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Page A3 The Joan De Arc Crusader / Wednesday, December 25, 2013 Front Page A1 / Editorials A2 / Nostalgia A4 / Crossword A5
Editor’s note: The Bueker family looks back at their arrival on the Avenue, 50 years ago this week. How we came to live on Joan De Arc By Barbara Bueker Stewart
There was no reason for me to be looking at
houses for sale in the fall of 1963. We were renting a home on Cactus Rd. in
Westown and our lease still had 7 months to run. However, on that bright day, a real estate agent appeared at our door to collect some “House for Sale” signs that had been stored in our laundry room. As we went out to get the signs, I asked him about houses for sale in the area. The kids had started at Sahuaro School and I was anxious to find something to purchase the following summer in this same area. Of course he was delighted to show me what was available. He had several new homes south of Cactus, but that would have put us in a different school zone. As a last resort, he took me to see some homes north of Westown in Surrey Heights. I was dismayed to see several houses there that were boarded up and empty, abandoned by their owners when hard times came along. The homes were built in 1960, so most of the run-down appearance was merely cosmetic – paint was needed, along with plants and some water for the trees that were still alive. We looked at the deserted home on Joan De Arc first. It was the largest model, with 4 bedrooms, 2 baths, a family room, and a large living room. I immediately saw that the size and layout of this home would suit our family quite well. The master bedroom was painted pitch black, but the house had a large backyard and a two-car garage. As I remember, the selling price was $15,000, the interest rate was very low, and the payments would be $125 a month (we were paying $135 a month in rent). And the government (FHA) would pay all the closing costs! I was sold on it. The house was closer to the school and a fairly short walk for the kids. The only problem was getting out of our lease. But the real estate man had the answer for that too. Our landlord was an insurance man, and the real estate guy promised to steer all his new homeowners in our landlord’s direction for their insurance needs. Our landlord agreed to terminate our lease, the government agreed to paint the black bedroom, and we were all set – so we thought. In the meanwhile, Carl had applied for a job with General Motors Corp. and had been interviewed. They called from Los Angeles and told him they wanted to hire him but might send him to California for an opening over there. Carl told them that we had just bought a house; they mulled that over for a day or two and then decided that we could stay in Arizona and the other guy they had hired would go to California. And so, one fine weekend in December, right before Christmas, we moved to 3219 W. Joan De Arc Avenue. Sometimes many elements must come together for things to happen in a certain way. I absolutely believe that we were all meant to live in that particular house, and so we did.
Coming to Arizona: More questions than answers By Chuck Bueker
The Bueker family set out westward from Michigan in a truck with a camper shell on the back, 20th century pioneers with no plans and no prospects beyond the idea that they would begin a new life in the wide open spaces of Arizona. This was in the summer of 1963, when John Fitzgerald Kennedy was president, Coca-Cola introduced its first diet drink, and zip codes were a totally new invention. It is, of course, the famed Bueker curse to have a vivid, almost photographic memory for all things trivial, and so these are my memories of that historic voyage. The night before we left Michigan, we attended a farewell dinner hosted by my Father’s parents in the dining room of the Mayflower Hotel in Plymouth, Michigan. It was on or very close to my 7th birthday and I was under the (mistaken) impression that this was at least a good secondary reason for the gathering. I was most impressed by the children’s menu, not for any of the food offerings in particular, but the physical menu itself. The heavy cardboard was die-cut, so that after ordering, a reasonable facsimile of a baseball cap could be fabricated whilst awaiting the delivery of one’s grilled cheese sandwich. The center of the cap was cut in a spiral pattern that formed the flimsy, yet fully collapsible crown for this inventive headgear. I adored this hat for the 24-hours-or-so it was destined to survive. The next morning we climbed aboard our modern covered wagon, waved goodbye to friends and neighbors, and set forth on our adventurous drive across the New World. It wasn’t very long before we came to the first point of interest, Battle Creek, Michigan, where as any kid who watched television could tell you is exactly where breakfast cereals come from. As we sped quickly past this hallowed ground, I removed my spiral-cut hat out of respect and peered out of the camper window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tony the Tiger. No such luck.
My mother, wondering how to keep four children occupied in a moving camper for many thousands of miles, wisely packed a few board games. The only one I can remember having with us for sure was the Mr. Machine board game from Ideal. I do not remember, however, playing much with the Mr. Machine board game and thus I am guessing that, unlike the robot for which it was named, this game was boring as hell. We did stop to view the most impressive Mount Rushmore, located in South Dakota, despite the fact that it wasn’t immediately off to one side of the main highway and it couldn’t be viewed while Carl Bueker piloted the camper past it at top speed. I don’t think my father could ever make sense of driving for any distance down a side road if he knew we’d just turn around later and have to drive back again. Chalk up the Rushmore stop as a victory for my mother Barbara. At some point in the long and boring drive across the flat and desolate Great Plains, we got out to stretch our legs. Moments later, as I was trying to regain access to the camper, apparently against my sisters’ wishes, my right thumb was rudely slammed in the camper door. A painful, swollen and purple-black digit became my travelling companion for the remainder of the trip. It was so bad that on the following day, I lost the thumbnail. Admittedly, a throbbing thumb did help to somewhat break up the extreme monotony of eastern Wyoming. After we finally emerged from the Great Plains, I could honestly say that I left a little bit of myself behind there, and I would of course be referring to the thumbnail. The next notable stop was in Yellowstone National Park, where we spent one night. I remember waiting with a number of people for the geyser “Old Faithful” to perform at its appointed time. It was apparently feeling extra old and not at all faithful that day because I don’t think we were ever able to observe a proper eruption. It certainly didn’t look anything at all like what Looney Tunes cartoons had prepared me to witness, and to this day I’m not sure that my parents weren’t just pulling a fast one on us. The stop in Las Vegas was memorable because I was caught by a casino security guard trying to pull the lever on a one-armed bandit, something 7-year-old boys were not allowed to do, even back then. My budding scientific curiosity got the best of me, I guess, and besides it looked a lot like the arm of a Mr. Machine and I was bored. After a little joking about hauling me off to jail (an experience I’m guessing the bent-nosed security guy was somewhat familiar with), I was released back into my parent’s custody. Years later I would return to exact my revenge by gambling and losing money to them while still underage. Take that, Vegas gaming industry! Eventually we ended our adventure, limping into Phoenix under a hot summer sun, perhaps a little wiser in the ways of the world than we were when we left Michigan. Not too wise, though, because we did after all end up in Phoenix in July. How quickly we were seduced by this place of palm trees, cacti and concrete teepee hotels. What does it say about this city that we all remain here fifty year later and counting? And what does it say about us as people? Perhaps these questions can be answered in another half century, because no reasonable answers exist now.
The life and times on Joan De Arc By John Bueker
We came to Joan De Arc Avenue during a very eventful time in the history of the world. I don’t think I’m exaggerating here. It’s sometimes easy now to forget just how momentous this period was. A few months before we arrived in Surrey Heights, Martin Luther King delivered his “I Have A Dream” speech at the Lincoln Memorial. Less than a month before we moved in, President Kennedy was killed. A mere seven weeks after settling in at 3219, we watched with astonishment along with 73 million other souls as a group calling themselves The Beatles stepped out onto Ed Sullivan’s stage and began their conquest of the known universe. A couple months after that, Project Gemini launched, a huge step in the American space program that would culminate 5 years later with men walking on the moon. These were absolutely amazing times, by any measure and any standard. And then we had our remarkable, more immediate surroundings. We didn’t really know it quite yet, but we had just moved to an extraordinary place. Phoenix in the 1960s was a unique city that was just coming into its own, and it was possessed of many wonders to behold. There was the curiously beautiful Chris-Town Mall, the whimsical and ambitious Legend City amusement park, the sublimely entertaining Wallace and Ladmo, incredible schools like Sahuaro, the laid-back tranquility of Encanto Park. Phoenix was in the process of transforming into a metropolis, and yet it maintained the feel of a much smaller town: slow, friendly, eccentric and inviting. The people on Joan De Arc were equally special. We were blessed with a great family, wonderful neighbors, and a joyous, nurturing environment. There was a stability and continuity in our lives there that couldn’t last forever and yet always seemed like it would. This made for a very happy life during those dozen or so years. What a privilege to live through such incredible times in such a unique place with such terrific people. Damn it was good. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ JDA
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