NPRs Susan Stamberg says her voice now has an added roughness, which was… (Antony Nagelmann/Copyright…)
When Susan Stamberg started anchoring “All Things Considered” on what was then known as National Public Radio in 1972, she was the only woman broadcasting nightly news on nationwide radio or television. She modeled herself after her male colleagues, “because I thought that’s what you do,” she said. “You speak authoritatively when you anchor the news; you lower your voice.” But her boss told her to just be herself, which she did; after that, her voice became an icon of public radio.
It still is. At 74, Stamberg splits her time between Washington and Los Angeles, where her son lives. “I can work there, and it is warm,” she said, and people in L.A. know her from the radio. “They are hard-core NPR fans,” she said. “They are stuck in their cars. All they have to listen to is us, and they adore us. If I speak, someone says, ‘Oh, I know your voice.’ ”
Stamberg has been inducted into the National Radio Hall of Fame and earned many awards and honorary degrees. After hosting “All Things Considered” for 14 years, Stamberg switched to “Weekend Edition Sunday” and now works as a guest host for “Morning Edition” and “Weekend Edition Saturday” as well as recording pieces on cultural issues for “Morning Edition.”
She recently invited a reporter to her office at NPR — a small, somewhat cluttered place with a vintage radio sitting on a shelf — and talked about growing older and wiser. Here are excerpts from that conversation.
Radio seems like a good medium in which to age.
It is a wonderful medium in every way. You don’t have to comb your hair before you go to work.
How has your voiced aged?
It’s produced through happy, happy years of smoking. Maybe a pack a day. That will roughen up your pipes.
I hear the difference between me and Linda Wertheimer, who is a bit younger than I am, maybe four years, and maybe Nina Totenberg, who is also maybe that much younger than I, but neither of them are smokers. I can hear that in their voices. It is a rounder sound. Mine has little prickers in it. I think it makes for interesting broadcasting, but it’s not a bell-like sound. It was when I was younger in the smoking days, but over time, I think, the pipes age.
[Recently,] we dug into the archives to remember Dave Brubeck [the jazz musician who died in December] with a 1981 interview that I did with him. I brought him to my house, because we had no piano at NPR. And he played. I heard my voice then and they told me the “Weekend Saturday” staff crowded around listening to how I sounded once. My voice was really, really younger.
What else about aging on the radio?
I’m certainly slower. [In December], Ravi Shankar, the great guitarist, died. In 2004, I had gone to India to be with him for a profile. In 2006, I did Shankar’s obituary, and when it ran on the air what I noticed is that my voice is somewhat the same, but in my writing, I’ve lost a certain flexibility and a richness. I hope this doesn’t sound egotistical, but there were two parts that I thought: Susan, Good! [She laughs.] I described his music as being like an Indian sari, rich and subtle and spilling out over something. His music was so beautiful, it broke your heart.
That’s what I heard on the radio in my kitchen this morning. That would be work for me now. That many years ago, it was not. So I notice that because I am groping for words more. I’m having to use Google, which came along just at the moment I needed it most. I am 74 — when your memory starts sort of tattering.
Is there a peak age in radio?
I think there is, for knock-’em-dead, and that’s when you’re young and you have all that energy and invention, and you adore it. That’s one peak. What happens to those talents and abilities over time get burnished. It’s not an effort to know how to structure a story, where to put the quotations, what the pacing of it should be. I know now. That took years.
Some things were a whole lot harder when I was younger, because I knew less. Some things are harder now because I know all that other stuff but I don’t have “earlier” chops, the quick chops.
I get frustrated. Darn, darn, I can’t remember the name. Also, my husband died five years ago, and he was half my memory. We had a long history, over 50 years of marriage. We could always fill in each other’s blanks. He always did it better — my theory is because men don’t go through menopause. [She laughs.] Then, I had a complete memory.
How do you cope with that loss?