If anyone's interested: Anderson's interview because I

this man:
"The past is all around, and in New Orleans I can't pretend it's not."
"For so long I tried to separate myself from my past. I tried to move on, forget what I'd lost, but the truth is, none of it's ever gone away," writes CNN correspondent Anderson Cooper in an exclusive excerpt for Vanity Fair from his new memoir, Dispatches from the Edge (HarperCollins). The horror of Katrina forced Cooper to confront his painful past, including the death of his father when he was 10 and his brother Carter's suicide in 1988. "The past is all around, and in New Orleans I can't pretend it's not."(The June issue of Vanity Fair hits newsstands in New York and L.A. on May 3 and nationally on May 9.)
Cooper writes that his mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, once told him that she survived the traumas of her own childhood because she always felt that inside she had a crystal core, a diamond nothing could get at or scratch. "I'd felt that same rock form inside me when my father died [in 1978]. In New Orleans, however, it started to crack."
Cooper writes of the effect the loss of his father had on him and his older brother, Carter. "After the funeral, both of us retreated into separate parts of ourselves, and I don't think we ever truly reached out to each other again. I can't remember ever discussing my father's death with my brother. Perhaps I did, but I have no memory of it."
Following his father's death, "the world seemed a very scary place, and I vowed not to let it get to me. I wanted to be autonomous, protect myself from further loss. I was only 10, but I decided I had to earn my own money, so I could save for a future I couldn't predict." Although his mother was wealthy, Cooper "got a job as a child model and opened a bank account," because he "didn't want to have to rely on someone else."
Moments before Carter Cooper leapt to his death from his mother's balcony, he asked her, "Will I ever feel again?" "It didn't make sense to me at the time. I'd even forgotten he said it until my mother recently reminded me," Cooper writes. "We both had tried to cauterize our pain, push our pasts behind us. If only I could have told him that he wasn't the only one. I abandoned him long before he abandoned me.
"I see that now. I could have reached out to him, talked with him, but he didn't make it easy, and I was a kid, and had myself to worry about."
Self-reliance was a recurrent theme in Cooper's childhood, and when he was in high school he began taking "survival courses: monthlong mountaineering expeditions in the Rockies, sea kayaking in Mexico," because, he says, "I needed to prove to myself that I could survive on my own." As for his brother, "I assumed he'd come up with his own way to deal with the loss. I thought he could take care of himself."
Cooper tries not to imagine the last moments of his brother's life, he says. "That's the thing about suicide. No matter how much you try to remember how that person lived his life, you can't forget how he ended it. It's like driving by a car smashed on the side of the road. You can't resist craning your neck to take stock of the damage."
People often ask Cooper if he was close to his brother. "Inevitably I get that question," he writes. "Sometimes it's right after a person finds out about my brother's death; sometimes it's only after weeks of their knowing me. Were we close? Not so close that I knew he was going to kill himself. Not so close that I understood why he did."
Cooper writes that he keeps some of his brother's things and will go through them someday. "I keep the pictures, as well as his scribbled notes and magazines—the things I found in his apartment. I tell myself that one day I'll go through them and perhaps discover some clue that will help me understand, help me answer the question: Were we close?"
Although his childhood was a privileged one, Cooper writes, and his mother played host to the likes of Truman Capote and Andy Warhol, "I didn't know my mother was famous until I was about 12. I was in middle school when she designed a line of jeans that became wildly successful. On the street, suddenly people began to stare at us and point. My brother and I thought it was funny. We'd count how many times we saw our mother's name stitched on the back pocket of somebody's pants."
Did I mention that I

this man? He is so honest and brilliant - my heart goes out to him for all the tragedies he has suffered in his lifetime...