Mike Sager: The _Heeb_ Interview

As the world becomes more and more pixelated, the number of journalists who appreciate boot leather reporting—hitting the concrete and pressing flesh with characters both storied and unsavory—continues to dwindle. Mike Sager is one of those boot-wearing, concrete-hitting, flesh-pressing few. From his early days as a copy boy at The Washington Post to cranking out stories so vivid that they read like fiction for magazines such as Esquire and GQ, Sager is one of those Algerian characters. The kind who give the rest of us poor pencil-pushers hope that journalism won’t be reduced to a cipher as we Twitter further and further into the digital revolution. I recently spoke with the writer about his past, his techniques and what’s next on his literary agenda. And, in true journalistic fashion, Sager started off with the first question:

How can I be Jewish for you today?

Oh, don’t worry too much about being Jewish. We’re not that hardcore over here.

Well, that would describe me perfectly. In certain ways, I tend to gravitate to Jewish people, but I just don’t like to be around a whole huge group of them.

Why’s that?

I guess because where I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland, in Pikesville—the Jewish ghetto—as they call it, everyone was the same, and I was sort of propelled in the opposite direction.

OK, so you were rebelling?

That’s part of it— well not just rebelling against Jewishness, but the notion that there’s only one way of doing everything. When you come from a culture there’s always accepted standards of how everything has to be done. So it’s sort of like, in order to try to find the things that judge you the best, you sometimes have to get out of your own original culture—find other standards by which to judge.

So is that why you dropped out of law school after three weeks to become a reporter?

Well, a lot of that has to do with just wanting to follow my dreams. It was sort of predictable for me to go to law school and to be a professional and to take that route.

But you became a writer instead. When did you start getting interested in that?

I was always [creative]. I played guitar and I did photography and I wrote poetry. In my teens, I was looking for some kind of creativity. I like being creative more than working on a problem that there is one answer to. So I gravitated toward writing. My mother always said I was a good bullshitter.

What was your first day like at The Washington Post?

At ten of two in the morning I got a wire that the Pope died—you know, a fairly big story. So I figured out that I should take it to the foreign desk. So I took it over there, and there was this editor there. He read it, and he was like, ‘Fuck!’ He picked up the phone, and about two minutes later, this other editor was like, ‘Stop the presses!’ So they had to stop the presses on my first night and tear up the front page. I was running around, going back to the library [to get information for the story]. I mean the whole idea of the Internet is cool. Like, I was working on a novel today and I needed to know shit. So I just fucking typed something in. I mean I used to have to go down to the library with a sack full of dimes to make copies. It was good, because the library was kind of in downtown DC and a sack of coins was good defense. If someone attacked I could use it as a weapon. You should remember that—keep your coins in a sack and if you have a prowler you can fight back with a sack full of quarters.

That’s good advice; they won’t expect that.

I know a pimp who used that as a weapon— a double tube sock full of change. It would put anyone into a coma if you hit him in the right place.

He just carried it around with him?

It was in his car, along with his arsenal of other weapons.

When did you write your first story?

I did an internship my senior year of college at one of the nation’s first alternative weeklies called Creative Loafing. There’re now several of them around the country. [It was on] edible plants—this guy who was into edible plants. And then my first story for The Washington Post was in the Virginia Weekly section, and it was about a Christmas parade. It was really hot stuff.

What was your time at The Post like?

I worked at The Post for six years. Once I made it from copy boy to reporter, they put me on night police. From there I went to cops and courts, night rewrite, general assignment—all of the traditional journalistic Stations of the Cross. I covered cops and trials. I covered politics. I learned how to go to the ghetto and knock on someone’s door. I interviewed President Reagan. I did everything. The reason I got into journalism was because I wanted to write, but I had nothing to say. I love to write. I love the whole playing with words, moving commas— the entire writing thing. But I needed something to write about.

How did you get into magazine writing?

[At The Post] I was a good feature writer. I had a way with words; that’s what I was there for and that’s what I got better at. [But] they didn’t care about great writing, up to a certain point. I was at an assignment to cover a funeral at Arlington Cemetery, which over the years I had done several times. So I was like, ‘All right, I’m going to write this story, but this time I’m not going to mention the 21-gun salute or the clicking heels of the honor guard or any other cliche, but I’m still going to make the readers cry. I’d set goals for myself, in other words. I got into a fight or two in my time with the editors because they fucked with the rhythm of my piece. They didn’t care about words being one syllable or two. They didn’t care about the rhythm of the writing. They just wanted the story covered. After a while, I just felt my writing needed more room to grow. Newspapers are just the facts, ma’am. In magazines, I could begin to stretch my literary aspirations. Eventually I knew it was time to move on.

One of your first magazine pieces was for Rolling Stone, right? What was that like?

My epiphany came on a day when I was in Nepal and I was trekking. We would have to walk, like, 10 hours a day. I’m walking around, scat singing to myself, and it occurred to me— I’m doing the same job I was doing back at The Post, but I’m in fucking Nepal, man! And I don’t have to cover Arlington Cemetery. And that was kind of when I knew.

You’re a participatory journalist, in a way. How do you get in good with your sources?

Over the years I’ve just adapted the anthropological approach of pulling up a log at the fire and sitting my butt down and keeping my mouth shut. You have to be yourself, but a bit less so. I think Hunter Thompson was a participatory journalist. He’s like really throwing himself over the cliff. I’m more like crawl up to the edge of the cliff on all fours and look over. Have I smoked crack with gang members? Yes. Would I shoot a gun in a drive-by? No. Would I go in a car in one? Yes. What I’m trying to do is feel what my subject feels and look at things the way they look at them so I can write from their perspective. Because this is about them.

So you’re not going to become a prison guard at Sing Sing to get a story?

No. Because I have a life now. When I was younger, I didn’t really have one. My life was my work. Now I’ve got a son and a wife. I’m not that character in a movie that loses his family for his work. So what are you working on now? I’m working on a novel, my second novel. I finally do have something to say. It’s called High Tolerance. There’s this book proposal circulating. I’m not sure whether it will come to light or not, so let’s not jinx it. But that’s what I do. I get up every morning at 6:15 and I get breakfast ready for everyone, and at about 7:10 I’m down here typing. My exciting life.

What’s the novel about?

I like to think it’s something like Bonfire of the Vanities meets Weeds meets Crash.

In addition to writing, you teach at University of California Irvine—how’s that?

I’m a mentor, I think. I’ve always been some kind of ministerial figure. You know, even when I was a little kid—12 years old—other kids would come to me with their problems. I don’t know why that was, because certainly I had problems of my own.

People just like to talk to you?

I guess, or listen to me.

Want to know more about Mike Sager’s work? Check out his website.

What do you think?