One-On-One with Studs Terkel

By Susan Ellen Holleran

In 91 lively years, Studs Terkel has seen the Great Depression, the New Deal, World Wars I and II, plus the Cold War and its aftermath. A prominent citizen in his hometown of Chicago, Terkel hosted a daily radio show for 45 years — interviewing people ranging from celebrities to workers struggling to make ends meet. He won a Pulitzer Prize for "The Good War," and is currently working on his 16th book. With wit and deep respect, Terkel has focused attention on the lives of regular folks. As he describes it, "I'm celebrated for celebrating the non-celebrated!"

Tell us about your new book, Hope Dies Last.

It's about activism. Taking part in an action — in a parade, a demonstration, a letter to the editor. It's good for you. It gives meaning to life, and it makes a difference. So the theme of this book is that hope does not trickle down. Hope springs up. The title came from a farm worker. "When times are bleak, we have a saying in Spanish, 'Esperanza se muere ultima' — Hope dies last.'"

How did you start interviewing and writing about people?

My whole life is an accretion of accidents. I went for three bleak years to the University of Chicago Law School. Then, by accident, I worked on a New Deal project where I met this guy who had a theater group. So I joined. I became a gangster — an actor in radio soap operas. When television came into being, mine was one of the first three nationally known programs produced in Chicago. But I started speaking out on issues like the poll tax, price control, rent control. I became emcee of a lot of little groups that made the attorney general's subversive list. I was kicked off TV and blacklisted because I would not recant.

Then a little FM radio station, WFMT, started up. I didn't have a job, and they didn't have much money. The owner said, "You can do anything that you want. It's your hour." I was there for 45 years.

What keeps you going?

I'm just curious. I want to know what's going on. I'm curious about the human species. It's crazy; it's great; it's also ludicrous. It's funny, noble and vicious. The same human race that has given us Shakespeare and Shaw has given us Auschwitz and Hiroshima.

I ask: What's it like to be a kid about to hit the shores at Normandy? A conscientious objector? A woman in a job for the first time in her life, thanks to the war? On relief during the Depression — or white or black living with biases? And in my book, Working: What's your job like from morning to night?

Did you face much resistance in interviewing non-celebrities?

No. The tape recorder was new. People were unaccustomed to being asked about their lives — these "ordinary" people who do extraordinary things and have extraordinary thoughts. I did an early interview with a woman at a housing project. There were four little kids running around, excited: Their mama's being interviewed with this machine. So I play back her voice. "Oh, my God," she says, "I never knew I felt that way before."

At that time, no one was going out and doing these kinds of interviews — oral history. I work improvisationally — like jazz. There's an old saying, "Cogito, ergo sum" — "I think, therefore I am." For me, it's "I tape, therefore I am."

Is there one interview that made a strong impression on you?

I saw a newspaper item: Ex-Klan leader and black woman on tour to organize janitors and custodians. I've got to meet this guy, C.P. Ellis. He's from Durham, North Carolina. His is the story of many poor whites. He's in trouble, can't get a job. It's got to be someone's fault, and he thinks he knows whose. So he joins the Klan, puts his robe on: "Now I am SOMEBODY" — at the expense of somebody else.

This is civil rights time, and there's this black woman he hates, Ann Atwater. She leads all the picket lines, and she hates him. The parents of Durham public-school students hold a meeting on desegregation. They both attend and are elected to co-chair the committee. They hate each other, but they've got this problem. One day, Ann comes in crying: "They say my little girl's mother is going around with a Klansman." And he answers, "That's my boy in the white school. They say his father's going around with a black woman agitator, and they beat him up." Suddenly they realize they are in the same boat. And that's when they experienced certain revelations.

Ellis went on to help organize a union at Duke University and was elected president by the predominantly black membership. He told me, 'And now it's up to me and these women who only have a fifth-grade education. The company sends down their lawyers to break up our union. We hold our own with them. Now I know I'm SOMEBODY.' That is one of my most powerful interviews.

How did the growth of union strength affect workers' lives?

The CIO and the Wagner Act changed the lives of millions of people: People in factories could organize. And now that right to organize is under attack. AFSCME is one of the few unions still growing. The Cold War weakened unions. In the name of stopping 'them' — it was communism much as it's terrorism now — you do anything. And people were afraid to speak. All of a sudden, labor became a "special interest."

Right now, the very, very have-much group have never had it better. The have-nots never had it worse. And the have-somewhats will be joining the have-nots. We're going backward. Bush represents the big shots, the powerful. Now we have cards that have been stacked. We know it, and so do ordinary people. But there is something to be done: Become activists. Once you do that, something affirmative happens to you, as well as to the person next to you.