Finding the story

Great stories are the bedrock of great communications.

But it’s not always easy to find stories that illustrate your work or amplify your mission.

Often, the best stories are found when you are away from your computer, interacting with those in and close to your organization. The pandemic has certainly complicated this. Still as much as is safe and possible, it’s important to get away from the keyboard to talk – and listen -- to clients, staff, and stakeholders.

When you take time to observe and listen, you can discover stories that you simply can’t find any other way.

Consider this example from my reporting days covering city council meetings in Erie, Pa.

On nights that I wasn’t on a tight deadline, I’d often stick around after meetings to chat up city council members and see if I could land a hot tip.

On one such night, I was talking with council member Mario Bagnoni, a former city of Erie police officer who, after serving decades on council, had built a reputation as a cantankerous contrarian never lacking an opinion.

We were mid-conversation, when a sharply dressed man approached us holding two jars of salsa.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Mr. Bagnoni, do you remember me?”

Bagnoni cocked his head to eye up the man who looked to be in his early 40s and stood about a foot taller than him.

“Can’t say that I do,” Bagnoni said.

“Well, I remember you.”

I had no idea where this was heading. But I kept listening.

“I was around 12 years old and my friends and I were up to no good when you pulled up in your police cruiser. My friends ran, but for some reason I just stood there.

“I was terrified as you directed me into the back of the cruiser, imagining you taking me to the police station and my furious parents coming to bail me out of a jail cell.

“But when we got close to the station, you just kept driving. Finally, we pulled up in front of some stores on State Street.

“You looked back in the mirror and said, ‘You really need a decent pair of shoes.’

“I was stunned, but I followed you into the store, where you bought me a sweet new pair of sneakers.

“We drove in silence back to my house, but as you dropped me off, you simply said: ‘I don’t ever want to see you causing trouble again.'"

Bagnoni cracked a bemused smile. “I gotta be honest,” he said. “I can’t say that I remember that.”

“Well I’ll never forget it,” the man replied. “That night made a big impact on my life. I’ve had some struggles, but I recently started a salsa company in California, and wanted you to have these as a small sign of my appreciation.”

Bagnoni, who didn’t strike me as a salsa guy, took the jars and thanked him.

After some more small talk, the two men shook hands, and parted ways.

I went back to the office and wrote a story about what I had just witnessed.

I left journalism many years ago. But occasionally someone will recognize me from my reporting days. More than a few times they have said, “Hey, you remember that story you wrote about Bagnoni?”

I wrote dozens of stories about Mario Bagnoni, who died a few years back. Still, I never have to ask which one they’re talking about.

I’ll never forget it.

And they didn’t either.