Neighborhood Ambassador

By

Gerry Niskern

He races up the middle of the street around six o’clock every evening. Moving like a rocket with his long bill, long legs and long tail feathers sailing behind, he is a sight to behold.

Since Roadrunners are monogamous I always figure he is late for dinner or his nest sitting shift. Our roadrunner is extra large, with black and brown feathers, tinged with white. The skin behind his eyes have a touch of cobalt blue. He has lived with his partner in our neighborhood the entire four years that I have been here.

The most famous of all the birds in the Sonoran Desert, the roadrunner can run up to fifthteen miles an hour and sometime a little more when catching  their prey. They are not seed eaters and they do not hang around bird feeders. Rodents, reptiles, small mammals and insects are the preferred diet. They also catch spiders, scorpions and even rattlesnakes.  After running down their victims they slam it against a rock to kill it.

Our guy reminds me of another roadrunner neighbor we had at another house in the North Phoenix Mountains. Actually, the piercing look he gave us that first day said, “ You can move in, but this is really my property!” He proved it often. I remember when a flock of black birds settled in the yard once. He hunched down low to the ground and shot across the ground like a missile and knocked one of the intruders end over end. Another bird met the same fate. Needless to say, the flock decided it wasn’t much fun at this guy’s house!

Our bird is a reassuring reminder that “ all is well” on Foothill Drive every evening as he speeds by and jumps the low wall at Joe’s house. He disappears around back for the night.

The next morning he will  be back down the street sitting on a wall  in the sun somewhere ruffling  his feathers to warm up.  Lucky is the neighborhood that has a resident Roadrunner. If you spot him, just sit back and enjoy!

Your Tax Dollars at Work

By

Gerry Niskern

I’m curious. Where would you go if the power in your area was out for 10 or 12 hours? Here in Phoenix that’s a legitimate question. If you didn’t have a friend or family member in another area to turn to, do you  know where to go? One person I posed the question to said simply, “probably a motel.” Easier said than done for many of our Phoenix residents.

The Pacific Northwest, Washington, Oregon and Northern California are right now bracing for triple-digit highs, threatening the lives of some residents. Just as in Phoenix and towns of the Southwest, underserved populations do not have the luxury of hiding from the heat by “checking into a motel”.

I vividly remember losing power one evening last summer around  8 o’clock. The temperature was still 106. After waiting a bit I drove to my son’s home in a different area. APS said power would resume around midnight. I drove home to find my neighborhood still completely dark. Then they estimated it would be back on at 8 in the morning. Back five miles to my sons for the night.

When it was over 110 and mostly 116-117 for several days this summer, I started thinking about that outage last year. I wondered if the City of Phoenix had plans for people to go if large areas went out.

I called the main city number and posed my question. I was passed to a department called We Care. They would know. The person answering said,  I have no idea, leave you name and number and we will get back to you; but Neighborhood Services would know. They transferred me. The lady there didn’t know of any plans for relief during outages, but leave your name and number and we will find out and get back to you.

Next I tried our district #3 council woman’s number. Her assistant said he knew of no plans for temporary shelter during a heat emergency, but leave my name and number. The last number I called was the Phoenix Fire Department main office. Same answer, “don’t know, leave your name and number.”

I hope the citizens in the Pacific Northwest have better luck finding answers of where to find cool places, temporary havens,  to go during unexpected outages.

I’m still waiting for those call backs.

Father’s Jobs, How They Have Evolved

By

Gerry Niskern

During my lifetime Father’s role has changed, and changed again, many times. According to statistics, before l980, 43% of American Fathers had never changed a diaper, and weren’t about to start!

Now, in the past year, for the first time, Huggies have started putting Dad’s picture on the box of Huggies. Think about that. The diaper company was catching up with real life. Dads not only purchased the diapers, they  used them.

You see, actually since WWll young fathers have chosen to try to have closer relationship with their children than they remembered having with their own fathers.

I knew a young father like that. My memories of his early days of becoming a Father are mine alone. My kids have their own memories of their dad during their childhood and the tumultuous teenage years. But they didn’t see the first time Father that I did.

When all of our friends were having their first babies, some were purchasing beautiful baby furniture, including really neat armoires to store their many baby items, and a tiny closet to hang their little dresses.  We couldn’t afford one. Instead, our Dad-to-be, purchased the wood and constructed our baby daughter her own armoire.

When our first born’s umbilical cord stump failed to drop off and continued to bleed a little when caught on a diaper, her Dad sterilized a

razor blade and cut it off; while I stood by pleading, “Be careful, be careful!”

He carried her around whispering words of comfort when the eight month old ran a high fever for several days.  he huddled with me on the kitchen floor one after noon when she finally dozed off, trying to be quiet because our floor squeaked badly. We whispered our greatest fear back then, Polio! Then after two trips back to the doctor, she finally broke out with measles. No parents have been happier to see their baby with measles!

And as each baby came along, he insisted they sit in a high chair at the table with the rest of the family at dinner. He patiently gave them tiny sips of milk from their little silver namesake cups during the meal. Before I knew it they were drinking with spills on their own. No Tippee cups needed.

Then most evenings he would get his screw driver and put back the louvers on the air vents that baby # 2 had loosened with his fingers during the day.

When baby # 3 had a very touchy stomach and many sleepless nights, his dad slept on the floor by his crib in his room so this Mom could get some rest.

That’s the first-time-father that I remember.

I had a birthday the other day and my #1 son and I went for ice cream sundaes, dessert first! The shop was in downtown Phoenix. It brought back memories of other ice cream shops in the valley over the years. One group who made their own delicious ice cream was Uptons. This piece ran as part of my Recollections Series that ran in the Arizona Republic. Hope you enjoy it.

Mary Brady remembers the Upton’s ice cream and candy shop on the north east corner of 58^th Avenue and West Glendale. She worked there in the early l940’s when she was a teenager.  Old Town Antiques and Kathy’s Corner Shoppe occupy that corner now.

“We were busy all day. We were swamped with kids after school, and on Saturdays when the farmers came to town for groceries, the place was jammed.  The highschool kids dropped by for ice cream after the school dances or  a movie date at the El Rey theatre that was right next door.” Rumor has it that Marty Robbins met his wife in Uptons.

“I remember my folks came in one day and I made them chocolate sodas. It was a treat they had never had before; they thought they were really good!”

Mary went on to describe the store with big windows on the front and a large circular counter. “I don’t remember what the surface was made of, but it had wide wooden trim all around.  We girls worked in the middle where the soda fountain was located. The store served a delicious sandwich called the Olive Club. It was ground ham and chopped ripe olives; it was brought in already made up by a vendor.  I’ve never been able to duplicate it.”

Mary and her fellow waitress, Rhea Aaron loved to play the jukebox. A new song came out around that time called, “All, or Nothing at All.” “We always put a dab of red nail polish on our nickels first. That way, when the fellow came in to collect the coins from the jukebox every week, he gave us back our nickels with the red paint on them.”

Mary recalls that she earned $18 dollars a week at Uptons in 1942 and 43. She got off at midnight and there was no car in the family so she had to walk home. “We lived about 2 miles away,

clear out on D street, which is Maryland now. My boyfriend offered to accompany me, but my mother didn’t approve of that arrangement either. When I stepped out on the sidewalk every night, there was my two younger brothers, grumpy and angry at me because they had to get out of bed and come downtown to chaperone us home.”

Social Tsunami

By

Gerry Niskern

A small social tsunami occurred last week in Central Phoenix.

There is a haven in Central Phoenix that draws people from all walks of life. Young and old gather under the umbrellas at the outdoor coffee and lunch place. Old friends gather to catch up on the news. Sales people huddle with a new client. The construction guys in their vivid neon vests and hard hats stop for a welcome break.

Boisterous students converge on the spot on Fridays to celebrate the end of the school week. They block the doorways and take up lots of tables enjoying their freedom. Their antics are  fun to watch.

I’ve watch at least two former Phoenix Mayors have informal meetings at this relaxed, calm gathering place. Nannies from nearby homes take a break while their charges delight in the birds. “Ladies who lunch” trip in on their stilettos to pick up special lunch orders. Medical staff from nearby surgicenters come in their scrubs.

This haven with its warm, homey feel also attracts people looking for a chance to get out of their own place. Widows and widowers, divorcees,  actually anyone alone looking for some company. There is always someone to strike up a conversation with or just hang out with a drink and watch the passing parade of ethnic groups resembling any large metropolitan city.

Everything changed a few days ago when a handful of regulars were told they were only allowed to stay for one hour! This came as quite a blow to those long time patrons. Confusion and resentment coursed  thru the social network of friends.

Fortunately, some phone calls to the business headquarters clarified the situation. Vagrants and panhandlers were discouraged,  but of course, the regular old time customers were welcome all the time! It seems an overzealous security employee  was really the problem.

The daily gathering of humanity can continue and I’m sure the recently departed “home town grocer” would agree.

“Memorials are part of everyday life”

By

Gerry Niskern

Memorial Day has many meanings for each of us. Kids think of a fun-filled break from school and adults look forward to a long weekend; perhaps they plan a barbecue or out of town trip.   They might see a few spots on TV reminding the public of special ceremonies planned around the valley to honor the American soldiers killed in war.  Unless their family has been directly affected by war, the significance is lost.

How many children are given any quiet time with their parents to discuss the meaning of and ask questions about Memorial Day? Have you considered taking your family to a service at one of the many memorials held to honor the fallen soldiers from our past wars on the state capitol grounds?

Of course, adults realize it is not just the war heroes that are honored on Memorial Day. When I was growing up, it was called Decoration Day and it honored all that had passed away. There are also ceremonies by family members spending time and placing flowers on graves of mom, dads and siblings who are no longer with them.  If the children are included it is a wonderful opportunity to relate some stories about the kind of life the departed once lived.  In other words, it’s a day to remember.

Be prepared, you will probably get a flood of questions. Most kids are waiting for someone to start the dialogue. When you spend time remembering the ones who have passed this way ahead of us, important lessons between right and wrong will emerge. The children will begin to realize who is respected in the family and why. They will understand the consequence of choices made in the past.

It occurs to me that there are other ways we honor departed members of our family. Some lucky offspring have inherited useful, everyday objects from their parents and continue to use them in the daily routine of their everyday lives.  Family stories usually go along with them. Children learn to cherish the intrinsic value of family tools.

I used to visit an elderly friend who still utilized a kitchen table her father built. It was an honor to share lunch there on that labor of love. Many great stories went along with those lunches.

One of the most important possessions of every homemaker used to be the button box.  All buttons were saved and used to match up with others on newly sewn garments. On rainy days when boredom set in, it was a special privilege to be allowed to play with the button box. Family stories went along with each button.

Quilting has become a big craze in the last few years, but lucky is the family who has a totally handmade quilt passed down through generations. “That blue was scraps from Mary’s graduation dress” or “There is Johnny’s red shirt from his first day at school”. History continued from one generation to the next in simple patterns that formed a loving continuity.

If someone offers you a family possession that doesn’t fit in with your décor, take it, cherish it and put it away for now.  You’ll find a place for it eventually, or someday one of your children will treasure and love it After all, the word that unites all families is, “Remember!”

My new/old friend Julius

By

Gerry Niskern

“Make new friends, but keep the old,

One is silver, the other gold.”

(an old traditional Girl Scout Song)

I met Julian Reveles six years ago at the Annual Phoenix Union High School picnic. He was the very talented MC every year. Then later, we ran into each other at A Js.

We both had been going there almost every morning but had never met. He always worked at a particular table. He was writing a memoir about his life growing up in Phoenix. I was sitting  at the other end of the outdoor patio working on my newspaper column.

That all changed because we both loved to talk, a lot. Because we both grew up here, over the next few years we had many good natured arguments about the location of certain buildings, “back then”. I claimed to be right because I  was three years older. He never conceded.

We both remembered how much fun the  rodeo parades  down Central Ave in April were. We compared the three five and dime stores, Newberrys, Kresses, and Woolworths. We both experienced the excitement  of the giant Christmas tree the City of Phoenix erected every year in the center of Central and Washington streets.

Saturday movies were a common bond; I mentioned the Strand and Rialto and he remembered going to the Romona and others. We compared different teachers at Phoenix Union and the separate  experiences we had at the high school. One topic led to another and each conversation was really “to be continued.”

Julian told me about his work in broadcasting. He spoke of interviewing Ted Kennedy once. In later years when I knew him,  he was giving lectures about Movies, Latino culture and Arizona history. I heard him speak once  at a meeting of the First Family organization. He was a member also and told many  humorous stories of his large extended family.

Julian is gone now and everyone will miss talking with him and I will too.

I wasn’t finished.

Know Any good Soda Jerks?

By

Gerry Niskern

When you get that craving for something special in an ice cream concoction you need to see your local Soda Jerk. Sometimes a sundae, soda, float or just a cone will do.

Actually, no one seems to know how the term “Soda Jerk” came about. The word jerk just means someone who works putting things together with lots of energy. Somehow the word got attached to local kids, usually teenage boys, who worked behind the soda fountain in the local drugstore.

I remember the thrill of sharing a chocolate soda with my mother. I don’t know how old I was, but I had to stand up in the booth to reach the tip of the straw. The booths were in a little room in the back of the Drug Store (probably great for dating couples). What made our adventure more exciting was the fact that mom always cautioned me, “ Now remember, don’t tell your sister!” Sister was older and in school.

I never told.

When we moved to Phoenix, the Capitol Drugstore, on the corner of l7th Avenue and West Jefferson was close to us. Ice cream and candy wasn’t available during the war, but if I had a nickel I got a lemon coke from the soda fountain.

Lots of office staff strolled the long diagonal sidewalks from the State Capitol over to the corner and across to the drugstore for lunch. In those days it was rumored that more than a few political deals were worked out over the marble counter at the soda fountain by state legislators.

The last soda fountain I discovered was at the McAlpine Diner and Soda Fountain located at 2303 N. 7^th St, here in Phoenix. Some of my friends from the P. U. H. S. class of 50 wanted to meet there for lunch a while back. A few of them who grew up on the East side had always gone there after school for ice cream. Being a West side girl I had never heard of McAlpines, but immediately fell  in love with  everything about it. The original old drugstore décor and ice cream specialties. They had to close during Covid, but will be opening up in the next few weeks.

Try it, who knows? You might even see a Soda Jerk.

My Mother Gave to Me

By

Gerry Niskern

There is a photo in the bottom of my jewelry box. It’s there for safekeeping because it’s the only one ever taken of my mother when she was a child. It was snapped when she was around ten years old. She has on a black dress, a little too large and a big ribbon on the back of her head. When you come from a family of thirteen and you are the youngest girl, no one is likely to be taking your photograph.

She grew up working helping her crippled mother and continued to work hard all of her life. When she started highschool, she made the basketball team and loved it. However, Her mother kept her home to help too many times( this was often the lot of youngest daughters) and she was dropped from the basketball team. That’s when she became so discouraged that she dropped out of school and started working in a factory.

When she became a mother herself, she gave my sister and me all the things she never had: pretty dresses, Christmas toys, hair ribbons, birthday parties and plenty of time to play. But she also gave us plenty of guidance in self-deciplilne and good morals.

When I was expecting my first child, she gave me the respect of acknowledging that I was prepared and I would be fine! That, I’m sure, gave me confidence. She didn’t move in to help. She also didn’t offer advice unless I asked for some. She did give me some help when I asked what to do when the first baby sported a new tooth and decided to bite while nursing.  (trade secret)

Mom delighted in the grandkids as they came along. Between my sister and I there was a grandchild every year for four years when my mom finally said, “Hey, lets all take a break! “ Two more arrived after that. She enjoyed every minute of the grandchildren and the only unsolicited advice she gave me was that they should have liver once a week, for the iron. (something for which they have never quite forgiven her).

This woman, who gave so much of herself, ran a family business along with my dad. She did her own laundry, cleaned her own house, washed both vehicles every Saturday and also baked two  pies. She picked the kids upon weekends and planned all kinds of fun. She took them hiking and made sure they learned the words to the Marine’s Hymn and the Army song, which she lead them in singing as they hiked. Strawberry picking every year, when the fields in Glendale were opened to the public, was a must to do lesson in work and fun combined. The kids loved picking the berries and of course, when they got home, she made some shortcake to enjoy with the freshly washed berries and a little cold milk poured over the top.

When the grandkids grew older she gave them the opportunity to work in their business on weekends and during summer vacation. She expected them to work, but they had fun at house in the evenings too.

Of all the gifts my mother gave me, the one of understanding what it meant to be a mother was the best. My kids came along in the fifties before all the early childhood vaccinations were discovered. As my oldest child attended Kindergarten she brought home to her two younger brothers, Chicken Pox, Measles, and Mumps. This was also the same winter that the Asian flu was rampant in the country.  When the worst was over but they were still puffy with the mumps and red with the measles, she arrived on our doorstep with her overnight case and said, ”You two pack your bag and get out of here for the weekend. . I’ll stay with the kids, they’ll be fine.”

I hit the door running and never looked back!

Untitled

By

Gerry Niskern

My Mom  was a coal miner’s daughter and my Dad was a times-study engineer in the administration of a large glass factory back East. As you can imagine I overheard many debates on the pro and con of unions when I was growing up.

President Biden’s words in his State of the Union speech about unions creating the middle America brought back some of my memories.

I remember seeing men covered in black coal  dust, especially their black faces, trudging up the street after their shift at the local mine. My mom used to talk about her job as a child of helping her mother drag out the two big tubs and filling them with hot water for my grandfather’s bath after work.

But when  I was a teen and we visited back to our little home town, one simple thing, among many big vital issues, like wages and safety codes, had changed. The mining companies had to provide showers for the miners to use after their shift. The men coming home were freshly showered and had on clean clothes. My grandmother would have loved that!

Progress was made after the formation of the UMWA. But only after long strikes and bitter fights. My grandmother always said, “ The men went out on strike for three or four months every year and ran up huge household bills. Then we spend the rest of the year paying off our debts.”  But each time the union  made a little more progress. The same was true of the other unions fighting for better wages and working conditions in the United States.

The definition of unions changed over the history of our country. Early on the guild-like associations formed to protect their tradesman with special skills. Much like unions today who demand specific skills of their members and joining fees of thousands of dollars.

But the ordinary workers in many industries need wage and safety protection and the desire for unions is growing.  The right to organize has had much legislation passed over the history of our country and there are hard struggles to come.

So yes, the major unions, and smaller ones too, made the American Middle class, but it was a long hard battle. It wasn’t easy and it won’t be again.