The Soda Fountain

y favorite treat has always been, and always will be, ice cream. What is it about a creamy, cold, flavored substance so satisfying to the senses, so simple to create, that has been such a part of civilization’s enjoyment for centuries? To stand, as a child, barefoot on a beach under the warm summer sun, gazing out toward the water, a little hand wrapped tightly around a conical cookie filled with a concoction that tastes like a dream—a dream of ice cream.

You can’t eat it too quickly, for it is too cold. You can’t eat it too slowly, lest it melt away and break your heart. You should never put it down and expect it to be there when you return, and you can’t save it for tomorrow. No, eating ice cream requires your undivided attention.

But it is versatile: it can be enjoyed alone in a dizzying array of flavors, it can be decorated with delectable toppings of fudges, fruits, whipping creams and nuts, or blended furiously with rich milk. It can swim in a tall glass of flavored soda bubbles, such as root beer, a pairing that offers two treats in one. Yes, ice cream can satiate the youngest to the oldest of humans.

From the earliest days of the1900s, people had been enjoying ice cream (and soda) by way of full-service “soda fountains,” shops set up as embellished watering holes of sweet fortifications; and every town that one passed through seemed to be set up with at least one. Ironically, soda fountains were often found inside a town’s pharmacy, the very place of curative practices.

My hometown of Milford, PA, had one of these pharmacies, housed in the oldest and most prominent structure in the center of town, the Forest Hall building.

Forest Hall has occupied the corner of the main intersection of town since the 1860s, springing up seemingly out of the smooth, well-trodden sidewalks surrounding it like a majestic edifice of bygone days. It stretches the length of an entire block in the historical district of Milford Borough with elegance and antiquity. The bluestones that compose its exterior are fortified in history and undeterred by the modern changes of its surroundings. In the past century and a half, after housing the county’s first post office, various merchants have come and gone, each offering the community their services.

As recently as the mid-20th century, one very essential establishment to set up shop in Forest Hall was Stripple’s, the town pharmacy. Fundamental as this business was to the health of the area’s population, it also served the purpose of bringing the local townspeople together. For while the pharmacy provided prescriptive medicines for the health of the body in one area of the store, quainter, more homeopathic services were rendered in the adjoining area occupied by the soda fountain.

Stripple’s could be entered through two entrances—from the main Broad Street door or by way of the side Harford Street door. This made it convenient for customers to use the main door to collect their prescriptions in the drug store area, where they could then meander to the adjoining room that housed the soda fountain.

Unsuspecting customers could turn the corner and catch a glimpse of an acquaintance sitting at the soda counter, sipping on a cherry Coke, or engulfing a very large banana split. Yes, visitors to Stripple’s could find themselves casting off their troubles and surrendering their discipline for a refreshing, afternoon “pick-me-up,” thereby pausing their “to do lists” and catching up on the latest town news and gossip with neighbors or friends.

Historically, the old-time practice of placing soda fountains inside drug stores wasn’t a random gesture. It tied in with long-held beliefs in the healing powers of mineral water— volcanic water that bubbled up with minerals through the earth, thus fueling the popularity of hot springs bathing all over the world.

Drinking mineral water was also believed to be curative, recommended by early 19th century physicians as a tonic that calmed the stomach and cooled the body down. Later, the idea of producing artificially carbonated water as a business opportunity led to the mass production of bubbled water. Several inventors were part of this development, including a physician from Pennsylvania who realized the convenience of a counter-top type of dispenser that would allow the free flow of carbonated drinks to be sold by the glass. Voila, the modern-day soda fountain was born!

Back in the early 1960s when I was 7 years old and my brother D.J. was 8, the soda fountain in Stripple’s was like a home away from home, mainly because my grandmother, Marge, worked behind the counter as a “soda jerk.” Soda jerk jobs in those days were almost exclusively held by men, so my grandmother was a trailblazer in the industry, you might say.

My brother and I would each prop ourselves up on one of the tall stools so that our legs dangled in midair high above the floor. The padded metal stools were bolted to the old pine flooring, and our game was to do 360 turns on the stools as fast as we could manage—around and around until our heads spun well after the stools had stopped.

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Marge would be buzzing like a bee on the opposite side of the counter. For while the professional pharmacist was mixing his medical potions at one end of the store, my grandmother was stirring her own curative concoctions in front of us: black and white milkshakes, lemon-lime sodas, raspberry sherbets, pineapple sundaes, to name a few. She leaned over to us, “As soon as I serve these last few orders, I’ll bring you your lunches, my chillins,” she assured us, using her favorite term of endearment.

D. J. and I weren’t required to have our lunches in the school cafeteria as the other kids were. In the 1960s, kids were allowed out of the school at lunchtime with special permission. It was a great privilege to eat at our grandmother’s soda fountain. (Yes, we thought she was the owner!) It just seemed to us that because of the familiar way she greeted customers as old friends and they her, she must be the big boss there.

In no time at all, our sandwiches were in front of us: peanut butter and jelly on Wonder Bread. We felt special. Marge’s sandwiches were always delicious no matter what their ingredients, mostly because they were, well, Grandma’s and they were spiced with her TLC for us. While our classmates back at school were eating lunches of hot meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy and peas in a noisy encampment, teachers monitoring their every move, my brother and I were at our favorite spot in town, free as birds. We learned very early on that it’s who you know that makes all the difference.

Each day in school, I’d glance up at the clock at mid-morning knowing the opportunity lunchtime would bring. Brother and sister would meet up at precisely 12:02 at the bottom of the front steps of the school to begin our short, one-block commute on foot down Harford Street, hand in hand.

We’d enter Stripple’s through the side door, hardly noticing the racks of greeting cards on the left or the colorful selection of wrapping paper and bows. We only saw the soda fountain room with its deep-framed windows letting in the warm noon light; the large, black and white ticking clock high up on the wall, whose hands decided the length of our lunch break; and the ceiling above it that seemed to rise up to the sky in beautiful patterns of pressed tin. My favorite thing was to watch the huge, hanging fans whirling their blades round and round, keeping both customers and the ice cream cool in the warmer months.

As we ate our lunch, our eyes were fixed on all the activity behind the counter and the equipment that made it all happen. Large metal shelves held serving dishes in every size. There were rows upon rows of shapely Coca-Cola glasses; short-stemmed glassware for ice-cream scoops; tall, ribbed ones for ice-cream sodas; elongated boats for banana splits; metal milkshake canisters, and so on.

On a lower counter sat a 4-spindle milkshake blender, a cutlery holder for short and long spoons, plus a set of two large glass canisters stocked with plain and crispy sugar cones. There were knives for slicing bananas and bundles of paper straws.

Just below the counter was a double metal sink—one side for soaping the glassware and the other for rinsing. This is where Marge got her arm

Continued on page 22 workouts, grabbing dirty soda glasses, dipping them into the soapy hot water, pumping each glass up and down over the vertical scrub brush, then dipping them in the rinsing sink, all the while holding brief conversations and smiling.

At center stage of the counter was the ubiquitous soda dispenser, through which flowed plentiful amounts of sweet Coca-Cola, bubbly ginger ale, refreshing orange, root beer, and 7-Up, all day long. Like a skilled mixologist, Marge would whip up on-demand tonics such as cherry-infused 7-Up or Coke floats. I would watch intently as in one motion she would scoop into a tall glass some chopped ice from the bin, give it one and a half pumps of flavored syrup before reaching for the club soda gun and filling it to the top. Our mouths would water in anticipation of the taste of those effervescent, sweet concoctions, which Grandma would allow us but a couple times a week.

Our lunchtime wasn’t the most active time at the soda fountain though. Those extra busy times were reserved for the 3 o’clock rush when school let out and throngs of students made their way into the store. Crowds of tall, thirsty teenagers full of talkativeness and excitement strode in, some sporting their signature black and white letter sweaters accompanied by cheerleaders in their black and white saddle shoes. Nearly every stool and table would be abuzz with them, and Marge would call in counter backup to help her fill drink and ice cream orders of every kind.

“One walnut sundae, please!” requested one politely. “Coming right up, sonny,” reassured my grandma. She would remove the metal scoop from the bin of hot water and slide open the glass door to the ice cream freezer at the farthest end of the fountain. Her arm would instinctively go to the tub of vanilla, jammed in among the multitude of Dolly Madison flavors—nutty butter pecan, creamy coffee, velvety green pistachio, rich dark chocolate, marbled vanilla fudge, light pink strawberry, and three flavors of tart icy sherbets.

Reaching down with all her might, she’d dig in the scooper and roll the ice cream into a perfect ball. Two steps over were metal bins that held the sundae toppings: syrupy red strawberries, chewy pineapple chunks, gooey chopped walnuts, and hot chocolate fudge. She would lift the metal lid and ladle a heaping amount of walnuts over the vanilla ice cream, finishing it off with a topping of whipped cream and a single maraschino cherry. “That will be $1.50 please.”

And so it would go…. as the customer took his seat, one could see the anticipation on his face. As he slowly dipped into the cool, creamy delight and spooned it into his mouth….With all the flavor and with eyes closed, just like that, he’d found the dream.