FANNY/Memoir interludes
By
Gerry Niskern
I remember going to my Grandma’s house on Saturday just in time to see some of my uncles piling into a car, with their hunting rifles. “Someone stole Fanny and they are going to get her back”, one of my cousins said. “They have an idea of a couple of places where she might be.”
I was around six or so, but I recall thinking, “If they are not going hunting, why do they need their guns?”
Fanny was a hunting hound. My Uncle Joe brought her home when she was a puppy, but little did he realize that she was a “scent” hound and would grow into a prize hunting dog. She wasn’t real big, probably part Beagle, with white, brown and black fur. Her ears were long and no matter how many times they were pulled by the babies in the family she never seemed to mind. She loved the kids, but everyone knew her heart belonged to Joe.
Joe and my other uncles took her hunting often and she was borrowed frequently by friends because of her keen sense of smell. She was fast and agile and a champion at flushing out game. Joe always bragged that she was the best hunting dog in Marshall County. Fanny had been stolen more than once, but the men always had an idea where to look. They always came back with her.
She was allowed to sleep in the house, which was unusual since my Grandma wasn’t crazy about animals in the house. Fanny stayed around the place except when she trotted down to the high school to wait for Joe after football practice. After Uncle Joe started working at the coal mine she was right there waiting to “bring” him home when his shift was over. Then when Joe joined the navy right after Pearl Harbor she began her long wait for him to come home.
Joe was a gunner on a destroyer. His ship was in the Atlantic campaign and without any leave home, the destroyer was diverted to the Pacific Theater. Joe was gone for over three years. Of course, Fanny went hunting with anyone who wanted her, but we knew she was waiting for Joe.
Then, one beautiful fall Sunday afternoon in l945, the war was finally over and our big family was down at Grandma’s sitting on the benches and swings under the grape arbor. Fanny was playing with one of the kids. The state highway ran past Grandma’s house and there was never much traffic but on that day a large Anheuser-Buschbeer truck sped by and Fanny shot out of the yard like a rocket and was in the arm’s of the hitch hiker before the trucker could barely get stopped two whole blocks away.
Joe came walking up with his sea bag on his shoulder and Fanny in his arms.

“Magical Freedom”
By
Gerry Niskern
We moved slowly up the mountain. Then, suddenly, at the summit, we plunged straight down. The sled made another turn and I thought we would fly off the side. One more turn and I was screaming, sure I was sailing off into space; sure I was going to die.
How did I get into this predicament? Well, let me tell you.
It all started with ken coming in from work one day in l959 and asking, “ What do you say we try to get away for a few days? Do you think you can get Mrs. Garside to watch the kids on short notice? We could drive over to the coast and relax on the beach a day or two?”
I was on the phone in a flash, and as luck would have it, our sitter was free that weekend. Grandparents were put on backup notice and our “Angel of Mercy” was on the job as we pulled away waving goodbye to our munchins, aged one, four and six.
In Del Mar the next morning, my devious husband said, “Let’s drive up to Orange county and look around. I hear that area is really growing. “ As we drove around Anaheim I noticed something strange, a mountain! “Oh, look” I said, pointing at the startling sight in the center of town. “Do you think that’s the Matterhorn and that’s Disneyland over there?”
“I don’t know, do you want to go see? “ my sly husband replied. We drove closer and there it was, right in front of us, Disneyland! The happiest place on earth. “ Do you want to go in?” I was torn. I felt so lucky that we had just happened to drive by it . “But we should take the kids, “ I worried. “Look around, do you see any quilt police?” my young partner asked.
So, we two, twenty something parents, parked and bought our tickets. We were carried down main street on the joyful feeling of freedom and fun. We rode every ride and enjoyed that Matterhorn adventure more than once. Streaking down that mountain, I felt unbelievably free!

CONCLUSION: We took the kids the following summer and every place we stopped someone asked, “Where are you kids going? One of them would put on a long, sad face and pointing an accusing finger, say “Disneyland, but THEY WENT LAST YEAR!

“Winners Never Quit”
By
Gerry Niskern
“You’re not coming back, are you?” The voice startled me as I was unlocking my car and preparing for a fast getaway. A current of anger had carried me quickly out the door of my first writing class. ‘How dare them criticize my treasured family story?’ I thought. I was hurt and humiliated. ( I had a lot to learn about writing and class critiques!) I turned and recognized the pretty, brunette woman from the class.
“No, it was probably a bad idea. We are remodeling a house we just bought and I have lots of work to do on it.” I replied. “Oh, where is it? I would love to see what you are doing.”
Why wouldn’t this pushy woman just leave me alone?’ When I explained our new home was at the end of Central Avenue, up against the North Phoenix Mountains, she said, “Do you mind if I follow you home?” I reluctantly agreed.
As we got out of our cars at the top of the steep driveway the steady beat of my husband’s hammer drummed us up the stairs to the second floor. All of our white furniture was piled in the middle of the future great room, covered in heavy plastic). We learned that Mary, my new friend, had plenty of knowledge of home construction as she and her spouse, an electrician, had built more than one house.
As she talked with Ken he explained that he was doing the work of tearing out walls, flooring and putting in new baths and a kitchen himself; all this in his spare time as he was still working. She marveled at the renovations we were planning and recommended men’s names in various trades that we could use. She gave us a French door for our intended master bedroom. She cheekily volunteered her husband’s welding services in putting together a wrought iron railing and gate for the inside stairway Ken still had to design somehow.
She spotted my paintings down stairs and I explained that the lower floor was going to be my studio eventually. I was supplying several galleries and needed to get back to work soon. In the meantime I thought I would start writing, that’s why I had been in her class today. Mary
offered kindness and support. When she left, leaving us warmed by her enthusiasm she turned to me and said, “ I’ll see you in class next Tuesday Gerry.”
And the rest is history.