Bird’s eye View

By

Gerry  Niskern

When my folks had out of town company when I was a kid the first place they drove them was the top of South Mountain. My Dad loved to show off the Valley of the Sun and the fantastic view of the growing city of Phoenix.

Years later, Ken and I discovered another great place to see the city. The view thru the expansive windows of the Compass Arizona Grill on top the Hyatt Regency Phoenix was breathtaking. Having dinner at the Compass on special occasions while the revolving restaurant slowly turned gave us a precious trip down memory lane each time we went there.

“Look, there’s the old Republic and Gazette building (Ken used to go there on Sunday to get extra papers to sell) on Central. And there is where Coney Island was. ( went there for delicious chili dogs after the high school dances). There’s the old Carnegie Library and the Capitol.” And “there’s Adams school, and Phoenix Union Highschool”. Even both our childhood homes close to the Capitol were easy to make out. Old memories appeared every minute as we slowly revolved.

In l989 the restaurant seated ticket holders who came to watch the Formula One United States Grand Prix race through the streets of downtown Phoenix. YES. At one time one of our former Mayors decided that a Grand Prix race was just what our city needed! I know, hard to believe.

We loved to arrive in time to spot our favorite landmarks and then sit enthralled as another magnificent Arizona sunset gave way one by one to city lights that shown like jewels on a bed of darkness.

I guess one of our fondest memories was the time we took our eight year old  great-grandson downtown to the Science Museum and we promised a lunch atop  the Hyatt at the restaurant that ‘turns while you are eating.’

As we stepped off the elevator and walked toward the maitre d’ we were concerned at the look of disappointment on the boy’s face. He turned and said, “I thought it would be going faster.”

The host solemnly explained,  “Well, son, we tried to do that but while people were eating their plates kept flying off the tables.”

“Apache Passion”

By

Gerry Niskern

‘You’ve never heard of it?’ Neither had I until I read an article in the Arizona Republic by Shanti Lerner last week. She wrote about the kids and teenagers at Whiteriver on the Fort Apache Indian Reservation in Eastern Arizona and their love of skateboarding. Sure, the kids on the reservation love baseball, basketball and volleyball and the teams often advance to state championships. But the kids who take up skateboarding are sometimes a little more creative and not into team sports.

When Douglas Miles Jr. a professional skateboarder and film maker moved to Whiteriver the local kids showed him where they skated. They find a spot, usually an abandoned construction site and construct a DYI (do it yourself) skate park. These unofficial parks exist on swaths of abandoned concrete, under bridges or anywhere they find material available. Stacks of old plywood or used concrete beams are made to look like ramps.

Miles was impressed with their love of the sport. “They had been following me and made me welcome by showing me all the spots they had improvised to skate on. I asked myself, what can I do for them and that’s how the project Apache Passion on GoFundMe got started.

Long before that the Elders in the White Mountain Apace Tribe knew of the need. 50% of the reservations residents are 18 or younger. They had helped the skaters with small monetary donations and food and snacks for the tournaments, but the tribe had many challenges and of course, the Covid pandemic put everything on hold. Now the tribal council will contribute land, work to obtain additional grant funding, construction personnel and materials and help make the project happen.

Miles Jr. will hire designers and coordinate the building process. The project will cost around $l50,000. Miles said, ‘It’s been five years since I started trying to raise money for this project and we’ve come a long way. We have artists, professional roller skaters and many other donors who have faith in the project.” He went on to describe how these kids represent the best of the Apache culture. “These kids try trick after trick, fall on the hard cement and get up and do it again and again. There is a fighting spirit, a warrior spirit, that dwells in the bloodline of these kids. They have the endurance and the stamina  to overcome the challenges.”

I was impressed with this story of the skateboarding kids on the Apache Reservation and wanted to share it. I’ve lived in Arizona long enough to remember when tourists thought all the Native American kids did was herd sheep or dance a the Pow-Wows. And after watching the red headed skateboard gold medalist from Australia at the Olympics,  I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be great to see a young Apache Warrior make it to the Olympics?

APACHE PASSION PROJECT ON GOFUNDME

Stick The Ending

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you been watching? The Summer Olympic Games, that is. Those people are unbelievable.

There has been a lot written, pro and con, about why continue to have the Olympic games at all?

Well of course we should have all the games, Summer and Winter also. The Olympic games play an important part in the cultural life of the global community. It is a way for nations from all over the world to unite. Over two hundred countries participate. They are an inspiration for kids, especially, to achieve their potential in whatever activity or sport they aspire to.

Actually, the Olympic Games first began in ancient Greece, with representatives from each city/state. It’s even been said that wars would be halted while the games were going on, and then taken back up again.

I wasn’t aware of the games as a kid. We didn’t have the 24 hour coverage that we do today. I’d like to blame that omission for my lack of athletic ability back then. I remember watching my best friend swinging with ease from one end of the Monkey Bars to the other. I dropped with a thud after one attempt. She also tried to teach me how to dive. Frustrated, she finally gave up saying, “This is harder then putting toothpaste back in the tube”.

Jump rope was even more difficult. I could never get the hand of ‘running in.’ Same with Jacks. I could toss up the ball and I could pick up the jacks, just not at the same time! My daughter learned how to play jacks from her dad. And don’t even mention Dodge ball. I was, of course, last one chosen for a side, and first one put out.

I yearned to be able to do a cartwheel. Didn’t happen. We played ‘work up’ in softball In grade school, needless to say, I never got out of left field.

However, There is one maneuver  that all the athletes, men and women, do now. No matter what sport, they hug afterwards; the coaches, their fellow competitors, the other team. HUGGING! Just like the gymnasts, I think I  might have the potential  to ‘stick it’.

“July Pastimes”

By

Gerry Niskern

Every day while walking I listen to the rush of water plunging from the pumps along the irrigation ditch. The pampered, pristine lawns I pass by are watered by irrigation. The other day I was reminded of an amusing E-mail story concerning our resident’s preoccupation with grass.

‘God was talking to St Francis and asking whether the people on earth were enjoying the variety of grasses and wild flowers he had provided. He was flabbergasted to learn that people on earth got rid of all of them and planted plain grass around their houses instead. . He was even more bewildered to learn that they water it faithfully, but then pay to have it cut…..and hauled away!’

We all know the pleasure of smelling newly mowed grass. As a kid, it was right up there with rolling down a grassy knoll then climbing to the top and rolling down again.  Another summer pastime was playing in the irrigation water.

When I was a child here in Phoenix on special days shouts were heard in our neighborhood, “They’re irrigating the capitol grounds!”  Kids for blocks around the state capitol would race to don bathing suits and head for the lush grass around the capitol. (This was before the politicians decided to cover most of those beautiful grounds with government buildings). When we got there the clear, cool water was pouring into the areas between the sidewalks. We ran and played in knee high water; only once in a while accidentally splashing the state office ladies walking to lunch.

When the irrigation evaporated, we turned to lawn sprinklers.  On any hot day in July somebody’s mother would be watering their grass, using a variety of whirling sprinklers.  We kept cool running in and out of the crystal droplets.

My father cut his grass on Saturday afternoon.   He was grateful he hadn’t listened to helpful neighbors back east when they advised him, “Don’t pay to haul your lawn mower to Arizona. You won’t need it. The yards out there are all sand.”

About the age that I was playing in the irrigation water as a child, my husband said he was running a grass cutting business.  He even had one customer out by Camelback Road and Lateral 14. He transferred twice on the city bus to reach the expansive grounds of that country home.

Years later when we moved into our first home, he couldn’t wait to get the lawn started. (How he would have loved the luxury of ordering a few rolls of sod!)   He was so proud to be the first guy in the subdivision to cut his grass.

I can’t say he was so thrilled later when he spent hours pulling and digging bullhead weeds out of the Bermuda grass. Nothing hurts the tender feet of little ones like the sharp prick of a dry bullhead burr. Daddy was happy when the owners of those little feet grew big and he decided they could take over the mowing chores. He even brought home a used riding mower.  # 1 son was delighted since he was planning on being the next Andretti.  He loved to see how fast that baby would accelerate. After we lost a small grapefruit tree, guess who was back in the mowing business?

Don’t Know Jack

By

Gerry Niskern

“My dog’s not spoiled, I’m just well trained!”

I have a young friend who has been pet sitting for many years. She loves all dogs and doesn’t mind if there is a cat or two in residence where she is sitting. It’s estimated that over 40% of the households in the United States have a dog and she figures she has sat for half of them! But she met her match the other day.

She had been a little concerned when she booked the job. You see, the family had a cat, a small dog and a Great Dane. It would be her first experience with that breed. She was given instructions to give Jack, the Dane with an attitude,  his meds every day for his arthritis. “All you have to do is put the pill in a piece of cheese and he gobbles it right up” the owners assured her as they headed for the door.

Well, Jack had other plans. He was not having any part of anything she tried to give him, including even a doggie treat. She wasn’t about to argue with a dog that stood taller then her. She called the vet, goggled the problem for suggestions and finally called the owner. It was agreed that he would be all right without meds until they got back.  She was laughing though because Jack came and stood right over when she gave the small dog his pill.

My grandson says that when he cuts his dog’s toenails, his other dog comes real close to watch. I don’t know much about dogs but I think that that is probably a loyalty thing. We all know how  loyal dogs are, don’t we? We also know that their sense of smell 40 times better than ours. Which reminds me of a favorite dog story of mine.

My Uncle Joe had a hunting hound named Fanny. She was the best hunting dog around and was stolen more then once. I remember hearing the grown ups saying, “Fanny is missing and we’re going after her.” A car load of my uncles with their hunting rifles would take off and they seemed to know which farms to look for her, because they always came home with Fanny. She sure got an extra share of loving from all us kids that day.

But here’s the best Fanny story about loyalty. When Uncle Joe went into the Navy during WWll he was sent directly from boot camp to duty on the Great Lakes with no leave between. Before he reported, He took a chance and hitched a ride with a beer truck going thru West Virginia . The state highway ran past my grandma’s house and that beer truck sped past and stopped two blocks away. By the time the trucker stopped Fanny was there in Uncle Joe’s arms. Talk about loyalty!

“Jump In”

By

Gerry Niskern

While there is deep concern about the extreme drought here in Arizona, the kids are doing what they have always done in the summer, “Gon Swimmn”.

Actually, I should say, kids invariably  find some form of water fun here in the valley, and there are many. If they don’t have a pool at home, there is always a community pool close by. The many water parks cover acres with slides, wave pools and winding rivers.

Years ago the kids who lived in Phoenix had their favorite holes along the Salt River. There was a constant stream of water down the channel, flowing over rapids into big pools a block or so long and deep enough for good swimming. One place was called Pike’s Retreat. It was a deep lake, a quarter mile long and a hundred yards wide, at the foot of Seventh Avenue.

Of course, the kids also swam in the canals, which were closer to home. The Swilling Ditch was another favorite of locals. The kids loved swinging from ropes tied to a Cottonwood tree ad dropping into the frigid water of irrigation ditches that fanned out across the valley. The barefoot climb up the rough bark was worth it every time.

Eventually there were many pools built around the valley. Eastlake Park, Coronado, and University were among the first community pools. Broadway pool, located at 19^th Avenue and Broadway, wasn’t as well known, but it held special memories that my resident historian used to relate.

“My family had just moved here to Phoenix in August of l941. I met a kid who invited me to go to the Broadway pool to swim. Being a young man from a dusty little town in Texas, I didn’t know how to swim. Also being a ten year old boy I wasn’t about to admit it. We walked South from West Jackson clear across the Salt River bed to get there. I hung around the shallow end and watched the other kids to see just how they did it. Then I moved a little deeper and pushed off. For a few seconds I found myself in a strange world of kicking legs and bubbles. After I came up and gulped for air I started thrashing my arms and legs and pretty soon I was propelling myself through the water. Pretty soon I decided that I could keep up with my friends in the deep end. All I can say about my first day of swimming and nearly drowning time after time, is, it sure was a long walk two miles North across the river bed and home.”

Wherever you learned to swim as a kid, canal, river, lake or pool, I’ll bet you’ve never forgotten the delight of that day.

Neighborhood Ambassador

By

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Tax Dollars at Work

By

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m still waiting for those call backs.

Father’s Jobs, How They Have Evolved

By

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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