Pre-Boomer Musings

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A recent conversation with a friend about the simple things from our respective childhoods led us to the subject of ice.  Yes, frozen H2O.  The stuff we never thought much about unless we hit a slick spot on the sidewalk causing us to slip and slide or maybe fall to the ground.  As we grew older we learned about the many dangers of ice, particularly when driving.  But back then, everything associated with ice was positive.  

For instance, the ice truck stopped by my neighborhood a couple of times each week until well after the end of World War II, because the corner grocer as well as several homes still had ice boxes.  I can remember the signs people placed in their windows indicating how big a block of ice they needed. 

The ice man, a strapping older man with a thick Italian accent, didn’t like us kids hanging around his truck.  Because he knew that as soon as he walked away to deliver his merchandise, we would scamper up the back of the truck and grab the biggest slivers we could find and hightail it around the corner.  If he returned sooner than expected, a big scene ensued.  He would wave the ice tongs above his head and vow to get us next time.  I won’t forget how much courage it took to participate in this adventure, even though I later found out the whole thing was simply an act on his part.

There were other sources of ice treats.  In the winter, icicles often form around the  porches and roof eaves.  It was fun to snap these off and suck on this giant, but tasteless, Popsicle.  Any specks logged in the ice where wiped off or spit out as they were encountered.  There was no way these could be harmful, since they were frozen.  At least that’s how we saw it.  The longer ones also doubled as a sword, which broke the first time it was struck during combat with a friend. 

In the heat of the summer, a man sold Italian water ice from a white two-wheel pushcart with red trim.  To keep the ice from melting too quickly in the hot and humid Philadelphia air, he covered the frozen block with a towel.  No one knew how often it was washed and no one really cared.  When he showed up, all the kids ran home and begged our mothers for a  nickel. 

With the coin clutched in our hands, we watched expectedly as the old man removed the towel from his precious ice block and ran the metal tool across the surface.  He dumped the shaved ice into the cone shaped cup and asked which of the array of flavors we wanted.  With the cones in hand, we found a shady place to sit and enjoy this refreshing treat, although we couldn’t sit on our front steps because of the mess we made by dripping the grape, cherry and other flavors all over the ground.  After finishing, we turned on the nearest hose and cleaned up before going back to play.

Of course, when the ponds froze we had fun skating and roughhousing for hours on end.  The most fun was playing hockey with homemade sticks and tin can pucks.  What great fun we had thanks to ice.           

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