“Thanksgiving 2017”

By

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving Carbs. Lot’s of Them!

By

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A City that Preserves its Treasures”

By

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Many Faces of Sedona”

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One of a Kind, Sunny slope High”

By

Gerry Niskern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go Vikings!

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

By

Gerry Niskern

Fall weather is coming and it’s time: Drive in movie time! I can hear some of you Millennials asking, “Drive in Movie….what is that?”

Years ago, before air conditioning, TV, electronic games and computers, drive-ins were a great place to take the family on a balmy weekend evening. In l958, there were 49 outdoor drive-ins in Arizona and now might be one. It’s debatable.

Land proved to be too valuable to the owners and the developers around the valley. So the drive-ins disappeared, one by one.

In the l950’s the Northern Drive-in was going strong. They charged per person rather than per car like some drive-ins. Of course, that meant that a teen driver had to have his buddies and their girl friends hide on the floor of the car until they got through the gate. No one was going to pay for each passenger if they didn’t have to!

When we were raising our family the Indian Drive-in was a great place to see a movie, We didn’t have to spend hours on the phone trying to hire a baby sitter just so we could see a movie. It was located at 4141 N. 27^th Ave. near the northeastern corner of 27^th Avenue and Indian School road. Burger King and a Motel 6 stand there now.

Once inside, there was always the period of adjustment where you tried to get the right tilt of the car to see the screen to everyone’s satisfaction. After that was settled, the kids wanted to head straight to the playground. Most drive-ins had a playground with equipment to keep the munchkins happy until the movie started. Of Course, the trip back to the car went right by the snack bar.

Most kids arrived in their pajamas because their mothers were counting on them to conk out soon after the first feature started. (There were always two features shown). If you wished, you could lie on the hood of your car or sit out in lawn chairs and enjoy the cool air. (Yes, there was cool air in the evenings.)

When I think about it, my kid’s daddy  wasn’t real crazy about drive-ins. At least once during every excursion he would declare, “This family doesn’t come to watch the movies, we come to demolish the car!” That proclamation was usually made after the knobs were off the window cranks, the wind-wing windows were no longer working and the visors were sagging and askew.

Actually, there was one reason he chose the Indian Drive-in over the others. Diagonally across 27^th Avenue and Indian School Road was the Air Haven Airport. That airport had two unpaved runways. He enjoyed watching the light planes dropping in just a few feet above the huge movie screen as they descended into Air Haven.

A trip to the drive-in movie during this time of year was best of all, monsoon season. The lightening show crackling above and behind the giant screen gave you two shows at once.

“The Passing Parade”

By

Gerry Niskern

I confess. I’m a confirmed people watcher. When I was a kid, taking in the bustle of downtown Phoenix on Saturday night with my parents was cheap entertainment. Dad would say, “Let’s go downtown and Watch the Passing Parade.”

So now, of course, our large valley malls are good for more than shopping; they are great for watching that “Passing Parade”. While sitting in a food court one Saturday, I enjoyed the wonderful variety of people who walked by.  I was seated behind the clown lady dressed in bright polka dots and red and white stripped stockings. She was coyly tossing her red yarn tresses, laughing at the security guard’s banter. She wasn’t selling many balloons, but hey, the security guy was already sold. Children in strollers reached their hands in anticipation of a balloon, but those with grandparents were the ones who usually received one.

The teenagers were in the majority, strolling in groups of three or four.  There were lots of both slim and chubby bare midriffs over low rider jeans on the girls. The boys wore cargo pants and lots of extra long shorts with tee shirts.  If they sported baseball caps, about half were bill forward and half bill back. The guys had hair short on the sides and the girls had long locks hanging forward, on one side.

Occasionally the tinkling of bells drew my attention to some Asian teens passing by.  Both boys and girls wore loose, yellow satin pants with lots of red fringe and dozens of tiny bells sewn all over them.

I will admit I was taken back by the guy with the girl on a leash fastened to a collar. Later on, I saw a boy with a collar on being led by a girl. It kind of makes those friendship rings that our parents objected to seem pretty tame.

You could spot the snowbirds in their shorts and sleeveless shirts on this fall day. It’s amazing how different people perceive the weather. There were lots of spaghetti straps, but just as many long sleeves on others.

The couples pushing elaborate strollers were often carrying the baby; his ride was piled with purchases. If the baby was actually in the stroller, regardless of blankets, there was at least one bare foot sticking out.  Every team in the NBA, MLB and the NFL were thoroughly represented in the attire of the little boys.

I will confess the moms-to-be with the glaringly bare, expectant tummy, joining in the latest trend is a little hard to take. I want to offer them something to cover the poor, little offspring-to-be.

Blue jeans are indeed the universal uniform. Everyone, Senior girlfriends buying movie tickets, Native Americans with their hair in traditional knots in the back and even wheel chair shoppers were denim clad.

Every so often a youth sports team passed by. No precious time to waste changing after the game; gotta head straight to the mall. Kudos to the dad I saw with three girls from a soccer team. He opened his billfold and gave them their allowance. They all synchronized their watches and went their separate ways to shop, including dad. I think it probably cuts down on the temptations when they know he is somewhere in the mall shopping too. Maybe dad was just concerned about the guys with the dog collars.

When I left, the security guard was back, hitting on the balloon girl again. The least the guy could do was buy one of her balloons.

“Hug, Anyone?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Is it just me, or has anyone else been wondering about all the hugging going on these days? It has definitely evolved into a form of greeting and goodbyes too. And don’t even get me started on all the politicians hugging everyone on the podium before a speech.

One evening a couple of years ago, I was sounding off, as I’m prone to do occasionally, about all the social hugging; and I’m afraid I hurt a good friend’s feelings. He was a dedicated hugger. When I got my foot out of my mouth I tried to explain that I didn’t mean among family and old friends. You see, our friendship dates way back to grade school here in Phoenix. The sandy haired kid that I remember was the class cut-up. I’m indebted to him for providing many a laugh on long boring afternoons at Adams School.

I learned a little about the modern hug after consulting Miss Manners. She tells us that the hug has become a new form of social inter-action. However, she does not approve of acquaintances trying to skip the preliminaries of becoming close friends before starting the hugging. So, when did all this hugging start?

I grew up in an era when men shook hands and women hugged a little, sometimes. Parents hugged their children and maybe an aunt or uncle slipped in a hug or two, but not often. I confess I was born with that anti-hugging gene. My mother loved to tell how I, as the first baby around in years, would deftly dodge the out stretched arms of loving relatives as I made my independent way around the house.

When I worked at the Valley National Bank the vice-president demanded a hug and kiss from each girl as he passed around our checks. Suffice to say that he learned quickly to just give me my check on payday; no preliminaries.

Actually, today hugging is considered very important and one of the most pressing needs of elders for social interaction. A group at the Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburg has developed a product called The Hug. The Hug uses an anthropormorphic form and behavior to impart a sense of presence. It is soft and organic and fits the human body comfortably, suggesting that when activated and communication is established it should be held in the arms.

Its main function is person-to-person communication using wireless telephony and pressure sensors. A hug network is set up with the use of a standard memory card. Once the connection is established, senders can squeeze, stroke, hug or pet The Hug, sending sensors to the recipient at the other end.

I’ve learned a lot about hugging and, also thinking before I speak. My strong  objection to the “social” hug is that it devalues the age-old meaning of the hug. The little social half-hearted hugs that I see as people part seem contrived and uncomfortable.

I don’t know if my old friend from childhood ever forgave me for voicing my displeasure of too much insincere hugging, but I know one thing. If he were here today, I would sure give him a great big hug!!

By

Gerry Niskern

.           I played my first board game, Monopoly, when I was about eight. I loved it!  I used to set my little thimble (why I always chose the thimble I don’t know) at the starting point and vowed to end up with all the property and money too. I admit it, I do like to win. I guess that trait runs in the family, because one of my grandsons used to last in a Monopoly game only until someone else landed on Boardwalk and he didn’t have a chance to buy it. The board would soar into the air and the all the hotels and little houses took flight as he stomped from the room.

Of course, we played board games with our kids when they were little and then the weekend sleepovers of the grandkids were two day game marathons.

In the mean time, we were getting together often with other couples and playing Trivia Pursuit, Taboo, 25 Words of Less, Pictionary, Telestrations, Catch Phrase, and the list goes on and on. We had one friend in  particular that loved to win so much that if we were trying a new game and she or her team didn’t win, she refused to play that game again.

Games at family gatherings three or four times a year were fun, but not often enough. Then sadly, we lost old friends the game players, one by one, but Ken and I still played Scrabble and Quiddler together and then he was gone.

My good neighbor and two grandkids played Trivia Crack on my phone with me for a while, but life was pretty desolate.

Then someone told me about the Meetup groups that played board games. I signed up and played games with friendly players and then later played Trivia with another group of great people.

Last week I was allowed to join an established group playing Trivia at Aunt Chiladas. They were very welcoming and lots of fun. And best of all, I was able to supply a couple of correct answers! With more games in my life again, the game of life is better.

“What? Flooding in Phoenix?”

By

Gerry Niskern

A map of possible flooding in the Valley of the Sun was published in the Arizona Republic and shown on local television a few weeks ago. It was suggested that this was a possibility if one of the dams should break.

As hard as it is for residents now to fathom, Phoenix has had more than its share of floods.  The valley has always had years of hard drought and then years of unbelievable rains. The thunderstorms that sometimes come tearing through the valley create havoc, but most of the time these torrential rains just managed to give everyone’s grass a good soaking. I know it’s hard to believe it, but sometimes we actually do get too much precipitation here in Phoenix.

Tremendous damage was caused by a rainy spell in February, 1890.  The Salt River, the Gila, the Santa Cruz and even the Colorado burst their banks and spread out over farms and homes along their courses. The Salt rose nearly seventeen feet above normal and washed out the Tempe railroad bridge and many miles of Southern pacific track between Tempe and Maricopa, and between Maricopa and Yuma.

Most of the homes in the lower area in Phoenix were under water. Adobe houses melted like candy. People were mired and stranded all over the territory. Cattle and other livestock were caught and swept away and ranchers and farmers had much of their tillable land gouged out and carried off.

The territory soon recovered from this blow. Bridges, ditches, railroad grades, and homes were rebuilt. No weather bureau records were kept at that time, so the amount of the three day rain was not exactly known.

Arizona’s wet and dry seasons have always been erratic, but seldom has one extremely wet year been followed by another. But that’s exactly what happened.

Going back in history, 1891 was actually the year known as the year of the great flood.

The life and well being of Phoenix depended on a plentiful supply of water from the Salt River.

Water from the river was basic to the development of the Valley of the Sun. Although sometimes the rain was inadequate, but mostly sufficient, it occasionally and unfortunately, sometimes it became torrential.

On February 18, l891, rapid snow melt in the mountains and several days of heavy rain produced a terrible flood in Phoenix. Water reached parts of Washington Street by the end of the day. More than sixty families had their swept away. Mostly adobe, they crumbled from the force of the rampaging water. Phoenix rescue workers plucked individuals from treetops and carried them to higher ground.

Fortunately, back in 1870, an early resident and the first mayor of Phoenix, John T. Alsap, had suggested a safe site for the permanent townsite of Phoenix. Located on high ground, more than a mile north of the Salt River, the site, bounded within the rectangle of Van buren on the north, Harrison on the south, and Seventh Street and Seventh Avenue was approved.

The Salt River spread out two or three miles wide below Phoenix.The rise of the Salt River surpassed that of 1890 by a foot or more, at point reaching 18 feet above normal. The Tempe railroad bridge and miles of track again went out. Telephone and telegraph lines were out leaving Phoenix without outside communication.

It melted down a lot of newly constructed adobe homes. Livestock was swept away and crops were torn out again. Again entire families sat sodden and wet in trees waiting to be rescued.

The floodwaters finally began to recede seven days later, on February 24^th. It left behind a quagmire of mud and debris. This injected new energy into the local business community to support the need for a controlled water supply to overcome periodic floods and droughts.

Unfortunately, after the flood, few real estate developers wanted to create residential areas in the southern part of the city. Most wanted to live north of Washington on higher ground and away from potential flood damage. Poorer neighborhoods grew up in south Phoenix, along with railroads, factories, warehouses and stockyards.

In more recent times during my childhood in the early l940’s, in one of those summers when we thought we were forever doomed to dust storms, but no wet relief, the rain finally came. We kids celebrated as we always did. We put on our bathing suits and ran joyfully through it. Hey, there were very few private pools in those days and not many public either. We’d take the water any way we could get it!

But the rains didn’t stop. The parched ground couldn’t hold it. The earthen Cave Creek Dam finally gave way and a wall of water hit Phoenix. The raised railroad tracks along Nineteenth Avenue dammed the water. That caused the entire residential area of  stately old homes around the State Capitol Building to endure heavy flooding.

We kids, in the blissful ignorance of childhood, enjoyed riding our bikes through the knee high water flowing curb to curb in the streets. West Jefferson street with it’s high curbs was especially deep. Our dads would follow along in the wake behind the  Estes buses in order to make it to work.

Most of the businesses, including the capitol building, were sandbagged. The capitol basement still flooded.

Since this was during WWII, there were always many army vehicles in the city. We kids were treated to our first look at an U. S. Army amphibious vehicle.  The Seventeenth Avenue underpass, about three blocks south of Washington, was flooded. Cars could not get through. Inconvenient detours around were time consuming, especially during gas rationing. One afternoon, we kids watch in awe as a group of soldier’s came down the street and drove right through the deep water and on under the bridge!

Even with the dams constructed along the Salt, there continued to be occasional floods in Phoenix. I remember listening as a neighbor told my parents about a flood in l938. “Back in thirty-eight the river really overflowed it ‘s banks. The Central Avenue Bridge was holding the water and debris back. Even though it was located on higher ground, all of central Phoenix was in danger of being flooded. Everyone went down to watch because the authorities were going to dynamite the bridge. Just as they were ready to light the fuse, the water started to subside.”

One other summer, in the l970’s, we lived just north of Northern off fifteenth Avenue. The rains had again been unrelenting. The ground was saturated and the canals couldn’t handle all the runoff and were starting to overflow. One Saturday morning we were awakened as police cars drove through the neighborhood. They were shouting on loud speakers, “Attention, prepare to evacuate.” It was kind of scary; what to take and where to go?

Fortunately, again the rain stopped and the canal waters started to subside.

Could it happen again in our valley, who knows?