The Editor: Preserving More Than Stories

Editing Legacy Interviews tunes me into our clients in a unique way. I have found that people are more than the sum of their experiences. We are our stories, perspectives, and idiosyncrasies.

My Mom keeps voicemails from my grandfather on her phone. Years after his passing, she can’t bring herself to delete them. The messages preserve the sound of his voice, but he isn’t just talking. He is talking to her.

My grandfather’s voice was iconic. His thick Texas accent was weathered by decades of cigar smoke and Harley Davidson exhaust. Hard living earned him a unique cough. Actually, it was more of a violent wheeze. It was not pleasant, but it was signature. When you heard it burst from the garage where he smoked, there was no doubt about who was out there. When I think of it now, I can’t help but smile.

Family Bonds

My bond with my grandfather was based on blood and sparse visits. He lived in southeast Texas, and I grew up in Missouri, a 10 hour car ride away. In truth, I did not know him, and he never really knew me.

When he died, the family gathered to grieve. For three days we crowded kitchen tables to laugh, cry, and drink to his memory. Most of all, the family told stories. In those three days I learned more about my grandfather than I had in the rest of my life put together.

The good, the bad, and the ugly were laid bare, but each story lacked the same element: my grandfather’s perspective. Fuzzy details were glazed over with the sad concession that the only one who could clarify them was the one missing from the table.

A few months later, my Mom had me digitize our home movies. Working through stacks of VHS tapes, I found footage of my grandfather playing with my cousins and me. His belly was smaller, his hair was darker, but his voice — unmistakable. Then the tape cut to my brother playing little league soccer and the moment was over.

Who We Are

Editing Legacy Interviews, I get to know clients better after they leave than I ever do while they are in the studio. In the footage, they tell me all about themselves. I can pause them, have them repeat themselves, speed them up, or slow them down. I watch and listen with technical scrutiny in a way no one watches anyone in real life.

Observing people this way makes you realize how much they are telling you beyond what they are saying. People are complex, but I think three main categories sum up who we are: our stories, our perspectives, and our idiosyncrasies.

We Are Our Stories

Our stories are what happened. They can be as general as the fact that I went to college, or as specific as the night I got a little too familiar with spiced rum at a friend’s birthday party (but that’s a different article).

Personal experience is one thing, but when we imagine our life story, we tend to leave out backstory.

Growing up in Sunday School, Biblical genealogies were always a drag. A dull list of names of people who lived thousands of years ago? Pass. But those were written down for a reason: Where we come from matters.

The stories of past generations do not define us, but they remind us that we are part of something greater than ourselves.

My personal history is inextricably linked to my grandfather’s. The smallest tweak to his early life could mean the difference between me existing or not. Whether that indicates beautiful chaos or meticulous destiny, there is no doubt that my story began long before I did.

We Are Our Perspectives

Perspective is what we think about what happens. It is our interpretation of life. Editing Legacy Interviews has exposed me to numerous ideas about what success is, what family means, what happens when we die, and the trajectory of the world.

It is interesting to measure someone’s perspective against their stories. I observe guests expressing their values and opinions alongside the context of details from their past – details their own families may not know yet. It does not take long to see the role perspective plays in identity.

I wish I had asked my grandfather about his past, but even more, I wish I had asked what he thought of it. Did he live with regret? How would he account for his successes and failures? What advice would he have had for my brother, my cousins, and me if I had asked him for some?

Stories from friends and family are invaluable, but no one can substitute perspective.

We Are Our Idiosyncrasies

Idiosyncrasies are how we express our stories and perspectives. Everyone has a unique voice, laugh, and manner of speaking. And everyone has quirks.

The job of an editor usually involves finding these quirks and ensuring they never see the light of day. We purge the non-essential – dead air, coughs, false starts, filler words, lip smacks, etc.

When I edit Legacy Interviews, my training is at odds with my instincts.

I want to preserve the fidelity of the conversation because people are their idiosyncrasies. Any editor in their right mind would cut my grandfather’s cough from an interview, but I would be delighted to hear it again.

I use my best judgment to strike a balance. I cut out dead air and the strange sounds we all make where it is necessary and possible to do so, but if a quirk strikes me as more of a mannerism, I may leave it.

The way someone pauses, stumbles, breathes, chokes up, or even coughs, is a part of who they are. It may even pop up down the generational line. You never know which details will matter the most.

Editing Legacy Interviews takes the spirit of saving voicemails to another level. Our process exists in order to preserve the stories, perspectives, looks, sounds, and gestures that make us who we are.

All while making you look your absolute best, of course.