“Sounds of Summer”

By

Gerry Niskern

Do the sounds of summer take you back to memories of childhood?

Sometimes the charisma of summer is all in the sounds. Try to recall the sound of the water drops hitting the dust as the field was watered before the first pitch of the Little League game. And after the first pitch came the crack of the bat. You can hear it now, can’t you?

After the game, nothing was better than hearing the ice tinkling in the ice cold lemonade unless it’s your first crunchy gulp after a hot game. Or how about the merry sound of the Ice Cream man’s chimes and you knew soon that cool ice cream would be sliding down your parched throat.

When I was growing up near the State Capitol, there used to be a family on West Jefferson, around 11^th Ave. that sold the best watermelons in the whole valley. They kept them cold in a large, soda pop cooler. Mom’s

thumbs beat deep thuds as she tapped the melons.  Later, at home when she slid her big knife in the dark green skin, her choice melon split apart with a loud ripping sound. It was heaven.

Inside the house, the whir of the evaporative cooler motor meant a welcome breeze. Of course if the cooler wasn’t doing too well, in high humidity, that meant we were in for one of our monsoon storms.  The shattering snap of lightening and deep growl of thunder, even today, reminds me of the neighbors who slept in their backyards on hot nights. They had to run for cover many a summer night after hearing the drumbeat of the rain come marching across the yards.

Sunday afternoon meant family picnic time at Riverside Park down on South Central Ave. We headed for the sounds of water splashing and the shrieks of kids as they

became airborne off the huge slide and landed with a scream in the pool.

After a cool swim, the sputtering and popping of roasting hot dogs mingled with the sounds of a snap and hiss as dad opened bottles of Barq’s Root Beer, Orange or Strawberry pop.

The summer week was complete.

THAT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

When you read about all those tornados that hit the south and Midwest every year aren’t you glad we don’t have tornados in the Phoenix area? Tell the truth. Do you think, a little smugly, “Well, we might have horrific heat in the summer, but at least we don’t have tornados?

Actually, one day in the late l970’s, my # 2 son, a teenager, and I were standing at the kitchen window looking out in amazement. We thought we were just having a super size dust storm, but something different was happening. The house was shaking. At around five-thirty the sky had turned an eerie green. Large sections of shingles were swooping by, followed by huge wood structures hurtling past. I remember trying to yell above the roar that sounded like a freight train was bearing down us, “I think we should get in an inside doorway. Something weird is happening!” We headed for the inside pantry.

My husband was on his way home when from the West valley when he heard on the car radio that a funnel cloud was moving toward the central Phoenix area. Breaking all speed limits, he reached our neighborhood in time to see the entire roof of my parent’s house under construction, down below our little mountain lying on the other side of the street.

He raced up our steps and burst in the door. “Hurry, hurry” he yelled. “Upstairs!”

We ran up behind him and suddenly, we were looking at bare sky. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. I was numb with shock and told myself, “This is not happening. This must be a dream.” We were standing in our bedroom and rain was stinging our faces!

My husband raced back downstairs to go buy plastic tarps to stretch across the rooftop. When he carried up his extension ladder he climbed up on what was left of the roof and started nailing the cover down. My son was still numb with disbelief when his dad yelled down to “get on up on the ladder and grab the ends and nail them down.” He looked at me and yelled, “But, mom, what if the son-of-a bitch comes back?”

The next morning, when assessing the damage, we saw that the funnel cloud had totally lifted the roof structure from my folks house and all the framing inside was swirled like a giant spoon had stirred it. We learned later that the tornado had destroyed a large building on Seven Ave, South of Camelback, swept north and ripped apart  the condos on a little mountain right off Twelfth Street and then slammed into our house on top 14^th street.  It swooped down and destroyed my parent’s construction site and moved on out to Paradise Valley where it uprooted some trees.

Later on, the insurance companies and the weather bureau debated long and hard if it was actually a tornado. Most insurance companies finally reluctantly paid homeowners for damages, still arguing that “the Phoenix area doesn’t have tornados.”

The Rain Will Come

One day, years ago it was raining so hard I could hardly see them out on the sidewalk. One toddler ran by, laughing, the feet of his soggy sleepers slapping the pavement. Little brother came into sight; his drenched diaper, laden with rainwater, dragging behind.  Big sister in pink pajamas led the parade of upturned, wet faces squealing with the joy at the rain that had finally come.

That year, in the late l950s’, the residents here in the valley had waited months for relief from the drought. When my children ran outside barefooted the pavement was scalding. The dry grass stubble was prickly and so were tempers. Respite came sometime in July.

We have always had years of drought and years of unbelievable rains. That summer, before the rains came, the huge dust storms, the weathermen now call them Haboobs, left an inch layer of dirt on the bottom of everyone’s pool.  The kids begged to swim, so I became an expert at pool vacuuming…every single morning!

The thunderstorms that sometimes come tearing thru the valley create havoc, but just manage to give everyone’s grass a good soaking. It’s hard to believe, but sometimes we do get too much precipitation.

Years ago, when I was eleven, the rain finally came and drenched the parched ground, but didn’t stop. The Cave Creek Dam finally broke. The railroad tracks along Nineteenth Ave dammed the water. The residential area around the Arizona State Capitol building had heavy flooding. We kids, in the blissful ignorance of childhood,  just enjoyed riding our bikes through the knee high water flowing curb to curb in the streets. We didn’t realize that most of the businesses were sandbagged and the Capitol basement had flooded.

We were even treated to our first look at an U. S. Army amphibious vehicle. The Seventeenth Avenue underpass was flooded too and the kids all watched in awe as a group of soldiers came down the street and drove right through the deep water.

I’ll never forget my dad returning from hiking alone on South Mountain. He was caught in a downpour so hard that he said, “I couldn’t see or breathe. I was really beginning to panic!”

I remember a neighbor at that time telling my folks, “Back in l938, the Salt River really overflowed its banks. The Central Avenue Bridge was holding the water back and all of central Phoenix was in danger of being flooded. Just as they were ready to light the fuse to dynamite the bridge, the water started to subside.”

One other summer, when my kids were in their teens, we lived in a different neighborhood and the rains were again unrelenting. The ground was saturated and one Saturday morning police drove through the area shouting on loud speakers, “Attention, Prepare to evacuate!” Arizona Canal above us was starting to overflow its banks.

This year, I can’t wait to sit on my balcony and watch neighborhood children playing in the rain; the mist rising as I listen to the drumbeat of another approaching torrent.

The rains this summer won’t end the drought, only heavy winter snows do that; but as always, they nourish our spirits.

Meanwhile, the scent of wet creosote bushes on the mountain behind me mixed with the pungent smell of fresh cut grass below will be like heaven as I watch the neighborhood children turn their faces up to the rain that is sure to come soon!

Political Junkie Wannabees”

By

Gerry Niskern

I think I’ve told the story before of  my first exposure to politics. When I was around a year and a half-old and just learning to talk, I was dropped off at my grandmother’s house. My mother’s brothers, all strong union members, did their best to teach me to say, “Vote for Roosevelt”, because FDR was running. When my folks came to pick me up my Republican dad was treated to my political stump speech as a result of my uncles coaching. It was all in good fun, but my dad was a guy who believed his politics were his own affair; as by the way, many others do today.

Just think, it’s now full speed ahead for the presidential election with four months to go. I don’t know if I can take much more election grind with all the debates and constant challenges from friends and even total strangers.

Even at the workplace  where most people spend the major part of their lives, there is tension.  Of course, people and their fellow personnel need to converse during the day; there are lots of topics that work. Sports, music, family and books are good for starters. If there is some kidding around about favorite teams, its great. But many people become very passionate and too aggressive about some subjects. Politics is one of them. You know, there is a federal law that employers can enforce that deals with what is and what is not allowed in conversation in the workplace. The four “no nos’ are: money, sex, religion and politics. Any of these at any time can cause discomfort and disruption.

The trouble with allowing political discourse is that people always think that the other person is mistaken and if they will just listen they can convince them to change their minds.

Do you sometimes suspect that political junkies want to show off their newfound knowledge on a particular issue? Hence, the aggressive questioning of others political persuasion has become the norm today.  Sure politics makes for exciting conversation. But, we all need to observe some civility and restraint.

I know a hair stylist friend who is shocked these days by the number of people who plop down in her chair and demand to know, “Well, what are you, Republican or Democrat?”  Everyone needs to remember that others may also be up on the issues and have strong personal opinions.  And that should be their right and privilege to keep their decision private.

Sure we are subject to hateful, derogatory images and dialogue on social media, but that and usually the source, can be easily deleted. Face to face confrontations are another story.

We all realize and dislike how polarized this country has become in the last several years. Let’s don’t take it a step further and become even more polarized within our parties and among our friends and even family. One suggestion would be for everyone to sit down and read an accurate history of our country. It will do wonders for your new found political education that “talking heads” on television, radio and social media won’t do.

Sure we’ll all remember this year of 2016 as an unusual campaign with the excitement  and antagonism seldom seen in recent decades, but let’s lower the dialogue.  Friendships weave the strong fabric of our community and nation, but lets also keep in mind the thread of friendships is precious and fragile.

Journey Back to the Future

Seventy four years ago this summer my young mom and dad packed up all their earthly possessions, young daughters and drove from Moundsville, W. VA to Phoenix, Arizona. It was wartime and everything was uncertain and unknown; a job, a house, and most importantly a doctor for each. They both were suffering from severe health problems that only a move to a dry climate like Arizona and major surgery would help.

In those days no one could afford long distance calls to keep in touch. And information about their destination was limited too. They were told it was never cold in Phoenix and so mom gave away all her wool blankets and handmade quilts. Dad gave away a brand new lawn mower because, of course, there were no lawns here, just sand and rocks. Where was Google when they needed it?

Fast forward to this last Thursday morning when my great-grandson Brandon started a journey from Phoenix back to 70 miles from Moundsville, medical school in Pennsylvania. He was driving a rental truck filled with all their  possessions, and pulling his wife, Teg’s truck. His grandfather Ron drove with him in Brandon’s Matrix. They reached Georgia on Saturday evening, where Teg and their son Ian were waiting. Ron will fly home today and on Tuesday Brandon and Integrity will head north to their final destination.

This journey was different in so many ways. Ron’s daily cell phone communication kept Brandon’s mom informed.  Minde, in turn, forwarded reports of their trip every day and sometimes two or three times, to concerned family members.

When my folks came West their large close knit families back home waited anxiously for letters to hear how things were going. On the other hand, Brandon’s families and friends  had daily updates of their trip.

Even though my great-grandson knows that he will be persuing his life long dream in the medical field and they have a house waiting, there is one thing about this journey 74 years later, that remains the same. There will always be parents, grandparents and great-grandparents sending good thoughts and love and patiently waiting to hear the latest news about how things are going!