Snowballs With Syrup
Copyright 2020 by Terry Mulcahy
I do not remember the exact dates, my parents moved one last time as
a family in 1960, when I was about to turn ten. The snowball stand
existed for two or three summers between 1961 and 1966. Our parents
taught us how to make the sugar syrup. They bought our first set of
flavor concentrates to help us get started. We added more as our
business took off.
it feels like I have a snowball's chance in hell of remembering
events from a long, long time ago, but I still remember building and
running a snowball stand with my brother John. Summers in Baltimore,
Maryland are as hot and humid as a rain forest. Not only does the
Chesapeake Bay intrude directly into the heart of the city, but the
ocean is only a hundred miles away. Hurricanes have hit Maryland
often over the years, bringing heavy rains and flooding. Ocean storms
bring lots of moisture all the time. So, before air conditioning,
summers in Baltimore left us sweating buckets in the sweltering heat.
Our parents, happy to have us all, were nevertheless always broke
providing food, clothing and medical care for seven children. We
survived OK. There was always food on the table, even if,
occasionally, it was only potato pancakes.
of us were over-fat or undernourished. We all walked a couple miles a
day for school, and played, bicycled and climbed trees the rest of
the time. But summers – summers could feel like trying to walk
under water. We craved relief. Sodas were good, and although cheap,
not a regular part of our parents’ shopping list. But there was
plenty of water or Kool-Aid, and occasional watermelons. But my
brother and I also wanted to make some money. Watermelons grew too
far away, and everybody had their own Kool-Aid. In winter we shoveled
our neighbors’ sidewalks, usually for small change. Most people
cut their own lawns, and John and I had to cut ours, but it was
miserable work in that humid heat. So we went into business.
seems like it was three summers, but I can't be certain. We cooked
sugar down into syrup and added flavors to it. I tend to catch myself
now when I start to mention a "snowball" stand because no
one outside of Baltimore calls it that. People always get this kind
of dumbfounded look on their faces, and I add, "snow cones".
And only old folks know about shaved ice. Even when we were growing
up it was rarely done that way anymore: it took a lot more effort and
time. But even when there was a rival stand somewhat near, people
said they preferred our finely shaved ice over the ground stuff. Ice
shavings are smoother. We never made much money, since it was a
word-of-mouth business. People also loved the scoop of vanilla ice
cream we'd add on top for a nickel. John told me he often made a
chocolate-covered snowball with marshmallow topping for twenty-five
cents. Chocolate was our most expensive flavor.
Another problem was the sun, of course, so we covered
the ice with a bath towel. Unfortunately, if the ice was fresh from
the freezer, the towel would stick to it, so when we pulled it off,
fibers would stay stuck to the ice. Had to shave those off. I hope we
never gave anyone a snowball with towel fibers in it! We'd get a
little woozy out there sitting in the sun long hours.
it was boring sitting there sometimes, sweating, trying to read while
we waited for customers. We had built our stand in a space between
the front porch and the driveway. We had to make ourselves snowballs
to cool off. Shaving that ice had its problems though. We had to get
the block of ice out early so it could melt a little into the
upside-down bottle caps we nailed to the bench to hold it in place
while shaving. Start shaving too soon, and the block would move
around. Once in awhile it would slide right off the bench onto the
ground, then we had to scramble to clean it off. We threw the first
Old fashioned ice shaver such as Terry and his brother used.
we'd run out of ice, which meant trying to get every last shave out
of the thinning melting chunk left late in the day, without cutting
into the bottle caps. It was a long walk to the store with our wagon
to buy and haul home two big cubes of ice we'd cover with a towel all
the way home, from at least a mile away. Sometimes water would be
running out of the wagon by the time we got home. Eventually we got
the idea to freeze some tap water in big pots, since our parents had
a deep freezer in the basement. But it was only a few inches thick,
hard to get out of the pots, cracked easily, and didn't last long.
And mom needed the pots anyway.
selling was slow -- a kid here and there. But evenings! Evenings we
were busy. We took quite a few shaves across the ice with the
heavy-duty blade in our little cast metal shavers. Shave, back off,
shave, back off, shave, back off, shave, and much faster than it
takes to say that. We had strong arms. People sent their kids over to
our house to buy several at a time, because there was nothing close,
and walking a mile for a snowball was no one's idea of fun in that
heat. People drove less then. It cost money to pay off a car,
maintain it, and buy gas. Stayed hot all evening. We even sweated
lying perfectly still in bed. So we had plenty of business as long we
stayed open at night.
that brought problems too. We had rigged up a big bulb in the stand.
That brought flying insects, but snowballs were worth it. So was
making money. It also brought lots of people, so there was the bright
light and lots of noise. We lived in one half of a duplex. We got in
trouble with the other half for that. It was odd, because the other
half was where my mother had grown up. Her mother died when I was two
years old, and Granpop (or Pop-Pop), her father, died while I was
still in grade school, still an altar boy, so I got to serve that
funeral mass, and for Grandpa, my other grandfather, as well. Both
men had lung damage from either mustard gas on land, or stifling
conditions aboard ship in Granddad's case. For some reason he also
spent a lot of time cleaning the sides of his ship while underway.
Probably swallowed a lot of seawater. During prohibition he made beer
in his bathtub.
drifting from my story about snowballs, but I remember both men well.
An electrician, and a cop. Good men.
sometime after my maternal grandmother died that house was sold. My
mother had married, her brother George had joined the navy. My
grandfather lived with his other son Charles, a sailor in the
Merchant Marine, and their kids. We were close with them until
Granpop died, soon after he’d moved in with us. But, that's
as my parents kept bringing more kids into the world, we kept moving.
My birth certificate says their address was in an old Baltimore
neighborhood, on Gay Street, near the famous Lexington Market. But
they moved to Florida for a bit, which is where my grandmother died
when I was two. I don't recall where we lived in Baltimore at first
after that, but I was in Kindergarten the year we moved into a very
small house, briefly, in a development in northeast Baltimore called
Armistead Gardens, north of Pulaski Highway and east of Erdman
Avenue. I was surprised the day we drove up because the grass was so
high. John had been born a year after me, but while we lived there
Pat was born. So we moved again, to Evans Chapel Road, near the
Roland Water Tower. The first of my sisters, Kathy, was born there,
and then Karen next. I managed to complete my first four years of
grade school there, at Saint Thomas Aquinas school before we moved
again, out of room.
that was how we ended up on Frankford Avenue, between Belair Road
(U.S. Route 1) and Harford Road, next door to the house where my
mother grew up. This time we stayed put for the four years it took me
to finish grade school at St. Anthony of Padua school, and the five
years it took me to complete four years of high school at the
Baltimore Polytechnic Institute. Another story there.
on Frankford Avenue, an old crabby woman lived next door with her
middle-aged son. She wasn't happy to live next door, just a
cinder-block wall apart, from five loud rambunctious kids, and then
my parents had two more, Brian (back to boys) and then Mary
Elizabeth, aka Betsy.
asked my father once why he never used birth control. He claimed the
Church wouldn't allow it. He drifted away from the Church after my
mom had to have a hysterectomy to save her life, and the parish
priest had sanctioned it. My mom says my dad, strongly influenced by
religious patriarchy, wanted to have more kids, and had initially
forbade the hysterectomy, because she would no longer be a woman if
couldn't have kids.
that is why we had to shut down the snowball stand late that first
summer we ran it. Not due to the hysterectomy, but because of the
crabby woman next door complaining about the noise, and the light on
all evening. My parents resisted, but gave in, probably due to a
noise ordinance, and hell, we were
running a "business" in a residential neighborhood. But,
that didn't stop us.
summer was better, for us at least. We didn't have as many customers,
hidden as we were around the back of our house, since we rebuilt our
stand by the back door, and we could retreat a few steps into the
cellar when it got too hot. And, the deep freezer was right there,
with the ice, and the ice cream, for an additional cost of 5¢ a
scoop on top of your snowball -- sorry, snow cone. Someone wrote
about Baltimore snowballs recently, claiming that snowballs were in a
cup, and really, you could bring your own cup to our stand for a
slight discount, but a snow cone, he claimed, was a snowball served
in a cone. A snowball, drenched in brightly colored flavorful syrup,
even with ice cream on top, cone or not, is a snowball to me. Always
may wonder what we spent our profits on. Clothes. At first it was
socks: thick, comfortable Adler brand socks. We did a lot of
walking. Having grown up with hand-me-downs, or wearing Catholic
school uniforms until they would no longer fit, or could no longer be
patched anymore, we wanted clothes that were fresh and new without
patches – clothes we picked out for ourselves. We also bought
small Christmas presents for the younger kids and for our parents.
I am sixty-nine years old,
originally from Baltimore, but have lived in Albuquerque for
forty-four years now. I retired from working in and managing a
medical research laboratory at the Univ. of New Mexico Medical
School. I write poetry, sometimes for poetry slams or general reads,
and I write short stories. I have never been paid for a story or poem
over the years, but I’ve gotten a few poems published. I write
short non-fiction and fictional stories, along with random rants
about life, my life, or politics that I post online on my blog and
the Deviant Art site. I also take photos while hiking in the nearby
mountains, and post those.
of the message
won't know where to send it.)
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