“April Fool”

By

Gerry Niskern

April Fool!  I remember when Krispy Kreme came to the Valley of the Sun.  Everyone in the valley had been hearing about the unique Krispy Kreme Donuts that were coming to our area. According to the hype these famous donuts were like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.  There were stories in the news media about the opening of the first donut shop in the East Valley. We were promised those of us in the west and north would get ours soon.

Our envy grew as we heard the Krispy Kremes described as delicious, delectable and delightful. Friends from the favored side of town advised, “You have to taste them, you won’t believe how luscious they are.”

Well, our turn came. Krispy Kreme opened up at 83^rd Avenue and Bell road and also at Christown.  While my husband and I stood in line in the gleaming white tile shop, watching the donuts being made, a young woman came down the line offering hot donuts fresh from the fryer. We took a bite and my husband said, “They ARE good.  They’re exactly like the ones we used to buy when we were kids down on 15^th Ave., only they were bigger.  Remember that place just north of Van Buren.  What was the name of those donuts?”

The donut shop, from our childhood, was right on our way home from a long day of swimming at University Park. The smell in the air got to you long before you reached 15^th Ave. The hot, sweet aroma of those sinkers as they fried was more than any hungry kid could resist. It was actually a wholesale bakery for many restaurants around the valley, but if you knocked on their door, they would sell you a few fantastic donuts.

We took some Krispy Kremes by my daughter’s house. She said “Mom, they’re really good. But, what’s the big deal? They’re exactly like the ones the Donut Man used to sell around our neighborhood when we were kids, only the Donut Man’s were bigger.  He had a van like an ice cream man and we begged you to buy some each time. Don’t you remember the name?”

My son-in-law chimed in with the pronouncement; “You guys never had a really good donut unless you had one like I used to sell in west Phoenix when I was a kid. We kids sold them by the dozen. They came in white boxes with cellophane on the top. Believe me, that was a donut that melted in your mouth. The only problem was, it wasn’t too profitable for me because I had a dozen eaten before I covered the first block of customers. I wish I could recall the name of those donuts.”

We made one last stop with the Krispy Kremes at our Grandson’s house. His 21-month-old son enjoyed his donut with sprinkles along with his morning tippee cup of milk. He listened solemnly to our debate of the best donuts we each had eaten in our lifetime. Then he gathered up his milk cup, slipped quietly out of his chair and plucked the last donut out of the box.

I can hear him saying to his grandchildren seventy years from now. “You call these donuts. We had real donuts when I was a kid that were delicious. They were larger too.  My dad used to take me to this donut place; he carried me along the window so I could watch donuts by the hundreds rolling along on the conveyer belts and plopping  into the hot oil. I was fascinated as mysterious arms flipped them over and the other side turned golden brown. A lady came down the line and gave me a warm one in a napkin while we waited.  Now, that was a donut!  What the Sam Hill was the name of that place?”