“Labor With Love”

By

Gerry Niskern

Labor Day was the signal of the end of the season at my parents business each year.  They started their small manufacturing plant and retail store where they produced evaporative cooler pads and sold new coolers and parts here in the valley in l950.

At that time, the majority of residents used evaporative coolers.

When they opened, my dad, a time study engineer, had everything planned down to the last detail. The retail store was in front and in the large back facility he positioned     work tables, the rolls of cheesecloth and bales of shredded aspen needed. Every motion was planned down to the last detail.

When they placed the first ad for “unskilled” seasonal workers, only women applied. Some were Anglo and one was Mexican, the first of many Mexican women who worked there. No one cared if they were illegal, had green cards, or were born here.They exchanged ideas on life and families as they worked together making the pads, laughing and talking.  Heating and Cooling service men would stop by for parts and pads and kid around with the workers. Of course, they had to keep it quiet down if the Spanish program was broadcasting the daily soap opera.

Ernestina, the original Mexican lady returned to work year after year. In the off season she worked at Phoenix Linen supply. Her husband worked a seasonal job at Anderson-Clayton cotton gin. They were raising four children in a home with a dirt floor and outside shower. All four kids eventually graduated from ASU.

Most of the Anglo women who applied only worked one season for something special they wanted to buy for their home. Nellie, the second Mexican lady,  came the second year. She worked at a bathing suit factory in the off season. She made fresh tortillas every morning for her family and always brought some to share.

One Black lady was their shaker for a few seasons. She shook and fluffed the damp excelsior so the women could grab loose handfuls more easily. They never had another shaker as good.

Mom hurried from the customers up front to the back room helping and supervising the women.  She made them fresh coffee at break time which she served with liberal doses of her views on morals, democracy and whatever she had baked the night before.

As years went by the Anglos went on to better jobs and more Mexicans women answered their ads. Mom eventually learned some Spanish and they learned English.

By Labor Day, the season was over. Come the New Year, the help wanted ad ran again and the chance for honest labor was offered: No matter what your ethnic background or legal status. No one cared.

“Who Had Time to Cook?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Some times a trip to the grocery story can bring back warm memories. Just a hint of a scent can evoke a reminder of a dinner in your childhood.

I  passed by luscious ripe Strawberries yesterday and was instantly  reminded of dinners we used to have when I was a kid on a little farm in West Virginia. I say dinner, because that was exactly what we had. Strawberry short cake…… All we wanted. During the peak of Strawberry season we picked and picked and picked. Mom would take time out to make pie pans of sweet biscuit, slice them thru, pile sweetened berries on one layer and then put  the other half on top and add ladles full of more berries…..all we could eat. What a wonderful dinner!

Of course, another one item dinner that I loved was in sweet corn season. My mother would pick a bushel of corn from her garden and boil them for dinner. She had a strict rule. “You boil for three minutes and not a second longer for the best flavor. Just enough to cook the milk inside the kernels.” Then she would always add, “Most people cook their sweet corn way too long!” We ate those delicious ears with her fresh churned butter dripping down thru our fingers

Monday was laundry day. If she was real tired we got her stewed tomatos and bread. NOT A FAVORITE OF MINE. But I have to admit it wasn’t as bad as an occasional dinner a friend of mine from Tennessee told me about. She still had nightmares of a plate full of Collard greens. That was it. Nothing else and she couldn’t leave the table until she ate every bite. .

Ken used to talk about childhood dinners of fried Okra. I wasn’t familiar with Okra, but when I tasted his mother’s, I liked the crunchy, nutlike flavor. He also remember dinners of a big glass of milk and chunks of cornbread to drop into it. That I didn’t try.

We both remembered when dinner consisted of a big pot of beans. A ladle full of beans over a slice of buttered bread was delicious. My mother’s were the big butter beans and since he grew up  in West Texas, his mother’s were pinto beans.

Probably what we all remember best is the happy feeling of sitting at a dinner table surrounded by people who cared for you!

TAKE A STROLL DOWN MEMORY LANE

by

Gerry Niskern

Are you tired of political conventions, Covid reports and climate news. Take a break and read about life in the l940’.Here’s a Snapshot.

Back in the 40’s Phoenix had a vibrant downtown. You went downtown to buy your cloths, shoes, or for entertainment too. That was it. No Arrowhead, Desert Ridge, Biltmore Fashion, etc. There were several movie theatres, departments stores and best of all for a kid shopper, there were three five and ten cent stores: Kresses, Woolworths, and Newberrys.

The northeast corner of 1^st Avenue and W. Washington in downtown Phoenix is now part of Renaissance Square. Pink granite pillars with brass trim adorn the premises.

When I was growing up in Phoenix in the l940’s, Newberry’s five and ten cent store stood on that corner, always bustling with shoppers.   Regardless of your mode of transportation, streetcar or bus, everyone who went uptown eventually dropped into the variety store that carried everything. Newberrys was an early version of K-Mart or Target for shoppers in the valley, only on a smaller scale.

My cousin worked behind the candy counter after school.  She remembers the Native American women who sold their pottery and jewelry on the sidewalk along Washington coming in to buy the orange marshmallow cookies by the pounds. They were a favorite of mine too.

Walking home from Phoenix Union we stopped in  Newberrys to buy sheet music of the latest popular songs from the lady in the basement who was playing the piano to demonstrate the top hits.

A few years later we went back to  Newberrys to purchase Christmas tree ornaments for our first tree. I also found a small crèche that still graced our living room  years later during the holidays.

My resident historian and I also went to Newberrys for our baby’s first little  pair of shoes. The infant department was in the basement too. If it hadn’t been for a kind-hearted saleslady showing us the right method, we would have never managed to get those white high tops onto those stubborn, little feet. Hint: You have to go at it sideways!

My resident historian always said that  Newberrys  carried the best selection of model airplane kits in town. He loved to tell the story of once, when he was around ten years old, he had saved two dollars for a new airplane model. He didn’t spend a nickel on the streetcar, and walked uptown instead, in case he needed every cent for the long awaited purchase. He clutched his two dollar bills as he browsed the model counter. If he was lucky, he could find one there with Balsa wood. During the war it became scarce and the model companies started substituting harder woods. It was really a banner day when the store had a shipment of straight pins. they were great in constructing the planes. When he was ready to make his purchase he suddenly realized that he didn’t have the two dollar bills in his hand. He frantically searched everywhere. He finally gave up and headed home. Needless to say, he walked. He used to laugh and finish the story by saying,  When he was  driving by years later and they were demolishing Newberrys he said he wanted to yell, “Hey, if you find two dollars, they’re mine!”

“Do You Have Any Green Stamps?”

By

Gerry Niskern

The other day someone asked, “Do you remember S & H green stamps? Of course, I remember.

The first thing that comes to mind is Disneyland, but I’ll get back to that later.

Way back when I was a kid, and the earth was still cooling, my mother saved green stamps. The Sperry and Hutchinson company gave out the green stamps in partnerships with many supermarkets, gas stations and department stores.

The stamps were rewarded with the purchase from a business and based on the dollar amount of the purchase. Some stores enticed people in with double stamp days. The stamps were pasted into collector books that could be redeemed for valuable items from their catalogue or an S & H store.

One summer our family of five and my sisters family of five went to the Magic Kingdom entirely free. It took 39 books of stamps for each of our families to exchange for certificates that entitled each one a deluxe 15 ride package.  We had saved for months and our mother chipped in to help out. We were still there at midnight for the fireworks when Tinkerbell flew across the sky and tripped the display. Our kids, all grade school age, had the time of their lives.

Of course, I have to admit, my first trip to Disneyland was sans kids. We hired a sitter and headed to San Diego one summer. “Let’s drive up to Orange County and look around,” my scheming husband suggested one morning. When we reached Anaheim he said, “Oh, look over there, at that little mountain. Do you think that is the Matterhorn at Disneyland?” When I responded, well, maybe it is!

Then as he intended all along, we spent a day at the Magic Kingdom. It was great.

The next summer, we took our two, five and seven year old. They loved it, but they made sure that every place we ate they told the waitress that they were going to Disneyland and with  sad faces added, “They went last year without us!”

Of course, now you have to take out a small loan to make the trip to Walt’s World. There was a lot of satisfaction back when a whole family could have the adventure of a lifetime free; all on S & H Green Stamps.

“Do You Have Any Green Stamps?”

By

Gerry Niskern

The other day someone asked, “Do you remember S & H green stamps? Of course, I remember.

The first thing that comes to mind is Disneyland, but I’ll get back to that later.

Way back when I was a kid, and the earth was still cooling, my mother saved green stamps. The Sperry and Hutchinson company gave out the green stamps in partnerships with many supermarkets, gas stations and department stores.

The stamps were rewarded with the purchase from a business and based on the dollar amount of the purchase. Some stores enticed people in with double stamp days. The stamps were pasted into collector books that could be redeemed for valuable items from their catalogue or an S & H store.

One summer our family of five and my sisters family of five went to the Magic Kingdom entirely free. It took 39 books of stamps for each of our families to exchange for certificates that entitled each one a deluxe 15 ride package.  We had saved for months and our mother chipped in to help out. We were still there at midnight for the fireworks when Tinkerbell flew across the sky and tripped the display. Our kids, all grade school age, had the time of their lives.

Of course, I have to admit, my first trip to Disneyland was sans kids. We hired a sitter and headed to San Diego one summer. “Let’s drive up to Orange County and look around,” my scheming husband suggested one morning. When we reached Anaheim he said, “Oh, look over there, at that little mountain. Do you think that is the Matterhorn at Disneyland?” When I responded, well, maybe it is!

Then as he intended all along, we spent a day at the Magic Kingdom. It was great.

The next summer, we took our two, five and seven year old. They loved it, but they made sure that every place we ate they told the waitress that they were going to Disneyland and with  sad faces added, “They went last year without us!”

Of course, now you have to take out a small loan to make the trip to Walt’s World. There was a lot of satisfaction back when a whole family could have the adventure of a lifetime free; all on S & H Green Stamps.

“School’s Starting Already?”

By

Gerry Niskern

During  these Covid days, nobody knows when or if their kid’s school is starting this year. Nor do they know if they even want to send them. Some time back, I wrote a column about the first day of school.

Starting first grade, I remembered crying at lunch for the first two weeks; but my husband remembered getting a whipping first day of first grade for being what the teacher decided was a “smart aleck”!

Here’s the original column:

The first thing I always think of when I hear that school is starting is “It’s time to get a Big Chief tablet and a new pencil.”  Okay, now you know I started school in the Dark Ages!

I once asked a few people of various ages “What is the first thing that pops into your mind about school starting?” Here are some of their answers.

One five year old in my family who was  eagerly waiting to start Kindergarten said,” I think I will learn to read,” and after a long pause, “And I think I will be thinking a lot.”  I posed the question to his little sister who was starting Pre-School, but she “took the fifth!”

A granddaughter  in middle school looked surprised at my question and answered, “Why, that’s easy. The first thing I always think about school starting is now we can go shopping for clothes.”

One fifty-something in our family answered. “I remember my first thought when I started first grade was, “I’ll get to ride the school bus with the little red-haired girl. Maybe I’ll get to hold her hand.” He continued, “I did; but after school started she got her long hair cut and I didn’t want to hold her hand anymore.”

An 89 year old friend said when school started each year, “ I worried about getting all my books. I prayed they hadn’t changed the texts so I could use the ones my older sisters had. Then off I went happily in my sister’s hand me down dresses too.”

A friend who has taught Kindergarten for many years answered. “That’s easy. Crying children; I call September the crying month. Only a third of my kids have had pre-school experience. The parents are actually the biggest problem. If they would  say goodbye and just leave!”

My friend, a retired teacher who taught mathematics to seventh and eighth graders for years said, “Now when I realize it’s time for school to start again I think, great. I don’t have to go.” And then he added, “Tennis anyone?”

Can you pick a good one?

By

Gerry Niskern

Watermelons, Honey Dews, Galias, Tuscans, Casabas, Cantaloupe. They are all in the supermarkets right now. Do you know how to pick a good one?

When it came to Watermelons my mother had a tried and true method. SHE MADE THE PRODUCE GUY “PLUG” ONE! The tool he used was a long, sharp, circular knife that he plunged deep into the center of the melon. If the long sphere wasn’t sweet enough, mom didn’t buy it.

Regarding Cantaloupes, she always said to “press on the opposite end from the stem site.” It should feel slightly soft and a little springy.

Speaking of Cantaloupes, the family ‘s favorite. But wait, was it dessert or a side dish at dinner?

When we were newlyweds the cantaloupe debate started. Being a W. VA girl, I always had the two halves of Cantaloupe cleaned and ready to serve after dinner for dessert. My husband, a West Texas boy, was used to his mother putting a heaping platter of sliced Cantaloupe as a side dish with the meal.

One day he got so tired of me being stingy with the Cantaloupe he took the advice of a friend of where to get plenty of the ripe melon. He proceeded to take his pickup out on Grand Avenue to the packing sheds. All you had to do was back your truck up to the loading dock and they would dump the bed full of Cantaloupe that was too ripe to ship. Several times during the season he brought home a truckload to share with all our neighbors.

They were delicious!

“Sounds of Summer”

By

Gerry Niskern

SOME OF THESE YOU WILL RECOGNIZE AND THEY IN TURN WILL REMIND YOU OF OTHER FOND SOUNDS OF SUMMER.

Do the sounds of summer take you back to memories of childhood?

Sometimes the charisma of summer is all in the sounds. Try to recall the sound of the water drops hitting the dust as the field was watered before the first pitch of the Little League game. And after the first pitch came the crack of the bat. You can hear it now, can’t you?

After the game, nothing was better than hearing the ice tinkling in the ice cold lemonade unless it’s your first crunchy gulp after a hot game. Or how about the merry sound of the Ice Cream man’s chimes and you knew soon that cool ice cream would be sliding down your parched throat.

When I was growing up near the State Capitol, there used to be a family on West Jefferson, around 11^th Ave. that sold the best watermelons in the whole valley. They kept them cold in a large, soda pop cooler. Mom’s

thumbs beat deep thuds as she tapped the  melons.  Later, at home when she slid her big knife in the dark green skin, her choice melon split apart with a loud ripping sound. It was heaven.

Inside the house, the whir of the evaporative cooler motor meant a welcome breeze. Of course if the cooler wasn’t doing too well, in high humidity, that meant we were in for one of our monsoon storms.  The shattering snap of lightening and deep growl of thunder, even today, reminds me of the neighbors who slept in their backyards on hot nights. They had to run for cover many a summer night after hearing the drumbeat of the rain come marching across the yards.

Sunday afternoon meant family picnic time at Riverside Park down on South Central Ave. We headed for the sounds of water splashing and the shrieks of kids as they

became airborne off the huge slide and landed with a scream in the pool.

After a cool swim, the sputtering and popping of roasting hot dogs mingled with the sounds of a snap and hiss as dad opened bottles of Barq’s Root Beer, Orange or Strawberry pop.

The summer week was complete.

A SPECIAL PLACE

By

Gerry Niskern

This is one of the special places that I miss terribly. One of the spots that I can’t go because of the Covid-19. I wrote about this favorite gathering place in Central Phoenix before they remodeled, but you will still recognize it if you were a “member of the club”.

If you pull into the parking lot in the summer time, on your way to this special place, it’s good to see the plumes of misty water billowing out under the patio overhang. The old green hedge embraces the area, and they give a nice cozy shield from cars and noise after you find a table.

The old stucco store front is dusty and scarred with chairs bumping against its walls. It has a shaded concrete area the length of the store containing black wrought iron tables and chairs that have been around, seem like,  since Arizona became a state.

If you are hoping to catch a few rays you can sit in the extra space out front. But if you desire a spot in the shade, it’s a good idea to put your newspaper, water bottle or some thing to stake out a table before going inside the swinging doors to get something to drink.

The pigeons who have had standing reservations for years are watching for you. They know the crumb droppers and pass word along the network, “Here comes the messy eater. Slow down, boys.  There will be plenty for everybody. The muffin crumbs are tasty, but so are the donuts. Wonder what she’ll get today?”

All the food is good, breakfast or lunch, but the thing that makes this place special is the feeling of belonging. Some people have been coming to this patio for years and they know they will be greeted and drawn into a conversation sooner or later. During the past two years, for me and many others, it’s  been my “ home away from home.”

“Don’t worry, the rain is coming”

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s late this year, and worrisome. We usually have a first big storm by the Fourth of July. But, relax, it’s coming, and it always comes with a bang! Here are some memories of past wet summers. Enjoy.

One day, years ago it was raining so hard I could hardly see them out on the sidewalk. One toddler ran by, laughing, the feet of his soggy sleepers slapping the pavement. Little brother came into sight; his drenched diaper, laden with rainwater, dragging behind.  Big sister in pink pajamas led the parade of upturned, wet faces squealing with the joy at the rain that had finally come after a long period of despair.

That year, in the late l950s’, the residents here in the valley had waited months for relief from the drought. On the days  my children ran outside barefooted the pavement was scalding. The dry grass stubble was prickly and so were tempers. Respite came, as always,  sometime in July.

We have had years of drought and years of unbelievable rains. That summer, before the rains came, the huge dust storms,  the weathermen now call them Haboobs, left an inch layer of dirt on the bottom of everyone’s pool.  The kids begged to swim, so I became an expert at pool vacuuming…every single morning!

The thunderstorms that sometimes come tearing thru the valley create havoc, but just manage to give everyone’s grass a good soaking. It’s hard to believe, but sometimes we do get too much precipitation.

Years ago, when I was a kid, the rain finally came and drenched the parched ground, but didn’t stop.  The Cave Creek Dam finally broke. The railroad tracks along Nineteenth Ave dammed the water. The residential area around the Arizona State Capitol building had heavy flooding. We kids, in the blissful ignorance of childhood,  just enjoyed riding our bikes through the knee high water flowing curb to curb in the streets. We didn’t realize that most of the businesses were sandbagged and the Capitol basement had flooded.

We were even treated to our first look at an U. S. Army amphibious vehicle. The Seventeenth Avenue underpass was flooded too and the kids all watched in awe as a group of soldiers came down the street and drove right through the deep water.

I’ll never forget my dad returning from hiking alone on South Mountain. He was caught in a downpour so hard that he said, “I couldn’t see or breathe. I was really beginning to panic!”

I remember a neighbor at that time telling my folks, “Back in l938, the Salt River really overflowed its banks. The Central Avenue Bridge was holding the water back and all of central Phoenix was in danger of being flooded. Just as they were ready to light the fuse to dynamite the bridge, the water started to subside.”

One other summer, when my kids were in their teens, we lived in a different neighborhood and the rains were again unrelenting. The ground was saturated and one Saturday morning police drove through the area shouting on loud speakers,  “Attention, Prepare to evacuate!”  Arizona Canal above us was starting to overflow its banks

The rains this summer won’t end the drought, only heavy winter snows do that; but as always, they will surely nourish our spirits.

Meanwhile, the scent of wet creosote bushes on the mountain above me, mixed with the pungent smell of desert grass below will be like heaven as I watch the rabbits and quail scurrying for shelter from  the rain that is sure to come soon.

“Arizona River Cruise Line”

By

Gerry Niskern

This was from a column of mine in the Arizona Republic a few years ago: A Fourth of July weekend.

Is your family thinking of taking a cruise this summer? Have you sent for all the brochures and picked out an interesting itinerary? Before you make any hasty decisions, let me suggest you commemorate the Fourth of July with an Arizona River Cruise.

The residents and visitors of Phoenix have been tubing down the Salt and Verde Rivers for a long, long time. Before all the dams were built, the two rivers flowed wide and full. As soon as there were old patched inner tubes available, there was a way to cool off in the Arizona heat in July. Before Resorts or even RV’s, Arizona families used to spend their vacation camping along the rivers.

Unlike the mandatory fashionable wardrobe for an ocean trip, let me describe the proper attire for a river cruise.  No matter which river you choose, you will need a bathing suit, a pair of cut off jeans; (to keep your backside protected from submerged logs and sharp rocks.) You’ll also need some old tennies, sun block, sunglasses, and a hat. The tubes heat up in the Arizona sun, so a towel to drape over the sides is a good idea too.

Typically, when our extended family took their 4^th of July cruise on the Verde River every summer,  it went something like this.

Grandpa couldn’t swim so he didn’t join floating party. He trucked the inner tubes to the river and met us down stream at the end of the day. Grandma’s Romel style straw hat had a bill. She wore it like the general when she directed the launching of our summer river cruises.

In the middle of July, it wasn’t necessary to be a good swimmer, just a strong walker. You were always glad you had your tennies on when you had to swing your leg down inside the tube and push off against the rocks if you were grounded. In no time at all, you would be bobbing along with the current.

Our kids, along with their cousins, wiggled into their tubes, clomped down the muddy bank and with a whoop and a holler, were on their way.  They delighted in the heady freedom of being allowed to go on ahead of the grown-ups.

The water was pure and cold. It felt like melted snow against our hot skin as we floated away, one by one.

We cruised the low, clear river over water sculptured rocks in ever changing moods and colors. As the desert glided by, we passed Mesquite, Palo Verde and an occasional stand of giant Cottonwoods, their green and yellow foliage hanging over deep green pools.

Invariably, as we floated by, we were ambushed by a band of river pirates dropping from the branches above. Waves swamped our river craft and grinning kids who looked familiar popped to the surface.   Sooner or later, one of the river pirates asked grandma for a safety pin to hold up his bathing suit; or another needed a Band-Aid. Grandma provided the items without fail from her waterproof plastic purse. You name it, she had it.

We floated on past little hidden pockets of lush vegetation. Blue herons swooped above the trees and settled on their skinny legs in the shallow water. Meanwhile, the strong, sentinel mountains held the brooding July thunderheads at bay.

Later, we sailed into a deep, green pool. Shouts and splashes echoed from the nearby cliffs as kids cannonballed off huge rocks. Tiny rainbows arched through the sprays of water.

One uncle always took along Sparky, their family dog. On one trip, he decided to let the little pug enjoy the river because, according to him,  “all dogs know how to swim”.  Sparky immediately sank like a rock in twelve feet of water. While his wife screamed, he abandoned ship and dove repeatedly, finally saving the drowning dog. Later, when it was time to drive home, he realized that now, instead of Sparky, his car keys and billfold were at the bottom of the river.

In late afternoon, we rounded a bend and saw the orange sunset reflecting off grandpa’s glasses as he stood waiting at our rendezvous point. The river moved swiftly there, so the men hauled themselves out of their tubes and waded us in.

Soon the smell of hot dogs sizzling from supple sticks filled the air. Damp towels hung like limp capes from kids’ shoulders while we listened to the ripple of the river, chirps of crickets and an occasional owl.

The moon rose cool and bright we reluctantly packed up to go home. We knew we would be back to celebrate another Fourth of July on the river that enticed us again and again.

How soon can you pull your wardrobe together for an Arizona River Cruise?