Lincoln Caplan
"We saw that journalists had a social and political purpose and could make a difference."
Breathing life into the law: A conversation with author Lincoln Caplan
Lincoln Caplan has been writing about American law since 1974 when, interning for The New Republic after his first year of law school, he covered the oral argument in United States v. Nixon — the landmark Supreme Court ruling that said a president’s power is not absolute, which led to Richard Nixon’s resignation. Most recently, his reporting about the death penalty and other legal topics has been running on the website of The New Yorker and in other magazines. He co-founded the general-interest Legal Affairs magazine where he nurtured the work of Emily Bazelon, now a staff writer of The New York Times Magazine; John Swansburg, a senior editor of The Atlantic; and Nicholas Thompson, editor-in-chief of Wired, among others. He teaches writing at Yale College and Yale Law School. As a reporter of meaty subjects with far-reaching impact, Caplan brings a distinctly humane angle to his work, championing the best of citizenship-based politics and bearing eloquent witness to some of the most critical challenges of our time.
Q: You’re an advocate for the Harkness system as an educational tool with national potential. How else did Exeter influence your life?
Caplan: I totally bought the notion that Exeter was a national high school. Of all of the great institutions that I’ve been lucky to attend, it’s still the most important to me — for my education, for my sense of belonging, and in terms of close friendship. My most recent book, about the Supreme Court as a political institution, is dedicated to my friend since our prep year together, Rob Shapiro ’68.
Q: You’ve been writing for The New Yorker for decades, but it sounds like your earliest piece still resonates for you.
Caplan: I’ve been fortunate to have two New Yorker chapters: in the past few years, writing for its website, and for a dozen years early in my career, writing for the print magazine. I started out writing for the “Talk of the Town,” which had a wonderful spirit to it. At the time, all the pieces were unsigned; that liberated you to engage in a modest form of invention. It was lovely to know that you were writing alongside people like Lillian Ross and John McPhee — it felt like a kind of joint enterprise. My first piece was about Father Flye, an early teacher of the writer James Agee ’28, before he went to Exeter. They stayed in touch — there’s a gentle volume, The Letters of James Agee to Father Flye, which is really about a young man finding his path and growing up. When I got the opportunity to try my first Talk piece, it felt natural to write about Father Flye.
Q: How did that happen?
Caplan: The person who gave me that opportunity was Robert Bingham ’43, who was the magazine’s executive editor. I had written to Bingham — it must have been in 1978 — and said, “Here are my clips. Am I anywhere near the mark of writing for The New Yorker?” He wrote back, “Dear Mr. Caplan, I can’t tell you much about writing for The New Yorker, except you should stick to the law because you’ll make more money. But when you’re next in New York please call me and stop by.” I thought it would be a 10-minute visit and a pat on the head, but we talked for 45 minutes! Then he said, “My friend John McPhee said that his friend Bill Bradley has had more contributors to his Senate campaign than any candidate in history. How do you account for that?” I thought for a second, and said, “Rock concerts. If you count everybody who buys tickets for concerts that Bradley’s been using as fundraisers, that adds up.” And he smiled, and said, “What would you like to write for The New Yorker?”
I remember the feeling of opening the letter letting me know the magazine had bought that piece, which included a check for $550 — $500 for the piece and $50 for expenses. Then, as often happened, the piece sat for about a year. Meantime, I was selected to be a White House Fellow. The week that I started the fellowship, my piece ran. It was thrilling.
