The Ice Man Cometh ... No More

When I was a youngster, before electric refrigerators were in use, most families lived with iceboxes to store their perishable foods and leftovers. These boxes needed a regular supply of ice, which could be purchased from the ice man, who made regular rounds of our neighborhood in a horse-drawn wagon. You  could buy a block of ice for 10 cents, 15 cents, 20 cents or larger depending upon the ice storage compartment size in your ice box.
It was a treat for the neighborhood kids when that horse-drawn ice wagon parked on our street. People would put a placard in their door or living room window to let the ice man know what size block was needed to be cut from the large 100-pound blocks of ice stored in the wagon.
Little ice chips would spray off the big block when he chipped the ice with his ice pick. He would leave the wagon to make deliveries, which he carried on his shoulders holding them in place with  ice tongs on a leather shoulder pad. That's when all the kids, who were watching and waiting, moved in on the ice wagon to scavenge for chips of scattered ice, which were perfect for crunching or savoring as they melted in our mouths.
As the ice man returned from making his delivery, he'd holler at us and we'd scatter in all directions -- but never too far, because we knew he was going to cut more ice blocks and we would have another opportunity to scavenge for ice chips. The ice man wasn't really angry at us, it was really just part of the game, to chase us from the wagon. It was a great summer-long event for the neighborhood kids every time the ice man would park on our street. It's one summer activity kids today will never experience. Too bad.