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

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

Labor of Love

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

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

By

Gerry Niskern

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

“Are They Really Ready for School?”

by

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, the rain is coming”

By

Gerry Niskern

(This column from the Arizona Republic seems appropriate again!)

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 many years ago. 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. Baby 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, in the l940’s 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, around 1970, 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 just North a few blocks of 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.

I had a play date.
By
Gerry Niskern
Last Sunday, My great-grandkids and their friends came over to play board games. They know how much I Iove to play those competitive games. These kids are in their twenties. One is in physical therapy school, one is working with his dad in the family business, one is preparing to start Medical school in August and working as a EMT to save money, and one is a server, and “looking.” So they’re busy. Just like other members of my family and everyone’s family these days. But they take the time.
For some reason, it reminded me of Children’s Day. It used to be celebrated in June. I remember Children’s Day being a big deal when I was a kid. Special programs were held in school, church and the community. A minister in Massachusetts started celebrating Children’s Day in 1856. It was never officially declared in the United States until President Clinton designated a Children’s Day to be on October 8. I think everyone would agree that every day seems to be children’s day in today’s society.
Instead, I think we should celebrate an “Adult Kid’s” day. A day to thank and honor all the grown-up kids who help their elderly parents in innumerable ways every day. Those are the kids who call often to check in. They offer rides to the doctor appointments, pick up groceries, help with house hold problems, and best of all, they take the times to have real “sit down “ conversations.
The biggest complaint of my Senior friends is that, although they are grateful for the help they receive from their adult kids, they “never want to take the time to have a conversation. They are in and out as quickly as possible!” I can understand their frustration. I’m grateful that I have two sons that each sit down every week and have real discussions with their Mom about “everything under the Sun”. We haven’t solved all the world’s problems yet, but we’re doing better than those guys in Washington. And a grandson who checks in by phone almost every morning.
When adult children make the effort to show a genuine interest in an elderly parent and listen to their opinions it “nurtures the soul and gladdens the heart”. Sometime it is not easy to make the time but often they learn that a parent has a unique story. And they take the time to hear it, sometimes “more than once”.
So, I move that we celebrate a national Adult Children’s Day. They deserve it!

Some of you have heard this Fourth of July story before, but I think it is worth repeating and is new to many other readers.

Let me tell you a story of a little fireworks fun that went out of control in the “flash of an eye” or shall we say “of a rocket?” I’ll never forget the sight of that raging fire that surrounded our home. Many other homes were in danger on that hot night on the fourth of July.
A few young married men in our extended family had pooled their hard-earned money and sent away to other states for fireworks before they became legal in Arizona. After all, what could it hurt? They were going to be real careful.
When the sky grew dark that evening, their first rocket filled the sky with bursts of red, white and then blue stars. From what they thought was a safe sand-filled wash down below our house, the second rocket rose majestically. The third lifted off with the usual speed then, suddenly plummeted straight down the other side of the mountain!
One of the guys raced up the road to the house at the top of the mountain and down the other side. He found the tiny, smoldering fire that had started when the defective rocket hit the dry grass on the mountainside. He tried to snuff it out with his shoes. All at once, an updraft pushed the flames towards him. He stumbled backwards as the fire raced upward, singing the hair on his legs.
“Call the fire department,” he screamed down the mountain. “It’s spreading fast.” He turned on the neighbor’s garden hose and a pitiful stream of water trickled out. There’s not a lot of water pressure when you live on top.
Some of the fellows doing the rocket launching, fearing for the consequences of their activity, jumped into a car and drove off the dispose of the evidence. They threw their expensive fireworks in a dumpster and stayed away several hours. There was a lot of guilt and not too much Fourth of July fun.
Panic was beginning to set in, but cooler heads prevailed and soon everyone was grabbing beach towels, soaking them in the pool and racing back up the mountain to try to beat out the flames.
The fire truck arrived, but the driver couldn’t get the truck up the steep drive. The firemen finally hiked on up with portable equipment on their back. The slippery shale formation on the steep North Mountain slope made it difficult to keep they’re footing as they worked to put out the flames skittering through the brush tops.
The waves of heat were overwhelming. Wind gusts stoked the tinder provided by bone-dry leaves, twigs and dead branches. The fire sped towards the houses that ringed the bottom of the mountain and the homeowners worked desperately with their more abundant water supply.
“We sure want to thank you folks for helping us put out this fire tonight.” One fireman said when it was over. He pushed his helmet back from a face etched with grimy patterns of exhaustion. “Especially all you young people. I’ve never seen a group pitch in and work so furiously,” he continued.
Eyes were kept downcast as the young males in our extended family tried their best not to look guilty. “By the way,” the sweat-drenched fireman continued, “Does anyone know how it started?”
“Sure don’t”, our generous neighbor quickly answered. His home, on top of this mountain, had survived flames lapping at its foundation, minutes before.
The next morning, the black remains of mature Paloverde trees stood in mute testimony of the near disaster on the scorched desert mountain. It was three or four years before enough green foliage allowed the small desert animals to return and the sound of morning doves were heard again.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!
By
Gerry Niskern
That old saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade” I can sure relate to that.
I moved from our home of 25 years on the side of the North Phoenix Mountains where we commanded a view of the whole Valley of the Sun. I always had the happy feeling of going on vacation when I pulled up the drive and went inside to see the whole valley below thru the tall windows, or better yet from the balcony across the entire front of the house.
I loved seeing the beautiful, pastel and silvery sunrises bursting over Piestawa Peak at dawn. In the evening I cherished the fantastic golden, pink Arizona sunset many days at dusk. We didn’t have to watch the weather forecast. We knew when Glendale was getting rain, and could see the giant rolling dust storms coming from the Southeast and covering the downtown skyline before actually being warned by the TV weather lady.
We reveled in the twinkling city lights every evening and on the Fourth of July we marveled at Fireworks from a dozen towns and venues from our ringside seats on the balcony. I admit it. We felt a little superior with our “window to the world.”
But, eventually, I moved to a darling little house on the same street, just around the corner. Sadly, instead of being on the mountain, facing the valley, I was facing the mountain. No more sunrises and sunsets. My view from the backyard was cut off from Mother Nature’s colorful sky paintings by a two story house and lots of trees.
While they were lifting and carrying, the movers spotted a road runner in the new back yard. “It’s the largest one I’ve ever seen,” they said. Try as I might, over the months, I didn’t see him, but many other people caught a glimpse and exclaimed at his size. Then one day, while eating breakfast, I had that feeling that someone was looking at me. There Mr. Roadrunner was. Sitting on the sill of the living room picture window and looking at me. He stayed a while and then hopped down and ran up the street on his long legs.
Any morning that I look out back I see a little bunny or two. Seems like there is a steady crop of tiny bunnies. They always find a tasty clumps of grass to nibble on. They don’t like little carrots I provided. They hop right past them. Maybe the Momma rabbit warned them about processed food!
In the evening when I step out the front door and look up at the mountain I see tiny little hikers running around on the very top. They seem to be celebrating reaching the summit. It’s like a miniature puppet show. But before I can take a step, there, running across in front of me is a family of Quail. Papa, Mama, and dozen little fuzzy chicks in a line scurrying to catch up. They didn’t hesitate to take the right – of- way. My front yard seems to be their ancient trail.
Other evenings I enjoy watching a para-glider catching the heat thermos above mountain. His loops and swoops are fascinating entertainment.
I have to admit I’ve lived here on the desert since I was a kid, but I never really paid a lot of attention to the desert flora and fauna. I’ve been fascinated watching the giant Saguaro cactus in the front yard forming its crown of white flowers in the spring. And last year the two smaller Saguaros were given a crown of white flowers. ( Arizona’s state flower!) The Organ Pipe cactus also grows red fruit and The birds love the treat, but they have to sit on the fruit while pecking at it for their meal. It’s quite a balancing act and fun to watch them sometimes lose their balance.
Best of all, the back yard had a very old Lemon tree. It produces tons of lemons the size of small grapefruit. I’ve made gallons of lemonade and I’ve given dozens of bags of lemons away. I’ve had the chance to meet neighbors who asked to pick some as they had always done in the past.
So, if you are in the neighborhood, stop by for a glass of lemonade.
Who knows? We might spot that “ neighborhood ” Roadrunner!