“Hide Kids, The Cameras Are Coming!”

By

Gerry Niskern

Let’s all take a vow this holiday season. Repeat after me. “I solemnly swear I will stop and enjoy more of the magical interludes with family and friends. I will not try to record every detail for posterity on film, but will simply enjoy the moment and hold it in my heart.”

Do you remember when family gatherings during the holidays used to be warm, happy times? Everyone relaxed, shared a meal and caught up on the latest news of the clan. Children developed their social skills through games and conversations with their aunts, uncles and cousins.

Now days I have a feeling the little ones love that moment when they hear the words, “my batteries just ran out!”

The video conspirators are everywhere. It’s not always noticeable when one is pointed in your direction. They not only document the last ten pounds you gained, they’re recording every word you utter. The remark that  ‘Aunt Millie needs to lose a few pounds’ is not funny when played back loud and clear for the whole world to hear.

Actually, this all started a few years ago. I’m sure you remember seeing the stooped, sweating daddy carrying a hundred-pound video camera on his shoulder. He trudged along behind his young family faithfully recording the activities of mom and kids having fun on their vacation. Too bad the daddy didn’t just   put the video camera down and enjoyed the special times with the kids while it was happening.

To tell the truth, if you go back a little further, a lot of us are guilty. Remember the little brownie movie cameras?  On Christmas morning, while the toddlers ripped open their presents, the contented baby was smiling in mother’s arms. However, if daddy, the official cameraman, decided it wasn’t light enough inside the house, he switched  on the light bar that held not one, but two 500 watt floodlights. The baby became rigid in the blinding glare and his cooing became screams of agony. Come to think of it, lucky for us there was no sound recording on those cameras.

I’m probably being too hard on the family photographers. Besides, they are not the really hard-core bad guys at Christmas time. That title goes to the lady elves at the mall.

Ever since the malls have had Santa’s there have been the elves with  cameras. I realize they are only doing what the parents pay them to do, take a good picture of their child with Santa. The current definition of good photo seems to require that Santa and the children who are sitting on his lap face forward and mouth a phony “cheesy” smile.  If they don’t get the required grin, a parent and the elves will persist until they do.

I wish, just once, that all parents would let the toddler climb on Santa’s lap and then, just stand back and wait. I guarantee you, the look of awe and wonder on their child’s face, as he looks up at Santa, will be incredible. Children want the fantasy; they waited a long time for this magical moment. Trust me that is the picture you want.

You will have that one in a million photo and your child will have his moment with Santa uninterrupted as he tells the big guy his “wish” list.

“Christmas 2017”

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Soon the scent of fresh pine trees will join the aroma of cookies baking and simmering fudge.

In recent years something more has been added to the menu as families and friends gather at the holidays to celebrate our blessings.  The new item around the table is political rhetoric.  There is always someone at social gatherings that cannot stay off politics. Tongues dripping with venom, they refer to “liberals” or “conservatives”, depending on their take on current events. They’re fond of attaching labels on anyone who has a different opinion. The problem is, they usually only know one side, their side. In many cases, whatever political parties their daddy or granddaddy belonged to, that’s their party.

There’s a time and a place for political debates, but it is not family gatherings.

We need to  guard against letting political persuasions cause riffs between cousins, grandfathers and grandsons, and any family member from another. There is one fact we all need to consider. We just had an election year that was bruising. And as we look towards Christmas we are free to observe our special day any way we choose. I think we all agree we also want our children to remember the happy holiday times.   Friends and family are the glue that holds our country together. The holiday traditions of many ethnic groups are the fiber and backbone of our nation.

We all know that there are many talking heads on radio and television that are only concerned about their own agenda.  What will they care, now that the election is over, that old friends and family members are no longer speaking?

There is a lot of discussion about civility these days. Each political party thinks the other should be more civil. Actually, with understanding, comes civility. And to understand, you must be informed; informed on all sides of every issue.

Isn’t it great that in this country we are free to read the paper, not just your favorite, but any world paper?  We are amazed at the different take on world situations, depending on the city or country.  Online editions are available.  We’re free to subscribe to a weekly newsmagazine that presents both sides of issues.

Do yourself a favor. Don’t make the mistake of getting your opinion from one source. Learn to really listen to other opinions. Listening is a sign of respect. Listen for information, not ammunition to fling at friends.

Every American needs a worldview because we live in an integrated world. How often have you heard someone remark, “I didn’t really know the layout of the Middle East until the war in Iraq?”  It’s true that we don’t study geography extensively in our schools, but it’s not too late. If you have children or grandchildren, help them to open their eyes to the other countries and religions of our world. Lead by example. Read with them the origins of the Arabic and Jewish race, along with other ethnic groups. Discuss the differences and similarities. Encourage them to form their own opinions.

Citizens of other countries know all about our freedoms and about our holidays too. They know that we can choose, you, me,  and everyone across this country to gather family and friends and observe the day.   They know that people have died for our unity and free speech.

But, what exactly needs said? Plenty. Can it wait till after a holiday? You bet. What do you say? Shall we all get together on Christmas and not talk politics?

Works for me.

“Splatters of Christmases Past”

By

Gerry Niskern

The rustling sound you hear in our country this time of year is people trading family Christmas recipes. Americans move from house to house and even state to state more than anywhere in the world. No one realizes that more than we do here in Arizona. We have a virtual cornucopia of recent arrivals of every race and nationality. Guess what? They’re all busy sharing Christmas favorites.

I know most smart homemakers have their recipes entered on their PCs. I know I should do the same. There are so many splatters of “Christmases Past” on my recipe cards; I can hardly read them. However, the smears and smudges don’t hide the images I remember of the original cook who shared them with me.

When I was a young bride the lady who lived behind us gave me a recipe for divinity. She showed me the tried and true way of testing candy until it “spun a thread”. She was from New York by way of the copper mining town of Bagdad, Arizona. While my young groom worked long overtime hours that first Christmas, I experimented with candy from all the women’s magazines. Texas Pralines became and still are our family’s favorite. Made with buttermilk, pecans and white sugar, these unique confections melt in your mouth. Our little red brick house in the shadow of the State Capitol was filled with the aroma of candy cooking.

My Mother’s fondant recipe brings a wealth of memories. I was with her the evening Mrs. Iron showed her how to make it. She poured the clear hot liquid onto a platter and then we helped beat it until it turned white and creamy. In West Virginia she folded chopped black walnuts into the fondant and formed it into a long log and sliced it into rounds.

All the relatives used to gather on our little farm on a Sunday in the fall to harvest those black walnuts. We had brown stained hands for a week from the green husks. No amount of Lava soap could get rid of it.

After we moved to Arizona, Mom complained to a neighbor  about having no black walnuts to use in her fondant. This Missouri transplant showed her how to stuff the fondant into dates that could be purchased from a local date farm. She further instructed, “Then top it with a pecan half. You can buy those from one of the pecan groves out west of town.”

One of our early Phoenix friends from Colorado supplied the recipe for date bars. Cut into squares while warm and rolled in powdered they were Ken’s favorite. Every December he would come home with his arms full of date packages.  An old schoolmate who’s family was in the date business, used to pull his pickup along side  my husbands and start tossing packages of dates to him while they cruised along the highway.

A girl friend of mine moved to Kentucky after she was married. She returned with the instructions for “out of this world” peanut brittle. After you stir in the soda and pour, you stretch the mixture with buttered spoons…thinner and thinner, thin as glass. It’s wonderfully tender, if you work fast enough.

Recently I mentioned to a friend that I wished I could remember the name of a type of blond fudge my Mother used to make. She said, “Oh sure, Penuche”. We made that back home in Indiana when I was young.” She gave me the recipe.

It’s not easy to move to another part of the country. It takes time to settle in and feel at home, especially on the first Christmas. Food helps. New friends with different accents from various regions of the United States, indeed the world, are always surprised by the similarities of their favor holiday treats.

I’ll wager, at this very moment, somewhere in our nation two recently transplanted cooks are exchanging Christmas recipes.

“When was your family’s first Thanksgiving?”

By

Gerry Niskern

When did your family celebrate its first Thanksgiving? Perhaps it was when they found a place to sleep or the day father got a job? Maybe it was when he collected his first pay and your family could finally send some money home.

I’m sure by now you realize I’m talking about your grandparents or even great-great- grandparents. Most people think of Thanksgiving as family, food and football.  We take it for granted, but those alien ancestors of ours didn’t.

Thanksgiving is the time to gather the family together and give thanks for what we have and remember where we came from.  Most families have stories of the their first member who settled in this land. They also have favorite foods that they serve on the big day. African-Americans might have Ijera, tiny loaves of bread that’s great for soaking up the turkey gravy. You’ll find Menudo for starters and Calotes al Horno (yams) on the Mexicans table. Perhaps you roots are Italian; then Taralli, made from your grandmother’s recipe, will be passed with the coffee.

According to my mother, her siblings a hard time explaining the traditional Thanksgiving to my grandmother who emigrated from Austria in the late 1800s. She was puzzled because, “People should give thanks every day.” Grandma  was willing to cook the meal, “But not buy turkey; we have chickens”. I’m sure there was halupkis on her table too.

America hasn’t suddenly become a multi-cultural nation. It always has been a nation of immigrants. Those ancestors of ours who poured into America in the 1800’s and early 1900 learned about Thanksgiving gradually, as well as the laws, taxes, and social mores.  They came from all over the world to work. They took the toughest jobs and were paid the lowest wages. The United States needed the cheap labor and this country changed and prospered.

However, the immigrants changed too. Whether you forefathers were European, Irish, Italian, Jewish, Black, Latino, the list goes on, they surely felt a sense of alienation. For the first time in their lives, they didn’t belong. They were the foreigners. The impact of separation from family and familiar surroundings was harsh. Every decision was crucial. It’s not surprising that many didn’t plan to stay. They wanted to work here, save and perhaps return to buy land or a business in the old country.

Many struggled to send money home too. According to Michael Barone, author of “The New Americans”,  ‘by 1914 the Italian men were sending 14 million dollars annually to their families back in Italy. Many of the men went home and stayed until they needed money again. They made the ocean journey back and forth several times; it was a routine part of their lives until they were able to bring their families over.’

A good portion of our labor pool today is made up of immigrants. Among numerous tasks, they cook and serve our food, clean our homes, cut our grass and look after our elderly parents in nursing homes. They give energy to our work force by bringing in younger, eager workers. They contribute to the system through the many forms of taxes they pay. Most jobs they perform pay low wages and provide no health care for their families.

Of course, illegal immigration is and will remain a source of tremendous concern. Our government must deal with the illegal immigrants already here who have the documentations to become citizens and then, establish the long, over due law.

Our history is an ongoing process of learning and change by many people. There is room for many voices. And as my grandmother used to say, “You should give thanks every day.”

“Thanksgiving 2017”

By

Gerry Niskern

When our kids and grandkids look back on Thanksgiving 2017, let’s hope they remember everything good about the day. Sure, they might recall overhearing the grown-ups talking about where our country is heading. We’re all asking “what will our children’s world be like in the future?” But if we do our job right, those memories will be crowded out by the smell of the bird roasting in the oven, the taste of sweet potatoes and who is favored to win the board game this year, the guys or girls?

Our Thanksgiving celebration in the United States is similar to many held around the world by other nations and ethnic groups. There have always been harvest festivals to celebrate and give thanks for the year’s crops.

Thanksgiving Day here in Arizona is a day of traditions. Grandmothers and grandfathers might serve the family a fine old-fashioned dinner, complete with dressing, gravy and homemade hot rolls that melt in your mouth.  Or the newlyweds might start a new tradition of inviting the clan to their home for barbecued turkey on the grill and a dip in their heated pool.

No matter where your family gathers, may I suggest adding a tradition. Invite at least one new family to join you. Try to make it a family who could use a warm invitation of friendship this year. Maybe they just moved here from another state; or another country and our Thanksgiving tradition is new to them.. Help them fit in by asking them to come over early and help you set up the tables or whip the potatoes.

This year, when you slip that bird into the oven think about what a great day you are going to have with your family, and maybe some new friends.   Don’t worry if you don’t have enough matching plates or cutlery. Dressing tastes just as good on a paper plate and think of  the  washing up that you save!

Let’s make sure that what the kids remember about this Thanksgiving is the sound of the family’s laughter when they argue over who actually won the game. And come to think about it, how about checking all the cell phones at the door and really enjoying the conversation of  the family members gathered around the table.

If we really listen to everyone, young and old, we might learn something new that wasn’t actually on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or UTube! Just put a basket by the front door marked “Please drop cell phones here”.

Thanksgiving Carbs. Lot’s of Them!

By

Gerry Niskern

I have just one word  for you on this Thanksgiving. Carbs. Lots of them.  Forget Atkins, South Beach, the Zone, Paleo and all the rest. Enjoy the day.

You do remember Thanksgiving, don’t you? That’s the day if one brave soul reaches for the last piece of special apple pie, he could lose a limb!

Families and friends here in the valley will bring a blend of delicious dishes for a potluck feast.   Hand me down recipes will rule.  The only disagreement is which is the best stuffing, cornbread, oyster, sausage and apple, chestnut? The list is endless.

Does your family cook serve you steaming, fresh-out-of-the oven yeast rolls, and does she keep a steady flow coming to you all during your meal? It seems to me that cooking that Thanksgiving dinner comes from within. We show our love for those gathered through the kitchen, through our food. Thanksgiving dinner is indeed comfort food. It makes you feel good because it’s flavorful and filling. Kids don’t have to learn to like it, they love it from the start. Baby’s first taste of sweet potatoes topped with a little gravy slides right down, and he won’t turn up his nose at a few tiny bites of pumpkin pie either.

Thanksgiving is not a sophisticated meal. No caviar, crepes or snails are required. Thanksgiving cooking is full of hand me down tricks. Did you know that the water from the potatoes is full of vitamins that should go into the gravy? And did you know that a dash of rosemary, a sprinkle of crushed, crispy bacon and pure cream create mashed potatoes to die for? You can cut roasting time in half by buying two smaller turkeys instead of a large one. One more thing, keep your gravy warm all day in a crockpot and make plenty so that the hearty eaters can return again and again.

Lots of smart families rule out the fine china, linens and the dressed up mode of dining. They opt for a lake or desert picnic.  It is hard to believe now, but our extended family used to pack up their turkey, mashed potatoes, and hot gravy in large thermos jugs and head for the desert. Our favorite spot was right where Moon Valley Country Club now stands. When that area became built up, we branched out to the land north of Scottsdale.  The kids rode go-carts and the dads helped them launch toy rockets and fly kites.

Our Thanksgiving celebration is one version of many held around the world by other  nations and ethnic groups. There have always been harvest festivals to celebrate and give thanks for the years crops. We’ve learned that the first official Thanksgiving in the United States was proclaimed by Abraham Lincoln on October 3, 1863, as Civil War raged in this country. During that time of turmoil the myth of the Pilgrims and Indians sitting together in harmony was comforting to the nation.  This holiday is woven into the fabric of our families, the stability of our communities and the strength of our nation.

When the family cook slips that bird into the oven, the celebration has begun. Before long the aroma of turkey roasting will remind all the family that it is more than just a day spent in the kitchen.  It’s a celebration of life with people more special than life itself.

Let’s lift a glass to all the cooks; and enjoy those carbs!

“A City that Preserves its Treasures”

By

Gerry Niskern

Well, the kids have all gone back to school and guess what? You can too. If you grew up here in Phoenix and attended one of the city schools there is a chance that you can still return to visit. The old schools are not simply standing; they are being utilized in various creative ways.

Phoenix is not the first city to attempt to save its architectural treasures, but it is no doubt the only city in the United States that has been successful under overwhelming growth circumstances when eager developers were eager to tear down and built for profit.

For example, Franklin is now a Public Safety High School. George Washington Carver is a museum and cultural center. Mc Kinley is soon to be renovated as part of the Phoenix Union Bioscience School. Phoenix Union, of course, is now three of U of A College of Medicine buildings. T Gen Bio research center is located on the campus we waked as teenagers. Monroe was recently opened as the Children’s Museum. The  old Booker T. Washington school building is being utilized also.

My resident historian and I loved our time at Grace Court School; the great teachers, the benevolent Miss Court and the dances, especially the dances! The school now is completely renovated and certified for office occupancy.

Even Memorial hall, the auditorium built in l922 at the old Phoenix Indian School has been completely renovated and ready to re-open this fall as a venue for public performances. They now have a wonderful new museum detailing all the Arizona Native children who attended there.

After WWII newcomers poured into metropolitan Phoenix at the rate of 200,000 a year and continued over the next 60 years.  Thousands of subdivisions were started in the surrounding areas and of course new schools were built to accommodate the rising enrollment. Phoenix school enrollment dropped drastically.  The city went through a frantic period when growth was the goal. Replacing the old with the new was fine with almost everyone.

Luckily, there were community leaders who didn’t fall to the pressure of developers to “raze it and utilize the land for commerce.” A few wise citizens were interested in preserving the old schools and gradually many more joined the cause. The Phoenix Historic Preservation office was established in l985 and the city really got serious when Terry Goddard was mayor and Phil Gordon was on the city council.

One by one most of the schools were chosen as part of the National Historical Roster, meaning they could never be torn down. Phoenix was also committed to the adaptive reuse of historic schools.

Every “save” was accomplished by a group effort. Some were purchased by individuals and the city stepped in to purchase others. Funding came from historical societies, bonds, private and corporate donations and the city.

Check it out. If you grew up here,  your old alma mater is probably still there; proudly serving the citizens of Phoenix.

“The Many Faces of Sedona”

Gerry Niskern

“We’re going to circle around and come in from the south.” Our pilot’s voice crackled through my earphones. “OK, guys, get ready to land on the USS Sedona. That’s what we call our landing strip. It’s just slightly longer than an aircraft carrier.” The red Waco plane carrying us touched down smoothly.

Earlier that morning, my husband and I checked in at the Bi- plane hanger located at the Sedona airport.  We had been promising ourselves we would take a ride in one of the Waco open cockpit bi-planes for a long time.   Quite often, while lying by the pool at one of Sedona’s many resorts, we had noticed the bi-planes with their sturdy engines chugging away overhead carrying passengers touring the Red Rock country of Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon. This year the high light of our annual October anniversary trip to Sedona was to be a flight in one of the Waco Bi-planes.

The crisp morning of our flight we wore lightweight jackets and jeans for the short hike over to the Bi-plane hanger. The average temperature in the area in October is 77. Sedona is indeed a site for all seasons. The leaves of Poplar and Birch trees that had melted into gold struck a colorful contrast beside red Japanese Maples and  the green pines that lined our way. After the light rain the night before, the fresh-washed air smelled of pungent mesquite.

We stood watching a middle aged man checking the red double- winged plane. Our apprehension vanished when we realized he was leaving no detail untouched. Beckoning us forward, he instructed Ken how to step on the wing here, grab the handhold there, step into the plane backwards, kneel on the seat and pivot around and sit down. I was next. Same instructions. Now I understood why the lady on the phone asked for our total combined weight. We were in for a very chummy fit.

After helping with our safety harness, helmets and earphones, he explained that their Wacos are equipped with PAL (European VHS) to record our entire flight. Each plane has a multi-camera system that will capture the scenery of the Red Rocks and also the passengers flying in the front cockpit.  When we were back home it was great fun to show our “virtual tour” to friends and family. That video of our flight is now one of our prized possessions.

Then the efficient man walked away …and the young blond kid in tan shorts and red sweat shirt who we had seen drinking coffee in the hanger, strolled out and climbed into the pilot’s seat behind us!

“Welcome aboard, guys. I’m Eric, your pilot. We’re about ready to go,” his voice came through the earphones.   “I’m double checking everything. Then we’ll be on our way.”

As we taxied out onto the runway we heard, “Whiskey Charlie, Whiskey Charlie, taxing from center to 03”…his voice crackled again, “Sedona, your transmissions are very weak, absolutely unreadable.”  We looked at each other. I’m sure we were both wondering how to cancel the flight! Too late…a second  later, “ OK, guys, we’re good for go…Sedona, Whisky Charlie’s rolling.”

Our plane gained speed and as it cleared the runway on top of the little mountain we were suddenly looking straight down at the houses of West Sedona. I found myself in a wonderful, new world. An indescribable sense of freedom filled my soul. I’ve flown on airliners for years, but THIS WAS FLYING.

“We’ll be chugging along at about 5,800 feet,” Eric, our pilot informed us. “If it’s too bumpy, we’ll alter a little. I’ll be pointing out some local landmarks.”

A warm kaleidoscope of color, without beginning or end, stretched before our eyes. We flew past spiraled formations, one after another, changing from white to gray to golden brown and then scarlet in the morning sun. We bobbed along on the air currents. We felt unstoppable. Jabbing each other in the arm, pointing this way and that, we forgot all about using our microphones as we marveled at every pinnacle sculpture carved by wind and rain.

The cerulean blue sky served as a canvas for our changing landscape. The solid red Waco rode the bucking wind and tamed gust after gust. We dipped into hidden valleys, ventured up beside shrill orange cliffs where steep canyons walls slashed wide paths into their sides.

I had to remind myself to breathe. We weren’t breaking the sound barrier; we were breaking the beauty barrier. We skimmed by fractured remnants of endless strata. The sun danced around the formations as their colors changed with each movement of our Waco. Their horizontal patterns on the giant monoliths shifted constantly on the curved and swirled, timeless sculptures. Cascades of rock fragments had bounced and tumbled to their base.

Our pilot pointed out Lee’s mountain, Broken Arrow, Munds Mountain, Mount Wilson and Bell Rock, the formation that attracts thousands who come to get “the feeling” each year. Many people believe that the region contains a concentration of vortexes, which are spots that release psychic energy or power from the Earth.

As we headed up the Canyon we caught glimpes of Oak Creek sparkling below between giant old Oaks and Ponderosa pine.  The creek stretches for sixteen-mile north from Flagstaff and South to the Verde River. It is both beautiful and challenging. From pristine pools to rugged terrain, it is breathtaking.

My mind flashed back to my childhood when my Dad would load the family up to spend the night in a little cabin on the creek in order to be one of the first fishermen trying our luck for the opening of trout season. The creek carries both rainbow and brown trout. The Rainbows are stocked, but browns are wild. The creek is spring fed and the temperature is consistently cool.

The many colored walls of the canyon were decorated with trees turning red, orange and gold against the green pine. We spotted ancient caves, used by Indian tribes for thousands of years, carved out of the sheer sides of the canyon.

After our plane headed back south, Eric indicated the location of Cathedral rock. Right below was our favorite camping spot, Red Rock Crossing. We went there for years with our children; sometimes we were the only visitors at the crossing. We camped under ancient Oak trees on the sandy stream bank. The kids rode the little rapids and we cooked on an open fire.  Memories of romantic moonlight swims, with toddlers safely sleeping in our tent, flooded my mind.

Too soon, it was time for us to head back. The Waco wound it’s way up north again and then down over Schnelbly Hill road. Its seventeen-mile path was a garland against the mountain where stands of green pines tucked into violet canyons were decorated with red oak and sumac.

“The wind’s pushing us around a little, but we are going to give it a shot here folks,” our pilot called. Then…”Whisky Charlie, 403 for landing, Sedona We’re coming in.”

The side of the mountain was straight ahead. As we speeded toward it, I’ll have to admit I thought, “Oh, no, we’re going straight into the side of Table Mountain.”  Suddenly, there was the landing strip, looking like a postage stamp. We watched, fascinated, as it grew closer and larger. Our skillful pilot guided our little plane as it eased to a perfect landing onto the USS Sedona runway.

            AUTHORS NOTE: I wrote this article for The Phoenix Downtown Magazine a few years ago.  Little did I realize that our yearly trips to Sedona to celebrate our wedding anniversary would be over way too soon. I dearly miss our  trips to Sedona and my loving partner in these adventures. Our 66^th anniversary would be this Friday, October 27.  

“One of a Kind, Sunny slope High”

By

Gerry Niskern

There’s a small mountain in North Central Phoenix with a huge S painted on it.  The S needs a little paint but tradition always takes care of that. In October, the freshman class of Sunnyslope High School will trudge up the mountain carrying big buckets of paint and whitewash the giant letter. The annual ritual is just one of many customs that will continue this year at this unique valley high school.

Sunnyslope High draws students from many other communities. The strong sense of tradition at the school is one of many reasons students attend classes there. Parents also know the faculty on this diverse campus of multiple ethnic groups in the center of Phoenix is dedicated to providing not only a good education, but also preparing students for the real world. Students outside the official boundaries can attend Sunnyslope, but every year there is a long waiting list.

As a recent Sunnyslope graduate told me, “There are some very rich and some very poor kids going to Sunnyslope”.  John Croteau, a former principal, once told me, “If you walked onto the campus at lunch time you would find this mixed bag of students hanging out together.”

Croteau went on to say “ There are many reasons that Sunnyslope was chosen as one of only 27 model high schools in the United States, based on the performance of the students, to make a presentation at the Model School Conference attended by 10,000 educators. They shared their instructional practices and successful methodologies. “

“The faculty excels at spotting learning problems early. Their personalized instruction encourages students who think they can’t learn, because of language or other problems, to develop a new attitude.

The teachers don’t accept a student’s excuse that they can’t learn. They believe everyone can achieve and learn; some just need to be taught differently. The students are taught to focus on the positive. As a matter of fact, when it was suggested that the ELL students might no pass the AIMS test, the kids were offended. They did just fine.”

“Because of the faculty’s vigorous encouragement, at least 78% of the student body takes part in extra-curricular activities. There is also very active parent participation on campus and the school offers adult English language classes.”

Cordeau continued “The Academic Placement program is another reason students go to Sunnyslope High. The duel enrollment allows students to leave with several College credits under their belt.”

The school has a great Drama department. Try getting a ticket to one of their sold out performances!

If you are in the area of Sunnyslope on the evening of the homecoming football game this fall, you will experience another school tradition. After each game the freshmen players climb the Mountain carrying flares to outline the S. It’s a moving sight as the flares light up the mountain and the sense of community is signified once again by the red glow.

Go Vikings!

“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. 27^th Ave. near the northeastern corner of 27^th 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 sagging and askew.

Actually, there was one reason he chose the Indian Drive-in over the others. Diagonally across 27^th 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.