“April Fool is Friday. Are You Ready?”
By

Gerry Niskern

“April fool!” Can you remember hearing those words as a kid after one of your friends pulled a really good April Fool joke on you?
When most of us were children the best April Fool jokes were ones that we could pull were the simple ones we thought of our self. There were no props involved. Just our creative minds conjuring up an outrageous fact that surprisingly was believable; at least to our most gullible friends.
No one knows exactly where or when April Fools day started and why, but since the 1700’s, it seems every country has an April Fools day. Sometimes it is called All Fools Day. So watch out this Friday! Nothing you hear is credible. Check everything out.
There is always a predictable internet hoax by some corporations to fool their customers. Once, back in l996, Taco Bell duped the public by claiming to purchase the Liberty Bell intending to rename it the Taco Bell.
I remember one April Fool’s Day during unusually hot weather, a radio host in Phoenix, told his audience about a misting system planned by the city. It would be strung high above all the sidewalks. The system would use reconstituted water from the sewers and would cost the city virtually nothing in water bills. Surprisingly, a large segment of his listeners believed it and flooded the city’s phone lines with indignant protests.
Of course, I have to tell you one of my best April Fool’s Day jokes. We were having a terrible storm for April. Cold wind and rain that turned into “unheard of light snow” briefly here in Phoenix. We lived on the top of a little mountain at the end of 14th street, with a long, steep driveway. I called my grandson, aged eleven, and told him the neighborhood kids were having a blast skiing down our driveway. He begged his mom to drive him over and it took her a while to convince him I was “April Fooling” him.
My earliest memory of an April Fool’s joke was when a most favorite uncle of all the cousins called us together. He had a paper bag from the bakery and being the youngest and probably with the sweetest tooth, I begged to be first to reach into the paper sack. I pulled out a DOG BISCUIT! Everyone thought it was hilarious. Not me!

What a Day!
By
Gerry Niskern
It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a Farmer’s Market, but I was invited to go along to one with some family members Saturday.
I’ve passed the one at Central and Bethany Home Road a thousand times but never stopped. Strange, considering on every trip to another city, my resident historian and I always visited their Farmer’s Markets.
As we moseyed along between the many vendors the first thing I noticed was there weren’t many fruits and vegetables. Ironic, since that’s how Farmer’s Markets came into existence; a place for farmers to sell their produce directly to the consumers. The first market in the United States was started in Boston, Mass. In 1634. And actually, over the years, I have heard stories about my grandfather, who had a farm about ten miles from Vienna, in Austria, loading his wagon with fruits and vegetables and arriving before dawn at the outdoor market every Saturday to sell his produce in the Vienna city marketplace.
On our walking tour thru the Central Phoenix market we did see some vendors selling herbs to grow in kitchen gardens. We passed booths with homemade breads of all kinds. There was unique pottery, one of my favorites. Other booths had vintage clothing, homemade jellies, interesting and different bird feeders and homemade soaps.
It appeared nearly everyone had their dog with them and some were very good looking. Of course, when barking broke out it was always a smaller dog who considered it his duty to challenge one bigger than him. Of course, We passed an unusual amount of booths selling doggie products. Serious nutritious dog food, snacks and treats for fido were offered everywhere. One large vendor had hundreds of colorful dog collars on display.
We eventually arrived at a dead end by some food trucks. The Food trucks were a welcome part of the market. Some in our group enjoyed a lobster sandwich. Turning back another route the truck selling fresh squeezed lemonade had the longest line, since the temperature was rising fast.
We went on to see pretty homemade aprons, wind chimes and one man had silver rings, bracelets, and something I had not seen since I was a kid; silver bracelets made from bending a spoon around to fit a wrist. When I was in middle school, boys used to present an intended “steady” with a spoon bracelet (probably from his mother’s silver set! ) that he had engraved with his and her name.
As we walked on we saw a booth full of hats, kettle corn, special pasta blends, and a man selling funny tee shirts with all breeds of dogs on the front. And last but not least, a booth for special doggie vitamins!
As we were heading out we heard rumors of actual vegetables in the back somewhere and chocolate candy! Maybe for another day!

History Keeps Repeating
By
Gerry Niskern
I can remember one day when I was six sitting in my mom’s kitchen and watching her making cottage cheese. She was listening to the radio and crying. The year was l939 and Hitler was starting his devastating march across Europe. I remember being distressed and asking her why she was crying. “It’s because of what’s happening in Europe, honey; those poor people.”
That was my first knowledge of war. Of course, as time went on, kids in the United states were personally involved in the war in many different ways. We learned about war every day at school and home. Many lost fathers, brothers, as our country entered the conflict but we felt safe because we were here, in America. When we went to the movies we saw the News Reels before the show and I felt sadness watching the little children in England kissing their tearful parents goodbye as they boarded buses and trains to leave the larger cities most likely to be bombed. Many of those kids went to Ireland, but they also were welcomed in Canada, Australia, New Zealand and even South Africa.

Over the last two weeks we’ve all watched courageous women with their beautiful children leaving the large cities in Ukraine to find safety in other welcoming countries. The heartbreaking scenes we’ve seen on television reminded me of those English kids all those many years ago.
World War Two, started when I was six, ended when I was 13. Everyone thought there would never be another. But there always was; the Korean war, Vietnam, Iraq. And always the same images of women and children fleeing the country. But nothing on the scale of WW11 that is threatening today. We have to trust our leaders to walk a fine line in helping the Ukrainian government without triggering a larger, unthinkable conflict. Because, where would we send the children than?

A Good Guy by Any Other Name
By
Gerry Niskern
Our hearts go out to the Ukrainians as they fight to defend their country. Their heroic resistance is an example to the outside world. Just the idea of the mothers taking the children to safety and having to say goodbye to husbands, lovers, fathers, and brothers is heartbreaking.
Wars are fought on many fronts. One is propaganda taught to citizens about the people of the other country. At one time we learned to “hate” the Japs, Germans and Italians. Later it was the North Koreans and then the North Vietnamese. Now we are supposed to loathe the “Russkies”.
Of course, it is easy to teach kids, and adults too, by de-humanizing people of an opposing country. But the people of the warring country are not who you should despise. It is always their leadership that should receive the scorching hatred for unprovoked wars of aggression. People everywhere only want to live in peace. Just as the Ukrainians wanted to be remain a free democratic society so do the Russian people who do not want this war with their neighbor.
You see, I have known a Russian. A kind, generous and fun loving man. My uncle, Walter Tribelo.
Uncle Walter left Russia in the early 1900’s during a regional war in Georgia. His father put him on a horse with a note pinned to his coat, ”Please help this boy get to the coast.” He was twelve years old.
He made his way to America. He worked in the West Virginia coal mines and married my Aunt Anne, a young widow. He lovingly helped raise her two little girls and was adored by all the cousins in our big family. He entertained everyone at our Christmas celebrations with his resounding Cossack folk dance as another uncle from Italy played the traditional Russian music.
He loved to roam the forest searching for special roots and plants that were known to cure many minor ailments and always had something on hand for you to try. Uncle Walter also was a strong swimmer and couldn’t resist showing off at family picnics down on the banks of the Ohio River by swimming clear across and back while by Aunt Annie paced the bank yelling, “ Don’t try to swim across, you damn fool!” But he always did.
He worked in the coal mine into his sixties until a cave-in caused an electric drill to take out one of his eyes. That Russian man helped me learn about Russian people.