“Getting to Know You”

There was a party in our neighborhood a few weeks ago. The day before, two preteen girls from this new family went door to door and asked if it was all right if they had music until ten o’clock at their party.

Let me just say, for the record, that we’ve never had anyone any place we’ve lived come ask our permission first to have loud music in the evening.

Cars and pickups began arriving on Sunday afternoon; bringing Mamas in their Sunday best, carrying covered dishes and Daddies toting babies in their car seats. Little girls in frilly pastel dresses and brothers in long pants marched proudly into the house.

We couldn’t see the dancing in the garage.  However, I suspected from the strobe lights and music that they were having a better party then we were.

Actually, the sound of foreign language and music at the house across our street every weekend reminds me of my Grandma’s house back east many years ago on Sunday afternoons. Polka music pouring forth from my uncle’s accordion filled the air. I’m sure our parent’s voices carried across the backyards and were just as confusing to their American neighbors.

My cousins and I played hide and seek; chasing and shouting like the little Latino kids do now across from my house.

Those cousins grew up. They married into various ethnic families and scattered across the United States.  My grandparent’s offspring learned American ways and taught some of their ways to others. The extended family boasts computer programmers, major league ballplayers, and engineers on some of the first manned craft our country launched. There are artists and writers; many women own their own businesses.

. They played football in school, golf with business clients and tennis any time they had a chance.

In other words, they assimilated, just as the families that visit across the street will also.

When he came here in the 1880’s, my Grandpa worked in the coal mines in West Virginia.  He and the other immigrant men that came to America to earn money and yes, send some of it back to their homeland, took the hardest jobs and were paid the least wages for them. He worked beside Irish, Polish, Russians, and many others. This country needed their labor in its industries just as immigrants are needed now to drive the economy.  The United States grew and prospered with their help.

The immigrant families came with the same basic aspirations and needs as the residents of their new land. The newcomers and the long established transformed each other through a blend of mutual cooperation, competition and yes, sometimes conflict.

Some fought side by side with fellow Americans in WWI; and in later years, along with their neighbors, said heart- wrenching good-byes to their own sons to fight in yet more of our country’s wars.

The cultural and ethnic fusion was slow; but our diversity in color, culture and thought is what makes this country great.

“Reading Rage”

By

Gerry Niskern

There has been a lot written lately about the fine art of reading. Everyone agrees that reading enriches lives; but the big question is how do you instill that desire to absorb the written word into today’s children?

Let me ask you something. Do you have kids or grandkids, nieces or nephews? Be honest. How many electronic games have you bought them on gift giving occasions? How many children’s books did you purchase?

Kids are no different now than in years past. They respond to what they are offered. When toddlers, if they receive only toys with computer chips inside that allow the user to push a button to see it light up, talk or move, when they get older they will gravitate to electronic games instead of reading in leisure time.

.          I don’t know if you have noticed, but the toy stores have a very limited amount of books these days. We all know each child is unique, and some will actually choose a book over a toy if given the opportunity. Consider alternating a trip to the bookstore between trips to the toy store. Children’s imagination and curiosity needs to be constantly encouraged. What better way than a new book that requires visualizing the setting and characters in endless ways?

All infants need to be read to. There is no thrill to equal the sound of your first baby pointing to “ball, bird, or baby” in a book and saying the words out loud. As they grow up reading provides a quiet respite in hectic young lives. They need to get away from their frantic world, turn real pages and let their imagination flow.

When my family moved to Phoenix years ago, I discovered a wonderful building, the Phoenix Carnegie Library. I left that building loaded down with an armful of books every week. Every child should experience that feeling of elation and possibilities when he staggers out the door of the neighborhood library with an armload of books. A trip to your local library for even an hour once a week can be the cornerstone of a lifetime of enjoyable reading.

During this election, as in years past, we hear endless politician’s declarations of why children can’t read. Teachers are blamed. Parents are blamed. When you stop to think about it, there are many reasons, lots of blame to go around. In many families there is no money for storybooks or time for trips to the library when both parents are working two jobs to provide necessities like food and shelter.

A simple gesture like Governor Neapolitan of Arizona’s plan a few years ago,  to give every child in first and fourth grade a book of their own was a beginning. Those privately paid for books provided kids with a volume to read and dream over again and again, because it was theirs to keep! Who knows what ripple effect those precious books had in young lives by providing that spark of enthusiasm that is the key to all those doors of life?

Those of us who can provide books for the little ones should do so and often. Everyone agrees that if toddlers are read to every day, they will learn to read easier. But will they become avid readers? Who knows? Hopefully, the majority will, if given early exposure to books.

The rewards are endless. Who knows? When those kids are adults, they might even call you up and say, “Hey, I’m reading this great book. Do you want it when I’m finished”.

Moving

By

Gerry Niskern

He was the first neighbor we met when we moved into our home on the North Phoenix Mountains.  Pacing back and forth along a wall on long, thin legs, he slowed and gave us a piercing look with bright cobalt eyes. Then he turned his back and hurried up the driveway.

Later that day, when I was on the rear patio, he darted across the top of the retaining wall above. The large roadrunner looked a little defiant, as if to say, “You can move in and live here, but this is really my house.” He appeared again at lunchtime. My son offered him some French fries. After picking one up daintily, the large bird proceeded to slam it vigorously back and forth against the ground. After he was satisfied that it was dead, he ate it.

I thought about the rude roadrunner, my first acquaintance in this area, when I read recently about the 75,000 people expected to relocate to our valley in the next year. Moving is always a tough job whether it is across the valley or across the country. It’s more gratifying to be greeted with a friendly wave and smile.

Looking back,  I remember when our family moved to Arizona when I was a kid; there was a war on. The carefully laid plans of having our furniture loaded by Allied Van and expecting it be in Phoenix a week later when we arrived didn’t work out. Our household goods were off loaded in Dallas for three weeks. Moving the  possessions of the Army officers’ families had priority in those days.

We moved into a big, empty three-bedroom house on West Madison Street near the State Capitol with nothing but our suitcases. The neighbors pitched in to help.  First they offered food, and then they brought mattresses for us to sleep on. One came with a hot plate for cooking. An electric roaster. Dishes. Towels. They offered the use of their washing machine when needed.

One fellow taught my Dad how to service our evaporative cooler that was in the living room window. With his help, our family adjusted to the 110 degree August temperature. The kids directed my sister and me to University swimming pool where we kept our cool.

The neighborhood ladies provided my mother with covered dishes for our dinner, a coffee pot for breakfast and most important of all, friendship and sympathy for my young Mother three thousand miles away from her ten brothers and sisters for the first time.

A couple of months ago a young couple in our family moved into their new home. The neighbors, in this subdivision still under construction, brought a huge pan of goulash that lasted through the weekend, garlic bread and a platter of brownies. One fellow even pitched in and helped unload their pickups.

Other young friends, on the opposite side of our valley, told an entirely different story. The people who did happen to be out in their yards looked the other way as they settled in. My friends are very discouraged to see their neighbors speed by, raise their garage doors by remote, slip in, and the next sound was the thud of the garage doors closing, as if to say, “I can’t be bothered with anyone new.”

I know, it’s tempting to say, “I’m just too busy. I have enough to think about without adding another person to my list.” But then again, you could ask yourself, when you see a moving van on your street, “Why don’t I take five minutes, step over and welcome them to the neighborhood.”

I will admit that our first acquaintance, the roadrunner, did have an attitude.

During the first few weeks here, we could count on seeing him below the house in the early morning chasing insects.  Once a flock of black birds landed in the  yard. He hunched down low to the ground, shot across the terrace like a blazing rocket and knocked one of the intruders end over end. Another bird met the same fate when they came back. Needless to say, they decided it wasn’t much fun at this guy’s house!

If he wasn’t looking for food, he could be found looking at his reflection in our glass door. He seemed to be admiring his brilliant blue eyes and brown and white stripped coat of feathers as he preened himself. “Maybe,” I thought, “he’s courting that bird in the door when he spreads his wings and ruffles his feathers from the top of his head to his extra long tail?”

Then one day, just as we were getting used to sharing our new property with a co-owner, he was gone. We haven’t seen him for many years. Maybe he knew the first mortgage payment was due.

“New Years, 2017 Style”

By

Gerry Niskern

I heard an amazing comment the other day.  A member of my fanily who has to hop a plane frequently, tells me they have noticed a change in manners of fellow passengers. Even though everyone has to arrive two hours before their flight time and submit to random security checks of their full luggage, “People are overall more considerate.”

I know this is hard to believe…airline passengers becoming more courteous to fellow travelers. They went on to say, “ I actually saw a Generation X fellow offer to lift an older woman’s carry-on to the over head rack before stashing his own bag.”

Do you realize this trend could have a domino effect?

Imagine, for instance, if another passenger, after observing this display of courtesy, decides not to take his customary nap by laying his seat back full throttle into the lap of the passenger behind him. That passenger, in turn, is so grateful that he isn’t paralyzed from being pinned in his seat for the entire flight  that he deplanes in great spirits. While pulling out of the airport area, he decides to let another driver out into traffic ahead of him And what if that fellow gave him one of those curtsey “thank you” waves drivers used to give. Yet another driver who observed that scene might be inspired to let cars metered on the freeway actually get on, instead of speeding up so they can’t.

This manner thing might be carried to the extreme. Men might start opening doors for women again, and women might say a gracious “thank you” for the thoughtful gesture. Seeing this phenomenon, boys and girls might stand back and let their mother go first through the shopping center entrance.

Who knows where all this civility could lead?  Dinner out with children might return to being a treat. Caps could be removed while eating.  Picture this. Kids actually sitting at the table so the waiters carrying heavy trays didn’t have to dodge the “happy wanderers.” Of course, Mom and Dad might have to put down their cell phones to encourage this peaceful scene.

And speaking of cell phones, everyone could leave their cell phones in their pockets when having a social conversation at a family gathering. Perhaps no one ever told them that challenging every remark with an immediate “double-check” on a cell phone is not good manners. It is rude and hopefully soon a new rule  book for everyone is published on cell phone manners!

You know, come to think of it, with a good meal under their belts, I’ll bet the kids could sit down and write those thank you notes to aunts, uncles and grandparents for the great Christmas gifts they sent. Trust me, the child benefits more from this exercise than the gift givers.

In this New Year, we could all start with our every day encounters with everyone.  Wait your turn patiently at the butcher, bakery or deli counter. And don’t park in the handicapped spaces; it doesn’t matter if you’ll only be a couple of minutes.

The passing on of norms and manners in general have slowed down in this country.   I’ll admit some formal manners are too old-fashioned for today’s world. If the old rules are too cumbersome, streamline them to work in our world today. In the meantime, the consideration for the feeling and rights of others will always be appropriate.

It has been said that manners are the glue of society; they are what hold civilization together. Let’s mix up a whole new batch of that glue.  If we want to be the best country in the world, we have to start practicing our civility within our own family, our neighborhood and in our community.

What do you think? Could 2017 go down in history, as the year good manners for all ages became fashionable again?

“What’s Christmas without music?”

By

Gerry Niskern

What would the Christmas season be without music? The majestic choirs singing Ava Maria and the beautiful music of the Nutcracker performed during the holidays are a special gift to all of us every year.

Actually, my earliest memory of Christmas music was not the traditional songs of the season. I remember going to my Grandma’s house every year, on January 7^th, the Catholic Orthodox Christmas.  I walked between my mom and dad over crunchy snow that smelled of cinders.  Although Santa visited our house on the 25^th, I couldn’t wait to celebrate “Grandma’s Christmas” with my aunts, uncles and cousins.  Polka music spilled through the kitchen door from my Uncle Paul’s accordion. After dinner we danced the night away as the old frame house shook with pounding feet.

We sang “Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Away in a Manger and O Little Town of Bethlehem” in the country church I attended as a child back East. The peaceful strains of “Silent Night” carried over the snowy hills at our Christmas Eve service.

After we moved to Phoenix, the same melody came back to my Girl Scout troop on a chilly December morning in l943, during WWII.

As our troop cooked our pancakes over an open fire in Papago Park, we sang Christmas carols. Just as we finished Silent Night, we heard the same melody, a German carol “Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht”……echoing back to us by strong male voices. The chorus was coming from Hole in the Rock where some German POWs and their guards were resting after working in the park. We listened in awe. I think that’s when we  realized how small the world really is.

As soon as the war was over and gasoline was available again our family made a long awaited journey back to West Virginia for Christmas.  “How’d you like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island” played often as I took spins around the skating rink with my teenage cousins. On the long car trip back home to Arizona we listened  to “ Frosty the Snowman” and “The Old Lamplighter” over and over again on the car radio.  It was 4 degrees above zero as my Dad maneuvered the old Plymouth over icy roads lined with overturned vehicles lying in snow banks all the way across Texas.

“Jingle Bells” is one of the first songs our own kids learned. Then when the holidays got a little more hectic we turned to, “Santa Claus is coming to town…..he knows if you’ve been bad or good”. Those words used to scare me as a child but they didn’t faze my kids.

Then there were the years the kids inundated us with “All I want to Christmas is My Two Front Teeth, Grandma go Run Over by a Reindeer, and “I’m Getting Nuttin’ for Christmas”.

One song that evolved into books, movies and more was “Rudolph the Red-nosed Raindeer”. It caught everyone’s fancy, especially our grandkids. Our home on the mountain looks

over the city lights. When the red light on our oven reflected back on the living room window out

into the sky, they were sure they were seeing Rudolph. I didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise.

Men who have served in every war since l942 remember listening to Bing Crosby sing “White Christmas” and dreaming of being reunited with their family soon.

I don’t know what Christmas song our men and women stationed in the Middle East like best, but according to the Federal Chaplaincy Ministries “I’ll be home for Christmas” is heard over and over again.

Christmas Trees Galore

By

Gerry Niskern

All types of trees have come and gone over the years. How many do you remember?

Years ago,  enterprising tree dealers started flocking trees white for a little extra charge. Everyone had to have one of the “snow” covered beauties. I have a friend from the Philippines who remembers as a child trying to create a similar tree. They found a large branch, striped it, painted it white and glued little globs of cotton all over the “snowy” branches.

How about the trees that “snowed”? Snowflakes blew out the top of the tree and settled down on the branches. The extra flakes fell into a large cone at the bottom and were shot up inside the trunk  and out at the top, to “snow” again.

Then came the aluminum “put together” trees. They couldn’t take lights so they came with a revolving spot light. One was sent to a couple I know who were stationed in Saudia Arabia. When they invited an Arabian family to share their Christmas dinner, their little boys kept removing the shiny tree branches to play sword fighting.

Another couple told me of being stationed overseas and scuba diving often. One day they spotted a beautiful chunk of coral shaped like a Christmas tree. They managed to get it up and take it home where they soaked and cleaned it. They strung lights on it for Christmas. It went with them wherever they were transferred and the tree always remained part of their Christmas.

One friend who grew up here tells me that they couldn’t afford a tree, but the kids in the family always found a tumble weed to bring home and decorate with popcorn and homemade paper ornaments for their Christmas.

Some lucky longtime residents will remember taking their children to see the huge yuletide tree in downtown Phoenix in the middle of the intersection of Central and Washington Street. The magnificent fir stood atop a large box platform and the trolleys that traveled Washington passed by on either side.

Of course, the trees you will remember best were the ones that when you woke up on Christmas morning and smelled pine in the chilly air, and  you knew.  You raced barefooted across the cold floor and there it stood in glorious splendor complete with twinkling lights, shiny ornaments and tons of icicles.

Sure enough, Santa had come down your chimney with presents and……a Christmas tree.

“How Christmas Wishes have changed”

by

Gerry Niskern

A funny thing happened on the way to Christmas one year. We had a party.

We had  been giving this annual party for thirty some years and most of the people attending had been coming to our house to celebrate the season since we started.

That year I decided that we would test their knowledge of each other with a “guess who that was” game.

I phoned to ask each one to tell me the one special thing that they had wished Santa to bring when they were a kid. Don’t tell me if you received it or not, just something special that you remember asking Santa Clause to bring.

In most cases, before I even finished my question, these “depression babies” named an item they remember vividly yearning for and declared, “And I didn’t get it either!”

A couple of the stories tugged at your heart strings a little more than others.  A lot of farm families used to gather at the grandparent’s house and all the toys for the various cousins would be placed under the tree. One little guy about four woke up before dawn and went down stairs to see if Santa had come. Yep! There was a train set all set up around the tree; just what he had wished for. When he came down later with his parents, his cousins were playing with their new train set!

Another Oklahoma  girl asked every year for a Shirley Temple doll. Year after year she saw other cousins unwrapping Shirley Temple dolls!

A little boy from Texas asked for any kind of airplane. His mother managed to buy him a little balsa wood flyer propelled by a rubber band. The problem was the first time he launched it, the little plane flew down the hill right into the hog pen. They pounced on it thinking it was food and ground it into the mud.

A Glendale girl always yearned for a pair of roller skates. She skated on friend’s skates once or twice, but Santa never had enough money for a pair of skates for her.

One Tennessee girl asked for  a Dionne Quintuplet doll, but more than anything she yearned for some clothes that weren’t three sizes too big, so she could “grow into them”.

There were wishes for Monopoly games, BB guns bicycles and basketballs. One young fellow found a basketball in the attic and assumed he was receiving it for Christmas. He and his friends built a backboard and hoop getting all prepared. Imagine his shock when a neighbor came to retrieve her son’s basketball that his mother was hiding for her.

It kind of blows your mind when you realize all of today’s children have to do is visit the nearest Toy r Us to make their wishes for Christmas known. Then they leisurely stroll the aisles and click the hand set to record their choices that are easy for grandmas, aunts and other relatives to consult and purchase for them!

“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, 2016, 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.

So, what do you say? Can you go “cold turkey” on Thanksgiving?

“Thanksgiving Day, Here in Arizona”

by

Gerry Niskern

Thanksgiving day, here in Arizona, is a day of traditions. It will be celebrated in many locations and the rituals will be as varied as the individual families.

Grandmothers and grandfathers will serve their children and grandchildren a fine old- fashioned turkey dinner, complete with dressing, gravy and homemade hot rolls that melt in your mouth. The carving knife is already sharpened and the table lines freshly laundered.

Some traditions, here in Arizona, will be started for the first time when the newlyweds decide to invite the clan to their home for barbecued turkey on the grill and a dip in their heated pool. No matter where they gather, some members of the family will argue politics, religion, and the latest courtroom trial. Everyone will over eat and some will drink too much.

Others will go to church to thank God for their many blessings. Whole families will give up their day to serve others in the many charity dining rooms, here in Arizona.

Native Americans on their reservations will gather together for mutton stew and fry bread. New immigrant families, like the one I saw shopping for a heavy roasting pan at the Goodwill store in my neighborhood, will buy their turkey and trimmings and try to prepare it the American way!

Other families will gather in hospital rooms or visit cemeteries, carrying pots of golden mums and try to remember why they are supposed to be thankful on this day.

Here in Arizona, people tired of formal affairs, will wrap their turkey up tightly, and put the potatoes, dressing and gravy in large thermoses and head out for a desert picnic. They will fly kites, ride go-carts and go rock hunting.

Lonely residents of nursing homes will be served their turkey on long tables decorated with papier-mache  turkeys and jaunty little pilgrim hats. They’ll be remembering other past Thanksgivings when children sat at their table.

Firefighters will cook their bird at the station. Policemen will grab a quick bite while on patrol. Emergency room personnel will eat their drumstick in the hospital cafeteria. Babies will be born and Mom and Dad will forget to eat, here in Arizona.

Some Mothers and Fathers will read to their children about the first Thanksgiving. They’ll tell them about the Pilgrim’s Thanksgiving when Governor  Bradford invited Chief Massosit to share their feast. The chief brought ninety men with him and they stayed for three days. The pilgrims celebrated their freedom in their new country with the Indians who helped them survive their first winter.

Maybe these same parents will ask their offspring to name the things they are thankful for. Then, hopefully, they’ll remind their families that there are Moms, Dads, kids, and even Grandparents who are hungry and homeless in Europe on this Thanksgiving day.

Today’s parents will tell the kids that we have the freedom to celebrate our traditions or change them, as we wish. They’ll remind them to nurture and cherish that freedom.

All these things will happen on Thanksgiving day, somewhere here in Arizona

“Homecoming”

By

Gerry Niskern

Veteran’s day is Friday. A day we honor our country’s war veterans with parades, speeches and memorials. In other words, a day for memories.  Many  people will remember not a whole army, but one boy, because that’s what most of our soldiers are when they leave home.

Before a young man knows fear, his mother does. It strikes her heart when she hears the words, “Mom, I’ve enlist

I was around ten when my dad and mom took me down to Union Station in Phoenix to see the train bringing in a very brave young man. Army infantryman, Sgt. Selvestre  Herrera, Arizona’s first living Congressional Medal of Honor winner.

The train slowed to a stop. We were pushed forward as the excited crowd surged toward the first car. I heard people shouting, “There he is.     I see him. I see him!” The band struck up another rousing march and the man in the red and white shirt had to scream “peanuts, popcorn” in order to be heard.

The conductor shouted for everyone to “please, stand back”.  He placed the extra step for the train passengers to step down, and then looked up with pride.

One step at a time, a soldier in full dress uniform backed down the steps. He was lifting one side of a wheel chair. Before the soldier holding the other side of the chair could reach the pavement, the occupant was grabbed by many anxious hands. They hoisted the young soldier atop their shoulders. “But Dad, Dad” I shouted “Why is….my voice was drowned out as the jubilant throng passed him along from man to man. I thought he looked like a volley ball bouncing on top the crowd.  Finally, they placed the returning hero on top the back of a red convertible, with a banner on the side reading, ‘Read Mullen Chevrolet”

The bright chariot started slowly up Fifth Avenue. Men, women and kids shouting  and waving American flags as they  scrambled to keep up with the car when it turned East on Washington. The driver picked up speed and suddenly I was separated from mom and dad. Phoenix was a small town then.  A kid  couldn’t become lost in the few short blocks to the designated uptown celebration site.  I was swept along with the throng towards Central Avenue beside the band.

The procession stopped in front of the Republic and Gazette building on north Central.  Some kind of temporary platform was draped with red, white and blue bunting.

The state senators and representatives were on the stage. The people cheered for the governor. They clapped for the mayor.

“On behalf of the people of Arizona, I’m proud and happy to welcome you home, Sargent  Hererra,” the governor shouted.

“This is indeed a glorious day” declared the mayor. “You must be very proud to be the first Congressional Medal of Honor winner from the State of Arizona. “

I pushed up close to the speaker’s stand trying to see the war hero. I ducked in front of some adults.  The legs of the young warrior’s pants  were carefully folded back above his knees with large shiny safety pins.

Finally, the speeches were finished and everyone on the platform jumped to their feet and clapped furiously. Then,  I couldn’t see Private Hererra anymore. He was hidden by the politicians.

NOTE: Sargent Herrera was not a citizen of the United States. He was brought from Mexico as a child by an uncle who raised him. He was married, with two small children when he enlisted in the U. S. Army in World War II.