - a stick-built house that looked like a Victorian mansion, you know, and it was painted pink and had the dormer windows and ornate trim.
And as a girl, I was obsessed with this brothel, because I'd never seen a house like that. You know, the only Victorian house I'd ever seen was my dollhouse.
GROSS: Claire Vaye Watkins will continue her interview with FRESH AIR contributor Dave Davies in the second half of the show. Yesterday she won two cash prizes for her collection of short stories "Battleborn." I'm Terry Gross, and this is FRESH AIR.
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GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. Let's get back to the interview that FRESH AIR contributor Dave Davies recorded with Claire Vaye Watkins. She won two prestigious cash prizes yesterday for her debut collection of stories, "Battleborn," the American Academy of Arts and Letters Rosenthal Family Foundation Award for a young writer of considerable literary talent, and the Story Prize, an annual award devoted to short story collections. Her stories are set in Nevada, the stories in "Battleborn." Watkins grew up near Vegas.
DAVIES: I want to talk a little about your father. And it presents a dilemma for me because in a way your father, folks who know about, you know, was - Paul Watkins was part of the Charles Manson family. Not a part of the murders, thank goodness. In fact he testified against Charles Manson at his trial. But it sort of presents a dilemma for me - it seems like kind of satisfying a kind of lurid curiosity to bring it up. On the other hand, it seems a part of your experience that you wouldn't not want to talk about. He died, as you said, when you were six years old. When do you remember becoming aware of that part of his life, the Manson experience?
WATKINS: I remember it really, really clearly. My sister and I came home from school. I have a younger sister. She's a year-and-a-half younger than me. And she was upset and I remember asking her what was wrong. And she said some kid had been teasing her. And I said, what did he say? And she said that he said that are dad was a murderer. And I think I said, well, we'll ask mom about this. And when our mom got home from work, we did ask her. And she didn't sugarcoat things. She said yes, he was in the Manson family. And no, he wasn't a murderer. I have to go make dinner. If you guys want to learn more about this, here. And she gave us "Helter Skelter." I didn't really know what to do with "Helter Skelter," but my sister, who's very smart, she looked him up in the index.
DAVIES: That's the book by Vincent Bugliosi, the prosecutor, right, about the Manson case, right? Yeah.
WATKINS: Right. Yeah. Probably - I think maybe the most famous book about the - although there are, of course, tons of them. My father wrote one himself, actually. So we, yeah, we looked him up in the index and read about him. And basically all we wanted to know was, you know, did he or did he not kill people and we were satisfied that he didn't and we moved on. I think I was probably maybe 10 or so at the time. And I really didn't think much more about it until I was in college and I read his book, his memoir, which is called "My Life with Charles Manson." And I read that and that was a much more impactful experience for me. That was probably the first time that it really had a profound - profound may be a bit putting too much spin on it, but it was a significant experience for me.
DAVIES: I mean he certainly had pulled his life together. I've actually - on YouTube you could see the interview that he did on "The Larry King Show" where Maureen Reagan is actually the substitute host. But he's a perfectly, you know - you know, a clear-eyed and clear-minded guy talking about experience that he regards as having been, you know, caught in a cult when he was really young and foolish. And when he was living with your family, I mean he was like a respected businessman, right?
WATKINS: Yeah. Yeah. I mean really his story isn't that much unlike most people's. He made a lot of big mistakes when he was a young person and then kind of became different as he got older, but his happened to be, you know, caught on CNN or in books like "Helter Skelter."
DAVIES: So when you read his memoir, what - how did you react to that crazy time and that crazy stuff he was a part of?
WATKINS: This might sound a little bit strange to say, Dave, but I actually took a great amount of comfort from reading his book. I have kind of come to think of his involvement in the Manson family as being something of a blessing for me in so much as my world views like accommodating to that idea. Because I read his book and in it, you know, it's a tell-all memoir, so it has all of the kind of - like you said - lurid material that that genre demands. But so I'm like 19 or 20 years old and I'm reading about my dad having group sex. So there's a lot of like pretty graphic stuff, drugs and sex and so on. And for me, having, you know, not really known my dad at all, he died when I was so young, that I never really had access to an entire dimension to him. I'd never really had had access to his flaws or his mistakes. You know, no one really says to a kid your dad was a decent man but he did some shady stuff. He lured young girls to the Manson Family where they were tremendously exploited. You know, no one - that wasn't a narrative that was available to me from like my family members, and rightfully so. You know, I don't expect - I don't resent them that. But the book and the Manson materials gave me this whole other dimension to him, you know, and it made him more real than he'd ever been. I mean I basically spent my whole life asking myself what kind of a person my father was. And that book, which is not a trustworthy source at all, but still, it made me, my picture of him wholer than it had ever been.
DAVIES: And it was a blessing in that way that you feel like you got to know this person that you wouldn't otherwise have known, your dad.
WATKINS: Yes. Yeah. And I feel like it was really so important for me to see him making mistakes and to read about things, really bad decisions that he made because, you know, when I encountered this, I'm 20 years old and in college and living in Reno and I'm making some pretty bad decisions myself, you know? And I have this recording that my dad made for - I guess someone had written him a letter or a tape, actually - they made him a tape and talked to him about the Manson Family and he wrote back to them. And I bought this online from someone who is a, you know, fan of Charles Manson. Anyway, I bought this recording that my dad made and not really expecting much from it, just kind of curious, and he, in it he - he actually, it's so bizarre to say but he actually gives me some really good advice in there.
I remember one thing he said to this person whose name was Nick, he said there's nothing wrong with not knowing who you are. And for a young person at this point, both of my parents were dead and I was living really far from home and feeling lost a lot of the time, lost and homesick, and that did, I do still carry that with me, there's nothing wrong with not knowing who you are.
DAVIES: And you got that on the Internet from somebody who is the Manson devotee.
WATKINS: Right. Yeah. It's MansonFamilyJams.com or something.
WATKINS: Can you believe it?
WATKINS: Yeah. It's certainly not where I - that's, it's so funny because that search is such a frail, faulty one - looking for your dad in "Helter Skelter," or even his own memoir is, you know, quote, co-written. I don't even know how much of that is him, but I won't reject any solace that they give me still.
DAVIES: You're now teaching in Central, Pennsylvania. If you think about having your own family, would you want to raise them back out west in Nevada?
WATKINS: I have such tremendous affection for the West that I would want anyone I love to experience it and to see it and to spend as much time there as possible. I think I would definitely want that experience for my family, but it's also not entirely a romantic thing to grow up. I mean I don't want to romanticize the experiences of people who are living in rural communities or poor communities - which Pahrump is - or the desert. Our dominant cultural narrative totally devalues all three of those things: rural, poor and desert. So there was a sense when I was there that you're often told that where you are is not valuable or important. You know, like just think about the way we talk about the desert as a wasteland or the middle of nowhere or it's barren. That's a really bizarre phenomenon when you've spent your whole life in a place and then the culture tells you it actually doesn't even exist and if it does exist, it's worthless. That's a bit of a heady place to be, I think, and that's kind of partly what I was looking for with this book, was getting a portrait of the place that I'd never - that had never before been presented to me.
DAVIES: Well, Claire Vaye Watkins, it's - I want to thank you so much for speaking with us.
WATKINS: Thank you. It's been such a pleasure.
GROSS: Claire Vaye Watkins spoke with FRESH AIR contributor Dave Davies. Her book, "Battleborn," one two cash prizes yesterday, the American Academy of Arts and Letters Rosenthal Family Foundation Award, and the Story Prize. You can read an excerpt of "Battleborn" on our website, FRESH AIR.npr.org.
TERRY GROSS, HOST: This is FRESH AIR. On Monday, Jake Tapper premieres his new CNN program "The Lead." He recently moved to CNN to anchor the show and to serve as the network's chief Washington correspondent. Before that, he was ABC's White House correspondent and for about six months served as the interim host of ABC's Sunday morning show.
I recently spoke to Tapper about his new book, "The Outpost," about an American military combat outpost in Afghanistan. Here's part two of our interview, in which he looks back on his time covering the White House.
I want to ask you a little bit about your years as a White House correspondent. I always wanted to know if there's a price you pay - if there's a price one pays when one asks a tough question at a press conference with either the president or with the White House press secretary. For example...
JAKE TAPPER: I know exactly where you're headed. Keep going.
GROSS: I'll tell you where I'm headed and you can tell me if that's where you thought I was headed.
GROSS: Because maybe your example is even better than the one I'm going to bring up.
GROSS: OK. I think this is after a NATO press conference when President Obama was opening things up to questions from reporters. And this was after the deaths of journalists Marie Colvin and Anthony Shadid; they had both died in Syria. And President Obama praised them for, you know, bringing out the truth and expressed his sadness at their deaths. And then you asked him how that squares with the fact that this administration has been so aggressively trying to stop aggressive journalism in the U.S. by using the Espionage Act to attack whistleblowers and take them to court. And then you asked if the administration believes that truth should come out abroad but it shouldn't come out here. So that's a tough question about your profession of journalism. Did you get any blowback behind the scenes from that? And was that the question you were thinking I was going to ask?
TAPPER: No. I thought you were going to...
GROSS: Yours is probably better. What was yours?
TAPPER: I thought you were going to ask me after the Newtown shootings, the very last question I asked President Obama was - I pointed out that he had not exactly been trying to do anything about curbing gun violence in his four previous years as president and this was not the first massacre on his watch - as he had previously noted in the previous week, and I asked him where he had been. That's what I thought you were going to ask me.
GROSS: Well, let's pretend I asked that one because that one's maybe an even better illustration of what I'd like to know, which is, is their blowback afterwards? But of course that was your last question, so in some ways it makes the point mute. But was there blowback after that?
TAPPER: Yes. Yes.
GROSS: What happened?
TAPPER: There's always blowback. Well, I don't want to get into, you know, off the record conversations, but I think it's fair to say that when you ask a question that makes the president displeased, that displeasure has a way of trickling down and making itself known - not only from White House officials but from the unruly masses on Twitter and Facebook and email. So I think it's fair to say that yes, there's blowback, but that's also part of the job, and if you can't handle blowback because you asked a tough question, then you shouldn't be doing the job.
GROSS: Does it have a chilling effect?
TAPPER: No, it does not have a chilling effect on me. It actually has the opposite effect on me.
GROSS: Which is?
TAPPER: It has the - which is it makes me more determined to ask an even tougher question the next time.
TAPPER: But that's just - because that's how I was raised, to question authority. And, you know, you can - not that it would be particularly interesting - but you can ask any of my high school teachers and they would tell you the same thing. Of course the authority I was rebelling against then was slightly different than asking the president questions about drones. But the point is the same. We are supposed to be, in the media, holding their feet to the fire and asking them uncomfortable questions. We are supposed to charge right for the uncomfortable. That's the point. And...
GROSS: Did you ever lose access to the Bush or Obama administration to anybody within the White House staff because of a tough question? Or because of a report?
TAPPER: I'm sure. It's never, ever expressed that way. No one says, well, you asked this question, so this is not going to happen. But, for instance, in 2000, when I was covering the Bush campaign, Bush press aides, in the last week of the campaign, when they were absolutely certain that they were going to win, and I had been asking then-Governor Bush tough questions about all sorts of issues, ranging from Bob Jones University to whatever.
They made their displeasure known, and they looked into having me kicked off the press plane. I wasn't - you know, just to keep in mind, I wasn't, like, getting drunk in the back and throwing beer cans. I was just asking the president, then-Governor Bush tough questions. They looked into having me kicked off the press plane. They kicked me out of the pool rotation for magazines. I was Salon.com at the time.
And they were never - you know, the Bush White House was never particularly hospitable when it came to helping me get an interview, or anything. And while I'm no longer with salon.com, so I'm not as easily - the contemplation of kicking me out of anything is not as simple as it probably seemed at the time, the Obama White House has made its displeasure known, as well.
But I will say - and especially to reporters out there, or aspiring reporters - ultimately, if the questions are good ones, and not about stupid things like birth certificates, but ultimately, if the questions are good ones about things that they know in their hearts were fair questions, if uncomfortable ones at the time, you will earn the respect of people in the White House. And ultimately, they will appreciate what you bring to your job.
GROSS: Was there a period when you were concerned that nobody was going to hire you after Salon because you had lost some access?
TAPPER: Yeah, definitely. But ABC News did hire me after Salon. But, you know, the questions I asked of then-Governor Bush or President Bush were never - they were never ideological ones. They were never - even though Salon has become a much more ideological publication today than it was when I worked there in 2000, 2001, 2002, they weren't ideological. They were just tough questions. That's how I viewed it, anyway. And...
GROSS: What's an example of one of those questions?
TAPPER: Well, from the campaign, because that's when I had access to then-Governor Bush, and after he was elected president I didn't. But it was during the whole Bob Jones thing, which maybe some people don't remember. But the compassionate conservative Governor Bush had decided he - his first stop after losing the New Hampshire primary would be Bob Jones University, which, at the time, banned interracial dating.
And their website was full of anti-Catholic and anti-Mormon propaganda, beliefs, what - treatises, whatever. And I asked him if there was any - and his answer was he would speak to any group and share his view. And just because he was speaking to them didn't mean he agreed with them. And I asked him at some impromptu press briefing in South Carolina - and keep - I mean, they banned interracial dating.
I mean, it's hard to - this is 2000. This is not 1942. This is the year 2000. The school banned interracial dating. You could not be a Bob Jones University student and date an African-American, even if they were an evangelical Christian. And so I said to Governor Bush: So, is there any group you would not speak to? Would you share your views with the Ku Klux Klan? And he said I'm not going to walk through a minefield of hypotheticals.
And - but that was the example of the kind of thing I would ask them.
GROSS: My guest is Jake Tapper, a former ABC News correspondent who's now CNN's chief Washington correspondent and the anchor of a new CNN show called "The Lead" which debuts Monday. More after a break. This is FRESH AIR.
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GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. My guest is Jake Tapper, who recently moved to CNN, where he's chief Washington correspondent and anchor of the new show "The Lead," which debuts Monday. He formerly was ABC's chief White House correspondent.
So in 2004, you were a fact-checker? Tell me if I have this right.
GROSS: During the ABC coverage of the presidential debates and other election coverage.
TAPPER: Yeah. This is when fact-checking first came into vogue, I think, as a result, to no small degree, of the lack of facts that the media was all-too-willing to convey to the public during the buildup to the war in Iraq. Yeah. So I wasn't assigned a candidate in 2004 by ABC News. So I had to carve out little beats for myself on the campaign trail. One of them was I became the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth fact-checker.
And then the other one was I had just become the regular campaign fact-checker and post-debate fact-checker. And that's a lot of fun. That's, you know, we all like to do that in our personal lives. No, you're wrong. That's incorrect.
TAPPER: So as somebody who is - has that quality, much to the annoyance of friends and family, it was fun to do it for a great and God-fearing nation.
GROSS: So what were some of your best sources for fact-checking? Like on the Internet, or phone?
TAPPER: I mean, you can't - you know, authoritative, non-partisan reports, whether the Congressional Budget Office or any sort of non-partisan think-tank. Or, you know, and you obviously have to attribute these things. But often, the fact-check would come in the form of how politicians were simplifying something to make their point, as opposed to telling the truth. Just a silly example is John Kerry would always say that General Shinseki had been fired after telling the truth about the number of troops needed in Iraq.
And he hadn't been fired, but he had been marginalized. But, you know, Kerry's point - he wanted to make the point that Bush didn't want to hear the truth, and to make that point, he would not always tell the complete truth himself.
GROSS: So you were fact-checking some of the Swift Boat attacks against presidential candidate John Kerry. There were so many lies in those attacks. What was the fact-checking like, and how effective do you think it was in trying to counteract the lies?
TAPPER: Well, I'm pretty proud of that fact-checking. We were pretty good about defending John Kerry's record as adequately and affirmatively conveyed in military records and the records of people who were actually on the boats with John Kerry, as opposed to other Swift Boat veterans who were not on the boats with John Kerry. But I don't know that - this was definitely an era of he said-she said journalism.
And, unfortunately, as is the case in society in general, a lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is still putting on its shoes. And the untruths about John Kerry were more potent than the record-correcting that media attempted - not on behalf of John Kerry, but on behalf of medical records and facts and the war record of somebody who volunteered to captain a Swift Boat through the rivers of the jungles of Vietnam.
And it's a shame that - I mean, whether or not John Kerry should be president is a whole other discussion, but it's a shame that military records and firsthand testimonials were so often disregarded in favor of angry personal attacks.
GROSS: Did you find it discouraging how the media covered the Swift Boating story? Because some of the media covered both sides, as if both sides, you know, two different, valid versions of the truth, when one side was not telling the truth.
TAPPER: Yeah, I did. I did find it frustrating. I find it frustrating any time there's a false equivalence made by the media, because we are supposed to have the moral standing and intellectual standing to say when something is true and when something is not true. And I don't think that the media always measures up to it. I'm sure I haven't always measured up to it, as well.
But I will say that this - I do think that this is the flipside of a different problem, which is one of I think a cultural bias that some members of the media have. And I think that it's not - I think it's simplifying to say that the media's liberal, but I do think that the media, in general, comes from blue-state worlds or blue cities, and doesn't necessarily understand red states as well as we should.
And I think trying to overcorrect that, sometimes we fall into the pit of false equivalence.
GROSS: Was it interesting for you to have watched Senator Kerry's confirmation hearings as Secretary of State and now see him as Secretary of State after having fact-checked all of the Swift Boat allegations against him?
TAPPER: I have to tell you, I was - because I was cleaning out my office at ABC News and moving to CNN, I came across my John Kerry Swift Boat file. And I kept it, because I thought that we were going to hear all the same arguments again. And I wanted - you know, I had all the military records and official after-action reports and testimonials from his - from firsthand witnesses and the like.
And I was pretty amazed that none of it came out, except for a little bit, I guess, on Sean Hannity. There was very little of the smears against his war record. And I guess instead, they just focused on a different nominee for a different position. But it's pretty telling.
GROSS: Jake Tapper's new CNN show, "The Lead," starts Monday. You can hear part one of our interview about his new book, "The Outpost: An Untold Story of American Valor," on our website, freshair.npr.org, where you can also download podcasts of our show. And you can follow us on Twitter @nprfreshair and on Tumblr at nprfreshair.tumblr.com.
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