Narratively

Share this post

The Bubblegum Cigarette Racket

www.narratively.com
Memoir

The Bubblegum Cigarette Racket

My brief boyhood interaction with the maybe-not-so-innocent neighborhood ice cream man.

James Thorne
Aug 5, 2014
∙ Paid
Share this post

The Bubblegum Cigarette Racket

www.narratively.com
Share
Illustration by Robyn Jordan

We knew the song because everyone knows the song. The song carries a meaning like something instinctual, like birdsong or thunder. We’d sprint from the icebox of the living room into the triple-digit heat of the Texas summer, chasing down the Ice Cream Man. We always caught him; he drove slowly.

Kelsey and Richard and Jennie and James — that was us, the kids. We didn’t love the Ice Cream Man, but we depended on him. He provided an essential service that went beyond daily sweets. I remember using one of his Popsicle Ice Cream Turbo Pops to assuage a lost (broken) tooth after I fell (was pushed) down the small slide that led to our kiddie pool in the front yard. The tip of the Turbo Pop was red, which made it hard to distinguish blood from melted syrup.

When the Ice Cream Man came through, Kelsey handled the exchange. I’ve always had a fear of money, which is to say I’ve always had a fear of responsibility. The exchange worked mostly the way you might expect: g…

Keep reading with a 7-day free trial

Subscribe to

Narratively
to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.

Already a paid subscriber? Sign in
Previous
Next
© 2023 Narratively, Inc.
Privacy ∙ Terms ∙ Collection notice
Start WritingGet the app
Substack is the home for great writing