Celebrating 125 years of Arizona Republic journalism with Storytelling

Daniel Gonzalez wanted to maintain his humanity in the face of a beat that can embitter a man.

Dennis Wagner wanted to understand the frustration and despair at the heart of violence.

Dianna M. Náñez wanted to learn how a person can survive a profound grief, and thrive years later.

And I, well, I wanted to wear what I wanted to work… because my self-expression has become so otherwise circumspect.

On Monday night, in front of a sold-out crowd of almost 250 at the Phoenix Theatre, eight journalists told stories about what we struggled to understand, or what we wanted to get out of a memorable moment in the course of our careers. The night was one of many ways in which the Arizona Republic marked its 125th Anniversary, which was Tuesday.

The theme was "Stories About Stories," and the night was part of the newsroom's popular series of live events called the Arizona Storytellers Project, in which community members share a true, first-person story on a theme, either addressed literally or metaphorically.

But this night was different. On this night, only staff were invited to share, and the first eight who volunteered were those booked to share. And while there were funny moments, mostly the stories were intense and dramatic, narratives of covering those who struggle for justice, for grace and for safety.

Am I giving the killer a ride to Phoenix?

The night opened with border issues reporter Gonzalez recounting the moment, 15 years ago, when he'd just started on the border beat. He was sent to Rocky Point, Mexico, to cover the shooting deaths of two Americans in a roadside chapel in Mexico. His real challenge came after finishing his stories.

On his way back to Phoenix, he picked up a hitchhiker, only later realizing the person matched the description of the killer. Gonzalez wondered: Was he transporting a killer? Was the killer going to attack him? Was he just being paranoid?

Watch Gonzalez talk about the border murders, and the long car ride back to Phoenix.

The hitchhiker approached me as I was filling up my tank with gas in Lukeville after I had completed three days of reporting and filing stories on deadline.

He showed me his green card to prove he was not illegal. But on the way back, I became overcome with paranoia that I had picked up the killer.

The incident taught me how dangerous the border can be and how what seems real often isn't. It is place where almost no one can be trusted, even the police. Criminal gangs operated on both sides.

But despite that I have struggled to hold onto my humanity. And if given the choice again, I would probably pick up the hitchhiker again. I am pretty sure he was just a guy who needed help.

I dropped him off at his home off 35th Avenue and McDowell Road. I never saw him again. And 15 years later, the murders have never been solved. – Daniel Gonzalez

I wanted to know how she survived such grief. Because I knew people who didn't.

Náñez told a story about talking with Marie Tillman and listening to her describe her journey through grief after Pat Tillman's death. Náñez explained how in trying to tell this story she wrestled with objectivity and her own relationship with grief.

Watch Náñez tell a story about her family's history of grief, and how Marie Tillman helped her understand this.

I knew I'd end up as the intern who couldn't even deliver pizzas, let alone a story

Coyotes beat reporter Sarah McLellan told of having her car die while on an assignment. Instead of being able to get help from her dad, which was her go-to at the time, she figured out another solution. That small moment, which grew increasingly absurd, gave her a confidence she uses today.

Watch McLellan talk about how one setback after the next almost derailed her entire journalism career. Or at least, it felt that way at the time.

My story tonight focuses on one of my first tasks as a summer intern at The Republic – picking up and delivering pizzas to a focus group. But what sounded like an easy responsibility became a challenge once my car wouldn't start after I arrived at the pizza place. My first instinct was to call my dad to rescue me; up to this point, he'd always been there to help whenever I needed him.

But when he was unavailable to come pick me up, I had to come up with a different solution. I did, eventually, and this experience still sticks with me because it was an important moment of validation for me. Despite always having Dad there as a safety net before, I learned I could handle whatever challenges were on the horizon. And with regular hurdles in my day-to-day as the Coyotes insider for azcentral sports – a game ends late, a practice gets cancelled – the confidence to know I always find a way to get the job done has become invaluable. – Sarah McLellan

Awards are great, but you can't accept them posthumously

Photojournalist Michael Chow told of the many chances he's taken to get the perfect photo but coming to realize the risk isn't always worth the reward.

Watch Chow talk about almost stepping on a landmine in Kosovo, and how that changed him as a photographer.

And then we were carjacked

Reporter Wagner had been in Los Angeles after the riots of 1992, after four police officers were acquitted in the videotaped beating of an African-American man named Rodney King. Wagner said that the experience changed him, showing him why it is important to write what happened, and to explain why something has happened.

Watch Wagner tell a story about the violence, and grace, that he saw during the Los Angeles riots.

Phoenix Gazette reporter Ben Winton, photographer Mike Chow and I took a cab into the looting and fires and mayhem. We got carjacked. We saw a white truck driver dragged onto the street, beaten and run-over. We were chased by rioters who pelted our car with beer bottles. At the same time, other Blacks in the community probably saved our lives.

History repeats itself today in Ferguson and Baltimore, maybe tomorrow in Phoenix. But the LA riots changed me – my understanding of people, and of my job. – Dennis Wagner

What's the worst they can say? I'm dressed like a skank? How do you know I'm not one?

I told a story about staying true to myself as dresser, even as my career requires me to be evermore circumspect in other areas of my self-expression.

Watch Finnerty tell a story about dressing so badly she wasn't allowed to leave the office.

I've always been a bold dresser.

But I haven't always been a good dresser. I've dressed with such an aggressive but misguided sense of style so many times that once, my friends compiled a list of my biggest misses. They coined a phrase – good risk, bad choice – to describe my effort and lack of payoff.

And once, I dressed like such a clueless person for work that my manager told me I couldn't go out to interview people.

But this is not a story about how that was some turning point in my wardrobe. Instead, I can tell you that I've continued dressing distinctively, even badly, because I find it's one of the last areas in which I can truly express myself.

As my social media self, and journalism self, and public speaking self, and TV and radio self and newsletter self become increasingly crafted – because the consequences of being misunderstood have become increasingly dire – I feel that my wardrobe is still somewhere I can be my real self: wild one day, ladylike the next, a little skanky after that. And the consequences of any one outfit last no longer than the hours I'm wearing the look. The next day, I'll dress like something else. But I'll still dress like myself. – Megan Finnerty

That moment when you realize the Border Patrol officer could never have been hit by a rock, because he was at the fence, shooting.

Bob Ortega told of the struggle and reward of being able to interact with those who've lost a loved one as a result of violence.

Watch Ortega tells his story of interacting with people suffering grief.

(My story is about) one of the hardest things we have to do as journalists: talk to someone who's just suffered an unexpected loss.

In this case, I'll talk about my conversations with Araceli Rodriguez. She's the mother of a 16-year-old boy who was shot to death in Nogales, Mexico, by a Border Patrol agent two and a half years ago. I'll talk about her determination to find out who shot her son and why, where our reporting led on this, and the enormous obstacles she – and we – faced in getting answers to those seemingly simple questions. – Bob Ortega

Maybe they could get an intern to come around every few days, clean out my voicemail?

And columnist Montini shared how trusting in a faithful reader has helped make him a little less cynical and a little more human.

Watch Montini talk about "Gracie," the woman who leaves daily voicemails for him, but she never wants to talk to him. It's complicated. As these things are.

If there is something close to a theme in the stories people told (at rehearsal, anyway) it's that's news writers can be haunted by subjects they cover.

Mine, too, is a ghost story, only it involves a category I didn't expect to come across: Living ghosts.

One in particular. And how this particular ghost reminds me – in a profession that can harden a person, make him cynical – to stay human. – E.J. Montini

Reporter Connie Cone Sexton contributed to this story.