Where are the Ukrainian Children?
By
Gerry Niskern
We’ve all heard stories about the Russians taking Ukrainian children during the fighting in Ukraine. According to a recent column by Kris Kristoff the Ukrainian government count at least 11,000 kids known by name taken in the Russian controlled territories. They estimate there are thousands more not identified, with less detail.
Sometimes the parents were told they were just taking them to a safer place and they would be returned. Many were removed from boarding schools and hospitals without the parents knowledge. The parents have tried unsuccessfully to get their children back. But the Russian authorities have demanded paper work impossible to provide as homes and records have been destroyed. Some have already been adopted into Russian families.
When I read these accounts I am reminded of stories I heard years ago during WWII when I was around twelve or so, Mom’s kid brother, Uncle Harry was an electrician on a tanker In the U. S. Navy. Tankers were giant floating fuel stations that serviced all the ships in the U. S. Navy. One German U-boat torpedo and the whole ship could go up in flames. When Uncle Harry was discharged he came to stay with our family before going home to W.VA. He told us about the many places he had seen during the Atlantic campaign and then the Pacific. When asked about the navel battles, he would just drop his head and shrug.
Normally I wasn’t paying much attention, but one day something caught my attention. He was pretty emotional when he told the story.
You see, his ship was the first ship to enter Russian waters after the war was declared over. They sailed into the harbor at Vladivostok in Siberia. Harry was designated the ship’s interpreter and was the liaison officer between the Russian officials and his ship’s captain. He had more freedom to look around and the sight that distressed him so much was the unloading of shipload after shipload of young children, alone without any parents. He cried as he talked about the hundreds of children herded off Russian ships. They had been picked up in Europe and brought around to Siberia. When they disembarked they were marched inland immediately. They were probably used for slave labor. I’m sure they never saw their homeland again.
So yes, Russia does kidnap children.
Stealing another country’s children is a war crime.

Hard times thanksgiving
By
Gerry Niskern
The best word to describe my earliest memory of Thanksgiving is tension, lots of tension.
Standing with our faces pressed against the cold glass of the dining room window, all Mom and I saw was a lacy curtain of swirling snowflakes. She twisted her apron round and round into a knot as she muttered to herself.
A few days earlier my Dad came home and announced he had invited his boss, who was going to be in town during Thanksgiving week, to our turkey dinner. I don’t remember their conversation, but I imagine it went something like this: “Why on earth did you do that? You know I’ve never cooked a turkey dinner!” Mom declared.
“Honey, I couldn’t get out of it. And he said he was bringing his rifle because he’s hoping we can get in a little hunting before dinner.”
“You can’t go. Your leg can’t take that right now. You know the doctor said to stay off of it as much as possible.”
“ I had no choice. I had to extend the invitation and if he still wants to go hunting, I’ll just have to take him. I’ll be careful.”
Dad suffered from a serious accident in his teenage years and had to stand on crutches doing his work as an industrial engineer. He didn’t want to let on to his supervisor and also mentor, on the new project, that he wasn’t in condition to do his job. It was the Depression and if you had a good job, you guarded it fiercely.
My mother had no experience with cooking turkey dinners because her family didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving when she was growing up. I remember the story she told us about rushing home to tell my Austrian grandma about the wonderful American holiday called Thanksgiving she learned of in school that day. “We have to celebrate Thanksgiving. You have to cook a turkey, and lots of good pies too!” she informed grandma. “ That’s how we give thanks for our many blessings in this country.”
Grandma agreed to cook a special big dinner, “but I no buy turkey. We have chickens.” She declared. “And you no give thanks for your blessings on one day, you always give thanks every day.”
So on that day of my earliest memory of Thanksgiving I helped my mother set the table with her best table cloth and brand new set of Fiesta Ware. The bright green, blue, yellow and orange plates waited patiently on the dining table to receive the turkey that was already getting cold, gravy too thick from simmering forever, and the mashed potatoes that had lost their fluff long ago.
As Mom and I stood at the window and strained to see through that West Virginia “white out” I remember vividly the tears in her eyes as she was saying, over and over, “If he’s got himself lost in this blizzard, I’ll kill him!”’

Family of Man
By
Gerry Niskern

I don’t want to alarm anyone, but we are losing something unique in our country.
I realized this change was happening last week when I was being challenged by the “woke police” during ordinary conversations. Yes. You read that right. Me. In my opinion, the most liberal, democratic person on earth was reprimanded for some innocent remarks.
No offense, all you activists, but since when is it forbidden to acknowledge someone’s ethnicity? We are a nation of immigrants and as Americans we have always celebrated our differences. I came from a family that was a mini United Nations. My grandparents immigrated to the United States from Austria. As their family grew, Russians, Italians, Americans, Irish and Jews married into the family. As we celebrated holidays each one brought something of their culture to the gathering. We were a living example of the American Melting Pot.
Ken, on the other hand, came from a dusty little town in West Texas. He had no exposure to other nationalities, but in later years he loved meeting people from other countries, in school, church and later in his career. During our marriage we enjoyed many good times with friends from other countries.
Hey guys, there is a fine line that separates normal conversation and vindictiveness, but it is an strong one , not to be confused. We should be bringing everyone together; stop trying to prove how “correct” you are by correcting others.
Here’s an idea. Let’s all get off the “woke patrol”. We need to agree not to search for a reason to challenge everyone’s utterances for no good reason. It is impossible to imagine what America would be like without all the different races woven into the fabric of American life. Mentioning someone’s ethnic background in conversation is not a “slur”, it’s conversation. Let’s not lose the unique ability in our country to mix and share differences.
Remember, we are all the family of man.

“Do You Vote Like your Daddy?”

By

Gerry Niskern

This column ran in the Arizona Republic a few elections ago, but it bears repeating more than once! Most voters never change, but this year women voters matter!

I remember when I entered politics. I was three and FDR was running for his second term. I gave my first stump speech while standing on one of my Grandma’s kitchen chairs. My mother’s younger brothers, all strong UMWA members had coached me well. When my dad, a staunch Republican, came to pick me up after a day at Grandmas I greeted him with a rousing, “Vote for Roosevelt!”. It was all in good fun, but my dad was a guy that believed his politics were his private affair. My mother, of course, was a registered Republican too.
Back then, most women were expected to register with the political party of their fathers or husbands, with no discussions about the issues. Of course, there were exceptions. Some were influenced by studies in college. Later on their employment affected their choices and sometimes marriage did too.
Mom used to laugh when she told about the first time she voted in Arizona. Back in 1942 when my family moved here, it was a blue state. Yes. You read that right, blue. The Democrats had dominated from the inception of Arizona’s government. The state had nine Democratic and three Republicans governors from l912 to l950.
Our neighborhood polling place was at the state capitol. The tables were set up in the rotunda. After my mother gave her name to the election official, the fellow waved her ballot high and yelled down the line of tables “Hey guys, here’s a Republican.” That drew a raucous chorus of hoots and hollers.
Red faced, she took the ballot and quickly retreated to the niche to vote. What the room full of Democratic workers didn’t know was that she probably voted right along their party line. You see, she might have been married to a Republican, but that coal miner’s daughter from a strong union family was a Democrat at heart.
Today women have access to 24 hour news programs, the internet; all the sources to help them keep informed on both sides of the issues. They are free to make wise decisions that will impact their own future and the future of their daughters.
Women have taken charge of their lives. How about you?
Do you vote like your Daddy?