PLAYDATE
By
Gerry Niskern
I had a play date last week.
The kindergartener arrived with her dad. The old toy box came out and she got busy cooking on the little stove. She served us up a tasty breakfast of bacon, eggs and even decaf coffee for me! Then, even though it’s been over a year, she suddenly remembered that I had the dining room chairs you can spin round and round in.
Then it was outside for some Frisbee tossing but in the excitement of the moment she ran head on and took out the screen door. After a few tears she was fine but getting over the shock that you really can’t run thru screen doors! After Frisbee she swept the leaves off my patio, watered my plants and then we had a really fast game of “Go Fish”. She won the game, all while chair spinning.
My visitor filled my Easter candy dish with Jelly beans and promised to wait to eat some only after lunch.
During lunch, in between spins, we engaged in some school gossip. I learned who the smartest kid in her class was; turns out she is also the class bully! My playdate was real interested in hearing about the boy bullies on my school bus when I was a kid.
She confided who her “crush” was and I said that was nice that she had a boyfriend. But she replied, a little sadly, “But I’m not his “crush.”
Her Dad decided to go take a nap so we thought it would be a good time to analyze the jelly beans. She brought me the colors one by one. After much testing, it was a tough call but we decided that the white ones tasted like coconut and were the best.
She wanted to know how I painted the images hanging on my walls; “exactly how!” So we had a little discussion on the difference between acrylics and watercolors. I realized that she knows “where the funny is” when I told her about one time when a man bought one of my large paintings and put it on his car and drove away. She thought that was hilarious.
I had been waiting for some new art work from her for a long time and she did two great images for me. Even gave me long eye lashes in one! She wanted to know my full name and then sounded it out herself and wrote it exactly right! Afterwards she found the Scotch tape and put them up on the fridge for me.
On her suggestion that we “go outside and get some fresh air” I asked her to clean out my large geraniums and get rid of everything that was dead. She was working hard and doing a thorough job when her Dad came out and said it was time to go. My great-great- granddaughter, Iris Mary, had to leave way, way too soon!

“Winning Ways”

By

Gerry Niskern

Do you enjoy the baseball games in the spring and summer? . I like to watch the five and six year old girls starting softball. I remember one opening practice game a few years ago.
First up was a chubby blonde. After every pitch the umpire had to signal time out to explain she didn’t need to brush off her socks when the catcher’s scuffling threw up some dust.
Next was a redhead. She was about 34 inches high. She connected for a grounder that rolled through three girl’s gloves. She decided there was enough time to stroll to first while her dad pleaded, “no, honey, run…run!”
The gaggle of boys watching the girl’s game were falling off the bleachers laughing.
The players waiting their turn at bat weren’t wasting their time watching the game. They braided each other’s hair, traded jewelry or played with someone’s baby sister.
When they took the field, our pitcher was sturdy and low to the ground. What she lacked in accuracy, she made up in power. The other teams’ hitters had to jump straight up, three feet back or just plain run for cover as she blasted balls towards home late.
Twins, playing center and left field respectively, had softball confused with keep-a-way. When one got the ball, she ran until she was tackled by her sister while the coach implored, “Please…throw the ball.”
I remember, a few year ago, watching my granddaughter’s game in an older girls league. A sharp crack of the bat brought me to attention. They were practicing their hitting. The pitchers were sending sizzlers down the sidelines. The confidence and determination of the thirteen to fifteen year- olds was exhilarating. Uniforms were regulation, including cleats.
It was obvious when they took the field; they had found their positions.
When our pitcher stepped into the pitcher’s circle, her windup gave us an Instamatic flash of form as her right arm started up, the left glove raised too. She was the picture of grace up on her right toe as her left foot left the ground and she turned on the power in true Joan Joyce style! The first baseman stretched out and snagged a wide throw from left field to rack up their first out. Nothing was out of her reach.
One of their opponents hit a sharp grounder between short and third. The red haired third baseman dove for the ball and on one knee managed a straight throw to first base.

The few hits the pitcher gave up were quickly taken care of by the catches of the fielders. They took turns circling the ball yelling, “I got it. I got it…and they did!
It was apparent the girls had developed a keen batters’ eye. In the last inning, the redhead was up first. She strolled to the plate and whacked the mud from her cleats while the fielders moved back. She swung at the first pitch…a crack…the ball jumped off her bat for a hot grounder past third. She dashed to first and then later, a bruising slide to second to avoid a tag. Later skinned elbows were ignored as she stole third.
The pretty blonde up next hit a hi- bouncer over the pitchers’ head and got on first.
The opposing pitcher was throwing mitt dusters when the sturdy pitcher came to bat. She swung…the high ball went off as if from a rocket launcher and sailed over the left field fence. This time there was no ridiculing from the crowd of young male fans. They were on their feet as the winning runs came in…whistles through the teeth and clenched fists thrust skyward.
The hugs and hi fives in the dugout couldn’t begin to match the smiles of triumph on the faces of older women in the stands who remembered when the ball diamonds were for Boys Only!

FANNY/Memoir interludes
By
Gerry Niskern
I remember going to my Grandma’s house on Saturday just in time to see some of my uncles piling into a car, with their hunting rifles. “Someone stole Fanny and they are going to get her back”, one of my cousins said. “They have an idea of a couple of places where she might be.”
I was around six or so, but I recall thinking, “If they are not going hunting, why do they need their guns?”
Fanny was a hunting hound. My Uncle Joe brought her home when she was a puppy, but little did he realize that she was a “scent” hound and would grow into a prize hunting dog. She wasn’t real big, probably part Beagle, with white, brown and black fur. Her ears were long and no matter how many times they were pulled by the babies in the family she never seemed to mind. She loved the kids, but everyone knew her heart belonged to Joe.
Joe and my other uncles took her hunting often and she was borrowed frequently by friends because of her keen sense of smell. She was fast and agile and a champion at flushing out game. Joe always bragged that she was the best hunting dog in Marshall County. Fanny had been stolen more than once, but the men always had an idea where to look. They always came back with her.
She was allowed to sleep in the house, which was unusual since my Grandma wasn’t crazy about animals in the house. Fanny stayed around the place except when she trotted down to the high school to wait for Joe after football practice. After Uncle Joe started working at the coal mine she was right there waiting to “bring” him home when his shift was over. Then when Joe joined the navy right after Pearl Harbor she began her long wait for him to come home.
Joe was a gunner on a destroyer. His ship was in the Atlantic campaign and without any leave home, the destroyer was diverted to the Pacific Theater. Joe was gone for over three years. Of course, Fanny went hunting with anyone who wanted her, but we knew she was waiting for Joe.
Then, one beautiful fall Sunday afternoon in l945, the war was finally over and our big family was down at Grandma’s sitting on the benches and swings under the grape arbor. Fanny was playing with one of the kids. The state highway ran past Grandma’s house and there was never much traffic but on that day a large Anheuser-Buschbeer truck sped by and Fanny shot out of the yard like a rocket and was in the arm’s of the hitch hiker before the trucker could barely get stopped two whole blocks away.
Joe came walking up with his sea bag on his shoulder and Fanny in his arms.

“Magical Freedom”
By
Gerry Niskern
We moved slowly up the mountain. Then, suddenly, at the summit, we plunged straight down. The sled made another turn and I thought we would fly off the side. One more turn and I was screaming, sure I was sailing off into space; sure I was going to die.
How did I get into this predicament? Well, let me tell you.
It all started with ken coming in from work one day in l959 and asking, “ What do you say we try to get away for a few days? Do you think you can get Mrs. Garside to watch the kids on short notice? We could drive over to the coast and relax on the beach a day or two?”
I was on the phone in a flash, and as luck would have it, our sitter was free that weekend. Grandparents were put on backup notice and our “Angel of Mercy” was on the job as we pulled away waving goodbye to our munchins, aged one, four and six.
In Del Mar the next morning, my devious husband said, “Let’s drive up to Orange county and look around. I hear that area is really growing. “ As we drove around Anaheim I noticed something strange, a mountain! “Oh, look” I said, pointing at the startling sight in the center of town. “Do you think that’s the Matterhorn and that’s Disneyland over there?”
“I don’t know, do you want to go see? “ my sly husband replied. We drove closer and there it was, right in front of us, Disneyland! The happiest place on earth. “ Do you want to go in?” I was torn. I felt so lucky that we had just happened to drive by it . “But we should take the kids, “ I worried. “Look around, do you see any quilt police?” my young partner asked.
So, we two, twenty something parents, parked and bought our tickets. We were carried down main street on the joyful feeling of freedom and fun. We rode every ride and enjoyed that Matterhorn adventure more than once. Streaking down that mountain, I felt unbelievably free!

CONCLUSION: We took the kids the following summer and every place we stopped someone asked, “Where are you kids going? One of them would put on a long, sad face and pointing an accusing finger, say “Disneyland, but THEY WENT LAST YEAR!

“Winners Never Quit”
By
Gerry Niskern
“You’re not coming back, are you?” The voice startled me as I was unlocking my car and preparing for a fast getaway. A current of anger had carried me quickly out the door of my first writing class. ‘How dare them criticize my treasured family story?’ I thought. I was hurt and humiliated. ( I had a lot to learn about writing and class critiques!) I turned and recognized the pretty, brunette woman from the class.
“No, it was probably a bad idea. We are remodeling a house we just bought and I have lots of work to do on it.” I replied. “Oh, where is it? I would love to see what you are doing.”
Why wouldn’t this pushy woman just leave me alone?’ When I explained our new home was at the end of Central Avenue, up against the North Phoenix Mountains, she said, “Do you mind if I follow you home?” I reluctantly agreed.
As we got out of our cars at the top of the steep driveway the steady beat of my husband’s hammer drummed us up the stairs to the second floor. All of our white furniture was piled in the middle of the future great room, covered in heavy plastic). We learned that Mary, my new friend, had plenty of knowledge of home construction as she and her spouse, an electrician, had built more than one house.
As she talked with Ken he explained that he was doing the work of tearing out walls, flooring and putting in new baths and a kitchen himself; all this in his spare time as he was still working. She marveled at the renovations we were planning and recommended men’s names in various trades that we could use. She gave us a French door for our intended master bedroom. She cheekily volunteered her husband’s welding services in putting together a wrought iron railing and gate for the inside stairway Ken still had to design somehow.
She spotted my paintings down stairs and I explained that the lower floor was going to be my studio eventually. I was supplying several galleries and needed to get back to work soon. In the meantime I thought I would start writing, that’s why I had been in her class today. Mary
offered kindness and support. When she left, leaving us warmed by her enthusiasm she turned to me and said, “ I’ll see you in class next Tuesday Gerry.”
And the rest is history.

Retro Jacket
By
Gerry Niskern
(Memoir Interludes)

We waited. The sun was getting higher and searing heat rose from the sidewalk. I tried to find some shade up in the shadow of the building. Donna, my girlfriend, sighed, “I hope they have jackets this time.” Suddenly, the door opened and waves of excitement carried me into the store. The crowd surged thru the aisles and pushed me forward like an ocean swell down the steps to the men’s department in the basement of Korricks Department store. I was separated from my girlfriend. Cheers went up when shoppers spotted the stacks of Levis they had spent hours waiting in line in the August sun to buy,
“Here, over here,” Donna yelled as she grabbed a couple of jackets. I took one, tried it, and it fit! Mission accomplished. The Levis were three dollars and the jackets were four. Some of the “ In”girls in school were wearing them. The guys had always sported the jackets, but the trend for the girls was starting now.
The word had gone out in town that Korricks would have a shipment of Levis on Saturday. We were never sure just what would come in each shipment. But, we knew the drill. Armed with our babysitting money, Donna and I got in line at 7 A.M. on Saturday morning. When the doors opened at nine o clock everyone who had been in line was there for only one thing, Levis.
Between l941 and 45 cities in the Western United States suffered many shortages during the war. All truck and train shipping was dedicated to the war effort. The government issued ration books to every citizen for shoes, sugar and meat. A J Bayless, our neighborhood market had meat available on Saturday morning every week. My sister and I went early, around seven, to get in line. On hot summer days it was not fun, but no one complained. It was just your job. Mom, armed with the ration books, came later when it was time for the doors to open. At that point, we ran to the butchers counter and was allowed one roast, and maybe some bacon all depending on what the store had received.
Clothing, like the Levis, and yard goods were hard to come by too. When it was rumored any time that Korricks would have some yard goods, we followed the same routine. We waited in line early and then when the doors opened, my sister yelled, “forget the elevator, it’s too slow.” We raced up three flights to the third floor and secured some bolts of material while waiting for our mother to arrive on the elevator. “We should get a couple of dresses out of this.” Mom yelled over the noise of the crowd.
I looked forward to a new outfit, but nothing filled my heart with joy like finally wearing my new Levi jacket. I wore it all thru Junior Hi and High School, but only with skirts to school. They were called Levi jackets back then and somewhere along the line in various decades their popularity came and went. Actors started wearing them in movies. Then The fashion designers began calling them Jean jackets, making all kinds of changes in material, stitching and colors too. but mine was still a Levi jacket to me.
I don’t know when I let it slip away, but I’ve wished I had it back many times.
After all, it was “The Real McCoy!”

Courtship Interludes
By

Gerry Niskern
(Snippets from the Creative Memoir Writing workshop. Topic suggested: Past family history)
Suddenly, she was holding a small white card. The young fellow who had been in line in front of them thrust it into her hand as he hurried away to join his friends. Her friend Ruby grabbed it and read, “Hello, I’m Chester Craig, Who are you?”. Then, she smelled it. Eva reached for the card and asked, “Why are you smelling it?” Her petite, blonde friend replied, “Because, silly, if it smells like gasoline it means he probably has a car.”
The girls paid their admission to enter the County Fairgrounds and headed straight to the Midway. Eva loved the bright lights and the rides and planned to go on every one of them. The sound of the calliope as the carosuel spun around was drawing them in.
Eva Gunto, the young coal miner’s daughter, gave her mother her paycheck as usual after work on Friday, but this week Mom handed her back five dollars and said, “You go fair”.
The line for the Ferris wheel was long so the girls decided to stroll past the booths with games of chance. There was a small crowd and loud cheers at one spot as a lean, tan fellow was throwing winning shots at the milk bottles. “That’s Chet, the guy that gave you his card. Remember he was the star pitcher of the Moundsville High School baseball team last year.”
Later on, as they approached the Ferris Wheel again, that pitcher guy was suddenly by her side. “ Would you like to ride the Wheel with me?” Speechless, she nodded yes. Chet took hand and helped her climb the metal steps and steadied the swinging seat. Her first ride on a ferris wheel was breathtaking. As they ascended high above the fairgrounds she felt like she was looking down on the whole world. Her new friend was very quiet and she saw he was blushing as his friends watching below were razzing him.
As it grew late, the crowd thinned. Ruby pulled her aside and whispered, “Bob has a car. If you will ride in the rumble seat with Chet, they’ll take us home. Okay?”
As they reached the car Eva wondered how they would ever get into that rumble seat. She found out quickly. Chet grabbed her hand and directed her to step on the running board with her left foot and then onto a small indentation in the fender with her right. “Now, just step down onto the seat with your left foot and slid in”
The ride home was magical with the breeze in her hair and her new friend’s arm around her shoulder. The stars were warm and bright.
After many movie dates and picnics down on the river, Chet invited her to go on a Moonlight River Cruise. They would catch the ferry at Wheeling and as Chet explained “There will be music and a dinner.” The Ferry would cruise the Ohio River to Pittsburgh and return later in the early morning hours.
Eva’s older sisters came to the rescue. Sophie loaned her new mauve silk shantung dress. Sister Kathrine donated her kid pumps and Annie marceled Eva’s new short bob in soft waves with the iron heated on their coal burning kitchen stove. Sarah came over with her sparkling beaded purse to carry. Best of all, Chet had his uncle Thad’s car and they didn’t have to ride in a rumble seat!
The swing band was playing Jazz and some were dancing the Charleston when they boarded the ferry boat. Eva loved standing at the bow and watching the water part in waves in front of them. After dinner the band started some slow love ballads and she and Chester danced cheek to cheek under the moonlight. Way too soon the ferry reversed and headed back. Finally , the band swung into “Good Night Ladies,Good Night Ladies.” And they were home.
They eloped the next fall as the county fair was setting up again. They took the train to Pittsburgh and were married by a Methodist minister. He didn’t know them and they lied about their age.
The following Sunday one of the “pillars of the Methodist church”, Laura Barnhardt Craig, heard whispering in the pew behind her. “Hey, did you hear? Chester Craig and that Eva Gunto eloped over the weekend?”
Laura promptly fainted.

A snippet from my “On This Corber ” Series for the Arizona Republic

“The Big Apple”

By

Gerry Niskern

The busiest intersection in downtown Phoenix in the mid 40’s was at 2nd Avenue and W. Washington. The Wells Fargo building stands there now, but back then the old Ford hotel occupied that space. The corner newsstand at the hotel was a popular stop for the streetcar passengers waiting to take the Eastlake car to Sixteenth Street or the Capitol car heading west on Washington all the way to 22nd Avenue. If you had to transfer on your nickel ride to the Brill or Kenilworth line heading north; sometimes it was quite a wait.
The heavy set man who owned the corner newsstand, sat high above his display, smoking cigars and keeping an eagle eye on his merchandise. He carried newspapers, magazines, comic books, cigarettes, cigars and candy bars. However, the items that I remember coveting were the huge, shiny red apples he kept by the cash registrar. Those enormous apples that were marked ten cents apiece fascinated me.
On many Saturday mornings, when I was twelve, during seventh grade, I had to transfer to the Brill streetcar. I rode it north to East McDowell Road where our dentist was located in the Grunow clinic. And every Saturday as I waited for the northbound trolley I paced back and forth in front of that newsstand and agonized. You see, I usually had the dime but I also had a voice in my head. That was the indignant voice of my mother declaring, “ Ten cents for an apple…who ever heard of such a thing? Why, you can buy a loaf of bread for ten cents” You see, our family had recently moved here from a little farm in the East that had a large apple orchard and I missed that luscious fruit.
So every Saturday, I went to the dreaded dentist and then agonized while waiting for the Capitol trolley to take me home again, always without a huge, scrumptious red apple.

Let’s Pretend
By
Gerry Niskern
If you recall, I wrote about my great-great-grand daughter’s Winter Concert last week. She loves to pretend and was enthralled when she attended her first live production with her dad on Thanksgiving weekend. From toddler age she has received tiny costumes from Santa and on birthdays too. She loved pretending and stretching her creativity to act out many scenarios.
Most kids love to perform and they need to be encouraged to take part in those activities . It helps them grow as individuals and even become leaders in the future.
I’m reminded of many trips years ago of my granddaughter and her four little kindergarten friends piling into the backseat of my convertible for a trip downtown to the Childrens Theatre. We left extra early because they coveted the front row seats. They knew the actors sometimes ventured into the audience. The girls also loved approaching the actors afterwards for autographs. Imagine, “the Prince or the Frog actually talked to them1”
A few years later, at another venue, the Phoenix Youth Theatre, this time it was the great-grandkids who were allowed to kneel in front and look down into the orchestra pit and watch the musicians. Once I was urged to “come see the “ really huge guitar” as they pointed out the bass fiddle.
When one of the great- g grandsons was four and everyone was clapping at the appropriate times during the performance, he insisted on pumping his fist and shouting “whoo, whoo, whoo1”. And when it was time for his rough and tumble younger brother’s time to attend a play, I was hesitant. He went down to the floor and proceeded to sit beside an older boy in a baseball uniform. But he didn’t move an inch during “Beaulty and the Beast”. He was mesmerized. Later, when I asked how he liked it, with big eyes, he replied, “I loved it!” Even tough guys can be melted.
If my great-great granddaughter lived in my town, we would be attending every performance, but who knows, maybe some day I will get to attend a performance of hers!

A Graduation of Sorts
By
Gerry Niskern
(One topic I suggested last fall to the participants at my creative memoir writing workshop was to write about a mean teacher in their past. As I wrote along with them the thought occurred to me that kids are really being raised differently now in many different life experiences.)
When I meandered down memory lane looking for a mean teacher I found wonderful memories instead. I was in fourth grade when my family moved during Christas break from our home in the country down into the Ohio River Valley to the little town of Glendale. My parents were planning to move to Arizona in August so our time living in Glendale was going to be short.
I woke up the first morning in my new home with the sound of someone outside calling, “Gerry, Gerry, Gerry”. Mom came to my door and said “Some kids are out on the sidewalk calling for you. Get up and go see what they want.” I dressed and went outside to find a girl about my age with long brown braids like mine and a blond headed boy . Turns out that is what the kids did in Glendale. They were not supposed to knock and bother the grownups; just stand outside and call their friend’s name. They told me their names and asked if I wanted to play.
We kicked around the neighborhood and they filled me in on the school and teachers and a little gossip too. I asked if any of the teachers were mean and they answered, “just one, the music teacher.”
The day after New Years I walked the five blocks to school and found my room. What I remember most about that combined fourth and fifth grade was how we were encouraged to put on plays and skits about the history and stories in literature we were studying. To my delight there were several trunks of costumes of all sorts sitting backstage in the auditorium. We made up our own l plays and practiced during our lunch hour. If our teacher deemed them good enough. the whole school was assembled to watch. This nine-year- old never had so much fun in school.
When the end of May rolled around we had the traditional half-day, received our report cards and were dismissed early. Outside a bunch of the kids were busy planning. “ Let’s go get some stuff and have a picnic at the swimming hole at the creek.” They told me how to get there and off I went to ask Mom if I could go over to the creek with some kids and she surprised me by saying yes. I bargained with my sister to get her bike to ride over there. I don’t remember what the deal was, but it was probably doing some of her chores in exchange for the privilege of riding her two wheeler.
I put on my bathing suit, grabbed a sandwich and was off before mom changed her mind. I crossed the highway that ran thru town, pedaled down a lane and there it was, Little Grave Creek. Everyone was splashing and jumping into the deeper holes. One was deep enough for the bigger boys to show off for the girls by doing a cannonball from a high rock. Almost our whole room was there having fun chasing, laughing, doing a little flirting and playing in the creek all afternoon.
I remember feeling so free and independent and yes, trusted.