On a mild and clear Arizona winter night in January, a fire danced in the outdoor fireplace, white lights graced the tree branches, and the moon smiled down upon a small group of fellow Metropolitan State alumni gathered to dine together.
In 1986, I graduated with a journalism degree from Metro State and moved to Arizona to work as a reporter. This dinner was the first alumni event I’d attended, and I felt excited for the opportunity to connect with fellow Metro alumni living in the Southwest.
President Stephen Jordan spoke about developments and changes at Metro State: planned graduate schools, new construction and innovative methods for student retention.
I noted how successful we all looked in our professional attire, teacher, banker, insurance adjuster, former city councilmen, and myself, a journalist. Yet, at one time, we were no different than the Metro students of today.
Placed at each table, and much to my delight, was a copy of The Metropolitan. I felt as if I were seeing a cherished, old friend again. I proudly told everyone, including Dr. Jordan, how thrilled I felt when I had my first news article published.
When I started Metro in 1982, I had been out of high school for several years. I had marginal high school grades, no scholarships or academic awards, no teacher recommendations, and no one in my family had attended college before me. Yet, I was accepted and given the chance to embark upon a college education.
One of my first classes was Introduction to Journalism taught by the brilliant and demanding Greg Pearson. It took awhile before I stopped feeling as if someone might tap me on the shoulder during class and tell me to get back to serving beer and pizza. Who did I think I was trying to be, a reporter?
The first assignment I received back from Mr. Pearson was marked with bright red ink, but beyond them I saw hope. Someone was taking the time to teach me, and not just Mr. Pearson, but all my professors saw in me potential. Their belief in my ability to learn, and my desire to stretch my academic wings, kept me coming back to class and doing my assignments. Hanging in there.
And there were times I wanted to quit. I worked two part-time jobs, struggled to pay rent on a rundown bungalow near campus, rode my bike to school and my wardrobe came from Goodwill. Yet I was happier than I had ever been in my life. Go figure. Cliché as it may sound I was following my heart, my dream, and my world was expanding.
Eventually I learned how to write well enough to be given an assignment with the Metropolitan. I interviewed an administrator with a vice-president before his name. He sat behind a big desk, and my hand shook as I took notes, but I wrote the story and it actually got published and read. My writing was being taken seriously. Amazing.
By the time I earned my journalism degree, I had accumulated enough writing clips to land a reporting job at a small newspaper in Arizona. Everything I learned in college, I put to use as I covered small town news.
Later, I wrote for a variety of publications, financial, legal and business as well as stints with The Arizona Republic, the major metro daily in Phoenix. I published fiction and also taught English as A Second Language for several years to adult refugees. I am currently finishing my novel.
So as I dined with my fellow alumni beneath the moon, I couldn’t help recall my humble beginnings. Metro State had grown up and so did I, but it wasn’t over. Now it was important to give back, support the college that changed my life so it will be there for many years to come to help future students.
Letter was edited for space.
