 | ||
| The Iceman Has Came... And He Has Went Al Vinson | ||
|
One of my favorite people, Aunt Sister, visited our home in the summer. She was a teacher, and her best school story revolved around a second-grade boy. He had a problem with his grammar, and often said "have came" and "have went." His teacher had the boy stay after class to write 50 times on the blackboard: "I have come, and I have gone." When he finished, the teacher had stepped out of the room, so the boy left a note saying "I have wrote 'I have come, and I have gone' fifty times, and you ain't came, and I have went home." I thought of that sentence, when I recalled the demise of the iceman. My first job was iceman's helper, for all of fifty cents a week. And I was worth the money. A picture show cost a nickel, candy bars, coke or popcorn, the same. Plus all the ice I could eat. And in 1935, when I was twelve years old, a 12 1/2 pound block of ice was also a nickel. We didn't eat a lot of ice, but when you take an ice pick to a four hundred pound block, you always had a few small pieces break away. This was about the only perk I enjoyed that summer. An old friend, Charles Kilpatrick, a veteran of the BB and Rubber Gun Wars on Groesbeck and Bremond Streets, sent a message through another friend recently. He asked if I ever heard of some neighborhood boys spooking the ice wagon mules. They were helping themselves to scraps of ice, and when they jumped onto the wagon, the mules took off like a whip had been cracked over their heads. In their flight, both the mules and the wagon rammed a nearby garage. Charles lives in San Antonio, retired as editor and publisher of the San Antonia Express and now that I have his email address, I'm going to smack him with these old ice house stories. I am interested in hearing his version of this tale, since I suspect he had something to do with the mules unruly behavior. Edd Kenley, another lifelong friend, reminded me of the mule-drawn ice wagon that pulled up to the side of their home on Fourth Street. The red brick house still stands across from City Hall in Lufkin. When the icemen of the late twenties and early thirties delivered ice, they drove a team of the smartest mules in the world. The mules knew the ice route as well as the team driver did. The mules would patiently wait, while the driver delivered ice inside the house. When he returned and mounted the wagon, they moved toward the next stop. But, on this particular morning, the animals were restless. The Kenley home was at the top of a steep hill. And that one block hill on Fourth Street, beside the Central Fire Station, was an unpaved sandy slippery slide. The driver was inside when the mules suddenly lurched, sending a 400-pound block of ice careening down the hill. The driver, hearing the commotion, quickly led the mules back down the hill, where the firemen helped load, and wash-down the block of ice. The driver then walked around in front of the mules and gave them a very hard stare. I don't really blame the mules. I suspect Charles Kilpatrick was in the neighborhood. The ice plant had a life of it's own, and even death. Death, and worse, murder. "Old Dad," the night watchman at the plant, lived in a small house on the plant property. It is just out of view in the above picture, located just to the right of the four ice wagons pictured. There was a wagon driver named Emory. He was well liked by everyone at the plant, and known to be a hard worker. One night in the early thirties, I believe, he killed and robbed "Old Dad." I recall that Emory took a pocket watch and a pistol owned by the watchman. He was captured a few days later in Henderson county. I heard a story that when he was found in the woods by deputies and the sheriff in Athens, that he was tied by rope to the back bumper of a car, and drug on the sandy road to the jail in the county seat of Athens. In my memory, I thought he received the death penalty, but can find no record of his execution. The ice wagons were in use through the mid-thirties, when trucks came on the scene. In the picture, you can see there were four wagons, and the rest of the delivery vehicles were trucks. Joe Mack Welch provided the picture. His Father, M. B. Welch, is on the third wagon from the right. My Dad, Allen R. Vinson, is second from left in the picture. Burke Hutson, plant manager, is at left. Electric refrigeration became more affordable by the mid-thirties, taking a large part of the ice company's business. Lufkin Ice Company added a packing plant about that time. It was very successful, serving more than a dozen surrounding counties. Both plants closed during World War Two. The building and its contents were destroyed by fire following the war. The complex burned for several days, and while the local firemen have forgotten the Fourth Street ice slide, they surely remember the stubborn fire they fought at Lufkin Ice and Packing Company. That building was located at the present site of Albertson's Shopping Center. | ||
|
The Iceman played a large role in our lives, BUT the avalanche of time took him out. "HE HAS CAME, AND HE HAS WENT" More memories of Lufkin Ice and Packing Company: | ||
| My earliest memory of the ice plant was in 1926. I was three years old, and the proud owner of my first car.... a "kitty car... self-propelled." I set out from 314 Bremond, turned right at the end of the street, and proceeded south on Chestnut. Destination....: gone to see my daddy at the ice plant. As I reached the Cotton Belt railroad tracks, still located at Groesbeck and Chestnut, I was having a hard time crossing the tracks. That's when Hamp Johnson, driving an ice wagon stopped to help. He lifted me and my kitty car up to the wagon seat, slapped the mules with his lines and transported me the last two blocks to the ice plant for a stern visit with my daddy.
Summer in East Texas brought a huge crop of water melons, and in the thirties and forties "Ice Cold Watermelon" was the supreme summer treat. The large cold storage rooms, where ice was stored, presented the perfect place to chill melons. They were sold from the retail outlet on the platform at the front of the ice company. Those we didn't sell.... like Blue Bell Ice Cream.... WE ATE. High atop the roof of the ice plant, an eight foot tall rotating array of spray heads, about ten in all, emitted cooling jets of water. This was also a playground for me as a child. My brother and other children of ice plant employees enjoyed the cool soaking on many summer evenings. Another note about the ice plant fire. I mentioned that the fire burned for several days. The reason for this is that between all the walls of the ice plant, large blocks of cork were used as insulation material. While the fire department was able to extinguish most of the flames, the cork burned inside brick walls, where water could not reach it. Most of the building collapsed and the building could no longer be used. The land was eventually cleared. The ice plant was built adjacent to the Cotton Belt railroad line for a very good reason. Box cars that required refrigeration for perishable goods, such as fruit, meat and vegetables, were cooled by adding a large volume of ice from the ice plant directly into the car. This required the ice plant to operate around the clock to produce enough ice and to serve the railroad cars as soon as they arrived, night or day. Employees of the ice plant formed a close-knit group of thirty or more people at all times. While long hours were the rule, there was always time for friendly relationships, and I'll always remember the group outing offered with summer parties for the employees.
|
