“Try to go COLD TURKEY for Thanksgiving?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Millions of kids will miss out on the fun over Thanksgiving weekend. Grouchy or misguided grownup spoilsports will put a damper on the day. When asked to “Please pass the potatoes”, they will send the dish along with a generous helping of politics.

Here’s a suggestion. Tell your guests “We’re going “cold turkey” on politics today.” Remind them that the election is over, and today is the day to count their blessings. Appoint someone to be your political police. Give them authority to immediately banish from the table political junkies who mention the recent election.

Ask your guests to name something for which they are thankful. Tell everyone that we have the freedom to celebrate our traditions or change them, as we wish. Advise them to nurture and cherish that freedom. Mention that the pilgrims celebrated their freedom in their new country with the Indians who helped them survive their first winter. Remind the cooks that at the Pilgrim’s first Thanksgiving, Governor Bradford invited Chief Massasoit to share the settler’s first Thanksgiving feast. The chief brought ninety warriors with him and they stayed and celebrated for three days! Makes cooking for ten or fifteen seem easy, doesn’t it?

Actually, the first official Thanksgiving in the United States was proclaimed by Abraham Lincoln on October 3, l863, as the Civil War raged in this country. The thought of the Pilgrims and Indians once sitting together in harmony was comforting to this nation during that time of war.

Our ancestors started the tradition of sharing food and games with family and friends on the first Thanksgiving and I think you will agree, it’s up to all of us to keep and cherish those family customs. I promise you the investment of precious time and borrowed energy will set in motion a chain reaction of harmony for years to come. It’s a celebration of life with a group of people more precious than life itself.

When our kids and grandkids look back on thanksgiving, 2024, I hope they remember everything good about the day. They will remember the heavenly smell of the bird roasting in the oven, the taste of sweet potatoes and who really won the game, the guys or the girl’s team.

“NOTHING FAIR ABOUT STATUES”

By

Gerry Niskern

A wise author once said, “You can only write about war by writing one soldier’s story.” I’d like to go back in Arizona history and tell you about two Arizona war heroes. Lt. Frank Luke Jr. and Sgt. Sylvestre Herrera, who both received the Congressional Medal of Honor. Luke’s was awarded posthumously after WWI and Hererra, during WWII, was the first living Arizona Congressional Medal of Honor recipient.
When I was a young girl, my friends and I used to wait for the streetcar in front of the State Capitol. While we waited we gazed up at a statue of the handsome Frank Luke Jr. and fantasized about the history of the young flying Ace. Frank was looking upward into the sky, his flying cap and goggles in hand.
Surprisingly, I was not taught in school about Luke’s heroic skills as a “balloon buster” during WWI. He flew his planes thru such punishing enemy fire that five were written off after his missions.During two weeks in September, l918, in only ten missions, he destroyed fourteen heavily defended German surveillance balloons and four airplanes. He was only twenty years old when he gave his life in an air battle near the village of Murvaux, France.
I finally learned more about Lieutenant Frank’s life from the fascinating and factually correct book, “Terror of the Autumn Skies” by Blaine Pardoe.
Different vivid memories of Silvestre Herrera take me back to Union Station on 4th Ave in downtown Phoenix in August, l945 during WWII. One evening when I was a little girl my parents took me to see a brave young hero’s return home. When the train stopped the crowd surged forward and many hands plucked him from his wheelchair. I was distressed to see that he had no legs as he was passed from shoulder to shoulder of the cheering crowd. Finally Sgt. Hererra was placed on the back of a red convertible for a parade up Washington.
History tells us that when his platoon was pinned down by Germans in a forest near Metzwiller, France, he charged the enemy and captured 8 enemy soldiers. That same day, to draw enemy fire away from his comrades, Hererra entered a mine field and in two explosions lost both legs. He continued to fire upon the enemy which allowed his platoon to skirt the field and capture the enemy position.
Both young men came from completely different backgrounds. Frank was one of nine children from a prominent Arizona family. The statue of Luke is in front of the Arizona State Capitol on l7th Ave, facing down Washington.
Sylvestre was an orphan, born in Mexico, and raised by an Uncle in Glendale. He was 27, married with three children when he volunteered and answered this country’s call. You won’t find a statue at the capitol erected in his honor.

“NOTHING FAIR ABOUT STATUES”

By

Gerry Niskern

A wise author once said, “You can only write about war by writing one soldier’s story.” I’d like to go back in Arizona history and tell you about two Arizona war heroes. Lt. Frank Luke Jr. and Sgt. Sylvestre Herrera, who both received the Congressional Medal of Honor. Luke’s was awarded posthumously after WWI and Hererra, during WWII, was the first living Arizona Congressional Medal of Honor recipient.
When I was a young girl, my friends and I used to wait for the streetcar in front of the State Capitol. While we waited we gazed up at a statue of the handsome Frank Luke Jr. and fantasized about the history of the young flying Ace. Frank was looking upward into the sky, his flying cap and goggles in hand.
Surprisingly, I was not taught in school about Luke’s heroic skills as a “balloon buster” during WWI. He flew his planes thru such punishing enemy fire that five were written off after his missions.During two weeks in September, l918, in only ten missions, he destroyed fourteen heavily defended German surveillance balloons and four airplanes. He was only twenty years old when he gave his life in an air battle near the village of Murvaux, France.
I finally learned more about Lieutenant Frank’s life from the fascinating and factually correct book, “Terror of the Autumn Skies” by Blaine Pardoe.
Different vivid memories of Silvestre Herrera take me back to Union Station on 4th Ave in downtown Phoenix in August, l945 during WWII. One evening when I was a little girl my parents took me to see a brave young hero’s return home. When the train stopped the crowd surged forward and many hands plucked him from his wheelchair. I was distressed to see that he had no legs as he was passed from shoulder to shoulder of the cheering crowd. Finally Sgt. Hererra was placed on the back of a red convertible for a parade up Washington.
History tells us that when his platoon was pinned down by Germans in a forest near Metzwiller, France, he charged the enemy and captured 8 enemy soldiers. That same day, to draw enemy fire away from his comrades, Hererra entered a mine field and in two explosions lost both legs. He continued to fire upon the enemy which allowed his platoon to skirt the field and capture the enemy position.
Both young men came from completely different backgrounds. Frank was one of nine children from a prominent Arizona family. The statue of Luke is in front of the Arizona State Capitol on l7th Ave, facing down Washington.
Sylvestre was an orphan, born in Mexico, and raised by an Uncle in Glendale. He was 27, married with three children when he volunteered and answered this country’s call. You won’t find a statue at the capitol erected in his honor.

Country roads, take me home to Moundsville
By
Gerry Niskern
Before the car pulled away I was already sitting on my Grandma’s front step strapping on my roller skates. I tightened them with my key and off I sailed.
Dad usually dropped my Mom, sister and me down in Moundsville at my grandma’s on Fridays in the summertime. I loved skating on the smooth, endless sidewalks instead of going round and round in our basement at home.
Besides my grandma, three of my Aunts and Uncles lived on the same street and I was soon gathering cousins( the best part of coming to town) as I raced along. I was free to roam the town, but admonished “don’t go around to Paulines”. Of course I sneaked right around the corner to Aunt Pauline’s. She made the best donuts in the world and I always came away with a large, warm donut fresh out of the kettle, covered with sugar.
Someone usually said, “Let’s go down to the mound.” Off we raced, left our skates at the bottom and climbed the path up to the top of the mound. We made up all kind of games racing round and round and up the sides of the mound. Little did we realize that one of our favorite places toplay was a national treasure. The mound was the largest burial mound in North America. It was created by a prehistoric Native American culture called the Adena, over 2,000 years ago. In later years the mound was declared a National Monument and given greater respect. A museum was built detailing the creation and interior of the ancient mound.
Back at grandma’s we looked for arrowheads in the her large garden. They were easy to find in the rich, black, sandy soil. It was said that many a battle had been fought over the precious Ohio river valley between the Blackfeet, Shawnee, Seneca and many other tribes.
After a quick lunch of my grandma’s daily freshly baked bread, spread with sour cream, I skated over to Jefferson Avenue, the main street, to the drugstore where I spent my nickel on a two-sided cone of the tangiest, tastiest double scoop of orange sherbert. On the way back to Grandma’s everyone I passed was asking each other only one question. “Are you going to the Playground tonight?” Of course they were!
The Playground was actually an outdoor community center carved out of the hillside, with large cement tiers cascading down the slope for seating. At the bottom there was wonderful playground equipment, but also three swimming pools, a skating rink, and a bandstand with a giant movie screen behind.
After dinner people from all direction could be seen walking towards the Playground. They carried blankets and pillows for the little ones to sleep as they found a place to sit on the steps. The band was playing lively John Phillips Sousa marches and the kids were gathering on the skating rink to march in patterns led by high school girls. The parents watched the marching demonstration below and the kids were rewarded by the leaders with a piece of candy. Then the band swung into some old favorites as the large crowd sang, “Daisy, Daisy”, “Ka,Ka,Katy”, and “When Johnny come marching home again”. The community sing always ended with “God Bless America”. I’m sure the energy of the voices carried the melodies to towns on down the valley. By that time it was dark and the movie of the week started playing on the giant screen.
Later Dad’s Black Plymouth carried us home ten miles up thru many switchbacks to our house on top and the pure, fresh air of the country side . It would have been much easier for my dad, an industrial engineer for the Fostoria Glass Company, if we lived In Moundsville, especially in the winter when he drove those winding icy roads. He was adamant that his family was going to grow up in clean, fresh air out in the country.

BRIEF HISTORY OF MOUNDSVILLE, WEST VIRGINIA: In 1886 two small settlements, Mound City and Elizabethtown were consolidated into the town of Moundsville. It was on the banks of the Ohio River in the Ohio River Valley that eventually contained many coal mines, steel mills and other factories. Moundsville was a pleasant place to live but the air was highly polluted. Black soot from the many industries covered everything. When I visited around thirty-five years later after many regulations had been imposed to curb the industrial polluting, I was pleasantly surprised to see how fresh, colorful and clean it was everywhere.

Hang on, the White Coats are coming!
By
Gerry Niskern
Arizona has a shortage of at least 700 doctors right now. Anyone who has waited at a doctor’s office lately knows this. The trend in the last few years has been for the best college graduates to go into the financial world. But It takes the best, brightest and most compassionate of young people to choose medicine. And that’s just what some 200 -plus did yesterday when Midwestern University College of Osteopathic Medicine awarded them their White Coats. The coat is awarded at the beginning of their studies in medical school.
The White Coat ceremony is fairly new in medicine. It was started in l989 at the University of Chicago school of medicine, and spread across the country . The shortest white coat is worn by the students, the next longer is worn by those in their residency and the longer by the specialists.
Last night my only great-granddaughter was among this group taking part in this “rite of passage”. It was a huge event in their lives. They have graduated college, passed the MCAT and are ready for the hard work that it takes to become a physician.
I’m here to tell you my great-granddaughter has been up for the challenge of hard work. Among many jobs in her young life she also worked as an EMT during college. And, she’s definitely had the compassion trait covered. I always have to smile when I remember being accidently knocked to the floor during a lively game by her brother and her, at age three, declaring, “I hope you’re happy. You just killed an old lady!”
The dean of the Osteopathic College spoke to the class about the amazing journey they were beginning when their White Coat was put on their shoulders by a member of the faculty. “ Your White Coat is a symbol of respect . It is also a sign of the respect you will show your patients. “ She reminded them that they should always be advocates for their patients. She went on to say, “You presence in their lives means a great deal to them, but also to their families.”
She talked to the students about the support and encouragement they had received in the years on their the journey to this point. Speaking directly to the families and friends she said, “ I ask you to continue your support during the stressful time and to try to understand those periods.”
My great-granddaughter’s future looks bright and promising in her White Coat.
So, hold on everyone. She’s on her way!

Who is that stranger in my living room?
By
Gerry Niskern
Lately, when I turn the corner into my living room I’m startled to see another person there! I have a new really large flat screen TV and it’s taking some getting used to. It’s fooled me more than once.
When I think back decades ago when my dad brought home our first television set, I have to laugh at how far we have come. He couldn’t wait to get one as soon as television was available in Phoenix. It was a little twelve inch and we gathered around in the evening to watch the only thing showing, wrestling. And most of the time they were midgets doing the take downs , but we were enthralled The neighbors came over to check out this wonderful new form of entertainment. The station played the national anthem at midnight and TV was over for the day.
When some of the comedians from radio started appearing on the tube, my dad was a big fan; especially of “Uncle Miltie”, Milton Beryl. The only harsh words between my parents that I remember were exchanged when mom wanted the Christmas tree brought in and set up and dad was not about to do it because his favorite show was starting. No taping back then.
Years later, when Ken and I were newlyweds and our money was tight, my young husband wanted to sign up to buy on time a “build your own” television set. The price was three hundred dollars! We paid it out each month and they sent him another part. We used that little TV for the next three years. In our first home It was placed in the corner where two low bookcases came together. That arrangement would have been fine except that baby son # 1 insisted on climbing up over the bookcase shelves to get down in back of the “open” TV set to check out his dad’s work, but I was terrified of the open electronic danger.
Soon our TV sets became bigger, enclosed in cabinets of course. My little daughter loved Romper Room and By that time my two toddlers were joined by #2 son and they all enjoyed American Band Stand and Wallace and ladmo. Their TV viewing was limited, of course, but when they became teenagers, they wanted one show and their dad wanted another, usually the news or an educational documentary. No one dreamed of owning two television sets!
I enjoyed watching Monday night football with Ken in later years, but my first love was the tennis tournaments. Then as time went by and TVs have come and gone, along with my eyesight. I returned to reading. It wasn’t fun to watch sports when you couldn’t see the scores and other important graphics. Then one day my grandson was looking at my small set and asked me why I didn’t get a big, flat screen. He said, “I can find you one at a good price. They are always on sale in the fall”. We talked price and he arrived the following weekend, along with his son to put a big 75” on the wall and do all the setting up.
I just watched the Women’s US Open championship this afternoon and it was wonderful.
Now if I can just keep from being startled by that stranger in my living room!

Labor of Love

Gerry Niskern
I met this immigrant family several years ago. The man came up to talk with Ken about some hauling from our do-it-yourself home renovation he needed done. The young Hispanic husband brought his wife with him. We visited while the men talked. She understood me, but was hesitant and shy trying to answer me in English. We did just fine by sharing photos of our children and a little sign language.
A few weeks later when my husband was knocked many feet down to the driveway floor by a collapsing load of dry wall one evening, my son called from the hospital and asked out new friend to come early in the morning and haul away the dry wall reminder of the fatal accident. He came before dawn removed every trace and later would not accept any payment.
One day after doing some landscaping for me, I asked if he would have time to take my trash cans down my steep driveway every week, he said he didn’t, but maybe his middle school daughter would like the job. The Honor Academy student did the job for me and continued to do so throughout her four years at GCU that she was attending on a full scholastic scholarship .
When I moved to another house, I hired him to spray for scorpions before I moved in. He saw my garage full of moving boxes and he and his wife stood in my hot garage and broke them down one afternoon; again refusing payment. One holiday season I asked the woman if she had time in her cleaning schedule to just clean my bathroom. She did and would not give me a charge, just kept saying, “Merry Christmas”.
When I first met the young immigrant family I remember trying to give their other daughter, who was a five years old some money when I was paying her daddy for landscaping. She refused to take it. She said, “They don’t want me to take it.” This immigrant couple were hard to define but easily explained in terms of generosity. They both worked hard for their money and wanted their two daughters to learn their values. They invited me to their little daughter’s birthday party. I remember sending the toddler a birthday card and learned how thrilled she was to actually receive something ,for the first time, from the mailman. When that little girl was in middle school at the Honor Academy also, she helped me learn to use my IPad! I asked her to pick my orange tree and after she had a mound of bags full of oranges, I looked out to see her dad up on a tall ladder finishing up the top. I was only allowed to pay the daughter.
I don’t know when they came to the U.S.A. and I don’t care. I always thought of my own immigrant grandparents who came here to work for a better life for their family. This Hispanic family labored hard for their money, but insisted on no compensation for doing small things I asked; for those they gave me friendship!

“Have you been to a Drive-in Movie lately?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Fall weather is coming and it’s time: Drive in movie time! I can hear some of you Millennials asking, “Drive in Movie….what is that?”
Years ago, before air conditioning, TV, electronic games and computers, drive-ins were a great place to take the family on a balmy weekend evening. In l958, there were 49 outdoor drive-ins in Arizona and now might be one. It’s debatable.
Land proved to be too valuable to the owners and the developers around the valley. So the drive-ins disappeared, one by one.
In the l950’s the Northern Drive-in was going strong. They charged per person rather than per car like some drive-ins. Of course, that meant that a teen driver had to have his buddies and their girl friends hide on the floor of the car until they got through the gate. No one was going to pay for each passenger if they didn’t have to!
When we were raising our family the Indian Drive-in was a great place to see a movie, We didn’t have to spend hours on the phone trying to hire a baby sitter just so we could see a movie. It was located at 4141 N. 27th Ave. near the northeastern corner of 27th Avenue and Indian School road. Burger King and a Motel 6 stand there now.
Once inside, there was always the period of adjustment where you tried to get the right tilt of the car to see the screen to everyone’s satisfaction. After that was settled, the kids wanted to head straight to the playground. Most drive-ins had a playground with equipment to keep the munchkins happy until the movie started. Of Course, the trip back to the car went right by the snack bar.
Most kids arrived in their pajamas because their mothers were counting on them to conk out soon after the first feature started. (There were always two features shown). If you wished, you could lie on the hood of your car or sit out in lawn chairs and enjoy the cool air. (Yes, there was cool air in the evenings.)
When I think about it, my kid’s daddy wasn’t real crazy about drive-ins. At least once during every excursion he would declare, “This family doesn’t come to watch the movies, we come to demolish the car!” That proclamation was usually made after the knobs were off the window cranks, the wind-wing windows were no longer working and the visors were askew.
Actually, there was one reason he chose the Indian Drive-in over the others. Diagonally across 27th Avenue and Indian School Road was the Air Haven Airport. That airport had two unpaved runways. He enjoyed watching the light planes dropping in just a few feet above the huge movie screen as they descended into Air Haven.
A trip to the drive-in movie during this time of year was best of all, monsoon season. The lightening show crackling above and behind the giant screen gave you two shows at once.

“Are They Really Ready for School?”

by

Gerry Niskern

I’m sure you’ve seen them. Who could miss the must have for school lists in magazines and newspapers?
According to the experts, the young ladies need the new see through backpacks for their books. The kind with wheels would be even better. And remember their jean jackets don’t have the stone washed look this year, but anything with a Taylor Swift logo works.!
Speaking of clothes, the boys favor the cargo pants, with at least fifteen pockets, including one across the rear. The shirts must be a popular brand their crowd is wearing, and get ready to dig deep for a pair of the latest in footwear.
Of course, you could have one of those kids who waits to see what everyone else is wearing. Then you and the child are hitting the mall in the evening during the first week of school when she should be home hitting the books.
Dressing like your peer group in school has always been important to a student. I remember when new kids came to Phoenix Union High. If a young man from back east showed up in shirt, tie and dress slacks, you can bet he came back the next morning in Levis and the mandatory white tee shirt. Eastern girls came in nylons the first day, but wore bobby sox from then on.
The basic school supplies were pretty much the same between east and west. Now the choices are mind-boggling. If you are picking up a Nike binder for your child, you should know if the instructor requires the contoured, zippered or ensemble style. Of course, iPads are a must and don’t forget how handy a pager and cell phone can be. Your student needs a new cordless mouse for his computer and separate phone line, for research, of course!
. The other day I saw, among some school supplies, a key ring displaying the temperature, time and it even had an alarm. I guessed the alarm was to wake you up when math class was over. The first-graders weren’t neglected. They can find personalized pencils in sets of four with a choice of over 200 names.

Kind of makes you yearn for the days when getting ready for school involved a simple trip to the corner grocery for a Big Chief tablet and a #2 pencil, doesn’t it? And remember the lunch pails? I had a pretty orange one with my name scratched out in block letters across the lid by my dad.
Ken used to say that all he ever had was a paper sack for carrying his fried egg sandwich.

Phoenix High Rise Collapses
By
Gerry Niskern
A high rise with high occupancy fell to the ground this week. There is no possibility of rebuilding. Several birds were raising families in nests down in the many holes in the giant Saguaro cactus that graced my front yard.
The majestic tall Saguaro grew to over 20 feet in this yard for over fifty years. I don’t really know how old she was. She looked down on other smaller Saguaros, a wonderful Organ Pipe, and some smaller barrels.
In the Spring her top was adorned with a crown of creamy white blossoms. (Did you know the Saguaro blossom Is our state flower?) All the birds loved to eat the blossoms and the bees liked the nector. Many of the occupants inside the holes in her pale green form were Cactus Wrens. (Did you know the Cactus Wren is the official state bird of Arizona?)
Lots of old friends who walk by on nice evenings, made a point to come on this hot day to ask “what happened”. They were really sad to see a familiar landmark on our street meet her end. During most of the year I sit out side in the evening and watch the mother birds flying back and forth to the various holes feeding their young. I could hear their little squeaks and see tiny heads popping into view sometimes.
I will miss her and so will all her tenants!