“Nation of immigrants celebrates the Fourth of July”

By

Gerry Niskern

E Pluribus Unum

E pluribus Unum, “from many, one”, was the original national motto of the United States.

Our country has never been a homogeneous nation. George Washington, our first president, understood that. He envisioned millions immigrating to the United States to make this country great. For most of the next two centuries, mass immigration was the rule, not the exception. So again, this year, as a nation of immigrants, we celebrate the Fourth of July, our country’s birthday.

With the exception of the Native Americans, all of our ancestors emigrated from another country. In fact, when people are diligently looking up the family genealogy they are often disappointed when they can’t find the citizenship papers of the first members. There’s a reason for that. Millions didn’t become naturalized!

That’s right. A large percentage of immigrants in the 1800s and early l900s did not actually become citizens. Immigrants were asked to sign a Letter of Intent to become a United States citizen, but most started working and raising families and somehow didn’t get around to following through. And yet, in many states, aliens who had only filed Intent, were allowed to vote.

My grandfather was recruited in Austria in the late 1880’s  to come here and work in the coal mines of Pennsylvania and then West Virginia. My grandparents saved and sent money home to buy more land for their families adjoining farms. They never intended to stay, but they did. Did they become citizens? I can’t honestly say.

It’s interesting when I hear someone declare, “My grandparents came here, they worked hard and became citizens!”   I’m tempted to ask, “Are you sure?” Actually, there were no limits on immigrant laborers. Between l870 and 1920, approximately 25 million immigrants came to the U.S. The United States needed cheap labor and welcomed them.

Over the years skeptics always predicted that the newcomers would never be assimilated; that they would never adapt to the civic culture of the United States. History proved them wrong. They have become giants in industry, business, medicine, law and in any area you can name. As a small, more personal example, those from large families have smaller families and the third generation has even less.

Yes, we urgently need to tighten security along the border. We need to stop the drugs coming north and stop the flow of guns going south.  Just as important,  we also need to help legalize the immigrants who were needed here and have been working, paying taxes, buying homes and raising children to be good citizens. We are not at a totally new place in our country. We’ve been here before.

We need to treat the existing problem of immigrants with practicality and decency.

Come on, Guys. Demonizing an entire race or religion  is not the American way.

“Scents of Arizona Summers”

By

Gerry Niskern

You can smell them now, can’t you? If you were lucky enough to grow up here you know every delicious smell of our state. And even if you didn’t, you’ll recognize most of the delicious aromas.

If you rolled down the car windows in the spring coming to and from work the smell of the orange blossoms was wonderful. Back when the valley was filled with groves, the citrus scent was everywhere.

How about the scent of the dust freshly watered down infield for the first pitch at a baseball game? Or the smell of the boys sweat, dirt soaked uniforms as them pile in the car to go home?

I remember the aroma of the cantaloupe sheds out on Grand Ave as you drove past this time of year. How long since cantaloupes in the stores have smelled like that? My Resident Historian used to back his pickup up to a shed and they would fill it to the brim with “over ripes”, enough for a neighborhood feast!

When I was a kid, we bought our watermelons from a house on W. Jefferson who kept them in a pop cooler. When mom slid her big knife in the dark rind, the melon split with a loud crack, releasing the sweetest aroma in the world.

The fragrance of freshly cut grass mingled with the aroma of  honey suckle and ripe figs in neighborhoods. At ll5, the smell of hot tar in asphalt was as strong as the odor of the Tamarisk trees where we kids played on the wide branches.

The exotic smell of coconut oil rose from warm bodies as teenagers sunbathed in the back yard and inside the house the smell of fresh aspen cooler pads mingled with the smell of mom pressing dad’s pants for church.

Does anyone remember when the candy counter at Newberry’s beckoned with chocolate aroma; or when the caramel corn shoppe over on Monroe tried to take your quarter. Cigars wrinkled your nose as you passed the Adams hotel (which you walked thru quickly just to cool off in the lobby) , but a trip past the Green Dragon on Jefferson emitted onions and spices of Chinese fare.

The required walk thru of the foot bath at the swimming pool reeked with heavy chlorine, but worth the running plunge in the cool water.  Which smelled better: the sputtering hot dogs or the icy cold Barq’s Root Beer from the snack bar?

But, best of all to old timers and brand new residents,  is the pungent smell of our desert after a summer rain? The scent of wet creosote mingling with the fragrant  sage is found only in Arizona!

“The Game”

By

Gerry Niskern

I remember a few years back when the age limits for kid’s baseball was lowered considerably. Naturally this pleased all dads everywhere.

The tiny wannabe ball player in our family was ready. His daddy had been practicing with him since he could catch a ball.

The Peoria Blue Devils were about to play their first game. If you asked any one of the three or four year old boys what position he played, the answer was always the same; “I’m the batter”.

Before the game started, the Devils had a little personnel problem. It seems we had to re-negotiate a player’s contract. My great-grandson balked. He hunched  down in a lawn chair and refused to do the warm up exercises. When his daddy told him the exercises were required if you wanted to play, he replied, “Then I don’t want to play today.” ‘Okay, Dad,’ I thought to myself, ‘What are you going to do now?’

One of his grandmothers promised bubble gum if he played. No deal. Several family fans suggested the possibility of an ice cream cone after the game. No deal. Then big brother was recruited to take the field with him. That was the offer he was holding out for. Negotiations were closed.

As play got under way I heard a familiar chatter: no, not from the players on the field, but from the whirring of video cameras.

Before placing the ball on the tee, the coach asked each player to show him where first base was. Most didn’t know. That’s okay. They didn’t know where second or third was either. And they sure didn’t see the sense in touching home plate.

The lead off batter for the orange team stepped to the plate. “Strike one…two…finally on strike three he sent a grounder out in the general direction of a large clump of fielders that made up of the entire blue team. Orange batter immediately dropped his bat and raced after the ball. He carried it proudly back to home plate. His coach took it from him and begged him to run to first. “Run, run, over there, look, run to the man waving his arms,” he pleaded.

The next hitter for the blue team knocked a ball to right field. Our kid and a teammate both dove for the ball. Everyone agrees that the kid “has an arm on him” and could have sent it sizzling to home plate. Instead, he politely handed the ball to his teammate. Right about then I started having second thoughts about all those lessons on sharing in nursery school.

One solid hitter got on third right away and then collapsed in a heap of tears when he realized his daddy wasn’t beside him. He walked off looking for him.

Out boy was first up for the Devils. He swung once, twice, and connected with a crack of the bat as his ball soared. He got on first and soon scrambled on to second and third. Another blue Devil brought him in home. His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face when he realized that the cheers of the crowd were for him!

In this league, the players took breaks as they say fit. They sought out mom, got drinks and did a little “lap sitting”. When one orange shirt was called back to the game, he replied, “ I can’t right now, dad, I have to kill these ants”.

At this age the teams only play three innings. It’s a good thing because the players were still willing to go to bat, but several of the red faced, sweating Devils refused to run bases. When that inning was over, the slap of high-fives could be heard as the two teams learned the closing ritual. The three year olds were pretty proud about finally playing their first baseball game, but not nearly as proud as ALL OF THEIR DADDIES

MEMORIES OF A DAY

By

Gerry Niskern

I was reaching for the gas pump when a pickup roared to a stop beside me. A man jumped out. He brushed back his wavy, grey hair and quickly tucked his shirt a little more neatly into his good fitting, stonewashed 501’s.

“Hold it, he said. “I’ll do that for you,”

He quickly shoved his credit card into the slot and began punching numbers. He grabbed the handle and jammed the nozzle into place. While my tank was filling, he asked, “Do you have time to go to lunch?”

I’d love to,” I replied, “but my appointment at the gallery is at l O’clock. I’ll just have tine to make it if I drive fast.”

Putting his arm around my shoulder, he said, “Good luck and don’t worry. Remember what we talked about last night.”

I thought about our conservation the night before when I had expressed my apprehension about my presentation of my paintings to a new art gallery. His many years of expertise in sales had helped me numerous  times. Last evening he suggested, “Don’t put her on the spot.”

“Mention that those are what Tom, (the owner) was interested in and ask her which she likes best. After that, gradually work the conversation around to what sizes would work best for her right now.”

He replaced the gas nozzle and with a quick kiss he pulled away in the 64 yellow Ford truck with teal, purple and hot pink stripes marching jauntily down the side.

I eased my van into the traffic. My spirits were lifting like the bubbles in a glass of Pepsi as I thought about the person who had been my childhood friend, lover, husband, sales coach, gas pumper and the father of my children.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

DAD’S ROLES HAVE CHANGED

By

Gerry Niskern

“Wise is the father that knows his own child”-William Shakespeare

Economic conditions in our country are creating thousands of wise young fathers. While millions of jobs have disappeared for expectant dads, babies wait for no man!

Many moms have been lucky enough to keep their jobs. They get back to work as quickly as possible after childbirth and are now bringing home the bacon. Dads everywhere have stepped up to the plate and are learning how to diaper, burp, feed and soothe their newborns; what ever it takes.

One young dad I know says he remembered his football coach telling him to carry the ball “high and tight”. He found that worked very well with his tiny charge. “I placed the baby’s head in the palm of my hand and let the feet lay back toward the bend of my arm; no fumbling at our house.” Before long dads learn the difference between a wet diaper cry, a hungry cry, a need to burp cry or just a plain “I’m tired and sleepy cry”.

Of course, it’s a given that dads take pride in the burping skills of their newborn, not to mention the musical tooting. It takes them back to their boyhood and many contests.

. As you would expect, many first time daddies of newborns have turned to the numerous web sites to answer any question on baby care he might have.

These programs allow dads to track and time the diapering, feeding, sleeping, bath and whatever else they program.

Speaking of their reverse roles, one young mother told me,” my baby’s  papa is loving, but super cautious. He watches Sponge Bob with her in the mornings, gives her a bath with all her fishy toys, then its bottle and nap time. When I get home each day he tells me how their day went. The problems that they dealt with together, and the surprises he witnessed.  He talks about the events he can’t wait to experience with her.

There’s always the good, the bad and the ugly, and quite frequently in our home,

The adorable!”

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY