The arrival of the American Ice Co. truck at the corner of Barclay and 29th streets was huge neighborhood news. It signaled open season for the snowball. A nickel cup of ice flavored with root beer, orange, lime or cherry could cut the drudgery of summer and work wonders during July's torture. Made just right, with a good shot of syrup, it remains the Baltimore pleasure of the dog days.
Even though it was 1955, the ice truck looked like something out of a 1930s Warner Brothers movie. So was the corner neighborhood store, that essential institution of urban life. And though only as big as a rowhouse, it stocked a remarkable inventory. Officially named the Snack and Chat Shop, it offered pickled onions, Utz potato chips, Mary Janes (the molasses candy), malted milk balls, Hendler's strawberry ice cream, TastyKake Creamies, Camels, Chesterfields and Luckies, plus Maryland Chief canned tomatoes and money orders, too. The shop was not fancy. There was no soda fountain. Flypaper hung from the ceiling. There was a rack of newspapers, A bologna sandwich was about as exotic as the delicatessen menu got.
The owner, a man named Ernest E. Bentz, was the force behind the snowball machine. He ran an impeccable operation. He wore a clean white apron, as neat as the way he parted his silvery hair. The shop was always clean and orderly, reflecting the everything-in-its-place mentality of its proprietor. Early each morning, Ernie would be outside with a bucket of sudsy Spic-and-Span, washing the sidewalk. During slack periods in the afternoon, he'd be out with a bottle of ammonia, washing the windows.
His penchant for order and cleanliness was reflected in the glass counter that held the penny candy. He must have rearranged it three times a week.
He was definitely a figure of authority. You were not supposed to sass him. Many of the neighborhood children addressed him as Mr. Bentz, but I got away with calling him Ernie because he was friendly with my grandfather, who was one of his best customers for chewing tobacco.
The price of the basic snowball rose and fell. It never changed midseason (that would have set off a riot), but come Memorial Day, Ernie set the seasonal tariff. In a cheap year, the price was 5 cents for a small cup or tray of ice, your choice of flavors (except for the popular chocolate, which was always marked up to at least a dime). There was also a larger version. It ran about 12 cents. Marshmallow topping fetched another nickel or so.
His top-priced ice confection was a Pike's Peak, made in an extra-large cup, about the size of a small flowerpot, filled with ice and the expensive chocolate flavoring. Ernie placed the contents of a chocolate-vanilla Dixie Cup on that, then added the marshmallow topping and perhaps a maraschino cherry. It was the Woodlawn Vase of snowballs.
There was frequently a nighttime snowball mission, which I had to time just so, before I was sent upstairs to bed. Timing was important. You see, Ernie was a practical man. At closing, he didn't want to be left with a block of dripping ice or a bowl of congealing marshmallow.
If you were lucky (and arrived at just the right time), you might get a 12-center for a nickel. You might also get Ernie's "I ran out of ice a half-hour ago."
No matter the heat, it was not bad on a June night in the 1950s. The 29th Street gas streetlights would be lighted; the sycamore trees did their best to block out the reflected glare of the lights at Memorial Stadium. The neighbors would be on their porches. And I had a 12-center purchased for 5 cents.