I reconnected in shorthand reminiscence about our background as white Southerners who had come of age during the civil rights movement. Born into nonpolitical families, each of us was successively unmoored, inspired, and captivated by the reverberations of a democracy so profoundly enlarged. We had not seen each other since 1972, having drifted apart in the turmoil of that era, but we yearned for its core optimism. Twenty years later, we found ourselves using similar words, such as "heal" and "repair." We thought history and modern politics were out of balance. His White House tapes project emerged from a fitful reunion of two graying baby boomers, one of whom was about to become President of the United States.

The first harbinger landed on our doorstep six days after thediscovery. "I can't just sit down and talk into a tape recorder," he said. "I need questions. I need somebody responding to me." This was not uncommon, I replied, and oral history dialogue had developed since World War II to replace letters as a source for personal memory. One advantage of a prompted diary was that Clinton could initiate the project virtually alone, which would help safeguard the results. He needed only a trusted interviewer and some confidential logistics. From my own experience, I could get him started until someone on his staff picked up the relatively simple arts. The president seized on the notion. "Oh, that's even better," he said brightly. I wasn't sure whether he meant better than the in-house historian's job, or better than relying