AFTER RETIRING TO TUCSON MY “MENTOR” BECAME JOHN FIFE

Upon arriving in Tucson I knew that my full-time teaching career was over. Even though I began teaching at Pima Community College right away I never developed any real lasting friendships with other faculty members there. My closest “colleague” connection was with Rev. John Fife. He was my Pastor at the Southside Presbyterian Church right from the start and served as my number one “colleague” for a good many years. John had come to Tucson after studying at Westminster College in Pennsylvania and Pittsburg Theological Seminary, John took over as Pastor of a tiny Native related Presbyterian Church here in Tucson.

Over the next decade and more he became the driving force behind the so-called “Sanctuary Movement” based here in Tucson seeking ways to bring Central Americans to the US who were escaping war and violence in their home countries.  In the 90’s the Sanctuary movement grew into a movement focusing on the US/Mexico border. The United States government was not only allowing, but was strongly encouraging US manufacturing companies to exploit Mexican workers who were working in their factories just over the border basically as slave laborers. The Government took John and his colleagues to court over this activity, found them guilty but suspended their sentences.

The “Sanctuary Movement” continued to work and eventually some laws were enacted to partially curb the flagrant violations of these US companies, but the economic pressure on the Mexican workers continued apace. My wife Mari and I worked with the BorderLinks organization for several years seeking to educate US citizens about the horrific working and living conditions being endured by the Mexican workers. John Fife stood by both the Sanctuary Movement and BorderLinks in their efforts to educate and alter these conditions and processes.

Some US Governmental steps were enacted, but very little was actually changed. Many US Citizens came to the Border to see for themselves, and many supportive contacts were established. 

In the 80’s John was nominated to run for the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church, USA because of his consistent stand on behalf of the victims of the atrocities committed on the part of the US Government. In fact, John won the Moderatorship in a landslide. As part of his commitment to these issues, while touring Presbyterian churches throughout the country John insisted on staying in homeless shelters and travelling exclusively by public bus. His Moderatorship had a wide and lasting effect on the presbyterian Church at the time. You can see why I was and am proud to consider John as one of my colleagues, indeed, mentors, during my time in Tucson, AZ.

Our relationship with John and his wife Marianne went beyond “business”. We travelled together on skiing trips and ate together at our homes quite frequently. We also watched and rooted for the University of Arizona basketball team, especially the year they won the national Championship. Very importantly for me, during our ten years at Southside Presbyterian Church I taught Adult Education and John was one of my most earnest “students” and supporters. Our paths have drifted apart in recent years, but I still regard John as one of my special partners and teachers. I wish him ever so much well-being in his retirement.                        

      As a kid I lived with my single Mom in Bellingham, Washington. It was during the Great Depression so times were tight and tough. At that time my Mom ran small downtown cafes. Previously she had managed to get by peddling home-made sandwiches to beer parlors and pool halls. When not in school I spent my days finding places to explore and play. Places like the town dump, back alleys, upstairs parking lots, and the halls of the hotels in which we lived. I was the only kid living in the downtown area so everyone knew who I was without me knowing almost anyone.

            My first “family”, aside from my somewhat present Grand folks, were the people, mostly women, who worked for my Mom in her cafes. In the hotel coffee shop, there was the chief chef Art Smith, and his wife Evelyn. They sort of took me in during my after-school hours and saw to it that I was fed. Art contracted TB and had to spend a year in a sanatorium in Seattle 100 miles away. I remember accompanying Mom there to visit them several times. Art and Evie had become really good friends of ours, even though I was too young to appreciate them.  

There was also Helma, a cook and a baker who always had something special for me to eat whenever I came bye. Helma worked for my Mom for twenty years at three different establishments. They had become good friends. On my way to high school Helma always had a warm, healthy breakfast waiting for me. While I was in high school a guy my Mom had hired as a second cook, named Bob Wilcox, had come directly out of the Army where he had been a cook. Bob became a kind of substitute father for me, one who listened to my adolescent woes. He even helped drive our high school track team to a big meet in Seattle.

During my teenage years I was befriended by some older men who had formed a City League basketball team sponsored by the Bellingham Beverage Company. While hanging around their games at the Junior High gym I was befriended by them and they asked me to be their waterboy. I was flabbergasted with pleasure and soon had a fulltime group of new friends. The team was comprised of former high school players in the area and they usually won the City Championship. Of course, I showed up for every game, handing out towels and water bottles when appropriate. My main friend was Earl Nordvett. 

These guys became yet another substitute “family” for me as a teenager. The county amateur championships were played at the local college gym and our team won them easily. By then a former high school and university star had joined the team. Because we won the city league games we qualified for the State Tournament in Seattle. By that time I was friends with all the team players, two of whom worked for a large local market and delivered products to my Mom’s café on a daily basis. They all knew me as “Virginia’s Boy” Jerry.

I was flabbergasted and greatly honored when the team asked me to go with them to the State Tournament in Seattle. Two cars, eight players, and me went to Seattle the next morning. I was so pleased to have been asked to go along that I was bursting with pride. Unfortunately, our team lost a close game and that was the end of the season. We drove back right after the game in quietness. These guys had become another surrogate family for me.

In fact, one of them worked for the local professional team, The Fircrest Dairy, as the guy in charge of tickets. One day he asked me if I would like to be waterboy for the famous Harlem Globetrotters Basketball team when they would play our local professional team. Of course, I did so, and it was one of the high points of my young life. Sitting on the bench with the likes of Goose Tatum, Ted Strong, and Marcus Haynes was beyond my wildest youngster’s dreams. Here again, my surrogate family had provided me with friendship and joy.

I guess the main take-away from these musings is that sometimes “family” is where you find it. I know my Mom did her best to help me through these difficult early years, but without “a little help from her friends” things would have become very much worse for me in my early years. Many years later when I went back to see my Mom’s very first little café, it was empty except for an older lady sitting in the back booth. When she saw me come in she said to me: “Are you interested?” because unbeknownst to me the place was for sale. “No,” I answered, “my Mom used to own this place.” “Oh, you’re Virginia’s boy.” That said it all.