AI Summary. In this interview, Peter Spear talks with Elise Pepple, director of Marfa Public Radio, about her unique background and passion for place-based storytelling and community engagement. They discuss the role of public radio in creating gathering spaces and fostering connection, especially in light of the isolation and disconnection prevalent in society. Pepple shares examples of how Marfa Public Radio has innovated to meet community needs, from providing critical information to hosting virtual events. The conversation also touches on the culture of public media and the importance of reinvention to stay relevant. Throughout, Pepple's dedication to public service and the power of storytelling shines through, offering a compelling vision for the future of public radio in fostering understanding and belonging in a fractured world.
Elise Pepple is the Executive Director of Marfa Public Radio in Marfa, Texas. She is a wanderer with amazing stories to tell.
I met Elise in Brooklyn in a small world moment. We discovered friends in common in Marfa and Hudson, and we bonded immediately on interviewing and listening. I was excited to get into a conversation with her about stories, public media and small town living.
Elise began her career in public radio in 2008 when she brought StoryCorps to Alaska. In 2011, Elise produced and hosted a radio show celebrating sense of place in Sitka, Alaska for KCAW. At Marfa Public Radio, Elise uses old school and new school techniques to make the station a lifeline, a beacon for the stories of West Texas, and a center for media innovation.
I have a particular kind of anxiety about asking this question because you know so much about it. You know Suzanne, who I borrowed it from…. I start all my conversations with this question and always caveat it because I want people to feel like they're in control. So you have all the control. You can answer or not answer the question any way that you want to. Where do you come from?
Where do I come from? Yeah, we've talked about this question because I was like, "Oh, I don't know how I relate to that question." Rather than deconstructing it or having an anxiety attack, which is what it elicits in me, I would say that I come from a gigantic Catholic family. That's very chaotic. And that led me to know all kinds of people. I come from a family that's Catholic and magical realist at the same time, which maybe they're the same thing.
Tell me about giant. Can you paint a picture of what it means to grow up in a giant family?
Oh yeah. My mom's one of 12. And my grandparents had a mom and pop bakery. So they had 12 kids living in an apartment upstairs. Growing up, every kid had a bunch of kids. So 30 plus grandchildren, 30 plus great grandchildren, a meal would be like a hundred people.
I grew up, I had one older brother who wanted nothing to do with me. What is it like to be in a giant family?
Just like your life probably seemed normal to you. It just seemed normal to me that nobody fit around one table. We maybe fit in one house.
In what way were your family magical realists?
I guess being Catholic, I wouldn't think that Catholics are magical realists. They're different brands to me. But magical realist, so there's a lot of death when you have a lot of people in your family. So I grew up in funeral parlors. And the dead were always alive. My aunts who died young, my aunts who are alive, who are conventional in many senses of the word, talk to their dead sisters on the regular.
Did you have an idea of what you wanted to be when you grew up?
It depends upon the age. When I was really little, I wanted to be an inventor.
And what was an inventor?
It was science based. That did not stick with me, but I wanted to be an inventor. I wanted to invent a flying machine. They already existed in airplanes. And then later, when I was in seventh grade, I wanted to save the planet and address human rights.
Where was this? Where were you growing up?
Baltimore.
Tell me, where are you now? Tell me a little bit about what you're up to these days.
I'm currently in Brooklyn, New York and also remotely Marfa, Texas. I run a public radio station.
What do you love about running a public radio station? Where is the joy in running a public radio station?
The joy is that it is a job that is about making meaning collectively. The other joy is that it's a way to tell stories.
When did you first encounter this kind of work? What was your first moment of realization that collective meaning making is something that you could do?
I'm slow so I was writing and making public art but I wasn't good at the material objects. I don't really care about them. I dropped out of art school. I was like, "This is dumb. Why do people do this?" I lived in a 300 person town in Alaska. I had moved there from Brooklyn, New York right after StoryCorps, which is an oral history project, was created and I would just talk to everyone. I was like, "Everybody has these amazing stories." So I called StoryCorps from this little town. And they said, "Oh, you should come up here." And they said, "Why don't you do it for us?" Great idea. That was the first time I did anything related to storytelling or public radio, I was 27 or 28. And then I was like, "Oh, stories. Oh, place based stories."
You said that you had no interest in the material objects. I have so much identification with that. Can you tell me more about what that means to you?
I think the thing that interests me is social space. When I was making art, the thing that interested me was not objects, like sculpture, painting, photography, it was the space where a person decides to come towards something. I was a bad artist. I didn't care and I would propose these things. I'd be like, "I want to harvest all the fruit in California that can't be picked by migrants because our government just stopped letting people cross the border." There were farmers who had the largest pear harvest on record and they were listening to the fruit fall off the trees and crying. I wanted to relieve them. I was like, "I want to relieve these farmers of hearing their fruit fall to the ground and not be harvested." And then I wanted to relocate. I wanted to pick up all these pears and relocate them to San Francisco so that we would encounter the thing that we couldn't see happening. I think my professor at the time was like, "What?"
Doesn't sound like bad art to me. What do I know?
Who knows? But yeah, so now what's so exciting is culture and that we should culture and that's not necessarily material, but it's more the social space, relational space.
What did you learn at StoryCorps? What was that process like of you discovering this practice that fits? What did you learn from StoryCorps or that experience?
From that experience I learned that most people don't think they have stories. I also learned that StoryCorps didn't teach me how to interact with people. Being my mom's daughter taught me how to interact with people. Never met a stranger. Just tell me everything! But maybe for the first time aligned the way that I am in the world with the work that I was doing in the world. And then what I would say is because I work for StoryCorps in Alaska and I moved to the Arctic to keep working for them, a lot of what I learned the hard way, but in a really necessary way, was about colonization, indigenous genocide. There's no separation between cultural and physical genocide. Yeah, so I had a crash course in being a white settler and being in communities that were thousands of years old.
And what was the role of story there? What gets done? What do you do when you're inviting stories?
It depends. When I'm in a cultural context that is where I'm from, it's all I do. I've done a lot of storytelling projects, all kinds like live storytelling events, oral histories, public art projects. But when I was in the Arctic what I learned is that stories, both in the Arctic and in Southeast Alaska, it's intellectual property. And so to show up to a place you're not a part of and say "Tell me your stories" is problematic. I remember there was an elder man when I first landed in Nome, Alaska, and I was like, "Oh I'm doing this thing StoryCorps." And he's like, "Yeah, National Geographic was here yesterday talking to me and the Smithsonian called me yesterday." That, which is not necessarily something people say all the time. There was a reluctance, really understandable reluctance to tell stories.
How did you end up in Marfa?
How did I end up in Marfa? I guess there's a period between StoryCorps, Alaska and Marfa, there's a five year window. Basically I hadn't trained in producing radio. I just learned alone in Alaska. So first it was leaving Alaska and going to train so I could tell stories in audio at a place called the Salt Institute for Documentary Study. And then I was doing two things at the same time. It was first person storytelling through live events and as a professor, and then this work around identity formation through those modes of storytelling. But I had three jobs. I was working at an art space, teaching, and then putting on events and I was like, "Oh, I want to do one thing and not hustle." So I visited Marfa and I'm not a good tourist. So I asked the station if they wanted to put on a live storytelling event, like The Moth. So I went there and then there's always multiple things happening. I also, one of my soulmates died that spring and I wanted to honor his memory and go camping in Big Bend National Park. So I ended up in Marfa and while I was there, I walked into the station and I was like, "What if radio stations were like community spaces, oral history archives, event spaces, like a think tank for new podcast content." And I had a thought, went home, and six months later was running the radio station. So I moved to Marfa to run Marfa Public Radio.
How has it been? You've been there for how long now?
Biblically or in real time?
I don't know. I don't know anything about biblical time.
It feels like I've been there for 50 years but I've only, this is my eighth year.
You said earlier, you mentioned broadcast as a gathering space. I feel like that is what, has it been like to try to build a different kind of public radio station or to make that vision a reality? It's all different, right? That's a different idea. Sorry to interrupt you, but you came with a, is that a different way of thinking about public radio?
I don't know if it's different. I think radio stations are very place based and very community. Because by that nature they are gatherings or they can be a gathering space. And then I guess I'll say something really practical, which is not like me. And then I'll say the other stuff. In a rural place like Marfa, the radio might be your only companion, might be similar to Alaska, might be your only thing. And so one of the ways it connects people like the road system there is that if there's an emergency and you have to imagine there's no internet or cell service, the radio is still the way to connect. If there's a fire, you turn on the radio. And it's really saying, "Hey, we're with you. Hey, this is happening. We're here. We're with you. This is what's happening right now." But then it's, for me, then it's what is the limit we can go to in being here for people? So it's not just saying maybe the news will be like, "There's this thing happening," but then it was like, "Okay, this is an evacuation, but it's not a mandatory evacuation. So what can we do as this thing that broadcasts to the whole area?" So we created a spreadsheet of shelter options for humans, pets, and horses. And so then the station was like, "If you need shelter, call the station. If you have shelter, call the station." Then there are firefighters coming from all over the country and they're fighting fire day and night. So then we're like, "Let's have dedication music shows to the firefighters." And then they can call in and make requests. And they would request, it was, I didn't know this, but firefighters would request heavy metal music. So it can just keep going. And then similarly, in the pandemic, another emergency, where "Here's the information that you need. We're in a place where there's two ventilators. The need for public health information is acute, but also everyone is terrified." So then throwing a dance party. March, beginning of the pandemic 2020. A "Dancing on your own dance party" where people could tune in, they could listen, or they could come to a zoom, get online and be together apart. That's a way to make a gathering space with a broadcast.
And how did that go? The dance party, what was that?
It was great. I had this idea. I think because part of my background is mental health. As a person who studied social work and mental health, I diagnosed systems. And as the director of a radio station, a more typical person might be like, "Oh, we must respond to this crisis. News reporting," which is important, but then I diagnose the, I do a biopsychosocial assessment of not just people, but systems. So I'm like, "Everybody's freaking out," I'm like, "So we need to do something for the whole person," and so I was like, "Okay, we're going to throw this dance party." And everyone's like, "What are you talking about?" And I'm like, "We're just going to do it." And then thousands of people participated.
You mentioned the mission, what was, is that a general public radio mission or is that, was that a Marfa? You said "lift the spirit" was the second part. What was that about?
That was the original mission of public radio written 54 years ago now, probably by Bill. That was the mission of public radio. And I think it was actually really creative, it was really creative 50 some years ago. The tools were limited or the framing was not. The paradigm shifts that have happened were not part of that conversation. But I guess the thing that is different about Marfa Public Radio is that we keep reinventing it or trying to lean into what that can sound like or look like, whereas most public radio stations sound the same all over the country. They sound like NPR, which is great. Or you have a public radio station in your area that sounds like community public radio from 1980.
Yeah. And how do you feel about that mission now? Would you, how would you rewrite the mission of public radio?
I love the mission. I'm like, "Great. There's so much to do there." There's so much to do there.
Not everybody spends as much time in interview, in conversation with people, asking with the focus of getting them to tell a story. How do you feel about the fact that you spend all that time in the space asking, helping people tell a story? How has that changed you?
It's my deepest joy. It is a great pleasure to talk to people about their lives. And I guess it's like on some level, let's make it count. Who a person is matters and what we're doing here matters. And I don't see the point in doing anything else.
What have you learned about how to help people tell a story or how to make moments with people matter?
I guess when people want a manual for how, I'm not saying this is you, but when people want a manual for "How do you ask people questions?" It’s clear you aren't a natural at it. Cause, How do I do that? For me, that is not the hard part. I think if you're listening to people and, I guess, 80 percent of communication is nonverbal, but if you're listening, I don't think it's hard to do.
If you had to develop your own kind of public radio station or next kind of collective meaning making and gathering place, what would you do? Do you feel like you've executed the vision that you had when you showed up?
Yeah, I do. I do at the radio station. In terms of what that would look like next, whether it might be a scale up or it would be a couple things. We're still dragging our asses through this. I think you made this metaphor. You told me about this article about the metaphor of "Long COVID" being what we're all inside of. And so I think there's no governing body or organization, this is an extreme statement, but I like hyperbole, that is meeting the moment of gathering, belonging, grief, joy. And so in some ways what I wish or what I would love is if there were an organization to say, "We need to orchestrate a million person funeral service. Every town in the country needs a three month long dance party where you can just be with others and move." So that would be a joy. And then I also think again, this is like overstating or over assuming a certain kind of importance in the world which is naive, but I'd say in the next seven months our country will face some pretty critical and wild political realities. And so I guess a thing I'm thinking a lot about is, "What are the stories we're going to need? What are the stories we're going to need then?" And how do we, is there a point of saying, "Timeout everybody. Why don't we take time nationally, timeout, regroup, let's come together and be like, 'Okay, what are we going to need?'"
Yeah. The idea of the national moment of grieving basically, I love that idea. I feel like we've talked about this before. What is the role of place in all of this? It feels like that's where we're most fractured. I experience that in Hudson. It's difficult to find places where people gather.
As part of it, again, if we diagnose systems and we just name it, now a lot of us live online at least 50 percent of our lives. So we're dislocated even from the places where we are. And I was talking to people in New York, which is one of the great things about the city is all the public, the ways people are public. I love things I love about New York, being in the city and the way people will have a fight with their person on the street, they're like, "Hey," and not you and "No," and it's we're all together, but that isn't happening. And so where do we go? It's like part of the reality.
What has it been like for you to try to build what you want to build in public media? How would you describe the culture of public media today?
There's never one culture. I feel like that's never a monolith.
Is that true though? Is that true in culture, in public media though?
Let me think about that for a sec. I think public media, it depends on your role within public media and within, say, a station. I am like, what attracts people to leadership roles in public radio? Because what I would say is in some ways it's very natural that I was inclined to public radio because I'm inclined to public service, both because my parents are and because that's how I function. I don't know if that's the best move from a business perspective or for your own life. I think I have this joke that's very snarky and untoward, but I'm like, "When I go to these meetings that are specifically for people who run radio stations, I'm like, 'Where are the good dressers?' I used to work in the arts. I'm like, 'I want some outfits, I want people to say things!'" And so the psychological profile, I'm always like, "What is the psychological profile of this radio station CEO or GM?" And then there's reporters, which is a very specific kind of psychology. And that's different. And so the culture of public radio, my concern right now is that it's ossified like the Catholic Church that I grew up in. And so it's wild to me. It feels like it's not operating in the times. And it feels like it doesn't reflect the times.
I just interviewed this guy, Ethan Decker. He talked about how contemporary marketing and brand science, it's very clear that you don't educate. Education isn't something that gets done to people or that you do to people. This is something a lot of organizations do not understand. And so they don't communicate or create experiences that are effective or connect even at the beginning. Does that resonate with you?
Yeah, totally. Whether it's social work or public radio, to assume that you're educating and whose definition of education, right? And what kind of education? Our ways of knowing, if we're lucky. And I think that's where the news, you and I were having this conversation about the news and I guess I was seeing through our conversation how one dimension the news is. And then what I think about, I'm like, "I love gossip." And a reinterpretation of gossip where it's, I could tell you this story that's from my life that's an example of what I would call "good gossip." And gossip is a renewable resource. And gossip for good is I think what we do as humans. And so in some ways it's, I wish we would take ourselves less seriously. Cause we're like, "We will educate and inform." And if you were to really pare it down, what radio is, is people being like, "Oh my gosh, this is what's happening. Oh my gosh, this is what's happening. Let me tell you what's happening. This is what's happening." And if we were to really go back and you and I were to put on our hippie, baby boomer parts of ourselves, we would be like, "The oldest thing is humans sitting around telling stories around a fire."
I want to thank you so much. That story you told is really beautiful and hopeful, and I hope I didn't bring us down a little bit, but nice to see you. And thank you so much.
This is fun. Love it. Love talking about all of this.
