The Boston Interview (In His Own Right)
As a reporter, I pride myself in doing my homework, so I spent some time looking at old news clips and file photos before coming here to do the interview with Amy Templeton. First, describe her and her husband as they once were in their prime:
Ross Burnham Fowler, a Boston Brahmin do-gooder with good looks that were an initial sucker punch: tall, dark, handsome. Amy Templeton, proud first mate from Middle America with her own soft Celtic beauty: long, wavy, dark auburn hair and wide-set green eyes.
That’s good, good. Then tell the readers how the passage of time has tumbled them downhill. Give ‘em the dirt in their mouths. After ten minutes with these two, however, I knew the conventional spin wouldn’t work.
Templeton introduced me to her husband and their young daughter, Sarah. Fowler—his left leg mangled in a car crash outside Fremont, California almost ten years ago to this day—got out of his chair, and, after a few minutes of polite if reserved small talk, told Sarah to come with him so his wife and I could conduct our interview in relative peace. It wasn’t helping that the kid was hanging onto his arm, clearly a daddy’s girl, her father’s pride and joy.
Fowler, hair now flecked with gray, was still a compelling figure, certainly, but there was something disquieting about him, the youthful good looks replaced by a weathered handsomeness, the blue eyes focused inward as if part of him were somewhere else, conducting a conversation with someone not present; the sea captain feeling the waves beneath him even though he’s on dry land. Up on his feet, he balanced himself with one hand on an old baseball bat fashioned into a walking stick and shook mine with the other. “Listen to her,” he joked, motioning his head toward his wife. “She knows what she’s talking about.” Then the pair, Sarah darting ahead of him, left us alone. Templeton’s face as she turned to watch them go reflected the struggle with long-term health issues she had waged for many years: that luxurious mane now chopped short, the thin frame and face making those green eyes bigger.
The Boston Interview
Amy Louise Templeton gave up the globe-trotting life early on for a less glamorous but more satisfying life of good works. College sweetheart of tennis great, Mike Raynes, Templeton stepped away from the sport circuit whirlwind, working for almost a decade and a half with Human Rights International, and co-founding Health vs. Wealth (HvW), a patient advocacy group and thorn-in-the-side to the region’s health care providers. Now in her mid-thirties, her latest cause is a timely one: helping girls cope with the myriad of pressures facing them as future young women of the 21st century. Templeton lives with her husband, the unrepentantly liberal lawyer Ross Fowler, their four-year-old daughter, Sarah, and three ‘spoiled’ Siamese cats in a modest home in the western suburbs, the yard overflowing with flowering plants and shrubs, the house itself in somewhat of a state of disrepair. [The reporter got her facts wrong: Lacie and Tillie are Birmans; Elsie’s a stray.]
What do you consider your greatest professional accomplishment?
The people we get released—through the work of many, many unnamed people—from prisons and detention. Most definitely. And personally for us, the admission by the Public Ministry in Guatemala last year that the Chief of Police of Quezaltenango and his agents murdered Danilo Morente and Jorge de Leon, human rights workers and friends of ours. They were killed in ‘88. It happened and it was wrong. ‘There can be no justice without an end to impunity . . .' Ross put every ounce of his energy into doing what he could about their case; it was really his, uh, mission. And just generally so with HRI, the preventative good we do simply by being here and speaking out. Also, I think, also with Health vs. Wealth, helping people stand up and fight the medical industrial complex for control of their bodies, their dignity. And, you know, with all these organizations, the sense of connection this work gives the people who volunteer, the knowledge that there’s true meaning and feeling in this world, and that there's something worth fighting for. So, yeah . . .
Do you see yourself as fully recovered? Do you consider yourself healthy now?
Yeah, I’m relatively well. I guess everyone’s stuck with me for a while.
Any special regimen you follow?
Not really. We don’t eat much meat anymore. I see my doctor every six months. And take a lot of vitamins; that’s about it.
And exercise?
And exercise, sure.
Exercise by playing tennis, perhaps? What’s your current relationship with Mike Raynes, if I may ask? Are you still close?
Oh, I love the game. There’s a brilliant simplicity to it, like chess, isn’t there? A million permutations on a few simple lines. An elegance, you know, that’s very satisfying, but those rackets! God, don’t get me started . . .. Anyway, I follow it on TV when I have time. No, no, wait . . . actually we were in San Francisco, what, two years ago and saw Michael play. It was good to see him again, but we have pretty much gone our own ways. He has two boys now, you know. Great kids—unfortunately I can’t remember their names right now.
Your husband, Ross Fowler, was a well-known activist in his own right, wasn’t he, a few years back, back in the 80s?
(With considerable annoyance) Yes, of course, he’s still well known in his own right. He’s always been himself in his own right, hasn’t he? He’s very involved in Safe Haven now. It’s, uh, it’s a group concerned with immigrants and tenants’ rights. And of course he’s still active in HRI. He’s doing pretty well. It’s been hard these past few years because he’s always been such an extremely independent person, always went wherever and did whatever he wanted no matter what, and he’s had a very hard struggle to maintain a fraction of that. But he’s very stubborn. He has great strength of will. I have great respect for that. I have great respect for him. He keeps me searching in the right direction; he keeps me staring at the moon, not the bridges already built. [The reporter doesn’t get this and waits. Perhaps there’s more?] (Amy, softly, almost to herself) ‘. . . my guardian priest.’
So, you obviously believe—even in this age of casual sex—in the power of love? Is that what you tout to the girls you mentor? Isn’t it an antiquated notion? It seems as if women now are moving to the forefront; you seem to be a reflection of that. Your husband’s had his time in the spotlight, and now it’s your turn. You’ve taken the lead, and it’s good, is it not, for the woman to be the focus, not the man?
(Pausing for several seconds, searching for the words) No, not really. I mean, yes, in a demographic sense, sure. But how do you know it’s really better? Do you know us as individuals? No, you don’t. (Another pause)
It’s true, if you’ve been in the shadows, the spotlight feels good. But a spotlight’s a small space, and it can’t contain the multitudes still struggling in the darkness. You have to love something larger than yourself, desire more than your own progress. You need to turn your inward gaze outward to thrive or to love. These are neither antiquated notions nor strictly male or female qualities. These are human attributes. We should not lose our grace and humanity as we strive to move forward—all of us, together. Our future journey should be a fully human one. Yes, it should.
To be continued . . .
Image: The waves beneath. Source: Detail from “Stowing Sail,” by Winslow Homer. 1903. The Art Institute of Chicago Collection. CCO Public Domain.