The Popsicle Man

Summertime in our neighborhood meant waking up with the sun, pulling on your favorite shorts and tee shirt, gulping down your oatmeal and racing out the front door for a day of roller skating on the rough new pavement, bike-riding, pogo jumping across boards, up stairs and down, jumping off of porches and not falling fall, stilt races, tree-climbing, baseball games in the street or in the front yard, hopscotch on newly paved driveways and then everyone scattered for lunch and naps. You could always find me curled up with a book – sometimes hiding in my closet with a flashlight trying to miss out on chores - or out on the swing reading another Nancy Drew mystery – oh it was pure joy! Sometimes our moms would load us up to spend an afternoon at the swimming pool at Riverside Park way across town and then we would all come home sunburned and very very content.

But there was a time after naps in the very hottest part of the afternoon when a familiar sound could be heard by all of us waiting on the curb up and down Cottonwood Street – first just barely and then a loud blaring as it came around the corner. It was the POPSICLE MAN!!! Yay!!!! First you would hear the music playing a lively tune getting louder and louder and we knew they were on the way. That’s when we would dash into our houses and beg our moms for a nickel. Then out to the curb to sit in a row and wait. And then around the corner would come a beast of a green station wagon with the front left fender almost touching the ground because of the heavy weight inside, blasting black smoke out the back. A worn hand-painted sign on the side of this vehicle read “Tank’s Tootle Pops” and hanging out of the windows were loads of red-headed ragamuffins waving and yelling while they tumbled and tussled inside making the “tank” rock back and forth on its axis. Tank himself always leaned out of the driver’s window with his big beefy arm grabbing the side of the car as if to keep it all together. His blue work shirt sleeve was always rolled up to show off a big tattoo on his arm that looked like an anchor with a snake wrapped around it and a stub of a cigar was clenched between his brown teeth. He always had a big gruff grin on his face and as we would crowd around he would growl “to the stern my mates” and we would all race around to the back of the wagon where the window would roll down and a red headed boy and girl with dirt on their faces and big gap-toothed grins would hand out the popsicles with their grubby hands. MamaTank, herself a large and jolly woman with a sweet face and a knot of fly- away hair on top of her head would take our nickels and call out the flavors to the bunch inside: “Strawberry, O-range, lime, gerrape, bananaaaa or Ice cream bar, fudge cycle and be quick about it!” During this time there would be indistinguishable grunts and orders yelled out from Tank and then the window would come sliding down and the old station wagon would roll on down the street with a jolly tune blasting out from somewhere inside. It was great. We would all sit on the curb or roll around on the grass eating our treats while the afternoon wore on.

Early evening, around 5:00 or 6:00 our dads would all come home from wherever they worked and pull their Chevys or Fords into their drives and walk into their homes ready for supper. We were the kids of the veterans of the Great War and there were a million of us in my neighborhood – later to be labeled baby boomers. My dad and his family were builders then and they had built hundreds of 3-bedroom frame houses – each painted a different color but pretty much all alike. Our house was right in the middle and was yellow. Whenever something went wrong with their new houses, they always came to get Daddy to fix it and off he would go to take care of it. Later in the evening after dinner and the dishes were done and put away, we would all slip out in the falling darkness to play kick, the can, tag, do summersaults and handstands, and you could hear the sound of our voices shouting and squealing and the low murmur of parents on their porches talking with their neighbors over lemonade and guitar music played by my dad.

Soon the moon would rise and everyone would go into their houses one by one and the lights would go out on my street and all over Piddleton. Night would cover the town with a snug blanket of stars.

And then one afternoon something astounding happened. After Tank’s Tootle Pops were long gone, another sound occurred. It was more of a jangle of bells and horns – almost a tinkling sound. And a big white truck with a cab in front and a square back and very black tires came around the corner. It stopped in front of my house with a halt and out of the driver’s seat jumped a tall, skinny, dark-haired man dressed in a white uniform with a white flat hat that had a shiny black bill. He had black shiny shoes with silver bells on the toes and they tapped as he twirled and danced. And then with a flourish and a bow, he sang out in a high-pitched voice: “How do you do, little ladies and gentle lads? I am the Melody Man!”

We were all so shocked that nobody said a word.

“Let me show you what I have in my truck Especiallly for Youu.” And with that he began: I have popsicles - icy treats of every flavor such as strawberry shortcake, swipop cherry limeade, grape soda, apple cidar, root beer float and ……(here’s where I began to get interested}…..black licorice!!!

“Oh there is everything you could ever want – let me give you a taste….for FREE!!” And he did one final tap with his shoe and jingle of the bells and opened the back of his truck. We were enchanted.

By this time, our moms were hurrying down to the curb to see what was going on. I remember mom wouldn’t let us have a taste because “It would ruin our dinner.” But later after he had passed out the treats to the others, closed down his truck and danced back in and had driven off, I could hear the moms all talking about how much cleaner this popsicle man was than Tank and his family were and how nice it would be to try out these new interesting treats.

And so we did. His popsicles were more expensive than Tanks – 10 cents rather than 5 so I would save up my nickels when I could and treat myself to a black licorice popsicle which was absolutely the best. I can still taste it. Tank’sTootle Pops came earlier than the Melody Man’s truck so that you would have to wait, which wasn’t easy. The kids became divided between Tank and the Melody Man. I kind of wavered back and forth partly because of the reasons that I have already told you and partly out of loyalty. My mom finally decided that we had to only buy from the Melody man because he was cleaner and so I would just hang out in my bedroom until Tank’s old wagon passed by. My baby sister would sit on the porch and cry and say “I LIKE the dirty popsicle man” which is what we had taken to calling him.

One evening while playing in the yards, I overheard a conversation going on between the parents who were gathered on our front porch. The words ‘the children’s black plague’ were spoken in almost a whisper. I quietly slipped around and sat down at the end of the porch to listen in. My mother was doing a lot of the talking and I heard her say that the children’s black plague had been spreading in other areas of the United States and only recently a child had come down with it not far away in a neighboring town.

I heard the others gasp and one cried out “Oh No!” and someone said, “That close?” Mom said that children were coming down with it and it almost always resulted in paralysis and hundreds were even dying from it. And then their voices became too low for me to hear.

The next morning all of us kids gathered in the Petty’s backyard and almost everyone said that they had heard something similar at their house. Someone heard that the first signs of it were a stiff neck so of course we all suddenly had stiff necks which we forgot about later and then pretty much forgot about the whole thing. Life went on pretty much the same….for a while. Life on our street went on - bicycles, roller skates, stilts, and pogo sticks, backyard baseball, running in the sprinklers, and hopscotch, and of course…popsicles!

But very soon after this, small things began to change. For example, nobody spoke in whispers anymore about the children’s black plague. It was seen and heard on TV news every morning, noon, and night. The headlines in the morning and evening newspapers told of the thousands of children who were polio victims and had to live in big oxygen tanks called “iron lungs” so that they could breathe. And those who could not be helped would die. The country seemed to blanketed with a creeping giant of death that was only looking for children. There was a big sign on the swimming pool gate that said “Closed.” When we went to church, all of us wore face masks to keep us safe from infection. But where was it coming from? Was it blowing in the air? Was it in our water? My mom heard a report that the plague was in bananas – so no more bananas were allowed at our house. Soon it seemed that fewer and fewer children were seen playing outside on the sunny days on my street. Fear was on every parent’s face. The only time that there were a bunch of us kids together outside was when the Melody Man came down our street because by now, Tank’s Tootle Pops were ignored and although it still went by, it rarely stopped. Our parents said they were too dirty. The red-headed kids pressed their noses against the glass and stuck their tongues out as they passed by.

And then one night, the Crabapples across the street were seen leaving their house carrying one of their children wrapped in blankets and the next morning we heard that Davey Crabapple had the plague. It was here. The Black Death was right here on Cottonwood Street and now our street and every street in town was empty of people and looked pretty much like a ghost town. I heard my dad say to my mom, “Evil DOES exists and we can’t deny it.”. Vera Jean Petty down the street was next and then Herbie Folk over on Rule Street and then Jackie Lou Sowders next door and Larry Mueller across the street – they all were taken away to hospitals. Our mothers kept us inside with the blinds down while they talked across clotheslines up and down the blocks. Their voices were grim and some were hysterical. People broke down in tears just by looking at the houses of the victims.

One night while my parents talked to the other neighbors on the porch, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach and had to run inside quick. I remember feeling very tired and dizzy and then – nothing. When my parents came in, they found me lying on the floor in the bathroom with a raging fever. I don’t remember that at all but what I do remember is waking up in the night and how dry my mouth was and how much I wanted – no I desperately NEEDED – a popsicle – ANY flavor would do. And just when I thought I couldn’t take it a second longer, I remember hearing the sound of the Melody Man!! I slipped out of my bed in the pitch dark and slipping out the front door so as not to be heard, I stepped out on the porch. I could feel the cool cement on the bottoms of my feet. And there he was in the moonlight, his white truck shining like a star, as though waiting just for me. And in his hand was a popsicle – licorice – my favorite! Oh how much I needed that now. My burning mouth was on fire. He nodded at me with a huge smile and held out the frozen treat. I started off of the porch towards him when suddenly out of the darkness another figure emerged from the dark on my left – a huge dark hulk who shoved me down so hard, I lost my breath and the stars seemed to swirl about my head. I could hear a fight going on. There were grunts and growls and then an evil voice that snarled so low I could just barely hear it, “You will die just like the rest of them!” Suddenly there was a crack and a huge crash and the most horrible shrill evil scream that I had ever heard before, and then utter silence. I strained to see what was happening in the stillness and when the hulking figure stepped aside, I thought I say a white sparkling whirling mass that streaked up and up and then disappeared into the moonlight.

I must have blacked out but when I came to, I was being picked up gently in huge hands and when I opened my eyes again, I looked right into the face of – TANK! I started to scream but he spoke to me in very low reassuring voice. “Don’t worry little one. You are safe now,” he said as he put me down softly on my bed. And the next thing I knew the sun was pouring into my room through the gingham curtains and my parents worried faces were leaning over me.

“I think she’s opening her eyes,” my mother said to my dad.

“Good morning,” I remembered whispering.

“Her fever has broken, thank the Lord.” And then I noticed the tears on their faces. “You were so sick Susannah, my baby, my baby. You were talking crazy talk about Tank and the Melody Man.”

“There there,” comforted my dad.

And then I remembered the night before and the moonlight. “Where’s Tank? Get Tank,” I cried.

“Oh dear, she’s doing it again.” And then to me “You are safe in your bed. We will get you a popsicle when the popsicle man comes by this afternoon.” But I had to tell her. “No, no – don’t tell me now. Go back to sleep.” Later that morning it came over the news that a man in some big laboratory in New York City had discovered a cure for the plague. But I knew who REALLY cured it but nobody would ever believe me when I tried to tell them.

I got better and soon I was back outside playing with my sister and my friends. The Melody Man was never heard of again. I knew what happened to him but. All of the parents scratched their heads and then forgot all about him. My dad fixed up Tank’s Tootle Pop truck so it didn’t spit out black smoke and ride low and he even gave it a fresh coat of green paint. Larry Muller’s mom had a beauty shop in her home and she volunteered to cut all of Tank’s kid’s hair and we all went back to buying popsicles from Tank’s Tootle Pops – Tank wasn’t the dirty popsicle man anymore. Davey, he got to come home but he was in an iron lung for the rest of his life. We all hung out at his bedroom window and talked to him back then. The other children in my neighborhood and at school who had been victims of the plague were left crippled in some way and some were paralyzed.

I finally gave up trying to convince anybody of what had happened to me that night. I looked at Tank way different than I had before – he was hero truly – not just in the Great War but in facing down evil right here on Cottonwood Street. Whenever I would catch his eye, he always gave me a look. We both knew the secret of the evil that lurked right here on Cottonwood street. As summer came to an end, my mom who was sorting our summer clothes one day in the laundry day to take to charity, gave a little “oh!” She called me into the laundry room to see what she had found. When I went in to find out, she held up a little bell. “Look what was in your pajama pocket,” she said. There it was. A bell off of the black shiny shoes of the Melody Man. I keep it in my special place to remind me that…..

“Someone wicket this way comes.”