Transcript
Leon Neyfakh (0:00)
Wasn't that delicious?
Linda Tripp (0:01)
So good.
Leon Neyfakh (0:02)
Your bill, ladies.
Susan Matthews (0:03)
I got it. No, I got it.
Linda Tripp (0:06)
Seriously, I insist.
Susan Matthews (0:08)
I insisted first. Oh, don't be silly.
Linda Tripp (0:10)
You don't be silly.
Wells Fargo Narrator (0:11)
People with the Wells Fargo active cash credit card prefer to pay because they earn unlimited 2% cash rewards on purchases.
Leon Neyfakh (0:18)
Okay.
Linda Tripp (0:18)
Rock, paper, scissors for it. Rock, paper, scissors.
Leon Neyfakh (0:21)
Shoot. No.
Wells Fargo Narrator (0:23)
The Wells Fargo ActiveCash credit card. Visit Wells Fargo.comActiveCash terms apply.
Leon Neyfakh (0:32)
A few months ago, I was at my desk working late, going through a list of people I wanted to interview for this podcast. Linda Tripp was one of the first people I had put on the list. I didn't have high hopes. When I dialed her number. I wasn't even sure I had the right one. But then, after a couple of rings, Tripp picked up. I recognized her voice. I remembered it from the 22 hours of tapes she made back in 1997 when she secretly recorded a series of phone calls which her friend Monica Lewinsky talked about her tumultuous affair with the President.
Linda Tripp (1:04)
You have a crappy personal situation and you have a crappy professional situation.
Leon Neyfakh (1:10)
After I explained who I was and what I was doing, Trippe told me that she did not want to be interviewed. She said it had been 20 years since all this stuff happened. She had a whole new life now that had nothing to do with Bill Clinton or Monica Lewinsky. I knew about this new life from stories I'd read about Trip. She lived on a horse farm in rural Virginia, and she owned a year round Christmas store with her husband Dieter, whom she spoke German with at home. It made sense that Tripp didn't want to reignite interest in her past. But I kept pushing, saying I wanted to get her side of the story. After a few minutes, Tripp said something to the effect of, there's no way you would ever get it right. And when I asked what she meant, she just started answering me. And suddenly we were talking. About half an hour into the call, I realized that this could be my only shot at interviewing Trip. And though it was clear to me that Tripp did not think we were in the middle of an interview, she did know that I was a journalist and there had been no discussion of our conversation being off the record. So without interrupting her, I started recording the call. We talked for another hour and a half after that, and she was being incredibly forthcoming, telling me about her relationship with Lewinsky, her motivations for taping her, and how she felt about her actions. All these years later, I never revealed to Tripp that I was recording everything she was saying or asked for her permission to start. At the end of the call, Tripp asked me if I'd consider keeping the conversation between us. Caught off guard, I responded vaguely, telling her that I wanted to sit down and talk properly in person. Tripp said she would think about it. After we said goodnight, I turned off my tape recorder and stared at it. By this point, it was nearly 11 o' clock and there was no one else left in the Slate office, which meant there was no one for me to go up to and say, guess what? I just secretly taped a phone call with Linda Tripp. Over the next couple of weeks, while Tripp weighed the possibility of an interview, I considered my options. Aside from Clinton and Lewinsky, Tripp was probably the most pivotal player in this whole saga. An ordinary person who made extraordinary choices that precipitated the entire impeachment crisis. And she had barely given any interviews in the years since. Legally, I was fine to use the tape, but was it ethical? Since I hadn't agreed to go off the record, I wouldn't be violating any journalistic rules. Also, this was Lynne, the Tripp, the person who secured her place in history by surreptitiously taping her friend's desperate confessions and handing them over to federal prosecutors. A person who ensured that a young woman's most private moments would be described and dissected in newspapers and on TV screens around the world. If I used the tape, could Linda Trippe really object? And then in early June, Trippe called me back and she said, okay, I could come see her in Virginia, and if she got the sense that she could trust me, she would let me ask whatever questions I wanted. So I went to Linda Tripp's horse farm. When my producer and I showed up, she offered to make us lunch real quick.
