Tag: Nonfiction FEC (Page 2 of 4)

Author Q & A with Casey Cep

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 5)

In her debut book, writer Casey Cep takes on the almost unbelievable 1970s crime story of an Alabama man who dubbed himself “The Reverend” and went on to commit a spree of murders so outrageous that he would meet a shocking end to his own life–and his offenses would bring Pulitzer Prize-winning author Harper Lee to a decision to write her own account of his crimes.

And although the celebrated author of To Kill a Mockingbird spent years dedicated to researching the story of “The Reverend” Willie Maxwell, Lee would never finish the book.

In Furious Hours: Murder, Fraud, and the Last Trial of Harper Lee, Cep chronicles the dual stories of Maxwell’s crimes with Lee’s unsuccessful attempt to complete her own narrative of those events, despite her obvious gift for journalism.

A Maryland native, Cep is a graduate of Harvard University and studied as a Rhodes Scholar at the University of Oxford. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times, and The New Republic, among others.

What drew you this unique story in Furious Hours and write it as not only a chronicle of “the Reverend” and his crimes, but an inner glimpse into the life of Harper Lee?

Casey Cep

I first learned of these murders while reporting on Lee’s novel Go Set a Watchman, so in some ways my book was always going to include her. The more I learned, though, the clearer it became that she wasn’t just a coda to the story, but an integral part of it. Her own reporting had been substantial, so I wanted to honor that, but I also thought her struggles provided a useful way of thinking about the aesthetic and ethical challenges that any journalist faces when trying to write about other people’s lives, especially with true crime.

Lee, who grew up known by her first name, Nelle, has said that she never felt like she fit in during her school years. Why was that?

Right, Nelle is Ellen backward, which her parents chose to honor her maternal grandmother. Stories about Lee as a young girl map onto her beloved heroine, so if you think about how Maycomb reacted to Scout Finch, then you get a sense of how Monroeville reacted to her: no one knew quite what to do with the clever tomboy who wore overalls and liked playing with the boys. Even when she went off to college, Lee stood out: quoting obscure English poets, wearing blue jeans, smoking, and swearing with gusto. From her letters, though, we know it was a bit of a two-way street: she was odd, but not an outcast; her distance from her peers was as much her own doing as theirs.

Lee longed to be a writer and envied her contemporaries whose personalities allowed them to blossom and share their talents, but there were times she found herself unable to write because she was between “perfectionism and despair.” How did this affect her writing?

I think perfectionism can make it hard to finish something and despair can make it hard to start, so if you are a writer who seesaws between the two, it can be paralyzing. Lee could spend an entire day on a single page but also impulsively toss out whole manuscripts, and because she valorized suffering as necessary for artistry, her struggles were self-reinforcing.

But she wasn’t like that when she wasn’t trying to write, and I found it moving when her friends would share memories of how charming she was, and how raucously funny she could be. Harper Lee would hold court with stories about her neighbors in Monroeville and her neighborhood in Manhattan that were like something out of Chaucer or Dickens, and you just wish she could’ve written them down as easily as she told them around the dinner table.

As Lee took an interest in the massive story of “the Reverend” and decided to write a book about it, it turned out that she was a keen investigative reporter, a task she obviously loved and was good at. It seems that she felt a sense of energy and pride as she worked on this crime story–but the book was never completed. Why?

You’re right that she was an incredible reporter. People she interviewed in Kansas while helping Truman Capote with In Cold Blood and people she interviewed in Alabama while working on “The Reverend” say she was the most interesting, inquisitive person they ever met.

She could put any source at ease, and she had the kind of patience it takes to get people to tell you their secrets. She was energized by the social aspects of reporting, but of course the hard part about writing a book is that at some point you have to actually write it, and she really struggled with that solitary work. She was also living in the shadow of her own bestselling, prize-winning masterpiece, so on top of everything else, she was facing sky-high expectations, from herself and from the world.

Your research for Furious Hours is impressive, as you give readers an inside look into decades-old crimes and their outcomes; as well as information about Lee that many have never heard. How did you approach the research and organization of this book?

Early on, I did what I always do when I’m starting something new: I read everything I could get my hands on. Not just about Harper Lee, but also voodoo, murder, the insanity defense, sharecropping, dams, revivals, insurance fraud, courthouses, and on and on and on. After that, I started tracking down leads about the original crimes, and then doing the same thing for Lee. I always knew the structure–the Reverend, the Lawyer, and the Writer–so I would just file what I found into folders and then organize the folders, and every day I’d hope to find some new document or convince someone new to talk with me. But at some point, you have to accept that some things are lost to time and some people just won’t talk with you, so you say a prayer, and start writing.

You say in the book that Lee “was so elusive that even her mysteries have mysteries.” Please explain.

I wrote that line when I was particularly struck by the incongruity between the tremendous interest in Lee and the paucity of information about her. She was always private, and she remained that way despite having written one of the world’s most popular novels. After years of reporting, and even getting to interview some of those who knew her best, there was still just so much more I wanted to know. I realize that everyone’s inner lives are somewhat mysterious–even those closest to us, like our siblings or our parents–so of course the mind and heart of an artist like Harper Lee will always remain a little elusive.

Casey Cep will at Lemuria on Monday, May 13, at 5:00 to sign copies of and discuss Furious Hours. Lemuria has selected Furious Hours its May 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Author Q & A with Tom Clavin

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (March 24)

Among those worthy of celebrity status in mid-19th century America were rugged gunslingers whose reputations were often built on myths and legends borne of truth and tragedy–and one who reached the heights of notoriety was Wild Bill Hickock.

New York Times bestselling author Tom Clavin adds to his collection of historical nonfiction with Wild Bill: The True Story of the American Frontier’s First Gunfighter, examining in detail the life and rowdy times of this iconic American figure.

Notoriety gained from the press made Hickock a nationally known figure, and thus, placed a target on his back for hotshots who wanted to make a name for themselves as the man who would take him down.

A quick-draw artist who was known for his accuracy and courage when it came to gunfights, Hickock became a lawman at 20, and wen ton to hold the titles of Army scout, federal marshal, and Union spy. It would be a bullet that would end his life at age 39.

Clavin has served as a newspaper and web editor, magazine writer, TV/radio commentator and reporter for the New York Times. Among his career credits are awards from the Society of Professional Journalists, the Marine Corps Heritage Foundation, an dthe National Newspaper Association. His book include Dodge CityThe Heart of Everything That Is, and Valley Forge. Clavin lives in Sag Harbor, New York.

“Wild Bill” Hickock, hom you describe as the “first post-Civil War celebrity of the West,” was well-known as America’s first gunfighter during the 1800s–but his real name wasn’t even Bill. Tell us how James Butler Hickock became popularly known as “Bill”–and how he earned the legendary title of “Wild.”

Tom Clavin

Two separate events resulted in “Wild Bill.” The first and less dramatic is he had a brother who called himself Bill–his real name was Lorenzo–and probably as a joke when traveling together on a steamship on the Missouri River they called each other Bill. Lorenzo disembarked, “Jim” Hickock pushed on, and passengers called him Bill, and he got comfortable about this.

The “Wild” part happened after he entered a saloon fight on the side of a bartender outnumbered 6-to-1, and onlookers thought that was a wildly gutsy thing to do. From 1861 on, he was Wild Bill Hickock.

Why do say in your Author’s Note that it was a “gullible and impressionable public” that made Wild Bill bigger than all of the legendary frontier figures (like Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, and Kit Carson) who came before him?

There had always been a hunger back East for tall tales about frontier figures, bu the public became especially ravenous after the Civil War when the American frontier exploded with seemingly limitless potential. Hickock cut a romantic, larger-than-life figure and had a distinctive look and there was a bigger than ever number of readers. All this combined to almost overnight elevating him to superstar status.

It was a Harper’s New Monthly Magazine article in February 1867 that first spread Hickock’s name and legend across the nation, making him nationally famous at age 29. What effect did that article have on Hickock’s life?

The article made him very famous. He could not have been prepared for that, but he sort of took his fame in stride. Hickock did not seek attention, but he didn’t hide from it, either. He was mostly a modest man, but a part of him enjoyed being almost a mythical figure. The downside was much of his fame was as a best-in-the-West gunfighter, making him a target for those younger and possibly faster who wanted to take that title. For the rest of his life, he had to wonder which bullet had his name on it.

Briefly, for what exploits was Wild Bill best known?

Though we don’t have a lot of details, his years as a spy behind Confederate lines were full of exciting exploits. Obviously, being a gunfighter who could shoot faster and more accurately than any man he encountered. And especially when marshal of Abilene in Kansas, Hickock became the prototype of the two-fisted and two-gun frontier lawman. And he was the most well-known of Western plainsmen.

“Wild Bill,” was described as “the handsome, chivalrous, yet cold-eyed killer who roamed the prairie, a kind friend to children and a quick-drawing punisher of evildoers.” He died at age 39, and you liken his life to a Shakespearean tragedy. Explain how that comparison fits.

Hickock fits into that tragic mold dating from Euripides in Ancient Greece and elevated by Shakespeare of the hero who attained heights, but flaws felled him. The West changed fast around Wild Bill Hickock, and he was unable to adapt–and he was a gunfighter going blind.

Like many tragic heroes in literature, he sensed his days were short and life had been unfair but he courageously accepted what was to come. Hickock was an honorable man ultimately dealt a bad hand.

Tom Clavin will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, March 27, at 5:00 to sign copies of and discuss Wild Bill. Lemuria has chosen Wild Bill as its April 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Tom Clavin’s ‘Wild Bill’ sets record straight on wild west gunfighter

By Jim Ewing. Special to the Clarion Ledger Sunday print edition (March 17)

For those not especially knowledgeable about tales of the old frontier (other than movies and TV shows), Tom Clavin’s Wild Bill is full of surprises.

The first surprise in the book subtitled “The True Story of the American Frontier’s First Gunfighter” is that that Wild Bill Hickok’s name wasn’t Bill.

It’s believed that the man born as James Butler Hickok often joked with his brother Lorenzo by calling each other Bill. Since he answered to it, the name stuck. It may be also that James was known as the Wild Bill and his brother was the Tame Bill.

He signed all documents J.B. Hickok throughout his life.

Whether true or apocryphal, there’s no dispute that Wild Bill was an incredible marksman. Ambidextrous, he early on carried Colt Navy .36-cal. pistols facing butt out on each hip, which he later exchanged for double-action Colt .44s filed down for quicker action. He shot with both hands simultaneously and equally accurately.

“Witnesses report seeing Hickok driving a cork through the neck of a whiskey bottle at 20 paces, splitting a bullet on the edge of dime at the same distance, and putting as many as a dozen bullet holes in a tomato can that had been tossed in the air,” Clavin reports.

This skill made him a formidable foe in a gun battle and it also tended to dissuade lawbreakers when he served as marshal for the town of Abilene, Kansas, frequently putting on shows to demonstrate his prowess.

He also didn’t quite fit his “wild” moniker in his bearing and manner, in that he was by all accounts a cool customer. Raised in an abolitionist family in Illinois, during the Civil War, he served as a Union scout and spy, often going behind Confederate lines, and was able to coolly talk his way out of some tight binds. It was this ability to talk his way out of trouble, backed by his reputation as a crack shot, that later served him well as a lawman.

Much of what is known of Hickok through movies and Wild West shows is also probably fabricated, Clavin reveals. For example, it’s doubtful, he says, that Hickok and Calamity Jane were lovers. While they were friends, contemporary accounts seem to indicate that the somewhat dandy-ish Hickok who wore expensive clothes and bathed every day (an unheard-of practice at the time), considered her rather uncouth. She was prone to drunkenness and a prostitute who also wrangled horses, mules and cattle, usually wore men’s clothes, and was not known for her hygiene.

He also was devoted to his wife, Agnes, whom he married rather late in life (about the time he knew Jane), and she was flamboyant in a different way, as the owner of a circus and a world-renowned performer.

Calamity Jane claimed she and Hickok were lovers and had herself buried next to him at Deadwood, S.D., where he was shot dead from behind while playing what came to be called the dead man’s hand in poker: two pair, aces and eights.

What is known, according to Clavin, was that Hickok was the first fast-draw gunslinger in the Old West. His killing of a man in Springfield, Missouri, (Clavin says Independence, Missouri) July 21, 1865, by quick draw methods—rather than pacing off a duel—was widely reported and was quickly emulated across the West.

Unfortunately, because it also happened while he was quite young, it caused “shootists” who came along after to seek him out to show who was the fastest draw. He died at 39, Aug. 2, 1876, victim of a self-styled gunslinger who crept up on him.

But if a bushwhacker didn’t get him, the times would have. Hickok set the mold for gunman/lawmen who faced off in high noon style, but when he was killed, towns were shifting to “peace officers,” who arrested lawbreakers to take them before a judge, Clavin notes.

Hickok remained true to himself “while the West changed around him.”

Wild Bill is filled with the famous names of the West, such as Buffalo Bill Cody, Kit Carson, and the rest. It is a fascinating account of an incredible Western icon, diligently researched, and breath-taking in its scope.

Jim Ewing, a former writer and editor at the Clarion Ledger, is the author of seven books including his latest, Redefining Manhood: A Guide for Men and Those Who Love Them.

Tom Clavin will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, March 27, at 5:00 to sign copies of and discuss Wild Bill. Lemuria has chosen Wild Bill as its April 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Author Q & A with Ken Wells

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (March 10).

Louisiana native and journalist Ken Wells fondly recalls what he and his five brothers called “the gumbo life” in rural Bayou Black–a lifestyle lived close to the land and that meant he would not see the inside of a supermarket until he was nearly a teenager.

That phrase–Gumbo Life: Tales from the Roux Bayou–is the title of his culinary memoir which not only details the history of gumbo, but recounts recent stories of its role in today’s culture and kitchens.

Wells left Bayou Black decades ago to travel around the world as a writer for the Wall Street Journal, and he has penned five novels of the Cajun bayous. Today, he lives in Chicago.

In Gumbo Life, you describe gumbo as “more than a delicious dish: it’s an attitude, a way of seeing the world.” What exactly is gumbo, and can you tell us briefly about its diverse history?

In Louisiana, gumbo’s predominant interpretation is a café-au-lait colored soup cooked with a roux–flour browned in butter, oil, or lard–and served over white rice. Typically, ingredients include chicken, sausage, shellfish, okra, and a combination of vegetables known as the Trinity: celery, bell pepper, and onion.

Food historians think gumbo is at least 250 years old, probably older. The first written mention dates to New Orleans in 1764, and shows a dish called “gumbo fillet” or what we now know as file’ gumbo, being cooked by West African slaves. The Africans arrived with word-of-mouth recipes for spicy okra-and-rice stews that are the likely template for the first gumbos. In fact, the Bantu dialect word for okra is “gombeau”–probably how gumbo got its name.

An 1804 account by a French journalist has gumbo being served at a party in the Cajun bayous of southeast Louisiana. That reference fueled the myth of gumbo as a Cajun invention. But the Canjuns have played a critical role in gumbo’s evolution, specifically the roux. The most compelling theory is that the Cajuns, using animal fats that were ubiquitous in colonial cooking–bear lard, in particular–deployed the roux with such skill and gusto that today it is rare to find gumbos cooked without a roux.

You state that when you and your five brothers were “living the gumbo life” in Louisiana in the late 1950s, gumbo was pretty much “a Cajun and Creole secret, a peasant dish.” Tell us about gumbo’s rise in popularity around the world.

When I left the bayous for graduate school in Missouri in 1975, nobody there had a clue what gumbo was. Two things–the breakout of Cajun/Zydeco music to a national and world stage and the post-’70s boom in Louisiana tourism–began to change that. The music fueled an interest in the culture that produced it and, hence, the food that nourished it. Gumbo is…the only truly indigenous regional cuisine in all of America; not just a dish but a style and a way of cooking.

Ken Wells

Gumbo has traveled in part because of what I call the Cajun Obligation. My momma not only taught me to cook gumbo, but taught me that if you cook gumbo, you are required to share the love.

As a journalist, I’ve traveled over much of the world. I’ve cooked gumbo for friends in London; Sydney, Australia; and Cape Town, South Africa. The reviews are always the same: “How can anything be this good? Can you show me how to cook it?” I came to realize I was only the vessel stirring the roux. It’s what I call the Gumbo Effect: the dish itself. Gumbo, if you just stick to the plan with love and attention, transforms itself into food magic.

Gumbo Life is a deeply personal family story about growing up in a rural Louisiana setting where food and family were paramount. Living in points around the world since then (and Chicago now), and looking back, is it almost hard to believe how different life was for you then, compared to now?

I feel blessed. When we moved to our little farm on the banks of Bayou Black in 1957, I felt the place was happily stranded in the previous century. My dad worked for a large sugarcane-farming operation that still kept a mule lot–not entirely trusting all the plowing to tractors. My brothers and I learned to swim in the bayou. We got our water from a cypress cistern. The sugar company owned thousands of acres of marshland, fields, and woodlands that we were free to roam, hunt, trap, and fish. My brothers and I were in the 4-H Club and raised chickens and pigs that we entered in the annual 4-H Club fair–and harvested for the pot.

Food was central. My mom cooked Cajun–not just gumbo but dishes such as sauce piquant and court-bouillon with ingredients like snapping turtle and redfish that we harvested ourselves. We ate well! We grew a huge garden. I don’t think I set foot in a supermarket until I was 12 or 13 years old. That’s because there weren’t any near-by.

You book is also a history of one of Louisiana’s greatest cultural and culinary offerings to the world, along with glimpses of current gumbo tales that emphasize its adaptability–not to mention that you’ve included a glossary of regional and culinary terms, a map of the Gumbo Belt and 10 recipes! What did it mean to you personally to write this “culinary memoir”?

I obviously love my gumbo and I felt a deep exploration of its roots and iterations was a good way to tell the wider story of our singular, food-centric culture.  I say “our” even though I have not lived in the Gumbo Belt since 1975, my journalism career having compelled me to living in big cities far away. I think that living away has helped me see my roots in a way that I might not have seen them had I stayed.

I have two grown daughters who, now in their 30s, love Dad’s gumbo as much as I loved my mother’s. But their childhoods could not have been more different than mine. We moved among cosmopolitan cities, lived abroad, traveled widely. They will never lead the gumbo life as I lived it and so in a way my  book was written for them–to remind them of their connections to a place where our roots run so deep.

Ken Wells will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, March 13, at 5:00 to sign copies of and discuss Gumbo Life. Lemuria has chosen Gumbo Life as its March 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Author Q & A with Adam Makos

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (February 24). Click here to read this article on the Clarion-Ledger’s website.

It was Adam Makos’ grandfathers’ service in World War II that inspired a career for their grandson, leading to Makos’ deep interest in the military and the American heroes whose stories he feels is his duty to tell.

The author’s newest book, Spearhead: An American Gunner, His Enemy, and a Collision of Lives in World War II, chronicles not only the surreal story of one young tank gunner’s epic battle in Germany, but that soldier’s deliverance from its trauma that would come some 70 years later.

Having earned a spot in what has been called “the top ranks of military writers,” Makos’ previous works include New York Times bestseller A Higher Call and the widely acclaimed Devotion.

Today he lives in Denver.

Your books have highlighted tales of historical military heroes whose stories would have otherwise gone unheard by the American public. Why has this pursuit been a such a passion for you personally?

I love searching for untold stories because it gives my readers a chance to see a new side of World War II, or to meet a new hero, like watching a movie for the first time.

To me, it’s also about justice. To think that some young man risked his life for us, all those years ago, or maybe he made the ultimate sacrifice and bled out on some European battlefield, as one of the heroes of Spearhead actually did, I don’t think it’s right for us to ever forget their names.

How did you find out about Clarence Smoyer, a U.S. Army corporal and tank gunner from Pennsylvania coal country who served in World War II?

Adam Makos

I truly feel I’m “led” to some of these stories, in the spookiest ways. A college buddy told me about Clarence, a quiet hero from his hometown. So one day in 2012, I went up to Clarence’s brick row house and knocked on the door. He welcomed me inside, pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and we talked for a bit before he stunned me with a revelation when he asked, “Would you like to see a letter from the German I fought against?” He was in touch with his former enemy.

Smoyer’s defining moment of the war was a dramatic showdown in Cologne, Germany, between the newfangled American M-26 Pershing “Super Tank” he commanded and the fiercely infamous German Panther tank–a 1945 duel that was, almost unbelievably, captured on film. What was it about his story that compelled you to meticulously research and document it in Spearhead?

Before I met him, I knew about Clarence’s remarkable, Wild West-style tank duel in the street of Cologne. It’s considered one of the most famous actions of World War II, because it was caught on film. Now, anyone can watch it with the click of a mouse button.

But even putting the reader into the middle of that duel, two tanks quick-drawing on each other, 75 yards apart, wasn’t enough to fill a book. It was the deeper, human story that drew me to write Spearhead. Our World War II tank crewmen faced a terrible reality every time they started their engines.

The first tank always gets hit.

That was the nature of tank combat on the Western Front in early 1945. The Germans were on the defense; they could dig in and wait for our guys to come over the hill or around the bend. They could wait to fire until the first American tank rolled into their crosshairs.

So to go first took guts, because that guy was probably going to get hit. When Clarence was assigned the Pershing, a deadly new role fell to him: now, his tank would go first, in every battle.

So I asked myself: Why would any man saddle up for that? Why did Clarence? And the answer was quite profound. He did it to keep his buddies safe. He told himself: We have the biggest gun, we belong out front.

You recount Smoyer’s disturbing decades-long bout with PTSD, and how he finally decided to face it. Explain how this unlikely outcome (of meeting his former enemy in person in their later years) was such a defining chapter in his life.

Like many veterans, Clarence came home and buttoned-up his memories of the war and never aired out the troubling things he’d seen.

So, in his later years, when the memories resurfaced, there was no one left to talk with–all of the men from his crew had passed. There was just one man he could turn to, who had seen the same horrors in Cologne, but from the other end of the street. This man had been his enemy (in the tank duel), Gustav Schaefer.

When Clarence returned to Cologne in 2013 and sat down to talk with Gustav, his former enemy proved to be his saving grace. Talking. It’s what helped him put his ghosts to rest. And he emerged from the ordeal with a new friend. He and Gustav called each other war buddies. They used to exchange Christmas cards and letters. They even Skyped on the computer, talking face to face.

It’s a one in a million chance that they’d have found each other, 70 years after they fought. Then to have actually met, with Clarence flying across the ocean and Gustav driving from northern Germany. And then for them to become inseparable friends? You couldn’t script a better ending to a war story.

Any plans for your next book?

I do have a new World War II book in the works, likely the last I’ll write while veterans are alive to share their stories. For now, however, I’m just enjoying my time celebrating the heroes of Spearhead.

Clarence is 95. Buck Marsh, the GI who used to ride into battle on Clarence’s tank, he’s 95, and he’s coming with me to Jackson, to our signing at Lemuria Books on March 1. For now, I just want to throw a big party for these heroes, to let people meet them and shake their hands, and realize how lucky we are to still have them, 75 years later.

Adam Makos (and Buck Marsh) will be at Lemuria on Friday, March 1, at 5:00 to sign copies of and discuss Spearhead. Lemuria has chosen Spearhead as its February 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Author Q & A with Preston Lauterbach

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (January 13)

Former Memphis resident and popular historian Preston Lauterbach puts a new focus on that city’s Civil Rights-era story–including that of critical events that led to the death of Martin Luther King, Jr.–in his newest book, Bluff City: The Secret Life of Photographer Ernest Withers.

Although Withers’ story has been relatively little-known since he made his mark on photojournalism covering some significant events of that time, the bigger picture of his life included his secret undercover work for the FBI at the same time.

While describing the emotions and culture of Memphis during the 1950s and 60s, Lauterbach explains the complicated life that Withers led, and why his dual roles as journalist and spy were not necessarily a betrayal of his beliefs at the time.
Lauterbach’s narrative brings both questions and answers to the ways in which everyday citizens navigated the reality of a new era–sometimes through divergent and challenging paths.

Preston Lauterbach

A former visiting scholar at Rhodes College and a Virginia Humanities Fellow, Lauterbach earned an MFA in Southern Studies from the University at Mississippi in 2003. He calls his time at Ole Miss “by far the most important educational experience to building my career, figuring out what I’m interested in, and learning how to listen, find sources, and tell a story.”

Lauterbach’s previous books include The Chitlin’ Circuit, a Wall Street Journal and Boston Globe book of the year; and Beale Street Dynasty.  Today he calls the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia home.

I’ll start with asking the same question you began with on the flap of your book Bluff City: The Secret Life of Ernest Withers: Who was Ernest Withers?

He’s best known as a photojournalist of the civil rights movement. He worked freelance for the largest African-American newspapers, chiefly the Chicago Defender. He ended up covering the major stories in the South from the Emmett Till murder trial and Montgomery Bus Boycott in the mid-1950s, through the 1968 assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in Memphis.

One of the major episodes of Withers’ career took place in Jackson. He covered the funeral of Medgar Evers in 1963. During the disturbance that broke out on Farish Street, after the funeral, Withers was beaten and arrested. He had been taking pictures of the clash between police and mourners. A police officer confiscated his film and destroyed it. He pursued a First Amendment case against the Jackson police, seemingly with tacit encouragement from the Kennedy White house, but the FBI seems to have quashed it.

How did Withers and his story come to your attention, and why did you decide to write a book about it?

I was working on a book about the history of Beale Street in Memphis when the news came out about Withers having worked for the FBI during his years covering the (civil rights) movement. The Withers studio was located on Beale during the 1950s and ’60s, and he’d been a cop on the Beale Street beat in the ’40s. He’d seen everyone from Elvis to Dr. King come through Beale, and so he emerged as the most compelling character to tell the story through.

Every book I’ve done starts off one way and ends up going in all sorts of different directions once I get going, so this one isn’t strictly about Beale, but I can’t ask for a more colorful setting or more compelling cast of characters.

What are some events or themes that Withers’ body of photojournalistic work is best known for?

His work hangs in the National Portrait Gallery, the National Museum of African-American History and Culture, and the National Civil Rights Museum. Withers boarded one of the first integrated city buses in Montgomery and photographed a young Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., helping to make King an icon.

Withers also took some tremendous photographs of Elvis Presley. There’s still some debate about whether Elvis was racist. Withers said, emphatically, no. Withers tailed Elvis on Beale Street during the singer’s earliest days and observed how Elvis interacted with African-American people. Withers came away impressed with the respect and humility Presley carried himself with. This character trait really shows up in Withers’ pictures of Elvis with B.B. King. And by the way, it was a highly risky PR move for Elvis to pose with an African-American man on equal terms in 1956, when challenges to segregation were causing major turmoil in this country.

Do you believe Withers felt “compromised” working in his dual roles as a photojournalist and an informant for the FBI? His was a complicated situation.

I don’t believe that he felt compromised. One of the challenges of this story is seeing past the shocking headline that this civil rights icon secretly worked for the hated J. Edgar Hoover, and reading the facts.

Many of Withers’ case files have become available, thanks to Memphis reporter Marc Perrusquia, who broke the story and had the documents declassified. To me, it becomes clear that Withers had a rapport with his FBI handler, and through their relationship, Withers acted as a mediator or translator, in many cases, for the Beale Street community. He explained to the Bureau what groups like the Nation of Islam–a target of Hoover–were really up to, and successfully kept the heat off. Withers was an NAACP lifetime member and came from a long line of military veterans, and so he was against the presence of Communists in the movement, which aligned with the FBI reasons for investigating civil rights groups.

He acted also as a threat gauge, judging the likelihood of groups to engage in violence. But, you can’t get involved with the Hoover FBI without getting wrapped up in some fishy stuff, and Withers certainly did.

Explain Withers’ role in the Memphis sanitation workers’ strike and demonstration in spring 1968, and how that day’s activities compelled Martin Luther King, Jr., to return to Memphis a week later, where he was assassinated.

Withers took one of his most famous pictures on March 28, 1968, the I AM A MAN photo, that shows the striking sanitation workers displaying signs with that iconic slogan. He helped make those signs, by providing the lumber for signposts. Those posts became weapons during the march that King led that day in Memphis, in the hands of a lot of younger demonstrators.

King had never led a march that turned violent from within. He vowed to change his schedule and return to Memphis to prove that a peaceful demonstration could be held there. He needed this both for the strike and his own reputation. No one at the time knew that Withers was on the Bureau payroll, and so his involvement with the photo props that became riot weapons has eluded attention until now.

Ultimately, how do you look back on Withers’ life and career, and why do you call him a “flawed hero’?

He had a talent for getting himself into very sticky situations. Both his time as a police officer and a state liquor board member were scandal-shortened. He’s got cojones. That makes him a highly interesting figure, but also prone to trouble. His heroism is a bigger part of his life, having braved the South in the 1950s and ’60s, to show America what was happening down here. He was beaten, arrested, and threatened with death for doing his job, and he did it anyway.

What can we all learn from the tangled and intriguing story of this African American man who had a birds-eye view of some of the nation’s biggest news stories, and who some apparently viewed as a traitor on both sides?

If we’re to really get something out of history, and I think this applies to the present as well, we can’t oversimplify our understandings of each other and say, well he’s black, therefore he can only be pro-civil rights in this one acceptable manner or else he’s a scoundrel. There are good, important people who are torn between opposing forces, or, in courageously attempting to bring those forces nearer together, they risk their livelihoods, reputations, and lives. And, we can’t judge a person’s role in history entirely on what we know now.

You have authored two previous books (Beale Street Dynasty and The Chitlin’ Circuit) that are also in the narrative or historic journalism genre. What drew you to this type of writing, and do you have another book project on the horizon at this time?

I love research most of all, but research itself doesn’t pay, so writing narrative history emerged as the best way to fund my research habit. It’s still costly, but I have something to show for it.

My next project is either top secret, or I haven’t figured out yet what to do. I have a Withers figure in my life, alluded to in the introduction to Bluff City. My grandfather was involved with intelligence. He was the person I admire most and pattern myself after, and yet he’s also the biggest mystery in my life. I’ve reached a point where I need to and want to answer my questions about his role in history, and I have some ideas about where to look.

Preston Lauterbach will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, January 16, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and read from Bluff CityBluff City is Lemuria’s January 2019 selection for our First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Author Q & A with Paige Williams

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (December 30)

New Yorker Magazine staff writer and Mississippi native Paige Williams makes her book debut with a fascinating tale of the divided and sometimes dangerous world of fossil hunting, as she meticulously investigates the case of a rare and immense dinosaur skeleton that found its way from Mongolia to a Manhattan auction.

The ever-present tension between scientists and fossil hunters–who are, many times, everyday people whose interest in natural science compels them to find, restore and, often sell their discoveries for profit–drives much of the narrative of The Dinosaur Artist: Obsession, Betrayal, and the Quest for Earth’s Ultimate Trophy.

In her book, Williams reveals the real-life story of Eric Prokopi, a Florida fossil hunter/dealer who sold the skeleton of an 8-foot tall, 24-foot long Tyrannosaurus in the Big Apple for more than $1 million–and created an international “custody battle” for the specimen, triggered by the Mongolian government.

Williams’ love of journalism came alive while she was a student at Ole Miss and a former staff writer for the Clarion-Ledger and Jackson Daily News. She has blended her natural curiosity and love of writing to unearth unusual and unexpected stories around the globe–but she credits much of her love for writing to members of her family who were unusually good story tellers.

A National Magazine Award winner, Williams is the Laventhol/Newsday Visiting Professor at Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism; and her journalistic work has appeared multiple times in volumes of The Best American Magazine Writing and The Best American Crime Writing.

Please tell me about growing up in Mississippi and how you discovered your interest in journalism.

Paige Williams

Happy to! I was born in Oxford, grew up in Tupelo, and graduated from Ole Miss, where I majored in journalism and minored in history. During college, I worked as a reporter and editor at The Daily Mississippian, the campus newspaper, and at the Tupelo Daily Journal and–hello!–the Clarion-Ledger/Jackson Daily News. Reporting and writing for the C-L/JDN, I learned priceless lessons from colleagues such as Alan Huffman, Mary Dixon, and Dewey English, and covered a range of news.

Where did the journalism spark originate? I’m not really sure. My mother is and was a devoted newspaper reader, and I grew up watching her read the paper. During college I came across “journalism” as a major in the course catalog and liked the sound of it. I knew zero journalists, but I signed up and loved it, particularly because one of my teachers was the amazing Tommy Miller, who’d been an editor at the Houston Chronicle.

But I equally credit the storytellers in my family–in Tupelo, Smithville, Ingomar, and the Delta–for a lifetime of filling my ear with the sound of their hilarious, absurd, heartbreaking stories. It’s also not a coincidence that I spent a lot of my childhood in the school library and the public library, which had a powerfully positive effect on me. I still remember the delicious smell of the Lee County Library.

At what point did you realize your own interest in writing and that this would be your career path?

Once I discovered journalism at Ole Miss, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I had no real concept of what life as a journalist might look like, or even how much it paid–it never occurred to me to ask.

I knew only that journalism would make for an interesting life and contribute to the world in some meaningful way. It also meant that I got to write for a living. The writing felt like a natural extension of the reading and storytelling background I just mentioned. I should add that I’m by no means the best storyteller in my family; I’ve got relatives who could keep you entertained for days.

An early boyfriend–a reporter I met while working in Jackson, as it happens–was the first to tell me, “You’re a writer!” The idea thrilled me, but I didn’t quite know what he meant, or what to make of it.

In journalism, I often felt confused by what others saw as a necessary division between reporting and writing, when really the two are intertwined. Editors seemed to think you had to be good at either one or the other. One editor told me, in a moment that she surely saw as supportive rather than destructive, “We know you like to dig, but just write–just write!” I wanted to marry the two, and to find a home at a place that supported the sort of immersive journalism that appealed to me.

Tell me about your interest in narrative journalism–that is, writing about real-life investigations you’ve uncovered.

A wide range of things interest me, but I’m often drawn to stories about wrongdoing, and about abuse of power and privilege involving flawed characters or problematic systems. One piece involved the problem of judicial override in Alabama–wherein, in capital cases, a judge can unilaterally sentence a criminal defendant to death, even when a jury unanimously votes for life.

I’m also interested in unexpected relationships, and so I enjoyed reporting and writing a piece about the brilliant self-taught Southern artist Thornton Dial and his charismatic patron. Another involved a onetime movie star’s decision to remove a vintage Tlingit totem pole from a ghost village in Alaska and erect it in his backyard in Beverly Hills–a story that was really about respect, or in this case, lack thereof, for other cultures.

Now that the book is done, I’m looking forward to getting back to a life devoted primarily to those kinds of stories.

How would you explain the world’s longtime obsession with dinosaurs among both children and adults?

The big ones were really big; the ferocious ones were really ferocious, and, other than birds, they’re all gone. The extinction of the terrestrial dinosaurs is almost unthinkable: these fascinating, diverse animals were wildly successful creatures for hundreds of millions of years–until they weren’t.

In The Dinosaur Artist, you make a very clear case for the reasons commercial dealers in dinosaur remains are at odds with paleontologists. Can you condense that debate, and tell us why you say paleontology became “perhaps the only discipline with a commercial aspect that simultaneously infuriates scientists and claims a legitimate role in the pantheon of discovery”?

The science of paleontology wouldn’t exist without non-scientist hunters–ordinary people who bother to notice fossils, which are all around us, and wonder what they are, and when and how the corresponding animals lived at one point on this planet.

The science is a relatively young one, but humankind’s questions about the natural world are ancient ones: why are shark teeth found on mountain tops? What force of nature could coil a stone? Natural history museums are filled with the finds of ordinary people who simply pursued their curiosity about the world around them–explained, of course, by the scientists who study fossils in order to understand the history of life on earth. Naturally, paleontologists want to preserve fossils, which are fundamental to their work; commercial hunters sell their finds, which a scientist would never do, and believe they’re salvaging materials that would otherwise weather away.

The tension over who should have the right to collect fossils, and whether fossils should ever be sold, divides the scientific and commercial communities to an extent that should be resolvable, considering that both sides love the same objects, whether dinosaur bones or fossil dragonflies or prehistoric flowers.

Your book is no doubt an introduction for most readers to the world of fossil hunting, collecting, and selling–through the real-life story of Eric Prokopi, a 38-year-old Florida man who had built a successful business in the trade. It would be the skeleton Prokopi brought to market in a 2012 Manhattan display–of a valuable T. bataar (closely akin to T. rex)–that would be his downfall. Although an auction for the specimen would bring more than $1 million, it was soon discovered that the fossil had been stolen from Mongolia, and Prokopi’s world began to unravel. How did you find out about this story, and why did you decide to write a book about it?

I had been thinking about a book on the fossil world, and dinosaur poaching, for years by the time the Prokopi case came along. The commercial aspect of fossils had come to my attention in the summer of 2009–in Tupelo, as it happens. I happened to be home, and was sitting in a coffee shop, reading the newspaper, when I saw a news brief about a convicted dinosaur thief in Montana, who was about to be sentenced to prison. I looked into his case, and while I lost interest in that particular situation, I kept learning about the larger fossil world, the rich history of natural history, and the tension between scientists and ordinary people who love nothing more than walking around and looking for bits of natural history to collect and study.

In early 2013, I wrote a story about the Prokopi case. When Prokopi was sentenced to prison, in 2014, it became clear that the story as it continued to unfold went far enough to support a book-length work. As the reporting continued, it became clear that forces beyond science and commerce were at work in this particular case. Those forces involved the fall of the Soviet Union, the unlikely rise of democracy in post-communist Mongolia, and the United States’s fascinating and increasingly important and strategic diplomatic relationship with Mongolia, which is landlocked between Russia and China. Crazily enough, that long history related to this dinosaur case.

The details and the depth of research for this book are amazing, as you expand the story into much further investigation of the fossil trade as a whole. What do ordinary people need to know about what’s happening with this relatively new business, and why is it important that we understand what’s going on?

Thank you! You may have noticed the 80-something pages of chapter notes. Those aren’t just reference materials; they’re mini-stories in themselves, and they’re the one place in the book where I allowed myself to use the first person rather than inserting myself into the main narrative.

None of this should feel daunting. At the heart of this story, which spans millennia and continents, are people. They’re collectors and gravediggers and plumbers and teachers and scientists who share an obsession with nature and natural history. As much as anything, it’s a book about the darker side of pursuing one’s passions, and, in Prokopi’s case, about catastrophic life choices that affected his finances, marriage, and freedom.

The Dinosaur Artist by Paige Williams is Lemuria’s December 2018 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction. Signed copies are available in our online store.

Author Q & A with Bob Drury

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (November 4)

By examining the true story of George Washington’s six-month battle with disease, desertion, and frigid weather as he turned the Continental Army into a fighting force that would win America’s freedom from the British, co-authors Bob Drury and Tom Clavin show readers how this turning point in U.S. history is still relevant today.

Valley Forge is the pair’s sixth book together, supported by research that includes thousands of original documents written or dictated by Washington and highlighted with “a cast of iconic characters”–some of whose names have faded from history but who were instrumental in America’s struggle for freedom.

Drury and Clavin’s previous books include the New York Times number one bestseller The Heart of Everything That Was, and other New York Times bestsellers Halsey’s Typhoon, Last Men Out, and The Last Stand of Fox Company.

Drury said his collaboration with Clavin has “settled into a process” of shared research, with him conducting interviews and Clavin taking the lead in editing.

“He is a very good editor, and I do the writing,” Drury said. “We realized we couldn’t have four hands on the keyboard.”

Bob Drury

All told, Drury has authored and/or edited nine books, and his work has also appeared in The New York Times, Vanity Fair, Men’s Journal and GQ. Nominated for three National Magazine Awards and a Pulitzer Prize, Drury has covered news in Iraq, Afghanistan, Liberia, Bosnia, Northern Ireland, and Darfur, among other sites. He makes his home at the Jersey shore.

Clavin, who lives in Sag Harbor, New York, has worked as a reporter for the New York Times, and has served as a newspaper and web site editor, as well as working as a magazine writer and TV and radio commentator. He has earned awards from the Society of Professional Journalists and the National Newspaper Association.

What was it about Washington that motivated him to persevere despite not only the conditions of the Valley Forge winter, but the political battles he also fought on a regular basis?

In public, Washington showed his steely will, but we discovered a different side. In private, he was very conflicted. One of the tensions of Valley Forge was that Washington had the weight of the war and the protection of his men on his shoulders, as well as his political relationship with the Continental Congress–and it burdened him.

He had the console of his young officers and “surrogate sons”–the Marquis de Lafayette, who was only 19; Alexander Hamilton, who was 22; and John Laurens – the “forgotten founding father,” also 22. Alone, he unburdened himself to (his wife) Martha.

I have personally read every (document) Washington wrote during (a period from) 1777 to 1778. He wrote about how he felt the burden he could never show to the Congress. On the outside he kept a steely composure and will. His confidants and his journals allowed him to keep his composure.

Of the 2,000 men who perished at Valley Forge (that winter of 1777-1778), half died of starvation and exposure, and half from diseases like typhus, typhoid and cholera.

Washington had to make an example of himself. He was driven. We don’t think of Washington as insecure. But earlier he had to take orders from British officers whom he outranked. He was a man who had no college education. Yet he became the father of our country

Through the years, several other authors have written books about the events at Valley Forge that winter. What is it about your account of Valley Forge that separates it from other books?

We contend that Valley Forge was THE turning point of the American Revolution. As we were putting this book together, we knew that other (authors) have disagreed. Everyone has their own feeling of what was the turning point for the Americans. We give a view of Washington they’ve never seen before. We decided early on that we would be prepared for this (challenge).

We present a cast of characters others have not, and we dispel many of the myths.

One of those myths is the notion of what bad luck it was for George Washington and his men to have been at Valley Forge in such a bad winter. Actually, it was one of the mildest on record at that time. The records show that it would snow, then soon turn 40 degrees, then it would rain, and everything would turn to mud–and the latrines would overflow. Over 500 horses starved to death in the freezing cold. They would be buried about a foot deep, and the heavy rains would wash their bodies up. Together, this created a pervasive odor that hung over the camp and made it miserable.

Another myth was that everyone (around the Valley Forge area) was starving to death, but 1777 produced the greatest harvest of the decade. There was plenty of corn, wheat, cattle, and mutton. The problem for the soldiers was that the local farmers preferred to smuggle their foods to the British Army for money. Remember, not all Americans supported the revolution. About 40 percent of the country’s population then were for the revolution; about 20 percent remained loyalists to King George, and the other 40 percent were really not committed to either side.

Another fact we bring to light is that this was the first time in American history that the military was integrated. There were 750 black soldiers, all free men from the northeast, who fought alongside the Continental Army. American military units were not integrated again until the Korean War (in the 1950s).

If the British had chosen to attack Washington and his men at Valley Forge that winter, history would have surely been changed forever. Do you think it was America’s destiny that it didn’t turn out that way?

I think it was a combination of destiny and British hubris. Back then there was a “fighting season” in temperate climates, and armies didn’t fight in winter. If they had attacked Washington at Valley Forge that winter, they would have overrun the American forces in a minute. They were overconfident that they would brush the Continental Army like a piece of lint off their shoulder. They thought that in the spring, they would take care of this rag-tag army.

I think it was a little destiny, a little luck, and a lot of British hubris.

When you’re researching a book that dates back this far, do you find yourself in awe of the fact that you’re looking at actual diaries and documents that are as old as these, and that they belonged to real people?

Oh, yes. Valley Forge is so well documented. I read nearly 2,000 documents that were written or dictated by Washington. Quite often with centuries-old documents like diaries or journals, university libraries and sometimes historical societies preserve them in such a way that you cannot touch them with your hands. They may be stored in fiberglass boxes and you have to turn the pages with tongs because they’re so old and fragile.

On one hand it makes you realize how young this country is. Also, we can clearly see what we think we know about Washington, and what is actually true. His writings show us his angst and self-doubt about things we never think of.

Why do we need to be reminded about Valley Forge today–and how can we apply the hard-fought lessons of what they endured and what their sacrifice helped make possible?

Not to be too political, but our country is so polarized today–not that it wasn’t in 1777 and 1778. At that time the U.S. was in an age of enlightenment: there was a novel idea that thinking itself, and definitely expressing those thoughts, that was the ultimate form of political engagement.

I think that’s something we’ve lost today, and that (finding it again) would move our country forward.

Bob Drury will at Lemuria on Monday, November 12, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and read from Valley ForgeValley Forge is Lemuria’s November 2018 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Eric Jay Dolin’s ‘Black Flags, Blue Waters’ is a fascinating voyage

By Jim Ewing. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (October 7)

Eric Jay Dolin’s Black Flags, Blue Waters lives up to its subtitle as “The Epic History of America’s Most Notorious Pirates” with little known facts, sweeping narratives, and gripping tales.

It’s a fascinating voyage into the Golden Age of Piracy that not only proves true some of the stereotypes of legend, book and film, but also debunks others and shockingly reveals the depth of early America’s connection to the outlaw seafarers.

Indeed, the contributions of pirates to colonial America, Dolin reveals, was vital to the nation’s founding.

For example, he reports that by 1684, “at least half the coins in colonial America” were Spanish pieces of eight, most of them likely from pirates. The Boston mint, established in 1652, produced the colony’s coins from silver bullion provided by pirates. And the sea-dogs provided a substantial amount of indigo, cloth and sugar that provided New England’s essential needs—avoiding the high prices, inferior goods, and taxes of imports from the mother country.

Their plunder enriched the colonies, making niceties affordable to the masses. So much so that early colonists often sided with the pirates against the Crown’s wishes, laws, and regulations.
In this early period, pirates saw their occupation as a job, not a lifestyle, providing for their families and the wealth of their communities.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that the wealth was robbed from galleons loaded with gold and silver from the New World owned by English rival Spain, or was carried to Puritan New England from merchants robbed in the Muslim world.

Piracy in New England touched and infused all classes, both good and ill. The great-grandfather of President Millard Fillmore himself was a pirate (though conscripted against his will).

The organization of pirates at sea was also endemic of the American character, practicing that new idea of democracy 100 years before the colonies rebelled from monarchy. Crews on pirate ships signed contracts that stipulated their rights, obligations, and percentage of the booty each member received. And they could elect or remove a captain by voting—an unheard-of practice at sea.

This is not to say that pirates were upstanding citizens. Indeed, Dolin reports, they were usually thugs and ne’er-do-wells who differed only from their landlubber criminal contemporaries by robbing and debauching on water.

Even so, the picture formed by Dolin offers a view unlike that popularized in swashbuckling films and novels. For example, while pirates could be—and often were—cruel, barbaric and violent, they also preferred not to fight. The threat of violence was more to their liking, raising the Jolly Roger to extort riches rather than actually risking death.

It suited the preferences of the victims, as well. A sailor on a merchant ship working for low wages was not disposed to risk life and limb for investors or potentates far away. Better to heave to and give it up, to sail another day.

Dolin goes into great detail about the pirate colonies of the Caribbean and Bahamas (reportedly hosting some 4,000 pirates and dozens of ships at a time), as well as ventures along the American Eastern Seaboard, from the early 1680s to 1726. Then the tide turned from pirates aiding colonial economic interests to more frequently harming them with predations closer to home.

He offers extensive notes and bibliography for further reading.

Arghh, maties! Thar be treasure here.

Jim Ewing, a former writer and editor at the Clarion Ledger, is the author of seven books including his latest, Redefining Manhood: A Guide for Men and Those Who Love Them.

Eric Jay Dolin will be Lemuria tonight, Monday, October 8, at 5:00 to sign and read from Black Flags Blue WatersBlack Flags, Blue Waters is Lemuria’s September 2018 selection for our First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Author Q & A with Hampton Sides

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (October 7)

Author-journalist Hampton Sides brings his readers yet another true–but almost unbelievable–high-stakes account of grit and courage with his newest work, On Desperate Ground: The Marines at the Reservoir, the Korean War’s Greatest Battle.

Though lesser known than other heroic military campaigns throughout America’s history, the struggle that played out along the frozen shores of the Chosin Reservoir in the snowy mountains of North Korea in 1950 tested the mettle of the First Marine Division beyond reason.

Through his meticulous research that includes declassified documents, unpublished letters and interviews with scores of survivors on both lines, Sides presents a “grunt’s-eye view of history” as he shows “what ordinary men are capable of in the most extreme circumstances.”

His previous books include Ghost SoldiersBlood and ThunderHellhound on His Trail, and In the Kingdom of Ice. An award-winning editor for Outside magazine, Sides’ Ghost Soldiers also captured the PEN USA Award for Nonfiction.

A native of Memphis, Sides is a graduate of Yale University and teaches narrative nonfiction at Colorado College.

Since you grew up in Memphis, do you have ties to our state?

Yes. I have deep roots in Mississippi, actually. I have lots of relatives from around Holly Springs. My dad taught at Ole Miss law school. Some of my best early journalism was done in the state. And I always love getting back to the Delta, which just has a certain vibe about it that I’ve always loved.

Throughout your writing career, your books and journalistic works have focused on a steady stream of real-life–and often high-risk–tales of adventure, discovery, exploration, and the great outdoors, not to mention war and other profound historical narratives. Tell me how you developed your appetite for these bold themes.

Hampton Sides

Probably my interest in these types of stories grew out of my years as an editor at Outside magazine, which over the years has run some of the very best adventure and sports writing in the country. When I was on staff there, I got to work with some of the preeminent writers in the country, who gave me some terrific ideas about how to make writing vivid and muscular, and how to make things come alive on the page.

I decided to go back into history and hunt for some of those same qualities that we were looking for at Outside. Many of my books have focused on the larger theme of human endurance–how people survive terrible ordeals, summoning some combination of courage, ingenuity, and grace under pressure. It’s a powerful motif, and one I seem to keep returning to.

On Desperate Ground is an account of the almost unbelieveable efforts of the U.S. Marines during a pivotal battle in the Korean conflict of the 1950s. Considering the substantial investment  of your time and effort, how do you make decisions on topics to write about–and how did this story catch your attention?

Years ago, at a book signing in Virginia, I met a grizzled old veteran of the battle. With a hand that was missing a few digits from frostbite, he slipped me this card that said “The Chosin Few.” He said I ought to write about it someday. Honestly, I’d never even heard of the Chosin Reservoir. I put the card in my pocket and didn’t think about it for many years.

When I finally started looking into the battle, I realized it was one of the most harrowing clashes in our history, a remarkable feat of arms. I thought it should be better known. Here, it seemed, was the ultimate military survival story. Finally, with all the recent developments in our relations with China and the two Koreas, I felt that was an auspicious time to tell this classic story.

Many readers will no doubt be surprised to read your portrayal of Gen. Douglas MacArthur, disclosed in this book through his actions and attitudes. Describe the man your research revealed.

In 1950, Douglas MacArthur was a famously arrogant man and a glory hound at the height of his power, but he was criminally out of touch with reality. He ignored clear evidence that vast numbers of Chinese had entered North Korea to spring a trap and prepare a surprise attack.

He presided over one of the most egregious intelligence failures in American military history. And once the intelligence came in loud and clear, he and his staff of sycophants chose to ignore it, suppress it, or willfully misinterpret its import. In so doing, they needlessly put many tens of thousands of Americans in harm’s way. In my mind, he has a lot of blood on his hands.

You write in the book that the soldiers who survived this horrific, bitterly cold battle were “different men” when it was over. What can you tell me about your interviews with actual survivors of this battle.

At Chosin, the mercury dropped to 20 below zero, sometimes even lower. Many weapons wouldn’t fire. Lots of guys froze to death. The weather claimed more casualties than the combatants did. More than 80 percent of these men suffered severe frostbite. Many lost fingers and toes. Some of them told me they still feel the cold., that they never did quite thaw the chill from their bones.

All battles are terrible, but this one was fought under such extreme conditions, on such forbidding terrain, in such insane weather, and against such overwhelming numerical odds, that it takes a special place in the annals of combat. It’s one of the most decorated battles in our nation’s history, and with good reason. The extremity of the ordeal brought to the fore a naked survival instinct, a fierce camaraderie, and a rare improvisational spirit.

And yet, because i twas in the Korean War, much about their experience has been forgotten. I know a lot of these veterans are resentful of the fact that their experiences and sacrifices seem to have been largely ignored by so many of their countrymen and given short shrift in the history books.

The current, developing relationship between North and South Korea, along with the role of the United States, has been in the news a lot lately. Can  you share your thoughts on their progress, and what you may see in their future?

I recently spent time in South Korea, and I was heartened by what I saw and heard. I could feel a certain energy in the air, almost like we saw in Germany before the wall came down. I know that President Trump likes to take credit for these developments, but the desire to improve relations between the two countries is much, much bigger than any one individual. I think what we are seeing is largely an organic phenomenon of the people, not one that’s particularly being driven by the U.S., China, or any other power.

Of course, Korea should never have been divided in the first place–it is one of the great tragedies of modern times. Many, many thousands of families were torn apart and never were allowed to see each other again. Korea is one people, one language, one culture, and I believe one day it will be united again.

Are you already working on another book or other project, and, if so, what can you tell me about it?

My next book, tentatively titled The Resolution, is about the final fateful voyage of the British explorer, Captain James Cook. It takes place during the American Revolution, and I plan to give the story a uniquely American slant. I’ve just begun the research, which will take me from Tasmania to Kamchatka, from the Bering Strait to Tahiti, with lots of time in Hawaii and the archives of London. In the end, it’s a story of far-flung exploration, and a tragic collision of cultures in Polynesia. It will keep me busy for years, and I can’t wait to get started.

Hampton Sides will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, October 10, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and read from On Desperate Ground. On Desperate Ground is Lemuria’s October 2018 selection for our First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

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