You may not have known it, but we researchers lost an icon recently. Mike Wallace, a founding members of 60 Minutes, one of the most famous TV news show of all time, died this spring. For years, Wallace interviewed countless politicians, celebrities, corporate wrong-doers, and controversial newsmakers, always willing to ask tough questions in search for truth and understanding. It's no wonder that in preparing for my first interview of many, I figured that I take a minute to learn from the best.
As a tribute, 60 Minutes dedicated its entire show on April 15th to Wallace. Full of memorable clips and poignant interviews, Wallace himself explains what makes him tick.
Mike Wallace
"The key," he says, "is to establish a chemistry of confidentiality during an interview. Persuade the interviewee that you've done your homework, that you are here to ask the questions, so why not talk to each other."
Wallace adds that it's important to be, "confident in the material. When I ask a question, there is a reason for it being asked. I have the specifics in the research to warrant it being asked...You don't ask questions to make someone embarrassed."
When asked about his "stock phrases" (i.e., Come on, Look, Forgive me) that often elicit frank responses from his interviewees, Wallace notes that it's more about the conversation and interaction than anything else.
Well, my hope is that I'll be able to create conversations and interactions just like Mike has for so many years, one interview at a time.
One of my favorite short stories of all time is "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros. You know the one with Rachel, an insecure middle schooler who minds her own business, trying to be invisible like most 11 year-old kids. But on this one day in class, which happens to be her eleventh birthday, her teacher, Mrs. Price, stops the entire class to find out who's the owner of a ratty red sweater that's been sitting in the coatroom for a month.
When the classroom bully, Sylvia Saldivar, chimes in and says that it belongs to Rachel, Mrs. Price forces Rachel to take the sweater and put it on even though it isn't hers. Reluctantly, Rachel complies and bursts into tears only to be saved minutes later by "that stupid Phyllis Lopez" who finally remembers that the sweater is hers.
I love this story on so many levels. What resonates for me as a researcher though is how Cisneros explains what it's like to be eleven. She writes, "what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one.... Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one."
What Cisneros says here about growing old for people is the same for setting. Every event in a place's history has led up to the present moment, and as a researcher who is trying to understand a different place and time period, I need to peel back the different layers hidden beneath the present day surface to reveal the past. In some ways, setting is like a character that develops over time, and as it does, so does its sights, sounds, smells, etc. Obviously there's no way I can experience what Thompson did when he did, and certain aspects of the setting may no longer exist. By taking the time to retrace Thompson's steps and soak in the setting though, I can begin to imagine what it must have been like for him.
Bangkok circa 1950
Here are some aspects of the setting with shots from when Jim Thompson lived there and now. Whether it's street traffic or the dying and drying of silk, researching the setting back then and experiencing it now will help inform my narrative voice when it comes time to write.
A Silk Dyer 2012
Jim Thompson in Bangkrua circa 1960
During my research, I saw clips of how the dyers used to wring out the silk with large tourniquets and then hang them on the banks of the klong to dry in the sun. Today, it's a bit different...
Filled with conviction and commitment, I headed across the klong once again to track down the weavers. This time I didn't come up empty handed.
Crossing the Klong:
The narrow, winding pathways through Bangkrua are a maze to any newcomer. Dodging motorbikes and passing by makeshift shops with wares spilling out onto the path, I meandered through the village listening for the click-clacking that I read about in William Warren's book, Jim Thompson: The Unsolved Mystery. Then, as I turned down one final unexplored alley, I heard it...
Manuthas' mother with Jim Thompson
Removing my shoes and ducking a bit to enter the workshop, I couldn't help notice the vibrant colors of spools sitting in baskets, waiting to be chosen. At the far end of the shop, two weavers sat at their looms, pushing, pulling and pedaling their way through a new masterpiece. In front of me, a woman waved her hand in front of a buzzing machine. At first glance, it seemed as though she was doing nothing. Like a spider working her magic, she was spinning gold thread onto a spool. The owner of the workshop, Niphon Manuthas, is the son of one of Thompson's weavers. Manuthas was the conductor walking back and forth, checking baskets and inspecting new wares. He was more than happy to sit down with me to talk about his workshop, his mother, Jim Thompson, and more.
Of course when I asked him
about any old artifacts he has lying around, I was amazed when he pulled
out his mother's order book that Jim used to place his orders. And
then he pulled out the signed thank you letter from Robert Kennedy who had been to his workshop with his wife. I
was floored. I wonder who else had crossed the klong to visit Niphon
in his workshop.
I used to dread my birthday as a kid. Of course it wasn't the getting presents part, or the licking of icing off of freshly-blown out candles, or even the off-key renditions of "Happy Birthday" at school (Although it would be nowadays with current versions of "Cha Cha Cha, Hi-ya, Konichiwa" at the end. Where did they pick that up anyway?). You see, in my family, birthdays coincided with an awful event: the yearly physical at Dr. Appleby's office.
In theory, I liked my doctor and always said so when asked. Why wouldn't I? He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with long grayish sideburns and horned-rimmed glasses who would always come into the room with an extended hand waiting to be shaken. He was one of the only adults apart from my parents who asked, "How are you?" and really meant it. But I'd sit there speechless on the cushioned table adorned by a rolled out piece of butcher paper that would crinkle with my every move. The only thing on my mind was the finger prick that was about to happen.
I had remembered it from years before, that quick jabbing needle he'd poke into my finger resulting in a ruby red pearl of blood. And I knew it was about to happen again. As Dr. Appleby would rub alcohol on my finger, distracting me by asking about school, I'd closed my eyes waiting for the worst.
"You can open your eyes now," he'd say. Wait a minute. That was it? It's over? All that worry for that? "It didn't even hurt, did it?" he'd say while putting a Band-Aid on my finger. "Nope," I'd reply smiling, realizing that a great weight had just been lifted off my shoulders. Until the following year at least.
What I failed to realize for many years is that the pain only existed before Dr. Appleby pricked my finger. I had made it such a big deal about it, not only was it far greater than the actual event, but it got in the way of me enjoying what was really important.
It's the same with research. For years, I've been thinking about researching and writing nonfiction, but I've been letting my apprehension of going out, asking questions, and finding answers lead me to nothing but inaction. Well, I'm not going to let it get in the way any more, and I can now safely say after my second day in Bangkrua, the weavers' village, that it didn't even hurt.
I've got a confession to make. I hope you're sitting down. The truth of the matter is it's not easy to be a researcher. There. I said it. It's out there. Now let me explain.
You see, I'm the type of person who doesn't want to intrude. I don't want to make others feel uncomfortable. When I meet someone, I want them to feel at ease, and often that's just carrying on small talk that I know is safe and predictable. You know, the "Hi. How are you?" kind of conversation.
As a researcher, this would get me nowhere. In fact, that's exactly where I got on my first day into the weavers' village. Here's my "confession":
So that's it. It's time for me to become a more courageous researcher by taking risks, jumping outside of my comfort zone, and asking questions. Instead of thinking that I'm being nosy, I need to realize that it's just a different way to connect with people by finding out their stories.
Beneath the overgrown palms along one of Bangkok's working klongs (canal), both nesting birds and weary tourists seek respite from the teaming city. They find it in the garden at Jim Thompson's House, truly an oasis in the midst of the hustle and bustle.
Built in 1959 from a number of classic teak Thai-style houses, this compound became the focal point of Jim Thompson's life outside his office at the Thai Silk Company. With its typical stilted style, most of the living space is upstairs, and Thompson filled each nook and cranny with exquisite religious art from the region.
He entertained guests almost nightly at the house. Whether they were casual invites, tourists from his shop, or planned visits from dignitaries, Thompson welcomed them all and walked them through the halls of his home, expounding on the treasures within. If weather permitted, they then dined out on the terrace. As many of his guests noted, the soft lighting, the classic Bencherong dinnerware, and Thompson's hospitality all added up to evenings that would be savored for years to come.
His house became so well-known that he decided to open it to the public two days a week with the proceeds of the nominal fee going to a local school for the blind.
Today, the house is a full-fledged museum with nearly 200,000 visitors passing through its doors each year. There are guided tours in a number of languages given every day. It's no wonder that this has become a "must see" for all of those visiting Bangkok. Click here for more information on the Jim Thompson House.
When I was 15, my family and I took a trip across the US. In our overcrowded minivan of two ambitious parents and three rambunctious teenage boys, we headed out to see those iconic sights that every American should see at least once in his life: the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Yosemite National Park, Alcatraz, Old Faithful, and more.
The elusive gold nuggets
As we rambled through the Black Hills of South Dakota, we stopped to pan for gold along one of its picturesque streams. Being the overconfident boys that we were, we knew we'd strike it rich in minutes. Little did we know that we would end up spending hours bent over a rushing ice bath, swishing through pans of gravel only to come up empty-handed. Well, not totally empty-handed. There were a few flecks that shimmered at the bottom of the pan, and with the end of a matchstick, we carefully dabbed them up and dropped them into a vile of water.
To me, researching is a lot like digging for gold. At first you dive in with the greatest of hopes to strike it rich quick. You can see that massive nugget in your mind's eye, and you swear it'll come up in the next pan. Unfortunately it doesn't happen that way.
Real researchers know that finding good sources takes patience and persistence. There's no way you can predict the size and shape of the nugget, you just have to be open to anything that comes. And those tiny flecks that look like nothing at first can turn out to be the most valuable of all; they are the ones that will lead you other hidden treasures in your search for great wealth.
Here are the flecks of gold that I discovered at the William Warren Library:
I began my process by reading a couple of biographies on Jim Thompson. I read them with two purposes in mind. First, I wanted to find out what each writer's take was on Jim Thompson and his life. I also read them carefully keeping a list of possible primary sources, places to visit, people to contact, and related topics I'd need to research. For me to write my own young adult biography, I knew that I had to access as many primary sources as possible so that I could find my own angle on Jim Thompson's story.
William Warren Library
Soon after I began reading, I knew that had to head to Bangkok. I needed to see his house where he hosted all of those dinner parties and housed his exquisite art collection. I also wanted to see what possible resources are there as well.
While preparing for my trip, I found out that there is a branch of the Bangkok Public Library called the William Warren Library. William Warren was one of Jim Thompson's dear friends in Bangkok, and he also happened to be the author of one of the biographies I read, Jim Thompson, The Unsolved Mystery. Needless to say, I was heading to this library too.
After weeks of planning, I finally made it to my first destination:
Jim Thompson. You may not have heard of his name before. Why would you? He hasn't been around for the last forty years. And before that, he hadn't even lived in America since the '40s. But just like anything from long ago, his story is worth revisiting. If not only for a good story, but also to discover its relevance in our own lives. In this day and age where the world seems smaller and the borders appear limitless, we feel interconnected yet alone more than ever before. We find it difficult to find our own place in this fast-paced and continually shifting world. Ironically enough, this is exactly what Thompson was grappling with nearly a half a century ago.
Thompson at work in his study 1967
Thompson led a seemingly ordinary life in the US as an architect in New York until he decided to join the National Guard in 1940. Despite America's isolationist ideals at the time, the drumbeats of war were beginning to crescendo. Soon after, he was sent overseas never to return, just like thousands of other young patriots. But Thompson's story was different.
This endearing, gentle man became an agent for the Office of Strategic Services (the precursor to the CIA), and participated in campaigns in North Africa and southern Europe. Towards the end of the war, he trained alongside freedom fighters to work behind enemy lines in Japanese occupied Indochina. With the dropping of the nuclear bombs though, Thompson's mission quickly changed from infiltration to mediation.
Thompson parachuted into Thailand two days after the Japanese surrender and set up shop with other OSS agents in a dilapitated Thai palace. On his frequent visits upcountry to Northern Thailand and Laos, Thompson became enamored with the local silk industry. Known as a domestic, "cottage" industry, the silk that the weavers produced was used for daily and ceremonial purposes, but being the true designer that he was, Thompson saw something more.
For those who knew Thompson, it may not have been any surprise that he immersed himself in this new venture. Commissioning local weavers and selling their wares at tourist locales in Bangkok and then eventually overseas, Thompson and his Thai Silk Company was instrumental in adding a new dimension to the fashion industry.
Soon known as the "silk king," Thompson became the go-to expat in Bangkok. After completing his classic teak Thai-style bungalow and filling it with one of the finest collections of Southeast Asian art of the time, he invited guests almost nightly to come dine with him on his terrace overlooking the klong in front of his house. It was at these magical parties that the "silk king" was holding court, often regaling his guests of his adventures upcountry or simply exchanging the news of the day.
Arguably the most compelling aspect of Thompson's story is its abrupt ending. While on a long Easter weekend with friends in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia in 1967, Thompson simply disappeared. After returning from a picnic, his friends decided to take a rest while he went out for a walk, never to be seen again. A massive manhunt, a company reward, and interventions from a string of mystics yielded no clues to his whereabouts. There have been a number of theories about what happened to him, but to this day, nobody knows what exactly took place on that fateful Sunday afternoon.
Gold Pavilion at Jim Thompson's House
What's more intriguing than any one of the many events in Thompson's life is the nature of the man himself. He had a way about him that his closest confidants and brief acquaintances all noted. As one friend put it, whether you were a prince or a pauper, a movie star or a local weaver, Thompson always made you feel as though that moment he was spending with you was the most important moment in his life.
Through his love of the Thai culture, Thompson not only introduced one of this region's treasured people to the greater world, he also instilled a sense of creative appreciation and cultural identity in the Thais, known for their quiet, reserved nature, themselves.
With the Thai silk industry stronger than ever, the countless Thai Silk Company outlets across the world, his home that has become a necessary stop for tourists in Bangkok, and the stories that continue to be passed down through family members and dear friends, Jim Thompson's legacy still lives on after all these years.
