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.

It Takes  a Child

By

Gerry Niskern

The little brown eyed girl was giving hugs all around. There was laughter and tears of joy as the toddler met grandmas, cousins, uncles and aunts for the first time. I don’t know how much she understood or would remember, but she knew something important was happening as her daddy stood back beaming and was busy giving hugs of his own to family members that he hadn’t seen forever.

My great-great-granddaughter was as Paloma Park last Sunday with her daddy for a spontaneous reunion of two different families. Due to legal issues it was only the second time they had been together and he wanted the families to meet his daughter. This self-confident, vivacious little girl donned her pink unicorn bathing suit and led her new found cousins to the splash-pad where they had a ball running in and out of the sparkling water.

A strong wind came up and she ran to me for a towel hug and then back to the splashing water several times. It wasn’t much, but at least I got to help her and hug her again. Soon her grand mother helped her into dry clothes and off she went leading the gang of cousins to the playground.

Reunions, even spontaneous ones like this one are important for everyone. The adults exchange family history and information. And the kids need to spend quality time with relatives. They need to hear the family stories. The contact helps them develop and mature.

A strong wind and cold rain drove me to the car and I didn’t get to say goodbye, but I’m grateful that I got to see everyone, especially the child that brought us all together.

Are You Looking Forward or Backward?

By

Gerry  Niskern

I was talking with my #2 son the other day and as usual our conversation turned to the Pandemic, the state of our polarized country and other sobering  subjects. Then he said, “Hey Mom, lets talk about something looking forward, you know, some happy things.”

Sounded like a good idea to me and it reminded me of an article I had read in the New York Times recently about a course offered at Yale University called Psyc 157: Psychology and the Good Life. It is one of the most popular courses in the University’s 320 year history.

The course then evolved into  a course called The Science of Well-Being. It asks the students to keep track of their sleep, start keeping a Gratitude journal and to frequently perform random acts of kindness.

One of the rituals that most people missed during  the Pandemic was the act of giving hospitality; an act of kindness and also  the feeling of being needed. The joy of entertaining friends and just meeting to talk and maybe even vent a little.

All of this was very similar to my Mother’s recipe for living life. “You should be grateful!” was a phrase I heard many, many times while growing up. Also, “Be kind, especially to old people” was another. And if someone gives you a gift, when you are finished with it, you “do not sell it”. Always pass it on to another person who can use it.

The happiness course at Yale teaches that gratitude doesn’t come naturally. I find that hard to accept, but sadly I know that it is true. Perhaps if the many thousands who have taken the course (it was offered online eventually) begin to teach gratitude and kindness to their children, they will grow up to help create a happier world.

“Let the Hunts Begin”

By

Gerry Niskern

Tell the kids to get out their running shoes and practice their wind sprints. The furry rabbit with the huge ears is coming. Grandmothers all over the valley will be one step ahead of the pack showing the baby where the Easter eggs are hidden, while the older children shout, “No fair!”

Years ago, our kids and their cousins thought the Easter Bunny only left his eggs on the desert. Thanks to grandma and grandpa, prior to our annual picnic, the eggs were hidden early on Easter morning among the rocks at Carefree.  Needless to say, there were no houses or resorts to intrude on the quest for eggs among the huge boulders.

The simple egg is perhaps the oldest and most universal symbol of rebirth and new life. The decorations and celebrations of the holiday may change with new generations, but the tradition of dyeing eggs in spring colors and giving them to family and friends goes way back. The Egyptians and Persians practiced this tradition long before Christ was born.

How did the egg come to Easter? In the Middle Ages it was forbidden to eat eggs during the 40 days of Lent. However, the hens kept laying and out of the resulting glut, the Easter egg tradition was born. The European countries, especially the Ukrainians, developed beautiful egg patterns, called the pysanky method. Ukrainian egg kits can even be ordered online.Easter’s place on the calendar was not actually fixed to the Sunday after the first full moon of spring until 325 AD by Roman Emperor Constantine. He may also get credit for starting the traditional Easter Parade. The Emperor ordered every citizen to wear his best clothing to observe the Holy Day.

Different cultures have developed their own unique ways of decorating Easter eggs. The typical young Easter egg artist starts out with wax crayons, delicate designs to follow and great anticipation. If they’re like our family, after the first few eggs are colored and cups of dye spilled, the job becomes a little rushed.

I guess I’d have to say one of the funniest Easter stories I remember was told by a young friend of mine. Seems she was always warning her hubby too watch his “salty” language around the baby. On Easter morning their little two- year- old started with her basket to find eggs.  With every egg she spotted, imagine her mother’s shock to hear, “There’s a !!#@#!** Egg!” Instead of daddy being chagrined, he kept inviting neighbors over to “listen to my daughter find Easter eggs.”

So as I said, there’s something for everyone.

Many Paths to Happiness

by

Gerry Niskern

There is a famous old saying that goes, “Happiness is not a station where one arrives…..it’s a manner of traveling.”

I had a magnet with that maxim written on it on my refrigerator for many years. The kids in the family sometimes asked, “What does that mean, exactly?”

I tried to answer many times, and the more I’ve thought about it,  I’ve come to realize that you could interpret that many ways.

I like to think that the manner in which you speak to your fellow human beings is one path on this journey called  life. Sure there is lots of kidding and banter among friends, but basically a person is known by his words and manner of speaking. Are their words warm, natural and their tone constant, in exchanging ideas?

I was fortunate enough to have a very “democratic” mother. She always admired people who were at ease in speaking to a child, cleaning person, cashier, seniors, landscapers, the “boss” or anyone. She couldn’t tolerate anyone who “put on the dog” by changing their manner or tone when conversing with someone they perceived to on a higher level socially.

Like her, I’ve come to believe that the way you speak to anyone, regardless to their station in life, is an ongoing process through this verbal path of life.

How are your travels?