The Ice Man Cometh

As a boy I never heard the word "refrigerator" even from the Yankee voices speaking strange accent over the radio. We had an icebox. Robert the iceman came by with his horse-pulled ice wagon, canvas flap pulled down in back, and looked to see from our front porch sign how many pounds we wanted today. A muscular man, he would chip off the amount, heist it on his padded shoulder with his ice tongs, carry it into the house, and put it in our ice box.

Our "air conditioner" (again a word unheard) was a chunk of chipped off ice (every house had an ice pick) from the block brought by Robert set in a pan. An oscillating electric fan (yes, we had electricity) blew its coolness across the room. It was a blessing when the fan finally turned back one's way.

We boys would follow Robert's ice wagon when we saw it on the street and get little slivers from his ice pick work. He did not seem to mind at all, nor did the horse who walked slowly enough to allow such shenanigans.

Why do these remembrances from long ago pop in my mind when I scarcely remember what happened two days ago? I know the gerontologists have theories based upon social psychological, neurological, and brain function understandings and at one point I would have made much of them. Not now. I simply find these memories to be moments of pleasure -- memories of a time when life seemed much simpler, when a chunk of ice was a marvel that brought people together in many ways.