“Hi, nice to meet you!”
[Uncomfortable pause]
Um, we’ve met. [Proceeds to tell me about said meeting in great detail.]
This happens to me more than I like. It happened on a weekly basis at grouse camp. In some cases, that retelling of the meeting does trip a flood of memories, like the Texan with whom I spent a miserable morning theoretically hunting sandhill cranes, but ended up being a scene from All Quiet on the Western Front, only without the artillery.
But other times, it’s a straight up blank. The more this happens, the more I realize it’s me, my fault — one of my many character flaws.
Some humans possess the skill to remember names and faces and recall the situations under which they met with preternatural skill. I may have met the greatest of them all, and by that I mean I know I met him, but he may or may not be the greatest at recall there is: Bill Clinton.
The first time I met him, he was running for president. I was a very young reporter, a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin. Clinton was campaigning on campus, and at the time I worked for the local African American newspaper, the Madison Times Weekly News. As such, I got a chance to ask him a few questions one-on-one. I don’t really remember the details, but they were basically questions about what he might do for the Black community.
That was 1992. Flash forward to 2000. I was a much more seasoned reporter, and I was covering Virginia’s US Senate race between Chuck Robb and George Allen. By now a former president, Clinton campaigned for Robb. Again, I got a chance to ask him a few questions.
“You’re the Wisconsin reporter who worked for the black newspaper,” he asked, knowing the answer. “Hank, right?”
I was dumbfounded. How? Our exchange in 1992 was less than five minutes. An entire presidency laid between our meetings. What sorcery was this? But remember he did.
Since then, I’ve heard many stories like this about Clinton, and about other lesser lights with similar skills. Many are salespeople. Some are politicians. A few are quieter folks, who seem not to use or love their power, but it is theirs nonetheless.
I do not possess this power. It pains me that I don’t.
I’ll tell you another story to illustrate why. During one of my book tours, Anthony Bourdain and I seemed to shadow each other; we spoke at the same places several times, did restaurant events at the same spot more than once. At one, as our event was winding down, I spotted Bourdain’s signature skull and crossbones with the chef’s hat scrawled on the bar. Super cool, I said.
Not so much, the chef replied. Apparently 1) he and Bourdain had met before, and Bourdain did not remember him, and 2) Bourdain didn’t so much as say hi to them in the kitchen during that event.
I was appalled, and vowed to be better. I have been a lot better about keeping my outward presence positive even when I am down — although in the middle of grouse season, I fell down even here, I am sad to say — but for the life of me I am stil terrible with faces and names.
I could pawn it all off on the fact that the majority of my readers have monosyllabic names like Bob or Jane or Tim or Sue or Joe, but that’s no excuse. I could pin it on the fact that I meet thousands of people each year, more during book tour years. But while that might be a reason, it isn’t a good one.
If I sit quietly and think, a better explanation comes into view, one that is a bit uncomfortable to me. Of course, being human, I’ve been the rememberer before; I can recall in crystalline detail a particular meeting with a woman long ago that she has only vague, gauzy memories of. The reason there was obvious: I was struck by her, and she, well, not so much.
I am uncomfortable being the one people are struck by. (I suspect she is, too, for what it’s worth) I’ve been called all sorts of nice things by well meaning people (and all sorts of nasty things by nasty people), and I alway shift a bit in my shoes when the former happens. (I am from New Jersey, so barbs and insults are like air for me. Those I can take.) Taking a compliment with grace — really taking one at all — has been something I’ve had to learn. It’s not a natural part of me. So what was a brief meeting to me might be that striking moment to the person I was chatting with.
The realization of this has helped me be more gracious and kind. That has been a valuable lesson. But I’ve tried all sorts of tricks to remember individuals better. All have failed. It sucks, but as they say in Spanish, asi es.
I’m not sure why I am telling you this confession, but I think it’s because it’s a piece of me that I hate, and that has been thrust to the fore in the past month. Repeatedly. So if we meet, and I don’t remember you, I am sorry. I really am. I’m trying.
Right there with you. The expression “I never forget a face” is a mystery to me. And names, I keep notes on my phone. Really have trouble remembering names and faces.
Thanks for being so vulnerable here Hank. You are not alone, if I don’t take a literal note or have a memorable experience with a person, 9 times out of 10 I’m not going to member them either. As one of your many readers I have the upper hand, as we get to hear from you regularly and build a connection or perceived relationship with you, without your knowledge. In a brief meeting with you many of us could feel like we are already friends.