Growing Up in Williamsport, Ohio

The Ice Box
 
We had an ice box on our screened-in back porch. I don’t know where or when we got it. It was about five feet in height and had a wooden exterior with a galvanized, painted white, metal interior. It had a long door on the right side which was almost the length of the ice box. There were metal racks inside. My mother kept butter, milk and prepared leftover cucumbers and onions, tomatoes, etc. inside in the summer months.
 
The left side of the ice box had two doors. The top one was to hold the ice. It had a hole in the bottom of it so the water could drip out when the ice melted. The bottom door contained a bucket so the water would have a place to accumulate. When the pail was full of water, it had to be emptied. All of the doors had latches so it would close tightly. 
 
I don’t remember how often the ice man came but I suppose it was two or three times a week. If we still had a chunk of ice left when it was time for him to come, Mama put the ice in the water bucket. Our water bucket was white enamel with a red ring around the top. The dipper matched. When you watch westerns and see everyone drinking out of the same dipper, that is what people did. We probably spread around a lot of germs. Ugh!
 
The Iceman
 
Our iceman was Ansel Whiteside/Whitsed. We had a card to put in the window if we wanted ice. One side of the card said 25 pounds and the other side said 50 pounds. I think Betty and I were always desperate for cold water in the summer, so we took the card and stood in the front yard waiting for him. Betty held the card up and yelled, “We want fify (sic) pounds.” 
 
Ansel drove a flatbed truck dripping with water from melting ice. The ice was covered with canvas. Ansel was a little, wiry man who looked like Jimmy Durante. He had gray hair and was wearing a white undershirt. He walked a little bent over due to the heavy load he was carrying with ice tongs. Of course, he had to walk from the street to our back porch which was no small feat. He always had a cigar hanging out of his mouth. For most of my young life, I thought ice tasted like cigar smoke. Go figure?

©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2020
Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck