The Printed Word
By
Gerry Niskern
His alarm went off at 4:30 A. M. every day. The bundles of newspaper were dropped off at the corner of 2lst Ave and Adams, beside Jim’s Chinese Market, at 5:00 A. M. and he was there, on his bike, waiting. As the station manager, he counted out each boy’s share as they slowly arrived. The young paper carriers sat and folder each paper into a compact form. If the newspaper wasn’t folded right it wouldn’t reach the front porch. And if you didn’t “porch it” every single time, there would be no tip on collection day!
That young station manager alone delivered 300 plus papers in the morning and 250 plus of the evening paper in the afternoon . The newspaper those boys delivered years ago had all kinds of news that you don’t get today, if you are only reading digital. Sure you can get the online paper of your choice, but do you really read it? Most people get the highlights in sound bites of local, state and national news on television or in another digital form. They only meet people running for national office after they have climbed the local political ladder. Only in the local newspaper do you learn about their personal history and character from the grassroots level.
The authenticity and credibility of local newspapers help maintain the morale and harmony of our society. If your local paper is conservative or liberal, it doesn’t matter. You will still find articles to help you become an informed citizen.
Here’s three good examples of local news in The Arizona Republic this past Wednesday. Two companies, Dish Network and Finance Buzz are offering people a chance to get paid to watch scary movies! Two Arizona cities, Phoenix and Mesa are committing to the American Rescue Plan to address homelessness. The state was allocated 4 billion to help build lasting and transforming change in peoples lives, in one of many parts, by providing housing. Another in-depth article covering the actions of our Arizona governor when the twelve licenses for online Sports betting were awarded.
In other words, there’s something new everyday on the local level. That’s where it all starts. Subscribe to your local paper. Really. You Should!

Up Close and Personal
By
Gerry Niskern
How interesting is your neighborhood? Let me tell you about the first one I lived in here in Phoenix when my parents moved us to Arizona in August of 1942.
Back before cell phones, television and the internet that keeps people inside their homes, things were different. If anything happened on your street, everyone saw it.
I remember on one of our first days in Phoenix hearing my mother gasp as she glanced out the front window. “Well, I never! I can’t believe my eyes. There’s a woman out on the front walk getting her newspaper, in her nightgown! And, oh my Lord, she’s smoking a cigarette!”
I’m sure there were plenty of female smokers back in the little Eastern town we came from, they just didn’t dare do it in public. Later that morning I got a good look at, Mrs. Beeson, our outrageous next door neighbor. Her thick ivory colored hair was pulled up into a bun. Olive skin, without a wrinkle, covered high cheekbones that framed deep cinnamon brown eyes. She was heavy, but strong and broad shouldered too. Her three hundred pound body was covered with a shapeless black polka dotted dress.
What fascinated me most was her cigarette that dangled by the barest tip from her lips. As she described the other families in the neighborhood and what branch of the service their sons were in, the Lucky Strikes never fell. The ashes grew longer and longer, probably about an inch I guessed. Just when I thought they would fall down on poor, tiny Mr. T, she would flick them off.
Mr. T. was her little Chihuahua dog who slept serenely on her high, firm, ample bosom. They didn’t have underwire bras in those days and believe me, she didn’t need one. She never bothered steadying him with her other hand.
As the days of the war dragged slowly by, Mrs. Beeson seemed to sense when the mailman had delivered another V-mail from one of mom’s younger brothers who were serving overseas. The doorbell would ring. Mom always quickly dried her eyes and opened the door to our rotund friend. “Where can I put my little but” were invariably the first words out of her mouth. Mom blushed, I giggled and sent me to the kitchen for an ashtray.
Soon they were matching story for story about mom’s brothers or Mrs. Beeson’s sons. The war was pushed into the distance for a little while and mom was soon smiling again. “Come home with me, honey. I want you to run to the drugstore to see if they got in any smokes.” As I waited on her porch for the money I remember looking at the small white banner hanging her front window. On it were two gold stars.

Don’t Forget to Ask

By

Gerry Niskern

We’ve all seen ads for Ancestery.com and a few other companies who will look up your family history.

I have a better idea. While you still can, ask your parents about your family history. Just take the time to have a conversation or two with a parent, grandparent, Aunt, Uncle or even some cousins. Maybe you have planned to have one of your elders on a video while you ask questions. Great idea, if you ever get around to it and if they are really comfortable with recording.

Just get a plain spiral note book and start writing everything down. Don’t worry about editing. Just keep writing before you forget their stories. When you start those long over due conversations, ask where the grandparents were born. Where did they go to school? Where did they meet? Marry? Ask what the grandfathers did for a living. What was your grandmother’s life like?

I’ve talked to tons of people who’s parents are gone that all say the same thing, “I wish I had taken the time to ask questions while I could.”

Several said they would ask, “What was your childhood like? Where did you and dad meet? What attracted you to him?”

Another wanted to know more about her grandmother’s stories about growing up in Germany. What were her feelings when she left? Who did she work for when she got here?

One friend whose  parent’s marriage was arranged in the Middle East would ask her mother what her true feelings were at her wedding.

A friend from an Asian country told me she grieved that there were no baby pictures taken of her and wants to know why.

Several wanted to know what kind of day it was when they were born.

I personally would ask my grandmother about the sadness of leaving her infant daughter in Europe in a grandmother’s care when they immigrated to America.

So forget about finding a famous Prussian General, an exiotic princess or an aristrocratic head of government in your ancestry. You can learn about your family tree by starting those conversations with those who are here right now. There are several publishing companies who will publish a small book of your information and photos of your family if you wish for posterity.

Do it now. Don’t wait!

Ships of the Desert

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you noticed the Saguaro getting fatter? No? Neither did I! But that’s what happens after a summer of heavy rains. They store the water. Kind of reminds me of stories of camels that once roamed the Arizona desert.

You see, camels can go for long periods of time without water. They drink up to twenty gallons at a time. (and no, they don’t store it in their hump.) Around l857 camels were brought to Arizona to serve a pack animals for the U. S. Army.

Thirty thousand dollars was appropriated to acquire a ship and purchase some camels. Two officers were given the job of traveling to the Middle East and buying some camels. They hired a man who later became known as Hi Jolly to scout for some of the “Ships of the Desert”. He went into the interior of Tunisia and purchased 30 camels. On the same thirty thousand he went back later and purchased 40 more.

Finally, in the spring of 1857, a caravan of camels loaded with supplies for the Army started out from Texas. The camels could carry around 1,200 pounds. They headed for the Zuni village on the Arizona border. The Indians came for miles around to see the strange beasts.

The trouble with the experiment was that the horses and mules they came into contact with thought they were strange too and usually bolted which caused untold havoc. The army eventually gave up on them and they were sold to mines or mostly  turned loose on the desert.

One funny story happened in downtown Phoenix around 1890. A local saloon keeper paid someone ten dollars to bring him one to tie up to his portico. The advertising scheme was a worked and business was good, but a man driving a freight wagon and a large team of horses came by and the horses saw the camel and snorted in fright and tore off. The frightened camel in turn pulled back with all his strength and yanked out the iron post. The roof came crashing down into the window of the saloon and the adjoining businesses destroying everything.

The camel was turned loose near Camelback mountain and finally disappeared.

At one time it was reported that around 500 were counted along the lower Gila River. It is extremely doubtful that any existed in the desert after about 1910. Although there is one important thing to remember:

IT IS ILLEGAL TO HUNT FOR CAMELS IN THE STATE OF ARIZONA

Bird’s eye View

By

Gerry  Niskern

When my folks had out of town company when I was a kid the first place they drove them was the top of South Mountain. My Dad loved to show off the Valley of the Sun and the fantastic view of the growing city of Phoenix.

Years later, Ken and I discovered another great place to see the city. The view thru the expansive windows of the Compass Arizona Grill on top the Hyatt Regency Phoenix was breathtaking. Having dinner at the Compass on special occasions while the revolving restaurant slowly turned gave us a precious trip down memory lane each time we went there.

“Look, there’s the old Republic and Gazette building (Ken used to go there on Sunday to get extra papers to sell) on Central. And there is where Coney Island was. ( went there for delicious chili dogs after the high school dances). There’s the old Carnegie Library and the Capitol.” And “there’s Adams school, and Phoenix Union Highschool”. Even both our childhood homes close to the Capitol were easy to make out. Old memories appeared every minute as we slowly revolved.

In l989 the restaurant seated ticket holders who came to watch the Formula One United States Grand Prix race through the streets of downtown Phoenix. YES. At one time one of our former Mayors decided that a Grand Prix race was just what our city needed! I know, hard to believe.

We loved to arrive in time to spot our favorite landmarks and then sit enthralled as another magnificent Arizona sunset gave way one by one to city lights that shown like jewels on a bed of darkness.

I guess one of our fondest memories was the time we took our eight year old  great-grandson downtown to the Science Museum and we promised a lunch atop  the Hyatt at the restaurant that ‘turns while you are eating.’

As we stepped off the elevator and walked toward the maitre d’ we were concerned at the look of disappointment on the boy’s face. He turned and said, “I thought it would be going faster.”

The host solemnly explained,  “Well, son, we tried to do that but while people were eating their plates kept flying off the tables.”

“Apache Passion”

By

Gerry Niskern

‘You’ve never heard of it?’ Neither had I until I read an article in the Arizona Republic by Shanti Lerner last week. She wrote about the kids and teenagers at Whiteriver on the Fort Apache Indian Reservation in Eastern Arizona and their love of skateboarding. Sure, the kids on the reservation love baseball, basketball and volleyball and the teams often advance to state championships. But the kids who take up skateboarding are sometimes a little more creative and not into team sports.

When Douglas Miles Jr. a professional skateboarder and film maker moved to Whiteriver the local kids showed him where they skated. They find a spot, usually an abandoned construction site and construct a DYI (do it yourself) skate park. These unofficial parks exist on swaths of abandoned concrete, under bridges or anywhere they find material available. Stacks of old plywood or used concrete beams are made to look like ramps.

Miles was impressed with their love of the sport. “They had been following me and made me welcome by showing me all the spots they had improvised to skate on. I asked myself, what can I do for them and that’s how the project Apache Passion on GoFundMe got started.

Long before that the Elders in the White Mountain Apace Tribe knew of the need. 50% of the reservations residents are 18 or younger. They had helped the skaters with small monetary donations and food and snacks for the tournaments, but the tribe had many challenges and of course, the Covid pandemic put everything on hold. Now the tribal council will contribute land, work to obtain additional grant funding, construction personnel and materials and help make the project happen.

Miles Jr. will hire designers and coordinate the building process. The project will cost around $l50,000. Miles said, ‘It’s been five years since I started trying to raise money for this project and we’ve come a long way. We have artists, professional roller skaters and many other donors who have faith in the project.” He went on to describe how these kids represent the best of the Apache culture. “These kids try trick after trick, fall on the hard cement and get up and do it again and again. There is a fighting spirit, a warrior spirit, that dwells in the bloodline of these kids. They have the endurance and the stamina  to overcome the challenges.”

I was impressed with this story of the skateboarding kids on the Apache Reservation and wanted to share it. I’ve lived in Arizona long enough to remember when tourists thought all the Native American kids did was herd sheep or dance a the Pow-Wows. And after watching the red headed skateboard gold medalist from Australia at the Olympics,  I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be great to see a young Apache Warrior make it to the Olympics?

APACHE PASSION PROJECT ON GOFUNDME

Stick The Ending

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you been watching? The Summer Olympic Games, that is. Those people are unbelievable.

There has been a lot written, pro and con, about why continue to have the Olympic games at all?

Well of course we should have all the games, Summer and Winter also. The Olympic games play an important part in the cultural life of the global community. It is a way for nations from all over the world to unite. Over two hundred countries participate. They are an inspiration for kids, especially, to achieve their potential in whatever activity or sport they aspire to.

Actually, the Olympic Games first began in ancient Greece, with representatives from each city/state. It’s even been said that wars would be halted while the games were going on, and then taken back up again.

I wasn’t aware of the games as a kid. We didn’t have the 24 hour coverage that we do today. I’d like to blame that omission for my lack of athletic ability back then. I remember watching my best friend swinging with ease from one end of the Monkey Bars to the other. I dropped with a thud after one attempt. She also tried to teach me how to dive. Frustrated, she finally gave up saying, “This is harder then putting toothpaste back in the tube”.

Jump rope was even more difficult. I could never get the hand of ‘running in.’ Same with Jacks. I could toss up the ball and I could pick up the jacks, just not at the same time! My daughter learned how to play jacks from her dad. And don’t even mention Dodge ball. I was, of course, last one chosen for a side, and first one put out.

I yearned to be able to do a cartwheel. Didn’t happen. We played ‘work up’ in softball In grade school, needless to say, I never got out of left field.

However, There is one maneuver  that all the athletes, men and women, do now. No matter what sport, they hug afterwards; the coaches, their fellow competitors, the other team. HUGGING! Just like the gymnasts, I think I  might have the potential  to ‘stick it’.

“July Pastimes”

By

Gerry Niskern

Every day while walking I listen to the rush of water plunging from the pumps along the irrigation ditch. The pampered, pristine lawns I pass by are watered by irrigation. The other day I was reminded of an amusing E-mail story concerning our resident’s preoccupation with grass.

‘God was talking to St Francis and asking whether the people on earth were enjoying the variety of grasses and wild flowers he had provided. He was flabbergasted to learn that people on earth got rid of all of them and planted plain grass around their houses instead. . He was even more bewildered to learn that they water it faithfully, but then pay to have it cut…..and hauled away!’

We all know the pleasure of smelling newly mowed grass. As a kid, it was right up there with rolling down a grassy knoll then climbing to the top and rolling down again.  Another summer pastime was playing in the irrigation water.

When I was a child here in Phoenix on special days shouts were heard in our neighborhood, “They’re irrigating the capitol grounds!”  Kids for blocks around the state capitol would race to don bathing suits and head for the lush grass around the capitol. (This was before the politicians decided to cover most of those beautiful grounds with government buildings). When we got there the clear, cool water was pouring into the areas between the sidewalks. We ran and played in knee high water; only once in a while accidentally splashing the state office ladies walking to lunch.

When the irrigation evaporated, we turned to lawn sprinklers.  On any hot day in July somebody’s mother would be watering their grass, using a variety of whirling sprinklers.  We kept cool running in and out of the crystal droplets.

My father cut his grass on Saturday afternoon.   He was grateful he hadn’t listened to helpful neighbors back east when they advised him, “Don’t pay to haul your lawn mower to Arizona. You won’t need it. The yards out there are all sand.”

About the age that I was playing in the irrigation water as a child, my husband said he was running a grass cutting business.  He even had one customer out by Camelback Road and Lateral 14. He transferred twice on the city bus to reach the expansive grounds of that country home.

Years later when we moved into our first home, he couldn’t wait to get the lawn started. (How he would have loved the luxury of ordering a few rolls of sod!)   He was so proud to be the first guy in the subdivision to cut his grass.

I can’t say he was so thrilled later when he spent hours pulling and digging bullhead weeds out of the Bermuda grass. Nothing hurts the tender feet of little ones like the sharp prick of a dry bullhead burr. Daddy was happy when the owners of those little feet grew big and he decided they could take over the mowing chores. He even brought home a used riding mower.  # 1 son was delighted since he was planning on being the next Andretti.  He loved to see how fast that baby would accelerate. After we lost a small grapefruit tree, guess who was back in the mowing business?

Don’t Know Jack

By

Gerry Niskern

“My dog’s not spoiled, I’m just well trained!”

I have a young friend who has been pet sitting for many years. She loves all dogs and doesn’t mind if there is a cat or two in residence where she is sitting. It’s estimated that over 40% of the households in the United States have a dog and she figures she has sat for half of them! But she met her match the other day.

She had been a little concerned when she booked the job. You see, the family had a cat, a small dog and a Great Dane. It would be her first experience with that breed. She was given instructions to give Jack, the Dane with an attitude,  his meds every day for his arthritis. “All you have to do is put the pill in a piece of cheese and he gobbles it right up” the owners assured her as they headed for the door.

Well, Jack had other plans. He was not having any part of anything she tried to give him, including even a doggie treat. She wasn’t about to argue with a dog that stood taller then her. She called the vet, goggled the problem for suggestions and finally called the owner. It was agreed that he would be all right without meds until they got back.  She was laughing though because Jack came and stood right over when she gave the small dog his pill.

My grandson says that when he cuts his dog’s toenails, his other dog comes real close to watch. I don’t know much about dogs but I think that that is probably a loyalty thing. We all know how  loyal dogs are, don’t we? We also know that their sense of smell 40 times better than ours. Which reminds me of a favorite dog story of mine.

My Uncle Joe had a hunting hound named Fanny. She was the best hunting dog around and was stolen more then once. I remember hearing the grown ups saying, “Fanny is missing and we’re going after her.” A car load of my uncles with their hunting rifles would take off and they seemed to know which farms to look for her, because they always came home with Fanny. She sure got an extra share of loving from all us kids that day.

But here’s the best Fanny story about loyalty. When Uncle Joe went into the Navy during WWll he was sent directly from boot camp to duty on the Great Lakes with no leave between. Before he reported, He took a chance and hitched a ride with a beer truck going thru West Virginia . The state highway ran past my grandma’s house and that beer truck sped past and stopped two blocks away. By the time the trucker stopped Fanny was there in Uncle Joe’s arms. Talk about loyalty!

“Jump In”

By

Gerry Niskern

While there is deep concern about the extreme drought here in Arizona, the kids are doing what they have always done in the summer, “Gon Swimmn”.

Actually, I should say, kids invariably  find some form of water fun here in the valley, and there are many. If they don’t have a pool at home, there is always a community pool close by. The many water parks cover acres with slides, wave pools and winding rivers.

Years ago the kids who lived in Phoenix had their favorite holes along the Salt River. There was a constant stream of water down the channel, flowing over rapids into big pools a block or so long and deep enough for good swimming. One place was called Pike’s Retreat. It was a deep lake, a quarter mile long and a hundred yards wide, at the foot of Seventh Avenue.

Of course, the kids also swam in the canals, which were closer to home. The Swilling Ditch was another favorite of locals. The kids loved swinging from ropes tied to a Cottonwood tree ad dropping into the frigid water of irrigation ditches that fanned out across the valley. The barefoot climb up the rough bark was worth it every time.

Eventually there were many pools built around the valley. Eastlake Park, Coronado, and University were among the first community pools. Broadway pool, located at 19^th Avenue and Broadway, wasn’t as well known, but it held special memories that my resident historian used to relate.

“My family had just moved here to Phoenix in August of l941. I met a kid who invited me to go to the Broadway pool to swim. Being a young man from a dusty little town in Texas, I didn’t know how to swim. Also being a ten year old boy I wasn’t about to admit it. We walked South from West Jackson clear across the Salt River bed to get there. I hung around the shallow end and watched the other kids to see just how they did it. Then I moved a little deeper and pushed off. For a few seconds I found myself in a strange world of kicking legs and bubbles. After I came up and gulped for air I started thrashing my arms and legs and pretty soon I was propelling myself through the water. Pretty soon I decided that I could keep up with my friends in the deep end. All I can say about my first day of swimming and nearly drowning time after time, is, it sure was a long walk two miles North across the river bed and home.”

Wherever you learned to swim as a kid, canal, river, lake or pool, I’ll bet you’ve never forgotten the delight of that day.