Before joining the Los Angeles Times in 2001, Steve Lopez had been a columnist at the Philadelphia Inquirer for 12 years, been a writer at large for Time, Inc. and the author of three novels. It was in Los Angeles that Lopez met Nathaniel Ayers, a homeless man playing a violin with two strings. Lopez learned that Ayers had been a music prodigy and a student at Juilliard before succumbing to mental illness. Lopez’s columns about Ayers and their friendship captured the attention of the city in a way few newspaper stories do. Last year saw the release of The Soloist, Lopez’s book-length account of their friendship, which was named Philadelphia’s “One Book One City” title this year, and April 24 marks the release of the Paramount and Dreamworks film version starring Robert Downey Jr. as Lopez and Jamie Foxx as Ayers. Lopez talked to mediabistro.com recently about crossing the line of objectivity in his columns, his take on where the newspaper industry went wrong, and why he’s embracing the Twitter feed and Web videos he “might have bitched about three years ago.”
You’ve worked as a columnist for many years at the LA Times and before that at the Philadelphia Inquirer and other newspapers. What do you think are the essential qualities of a good columnist?
I don’t think anybody knows what they are. For starters, there’s so many different types of columns. Thomas Friedman and Dave Barry are both columnists, but one might as well be an engineer and the other a shoe salesman — it’s just so different. And they’re both great at what they do, and it’s entirely different. When I got to the Oakland Tribune, I was a news reporter for about five years, and then I got a chance to write a column. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to write one, but I knew I wanted to write one. It was probably because the people whose work I really, really appreciated were Jimmy Breslin and Mike Royko. I can state with authority and with evidence to back it up that [my early columns] were among the worst columns ever published in an American newspaper.
The problem was that I was doing really bad imitations of people I admired and had nothing new or different or distinctive to say. I guess the key was, in order for you to have a column that matters, you need to figure out why you’re a journalist: who you are and what you have to say. That’s not an easy thing to do. It took years of reflection and it’s an evolving thing, as well. I would say that I was pretty immature developmentally as a 25-, 35-year-old and still didn’t know enough about the world to write with much authority about anything. It wasn’t until I reflected on that editor’s advice and on my upbringing that I began to figure out who I was writing for and why. I was quoted somewhere as saying the trick is not to figure out what to write, but why to write.
The first direction that put it to me in a way I could relate to was the [H.L.] Mencken line: Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable. It echoed dinner table conversations I’d had as a kid in a working-class, blue collar family. My dad was certain that we were getting screwed by somebody and goddamn it, who was going to speak up for us? I think that the column has its roots in all of that. But to tell someone this is how you write a column is not an easy thing to do. It’s kind of sink or swim, and nobody knows the crazy science of it. Is it a good writer? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Is it somebody really smart? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Do you have to be a great reporter? Yeah, depending though on what kind of column you write. It’s just something that, maybe, is instinctive, and you just try to find your own way through it.
You had worked as columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer for years and then you were at Time. What spurred you to take the job at the LA Times?
When I was in Philadelphia, it was the time of my life. I loved that paper; I loved that city; I loved my job. It was great smacking people around in a place where everybody knew the backstory, whether they lived in Pennsylvania, southern New Jersey or northern Delaware. If you said something about some character at city hall, whether it was Frank Rizzo or Ed Rendell, people knew the whole backstory. Everybody’s in on the conversation. Everybody’s pissed off. Everybody’s working an angle. It’s a shooting gallery for a columnist. It’s just a great damn place to write a column and I loved it. Twelve years into it, I realized that although it was still a lot of fun, I was writing about the same characters — often in the same way. It’s a place — I exaggerate, but — Philadelphia is a place nobody moves to and nobody ever leaves. To the point where you can tell which ward leader is going to become the next councilman and go to prison and come out to then start a political consulting business. So it’s just these endless cycles of similar characters and sometimes the same characters. I got a little tired of it, and in a way it began to feel like I was going through the motions.
Norm Perlstein, a former newspaper guy, was trying to change the culture at Time, Inc. and one way he was attempting to accomplish that was to hire some newspaper people with different takes on stories and how to do them. So he hired an editor from the [Philadelphia] Inquirer, Steve Lovelady, who was putting together a team of about a dozen editors and writers at large. The task was to go from one Time, Inc. magazine to another and pick the stories that you want to do and take pitches from the editors, but become involved in a discussion about what works for these magazines and what doesn’t. One week you’ll write for Time magazine, you might do something for Sports Illustrated the next week, you might do a longer takeout for Life, a narrative for Time. Some columns, some narratives, some news, some sports. It was a lot of fun for four years, and the best part about it was I got to see the country.
I struggled with the one-week cycle. Having been in newspapers for so long and thinking in 24-hour cycles, I was really frustrated to see something on a Monday that I thought would make a great column, and then I’d have to think, ‘But does it hold up so that next Monday when Time magazine comes out, will it still look fresh and good? Will somebody else have done it? Will the landscape have changed, and it’s no longer a good column?’ And the other thing is that you had to not just find something that would be okay in print a week later, then it had to last on the stands another week. So I went from thinking in 24-hour cycles to thinking in two-week cycles. That was nice to have a different challenge, but I missed the 24-hour grind. I missed stuff that was more urgent and raw, where you see it and you run out and you race back and you knock the column out and you go home. And the next day it’s a new dread: What am I going to get next? Am I going to be able to pull it together in time? I just missed that cycle. John Carroll had taken over as editor of the LA Times, and I didn’t know John, although we had both passed through the Philadelphia Inquirer. He helped convince me that it was a nice run in the magazine world, but I was a newspaper guy at heart.
| “Even as a columnist, you’re expected to keep something of a distance and not become an advocate, but I broke those rules with the support of the editors.” |
I wasn’t a complete tourist, having been a California native and having lived in LA for two years prior. I knew my way around a little bit but was frightened by the challenge, to be honest. It was that level of fear that prompted me to take the job. It was unlike any city that I had worked in and in some ways a very challenging place to write a column in. Not because of any shortage of material — it’s richer here than any place I’ve ever worked, including Philadelphia. Norm Perlstein, the editor at Time, Inc. said, “Half the people are not from there, the other half don’t speak English. It’s not an easy place to write a local column.” I liked the idea that Philadelphia is made, it knows what it is and what it’s going to be; New York City — the same. I thought there was something very exciting about this sprawling, in some ways, city of the future. That we’re still trying to figure out what a city can be. I liked the fact that it was at the confluence of three continents and had all of the people crashing its borders, with all of the pluses and minuses that go with that. It just seemed like an interesting place to try a local column, and I just wanted to see if I could do it. I do like the idea of a fresh challenge, or at least, back then I was still thinking that way. I don’t have any regrets.
Have you seen the final version of The Soloist? What was your reaction?
It’s a really fine movie. It’s a pretty compelling drama, but it’s done artistically and there’s nicely understated social commentary in it. I don’t think you can name a lot of movies like that today. I don’t think you can point to a lot that set out to accomplish all of those things. In some ways, it’s a throwback. It was not made for the commerce part of it, although you have to factor in, ‘Is anybody going to see this thing?’ It was made because the producers and then the director believed that it was a story worth sharing, and I think they’ve done a good job. They had to make changes, just because any movie based on a book is a reduction, but I think they focused on the right things. It’s not just a compelling movie to watch, but I think it makes you think differently about things and will take the message of the columns and the book to a broader audience. I’m really pleased with it. It’s pretty strange to sit in a theater and watch Robert Downey [Jr.] saying that he’s Steve Lopez of the LA Times, but I think he does a great job, and Jamie Foxx does a great job of playing Mr. Ayers.
How did you respond when producers got in touch with you?
I ignored most of the Hollywood calls when they started coming. I just didn’t see it as a book when the calls started coming, let alone a movie. I was in the midst of this exhausting, frustrating, rewarding, wild adventure with Mr. Ayers and had no idea where it might take us. Whether I could help him, whether it was even helping him at all. When I started getting those calls, it was about six months into the story — that makes it about three and a half years ago, and I didn’t even return the calls. Two of my novels have been optioned and nothing ever came of either. I knew the odds and I thought, well, the odds have got to be even greater for a story where I don’t even know the ending.
It was an agent from Paradigm who works with my literary agent who said, “Look, the calls are still coming. What if we pick two or three producers who I think would really make a good movie with good track records and credentials?” I met with three of them. There was one two-man team that stood out. They wanted to meet Nathaniel [Ayers], they wanted to walk through skid row, and when I asked them how they saw the movie, they said it was a movie about a relationship. Two guys from completely different walks of life come into each others’ lives serendipitously and have a huge impact on each other. I said, “But it’s complicated stuff and mental illness is a huge challenge, and you don’t often see it treated or treated very well in a movie.” They said, “We think we can make a compelling, enjoyable, watchable film that subtly addresses all of that. We don’t need to end it with him conducting the LA Philharmonic.” I said, “Okay, these are the guys.”
It wasn’t long before they made a connection with Steven Spielberg and Dreamworks, and things just fell into place in a way that astonished me. They got the director that they wanted, Joe Wright. They got the screenwriter that they wanted, Susannah Grant. After some initial problems lining up the cast, they ended up being very happy to have gotten Jamie Foxx and Robert Downey [Jr.]. They started shooting on time; They finished shooting on time. The only bump in this whole ride was that it was supposed to have initially come out in November, but the market got a little too swamped, so they decided to pull it back and wait until they could give it a better push at a time of lesser competition. So now it’s [an] April 24 [release].
How involved were you and the Ayers family in the process, and to what degree did you want to be involved?
We were all consulted. Nathaniel’s sister Jennifer was a consultant on the movie. I guess you could say I was a consultant. I didn’t attend many meetings, and I wasn’t on the set all that much just because I still had a very busy life to attend to, but I was in constant contact with them. Early on, we — Nathaniel and I — hung out with the screenwriter and got to know the director. Nathaniel and I went to a concert at Disney Hall, and Jamie Foxx and Robert Downey came with us. Nathaniel and I sat together, and they sat together just watching us interact. The producer is the guy I was most in touch with, Gary Foster. Gary would call or email me virtually every week and sometimes daily throughout the entire process: double-checking on things, asking questions, and keeping me abreast of what was going on. I was never in a position to say, “Hey, this scene works or doesn’t,” and didn’t feel that that was my role at all. I was very involved to the extent that I helped educate them as much as I could on the story, and from that point it was for them to interpret what the important parts of it were and how to tell it.
Was there anything that was left out of the film that you feel was important and wish had been included?
I think that an important part of the book is me bringing Nathaniel home. It was a huge point, a huge milestone in his development and gradual recovery to be able to trust me so much and to be trusted by me that I could take him home and make him a part of my life outside of work. He became a very valued guest in our home and a member of the extended family. I thought that he prospered just having that link to the world outside of skid row, and it was a very important day for me and for him because of what it represented.
That’s not in the movie because they decided that it was too difficult in the space allowed to establish a life for me outside of the mission of helping Nathaniel. And Joe Wright’s explanation for this was that the plot dragged a bit when they had to establish me as a husband and a father, as well as a committed journalist. And he thought things really began to move when he took me out of that and made me a journalist whose editor is his ex-wife. So he gets that side of me into this but does it in a way that provides a lot of romantic tension. I’ll give him that. But that was difficult to get used to at first. One way that Joe justified it was to say that his vision for the movie was that I’m the soloist as much as Nathaniel is. That I was so committed to trying to help him and in the process figure out my own way in life and find my own passion that I was as much of a soloist as Nathaniel was.
For me, another pivotal point in the book is that Nathaniel was a classmate of Yo-Yo Ma at Juilliard, and in real life, we were able to arrange a reunion at Disney Hall. It was another great moment for Nathaniel and just the scene of those two people in the green room together after a concert… He was just so excited to meet his former classmate and such a powerful scene, the two of them having been launched from the same stage at the same time and Yo-Yo Ma just taking off, his career in orbit, and Nathaniel going off a cliff. And here they were, and as I looked at the two of them, I thought it’s worth noting that Nathaniel’s accomplishments in life have been at least as great as Yo-Yo Ma’s. Just to get through each day and figure out what’s real and what’s not. And to always find his way to the music, and he’s as passionate about it as ever. To me that’s such a great success story. I thought it was an important part of the book. The problem for the movie was that it followed the timeline of the story they told. There’s a lot in the book that happens after Nathaniel moves in off the streets, but the movie doesn’t go too far beyond him moving in, so they lost that part of the timeline. I think it would have been nice to find a way to include it, but I don’t know how they would have done that unless they just fictionalized the timeline.
It’s easy to talk about the declining relevance of newspapers, and the LA Times specifically, but the Ayers columns really seemed to demonstrate what a newspaper can do and how a newspaper can change people’s perceptions. What was it about Ayers that you think not just captured people’s attention but struck a nerve with so many people?
First of all, people like to say that something’s not what it used to be, and it’s true: the LA Times is no longer what it used to be. You can’t be that with less than half the staff you had eight years ago. But people were saying that when we were still a thousand editors and reporters. I think there’s a lot of ignorance about newspapers and people were spoiled in a place like LA, which for many, many years had had a really great newspaper. I mean, if you get around the country and you see what’s out there, there are a lot [of newspapers] that would love to be the LA Times, even now. But we are somewhat diminished, and I think that newspapers did not do a very good job of breaking down walls between themselves and readers. We never did a good job of saying, “Guess what, the people who work here are your neighbors. We live in your community.” We’re thought of as almost aliens. I’ve never worked at a newspaper that did even a halfway reasonable job of marketing itself.
Why is it that, as we began to sink but were still making 20 percent in profits each year, we didn’t plow it back into this thing and say, “Guess what you get for 50 cents?” You get somebody in every corner of the world: You get five people at city hall and 10 hounding Governor Schwarzenegger. For 50 cents. There’s nothing else in the economy that costs 50 cents, and here’s what you get for it, and these are the people who do it. I used to pitch a 30-second TV commercial in which you saw somebody in a firefight in Baghdad and somebody chasing the Governor or the President and somebody at the biggest high school game in Southern California and somebody at Dodger Stadium and somebody who’d been working on the printing presses for 40 years and somebody in the advertising section and some kid tossing the paper onto a driveway somewhere and just say, “We’re here. We live and work here.” And they’ve never ever done that. I think that we’ve dug this hole for ourselves a little bit because readers don’t know who we are. We almost went out of our way to de-personalize our relationship and to create sort of a psychic distance between us and readers. And at a time when the country is so polarized socially and politically, you’re open to all of this criticism.
I think [the Ayers story] connected because first of all, I broke some rules and I personalized it. Even as a columnist, you’re expected to keep something of a distance and not become an advocate, but I broke those rules with the support of the editors. I said, “Look, I’m personally involved in this guy’s life. Our readers have donated instruments that he’s going to get killed for, so I have to step up. I’ve got to try to find a way to help him, and I’ve got to write about it.” I think that was a different kind of story for a newspaper to be telling, one that had always kept its distance.
The other reason was because it’s essentially a story of second chances. I meet this guy — it happens entirely by chance — and now readers are rooting for him, and they’re rooting for me to find ways to help him. It was like a serial narrative that people were following, and they wanted to know what’s the next chapter. It was great for me to be doing something like that. As newspapers were dying and I was thinking, ‘We’re irrelevant now and about to become obsolete,’ it was a new way for me to engage in newspapers and a new way for newspapers to engage readers. All of that has been very rich and rewarding, and maybe there are some lessons in it. That we need to get a little more personal. That we need to, in some cases, surrender that distance that we keep. Nathaniel became a character in the life of a city, and I don’t go to many places without people asking, “How is he?” That part of it has been very gratifying.
| “Here I am, 55, almost 56, sending out tweets and doing video columns. It’s something that I might have bitched about three years ago — that I was expected to do that kind of thing.” |
You wrote in the book a lot about crossing the line of objectivity in writing about Mr. Ayers. What do you think are the benefits and drawbacks of giving up that objectivity?
If I had written columns about skid row and about mental health policy, nobody would have read them. A small minority of advocates and people would have read them. I had a story about a guy whose career was ascendant, who through no fault of his own was struck down, and meets somebody who might be able to help him. Not only am I able to help him, but he’s teaching me about classical music, he’s establishing for me new friends in the LA Philharmonic and a new level of experience and understanding of all of these issues that I can write about in a human and compelling way.
The benefit of all of this was that I was able to put city hall’s feet to the fire and say, “We’ve all ignored this for decades. What kind of city, what kind of society, what kind of country has thousands of people, many of them with a serious mental illness, living in the gutters three blocks from city hall in the biggest city in a state that’s the sixth-biggest economy in the world?” It was a ‘what the hell’ kind of a story. It put a light on city hall and on the county board of supervisors that this is nothing we can feel good about, any of us, so what are we going to do about it? Then it was an opportunity for me to explore the benefits of permanent supportive housing, and then write about it as a friend of Nathaniel’s and to explore the value of alternative courts for mental health. And people were engaged because I’m the guy who speaks from the experience of helping Nathaniel through this. So there are more benefits than downsides.
The downside all along has been that Nathaniel is always there and always a part of this and has to some degree lost his privacy and had never volunteered to be the poster person. He’s been fine with it, but he’s had to make a sacrifice in all of this. In some ways, it’s validated him and given him recognition. It’s honored him and given this guy some dignity who, until I met him, was just an anonymous character sleeping in the street. He likes all of that, but at times he doesn’t need the intrusion. So I’ve been extra vigilant about making sure there are not too many distractions for him, and that when there are, he can handle it.
When students ask you for advice on whether they should pursue work as a journalist, what do you tell them? What opportunities exist for them, and how might they set themselves up to take advantage of those?
I say that nobody knows where it’s headed, so if you really want to do this, if you love this and want to get into this business, don’t be discouraged. And that the best thing you can do is have a number of different experiences. Do everything but study journalism. Travel the world, travel the country. Try different things. And be very open-minded about different ways to tell stories. Don’t be an old dinosaur like me who knows how to sit at a typewriter and tap away. Be completely open to video journalism, to blogging, to any other form that’s out there, electronic or otherwise. The more ways you can tell stories effectively, the better chance you’ll have to prosper as a journalist in the future. Here I am, 55, almost 56, sending out tweets [on Twitter] related to columns and about my travels around the country on the book and movie tour, and [I’m] doing video columns now. There’s a good on the LA Times Web site that we did about celebrating Beethoven’s birthday with Nathaniel and his friends from the LA Philharmonic. It’s something that I might have bitched about three years ago — that I was expected to do that kind of thing. But now I look at it and I go, cool. What a great job where I can say, “Hey, why don’t we do a video thing on this or make a connection with somebody at KTLA [which is owned by Tribune Co.]” and say, “Hey, I’ve got an idea that could work on TV,” or they’ll pitch me. So I’m embracing the new world because I know that I want to stay in this field in some capacity. I would just tell people to be open to any form of storytelling, whether they’re thinking of writing for an alternative weekly, a magazine or doing broadcast journalism.
Five tips for finding your way as a columnist:
1. It’s not enough to want to write a column. According to Lopez his early attempts as a columnist failed because “I was doing really bad imitations of people I admired and had nothing new or different or distinctive to say.”
2. The key is to know why you’re writing, because as Lopez said, “in order for you to have a column that matters you need to figure out why you’re a journalist. Who you are and what you have to say…You have to figure out what the point is.”
3. Know yourself. Lopez left the magazine world because he realized that he was a newspaperman at heart. “I missed the 24-hour grind. I missed stuff that was more urgent and raw. Where you see it and you run out and you race back and you knock the column out and you go home and the next day, what am I going to get next? Am I going to be able to pull it together in time?”
4. Fear can be your friend. Lopez said he took the job at the LA Times because, “I knew my way around [LA], but was frightened by the challenge, to be honest. In fact it was that level of fear that prompted me to take the job.”
5. Be open-minded. “If you really want to do this, if you love this, and want to get into this business, don’t be discouraged.” Nobody knows what’s going to happen next, Lopez said. “Be very open-minded about different ways to tell stories. Don’t be an old dinosaur like me who knows how to sit at a typewriter and tap away… The more ways you can tell stories effectively the better chance you’ll have to prosper as a journalist in the future.”
Alex Dueben is a freelance writer living just outside New York City.
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