by Jerry Blackerby
Dad bought a used 20-inch bicycle in the spring of 1942. He painted it before bringing it home and gave it to me on a Saturday morning for my 8th birthday. I thought it was the prettiest bicycle I had ever seen.
We did not have training wheels, so dad went out to the road to teach me how to ride. We lived in the country where there was no traffic. The driveway onto our property was too rocky and rough to learn on. The gravel road in front of the house was fairly smooth and level. To the north was a long uphill incline and to the south the road remained level. We could see a half-mile or more each way.
Dad would walk behind the bike holding it up while telling me to peddle. After a few minutes of falling, I was arguing with dad that he was causing me to fall. Dad gave up and told me to learn by myself. He went into the house where mom was fixing a late breakfast for him. I kept trying and falling.
Finally, I pushed the bike up the hill until I was about a half-mile from the house. I aimed the bike downhill and jumped on. I wobbled and fell. I got up and tried again. After a few tries, I was wobbling down the hill without peddling. By the time I reached the bottom, I was peddling and riding without falling.
I began shouting for dad as I neared the house. He came out the door and saw me. He ran out and met me and gave me a big hug. Dad was proud of the fact that I had persevered and learned to ride the bicycle.
I rode that bike for a little over a year. Dad sold the bike to someone that was looking for a 20-inch bike and bought a used 26-inch bike for me. We then moved into town and I used the new bike to deliver newspapers.
We didn't have an electric refrigerator until after WWII. We had an icebox. Many people used iceboxes during that time. We would buy a block of ice and put in the icebox to keep the rest of the food cold. A 50-pound block of ice would keep the icebox cold for two days.
With gas rationing, the ice plant quit delivering ice. In the summer of 1945, Dad put a large basket on the front of my bicycle that would hold a 50-pound block of ice. I would go to the ice plant every other day and get ice for Mom.
Soon a neighbor asked if I could bring her ice also. She offered me ten cents to bring her ice. Dad then suggested that I also deliver ice to a cousin living about a block from us. Before long, I was delivering ice to four or five neighbors and our house when I was eleven years old.
At first, the ice plant would tie binding twine around two 25-pound blocks of ice. I could handle each of the 25-pound blocks. After a few weeks, the ice plant loaned me a bag, just like the iceman carried, and a pair of tongs. I could hang the bag over my shoulder to carry a 50-pound block of ice into the house. With an ice pick, I would split the ice into two 25-pound blocks and use the tongs to lift each block into the icebox. The bag was insulated, so the ice didn’t melt as much from the ice plant to the house.