Baseball Cards and Dreamsicles
Enjoy a slice of life in America during the 1950s.
It was the spring of 1958, a warm day in May when I made a short and highly anticipated detour on my way home from school. Jim and Ruth, the Temples, owned the little neighborhood store on Hickory Street. It was about two blocks from my school which was on the corner of Springer and Sycamore.
That day, as I stood on the sidewalk in front of Jim and Ruth’s, I noticed a crack, as boys will. Carefully, I stepped over it, lest I break my mother’s back as the saying went in those days. It ran across the sidewalk, not straight by any means, but not completely crooked either. Just a plain old crack. Ants liked to use the crack for whatever it is ants do. Carrying food back to their colony, I supposed. It was a satisfying moment but my attention was drawn back to the mission at hand.
The store’s front door was a flimsy screen affair; a wood frame with a spring to close it when people came in and went out. The sturdy two-panel inner door was propped open with a wedge. Inside, was a world of pleasant aromas and little treasures that a kid could buy for a nickel a piece. I walked past the fresh vegetables, past the canned goods, and around the corner. Mr. Temple and Mrs. Arnold, Larry’s mom, were talking about something across the meat counter. The wooden floor squeaked in a few spots, even under the slight weight of an eight-year-old boy. A boy who knew exactly where he was going.
It was the end of May and already summer in southern Illinois, the season of dreamsicles and chocolate bars waiting in an open-top freezer next to the wall across from the checkout counter.
Beside the cash register, right where any eight-year-old could reach it, was a countertop display of Topps baseball cards. Each package contained a flat piece of pink bubble gum and a set of five baseball cards. This was my goal. For a five-cent investment, I might find a Stan Musial or a Mickey Mantle. Those were the best ones — the ones I would never use for bicycle clickers — you know the old trick where a kid clothespinned the cards to his bike so they rattled against the spokes like a Harley.
School was almost over for the summer, I was on my way home, and I had two nickels in my pocket. I handed them to Mrs. Temple and showed her the pack of cards, telling her “I’ll pick up a dreamsicle on my way out.” Smiling, she nodded, gave me a wink, and said, “Be good.”
I picked up the dreamsicle and jumped out the front door back onto the sidewalk. As the door slammed behind me I unwrapped my chilly treasure, and looked down, again drawn to the crack. As I took the first bite, a small piece fell off and landed right in the fissure.
“There’s a little for you ants,” I thought.
My mind was already on a game of horse with my buddy Mike as I walked the few steps to the corner, turned north, and headed home.
