Living Local: A Way of Life, Like It or Not
My folks made it a practice to buy local from day one. Perhaps it was because they were in business for themselves. Maybe it was because to be an Arizonan meant being a booster.
In any event, we had to buy local when possible. From Arnold’s pickles to Arizona Rose Flour and China Mist Tea to Poore Brother Potato Chips, if it came from the Grand Canyon state it was going straight into the cupboard of my mother’s kitchen.
Culinary creations always started with Hickman’s eggs and finished with Cochise County wine. You had to tee off with Ping clubs, hike the forests in Gortex and cool off with Cold Stone Creamery. If you were dating or thinking about impressing a member of the opposite sex, Cerreta chocolates were your best weapon.
No, we didn’t do Tazers, Rugers or Apache Longbow helicopters, but we knew they were inventions of a desert mind.
At times, we would roll our eyes at the choice my folks made. Arizona products were not always sexy. But, Arizona made worked in my favor during elementary school when I snuck a racy Alice Cooper record into the house.
Cooper’s Billion Dollar Baby album cover was outrageous and all the other kids in the neighborhood were not allow to own it. These were the days of Donny Osmond, Michael Jackson and David Cassidy. Some guy wearing makeup and holding a baby with blacken eyes was more than shocking. It was subversive and downright horrifying to my Lettermen-listening parents.
I lobbied hard on behalf of Vincent Damon Furnier, a local Phoenix boy that hit the big time. “Dad,” I whined. “He changed his name to Alice Cooper so that folks in California would take notice.”
“That kid is from Arizona?” My parents were stunned. They agreed that we had to support Arizona talent even if he was one egg short of a dozen. As in Hickman eggs of course.
From the Heart …