For 15 years I have visited with Johnson County people in their homes. We’ve sat at kitchen tables to talk. A personality profile interview builds itself naturally.

The drive home is important to me. For it is then that their spoken words and my feelings begin to fit together. By the time I pull into my driveway I usually know my headline.

I’ve learned so much.

Human nature is of intense interest to me; it always has been.

As a young child, I sat still and listened to my mother’s brothers and sisters talk about their childhoods when we visited. I was a little jealous that I was an only child.

I remember the tiniest details.

My uncles had a peanut brittle candy factory in a shed behind the family’s home when they were growing up at Jermyn.

Mother reached into barrels and munched on fresh, grated coconut when no one was watching.

Aunt Kate was a “blue baby,” tiny and fragile. They placed her in a shoe box.

Grandfather owned a lumber yard and sold caskets. One customer, who lived in a dugout bought his casket early and used it as a table in the daytime and slept in it at night.

Uncle George, the last of 12, a diplomat by the time he was three, interrupted his dad as he planned to give him a spanking.

“Papa, don’t you think we need to pray about this first?” He learned it worked every time.

I remember feeling sad when I saw my near-empty baby book. I longed to look at my history in print. I wondered what I would tell my children.

On rainy days Mother and I would lie on the bed while she told me all the things she had not written down. She left me verbal history instead.

I suppose I memorized much of it because I can still hear her saying, “When we took you home from the hospital, your daddy stopped people on the street to show them how precious you were.”

Their Decatur Baptist College yearbook was well worn by the time I grew up.

I loved to look at my parents’ photos.

Bob Harper from Grandview was Most Popular Boy and Madge Moore from Perrin was Campus Beauty in 1931.

They met there. After their deaths, my husband, E.J., took me to Decatur to visit the DBC Administration Building, now a museum.

I walked across the creaking wooden floors where they attended chapel and imagined where they had sat.

My speaking had been practiced for 30 years in the classroom before I became a freelance writer.

Observing one-on-one, however, has come with interviewing experience.

I’ve seen a pattern.

I’ve learned that typically, when I make an appointment for an interview most people agonize over it, having second thoughts, thinking no one will be interested in their story.

Usually when I arrive photographs I’ve requested are spread out somewhere.

I always ask for a kitchen or dining table so we can look at them together. Those photos represent milestones from a life. I can usually tell which photos are most important to them.

The photos help direct me in the questions I ask.

When I first began interviewing I thought I could have a list of questions and use a recorder and simply come home and transcribe.

That didn’t work well. I invariably thought of other questions.

One answer would lead me to another question. The recorder made some people uncomfortable.

Instead I research any particular topics I know will be discussed so I will know a little about it. I take notes.

If I don’t understand the answers, I assume some of my readers won’t either.

So I ask for answers that are simpler and more easily understood.

By the time an hour or two has passed, we are talking easily back and forth. We have enjoyed our time together.

I learned to visit in the home when possible.

You sense a person’s lifestyle, their collections, their values.

I learned that a mate can help tell a story.

They often reinforce dates and events, and it is good to hear their side of a story.

Sometimes the husband or wife tells about awards and honors that would go unmentioned.

I have been deeply touched by what they have told me. I have laughed at the funny things.

On occasion I’ve been told things they say they have never shared before. Sometimes I don’t tell it all.

The longer I write, the better networking I have. Many of my leads come from you, faithful readers, who know interesting folks.

While I was taking chemotherapy in 2001, I was determined I wouldn’t miss a deadline.

At times I needed the person to come to my home for the interview because I didn’t feel like driving any distance.

There were two problems: They were never as comfortable as they would’ve been in their own kitchen, and on occasion, it was difficult to terminate the interview.

I am humbled by the faith people show in me. I am handed valuable family photos from the wall, from albums, from wallets.

Only one person has been distrustful. I remember the event very clearly.

He had a photo of a hanging that took place near his property. I impulsively asked him if I could borrow it.

“No,” he said. “I don’t loan things like that to just anybody.”

I was offended and I’m sure he sensed it.

I didn’t get the photo, but when I see him eating out occasionally he always speaks.

It was his home. His property. His life’s story.

I’ve learned to see the elderly as they were when they were young.

I enjoy facts from their childhoods that sometimes reveal creativity, hard work, lessons learned.

Sometimes I stumble into facts.

I remember asking a gardener where he learned his skill. He said the groundskeeper at the orphanage taught him. An unexpected door opened to his past.

Sometimes I’m tempted to comment about some experience I have had on the same subject. I’ve learned that my comments are a distraction to the interview. They are better saved for conversation afterwards.

On occasion I have encountered a few people who appear boastful. I have learned they need praise more than the humble, quiet ones.

Groups don’t interview well. E-mail builds a story with multiple input. Even individual telephone interviews are more rewarding.

Typically, after I have verified the story and it has been forwarded to the editor, I sense some insecurity on the part of the person I have interviewed, perhaps a fear of rejection by the reader.

But when others are excited for them and let them know, they are pleased their story has been put in print to be handed down to new generations.

I have learned that an editor’s job is to find your mistakes and correct them, not to praise or encourage the writer. They are very busy people with quick deadlines.

The encouragement comes from the reader. And I cannot thank you enough for the kind words you have spoken so many times.

The reader naturally responds to stories they can relate to, times they remember, people they know.

But when they don’t know the person at all and feel drawn to the story, that is the greatest praise of all.

There’s just one drawback to being a good listener and being rather quiet by nature.

After hearing all the stories from my mother, I felt a connection to her brothers and sisters even though I rarely saw them.

After my mother’s death, her sister, who was my favorite, said, “Larue, it’s a shame. We don’t really know you.”

I was shocked.

Transferring that knowledge, I suspect that when I leave a person’s home they have learned little about me.

They may have sensed my sincerity, my values, my sense of humor, but the visit has been all about them. As it should have been.

That’s why I named this column, “Getting to Know You.”

Larue Barnes may be reached at laruebarnes@yahoo.com.