TEN DAYS AND COUNTING

By

Gerry Niskern

I remember interviewing this lady from Glendale when I was writing my
On this corner” series for the Republic about old landmarks around the valley.

Mary White Renner, age 83, is a lifetime resident of Glendale. Although Renner has traveled to many countries over the years, she values the wonderful memories of growing up in a small town. ”

The one location that Renner fondly called the “heart” of the community was Murphy Park, on Glendale Ave.  “The only structure in the park was the gazebo. When an election was coming up, the political rallies were held there. To us, this was a big event. Everybody knew everyone. The band was playing and families from all around the area brought blankets and spread out their picnics on the grass. The adults gathered around the gazebo, festooned in red, white and blue and listened to the opposing speakers, while we kids played. I remember it was a amiable atmosphere, no rancor or feeling of neighbor against neighbor.”

That gazebo is gone now.

So is the democratic spirit our country has always tried to maintain during elections, big and small. The kids today have heard all kinds of accusations and name calling. What they haven’t heard about is Syria, human rights, drones, inequality, the WHO, NATO, the United Nations. Little was said about the millions of displaced persons living in squalid camps for years. Our important alliances that work with us to try to solve the world’s most urgent problems was rarely mentioned.

Sure, we wll  all be relieved when the election is over, however long it takes. But we need to be thinking now about healing the spirit of our communities; getting together with that friend or neighbor who maybe didn’t lean the same way as you politically. Reach out to renew old friendships that have become frayed by the winds of angry rhetoric.

Maybe that old gazebo is gone now, but hopefully that spirit of democracy is still out there waiting to be recaptured.

“Political food fights”

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you heard the old saying, you are what you eat? Well, there’s a new slogan in today’s political climate which is, “What you eat is how you vote.” By tracking the foods you prefer the political campaign strategists are able to pursue your vote.

As crazy as it seems, all the candidates pay consulting firms big money to track your purchases and try to put you into a targeted group to ask for your vote.

According to a recent article in the New York Times by Kim Severson, ‘the political advisors to the presidential candidates are looking closely at how people eat as a way to scavenge more votes.’

By practicing microtargeting political strategists can study our food preferences and predict our politics. They can avoid “one size fits all” mailings, e-mails or phone calls if they can target small groups gleaned from their research.

For example, Dr. Pepper is largely a Republic drink. Pepsi and Sprite are Democratic. So are most clear Liquors, like white wine and Evian water. Republicans lean towards brown liquors like bourbon, red wine or Fiji water. Democrats tend to order earthier, down-home foods. However, here’s where the strategists get into trouble.

Many Democratic voters are trying to make ends meet. They are doing more cooking at home. They don’t eat out at expensive restaurants. However, the Republican affluent “stay-at-home” moms are now back into cooking comfort foods on stoves the size of Volkswagons. Confusing, isn’t it?

There is the one crowd of voters who still believe in old fashioned birthday parties with pizza, ice cream and cake. And then there’s the crowd who serve veggie burgers, papaya gelato and flourless cake. Guess which is which?

How about the voters who enjoy their iced tea year round? It’s syrupy sweet for the Southern Republicans. But wait a minute; the Western Democrats love their plain China Mist. How do the strategists sort them out?

My husband had a good friend who like himself was from West Texas. They grew up on pinto beans and cornbread. They met as adults, but agreed on the fact that the only way to eat cornbread was crumbled up into a glass of milk. And guess what, one was a “dyed in the wool” Republican and the other was a staunch Democrat!

“Carefree Creeks”

By

Gerry Niskern

Do you have memories of playing in the creek (or should I say crick) as a child? If you do, you are truly blessed.

When I was a kid my sister and I fixed something to eat to take with us and started down through the meadow below our house most days in the summertime. I don’t remember the name of the creek that was our destination, or if it even had one, but it was our haven. We played in the water, built dams, skipped rocks, built little boat to sail in the slow current, and even tried to catch some minnows.

On weekends we piled into the car for long rides that always ended up at a stream for dad to do some fishing. I think that one was called Big Grave Creek. We usually wore our bathing  suits because we knew there would usually be a deep pool of water for swimming. I don’t know why we had to go that way, but I remember Dad saying, “Hold on kids, were’ turning on Salley’s Back Bone!” That was the title of the rockiest, bumpiest dirt road in the state and well named.

Later on, in Fourth grade on the last day of school, and we got out at noon, I had the most fun ever at Little Grave Creek. The fourth and fifth grade was together and we kids all agreed to meet at the creek (I don’t know why it was called Little Grave because it was big enough for swimming.) We gathered at the creek with our sandwiches and bottles of pop and stayed all afternoon swimming and whooping  at our summer of freedom starting! No parents, planning or permission slips required.

When we moved to Arizona Dad always insisted on driving up to Oak Creek to be there on the first day of Trout season. This required driving up to the canyon the night before and sleeping in the car to be the first on the stream at the crack of dawn on opening day!

A couple of years later when I was a teen I spend a wonderful week at a Methodist Church Camp at Seven Springs. No fancy dorms or even tents, just sleeping out under the stars in sleeping bags listening the sweet murmur of the brook.

Years later we took our young ones to Red Rock Crossing, South of Sedona on Oak  Creek. The kids, with inner tubes around them, scrambled over the red rock formations and jumped into the rapids for a thrilling ride down the water, again and again. When they were tired out at the end of the day and the campfire had burned low, we zipped the tent full of sleeping kids and stole down to the deep pool below the crossing and went skinny-dipping!

Do you have some sparkling streams  in your memories? I hope so.