Producer Gloria Knott's Fave Five of 2020

For me, much of my 2020 journalism experience was spent learning about our local art scene, as I started writing Caliente’s “Meet Your Makers” column that puts the spotlight on local artists each week. I’ve had the opportunity to virtually meet an incredible amount of talented artists — including John Carrillo. 

─ Gloria Knott

As a kid, art is how John Carrillo understood the world.

“One of the things I would do to escape was draw,” he says, adding that he’d draw anything he could lay his eyes on.

He eventually went on to be an illustrator in the Marines and now designs products for a nationwide home decor brand. He’s also involved in the Historic Fourth Avenue Coalition and owns the Oro Valley shop Rosie’s Barket with his high school sweetheart, Nicole Carrillo.

Not knowing how to pursue art as a career initially, Carrillo graduated from high school and joined the Navy in 1990.

“After two years, I was trying to think how can I do art, how can I do this in the military,” he says.

After four years in the Navy, Carrillo received his GI Bill and headed to art school. Soon after, his brother said he was joining the Marines and told Carrillo about their illustration program.

“I was like, ‘yeah, right,’” Carrillo says. “But he had this written literature about it and I said, ‘I’ll be damned.’”

Next thing you know, Carrillo was visiting with a recruiter. But he was rejected because he was married with children.

So Carrillo went to a different recruiter.

Rejected again.

“My wife is the brain child behind it. She said, ‘Draw a portrait of the commandant of the Marine Corps and a handwritten letter of what you can offer the Marine Corps,’” Carrillo says.

“She’s the best partner to have,” Carrillo says. “For me personally, I just want to draw. I don’t even care if I get paid to do it sometimes. My wife is always like, ‘No, this is how you focus the energy. This is how you generate revenue from it and exposure.’”

Nicole Carrillo hand-delivered the artwork and letter to the commanding general’s office.

“Knowing what I know now, that was so preposterous,” he says.

But it worked.

“Within 24 hours, the western recruiting region said, ‘Yeah, you’re good. You can come in and do exactly what you want to do,’” Carrillo says.

Read the full story here.

This year has had its (very) fair share of challenges, but one bright spot in 2020 was the birth of Reid Park Zoo’s baby elephant Mapenzi. I was able to write about Penzi’s mom Semba when she was still pregnant — as Tucsonans were anxiously awaiting the calf’s arrival.

— Gloria Knott

Ann Forsberg-Doyle, a volunteer docent at Reid Park Zoo, holds a pair of binoculars up to her eyes.

“She’s found more grass,” the docent of 12 years says, as she watches 30-year-old elephant Semba. “That girl loves to eat.”

Semba is currently pregnant and expected to give birth any day now. The baby will join Semba, 30-year-old father Mabu, 29-year-old aunt Langile, 9-year-old brother Sundzu and 5-year-old sister Nandi.

“The whole elephant team is the most excited to share this baby with the community,” says elephant supervisor Cassie Dodds. “With everything going on in the world, we want this baby elephant to bring encouragement and hope to people.”

Nandi was the first elephant born in Arizona, instantly stealing the hearts of Tucsonans. She’s known to be more high-spirited, director of zoo operations Sue Tygielski says, so keepers aren’t quite sure what kind of big sister she’ll be.

Read the full story here.

This story was written when the pandemic was really starting to heighten in Tucson and I think we were all drowning in negative news. When I learned of so many Tucsonans (and people miles and miles away in China) binding together to make sure our first responders and healthcare workers had enough masks, I was more than happy to write about it. The last quote from Tina Liao says, “We need to unite and help each other. That’s how we can get over this.” Now several months later, I think that still holds true.

— Gloria Knott

Thousands of N95 masks recently came full circle after they were donated to medical professionals in China earlier this year and the unused ones were given back to Tucson’s health-care providers in April.

The initiative started when Tina Liao and her husband, Jinshan Tang, started to hear what Liao described as “horrible stories” happening amid the coronavirus crisis in Wuhan, China, home of the first COVID-19 outbreak.

“We have friends who live in Wuhan, and they were very desperate for masks because medical staff didn’t have enough protection,” says Liao, who is the president elect of the Tucson Chinese Association. “They were crying out for help.”

“When we heard from our friends in Wuhan, we said, ‘OK, we want to help them — whatever way we can,’” she says.

Tang owns local company Innova Engineering and knows of suppliers who carry N95 masks. Tang and Liao started ordering masks in bulk in January and February — out of their own pockets at first — from all of the available suppliers they knew between Tucson and Phoenix.

Liao says she often became emotional when telling suppliers of her plans to send the masks to China.

“As soon as they got the supply in, they’d call us,” Liao says.

The couple ordered the masks, and shipped them, in separate batches, during the first two months of the year.

When Tucsonans — most in the Chinese American community and from the Tucson Chinese Cultural Center — heard what Liao and Tang were doing, they pitched in to help cover the priority shipping fees to China, which totaled thousands of dollars.

“Because it’s so urgent, I said, ‘Whatever it takes,’” Liao says, adding that if she purchased standard shipping through some carriers — rather than priority — the masks would’ve taken months to be delivered overseas.

“You can’t think about it too much when you’re helping someone so desperate,” Liao says. “It’s about people’s lives.”

Read the full story here.

When I wrote this story, everyone at the Star was still working in the newsroom, with no idea of the shutdown that was just days away. And no idea that this would be the last story I'd write in our Park Avenue newsroom. 

— Gloria Knott

Coronavirus fears hit Tucson festivals like a gut punch.

Over the span of just a few days, Southern Arizona’s busy season for public events — generally between mid-January through April — evaporated. The Tucson Festival of Books. The Fourth Avenue Street Fair. Spring Fling. The Tucson Folk Festival. The St. Patrick’s Day parade. Most live theater events.

All canceled.

While that’s a bummer for residents and tourists looking for fun weekend activities, it’s a critical blow to local nonprofits and organizations that rely on the money and awareness spring events generate.

“We’re not panicking, but it’s a serious loss,” said Betty Stauffer, executive director of Literacy Connects. Her organization received about $140,000 last year from book festival proceeds, essentially underwriting literacy programs for 5,400 local children and adults.

Read the full story here.

Vesta Toller’s memory was sharp, telling me stories about her father who helped with medical calls in mining camps and explaining how much she loved volunteering with kids. It was an honor to meet her and I loved listening to her stories. 

— Gloria Knott

Vesta Toller was alive before Arizona became a state.

She was alive during World Wars I and II and the civil rights movement.

Although she didn’t watch TV much, she remembers watching the 1969 moon landing.

And she’s seen the century’s massive growth in technology firsthand — “It has its good and bad sides,” she said.

Fast forward many years, Toller is now living in Tucson after growing up in Colorado and living in New Mexico for most of her life. Last week, on Dec. 30, she turned 109 years old.

It’s unknown if she’s the oldest person in Pima County.

One of Toller’s earliest memories was visiting mining camps with her father, who was a doctor. She watched him tend to various injuries, mostly in the Four Corners area.

Her father would sometimes bring one of his 12 children along on medical calls. Toller was about 10 at the time.

“It was nice for him to let me go along and be there and see what happened,” she said.

Read the full story here.