Snowballs, a cherished Baltimore tradition, make their annual visit
The rhythm of 1950s neighborhood life changed after Memorial Day. People emerged from their winter and spring hibernation and spent warm evenings outdoors on porches and steps, often under the shade of a canvas awning.
The alarm bell announcing this change was not brass. It was a grinding sound of the corner confectionery store’s ice crushing machine.
May was often a cool month but as soon as some heat arrived, so did this Baltimore treat. By Labor Day, snowballs were old news and no matter how hot September was, they disappeared.
The secret was their simplicity: crushed ice, chopped but still crunchy, in a paper cup, a sweet flavoring and a wooden spoon. The cost, somewhere around six or seven cents, extra charge for sweet and sticky liquified marshmallow, definitely a treat, but worth it, if the occasion called.
Now, marshmallow seems to be a required addition with a buyer’s directions to place it on the bottom, top or middle. To this day people queue up for snowballs made to exact specifications.
In the 1950s, we had basic blueberry, root beer and orange cups of shaved ice. Today it’s bananas Foster or cotton candy, and I’ll bet there’s a Margaritaville flavor out there along with pina colada.
We have destination snowball stands and businesses. Snowball variants have arrived too — such as the New Orleans style version and the Philadelphia summer water ice.
The old snowball arrived with an informality and ease in city neighborhoods. You merely walked to the corner store and availed yourself.
In the area we now know as Charles Village, there was a busy soda fountain at the Guilford Pharmacy. (Today, the Motzi Bread bakery is located in that spot).
The pharmacy didn’t bother with snowballs because the staff there had its hands full dishing up Hendler’s ice cream cones and cherry Cokes on hot summer nights.
My snowball mixologist was a hardworking businessman named Ernest E. Bentz. He was a constant presence at his Snack and Chat Shop at 29th and Barclay streets. He wore a white apron that seemed to match his expertly parted white hair. A diamond and onyx ring rounded out the look.
Most people addressed him as “Mr. Bentz,” but I got away with “Ernie” because that’s what my family called him during their decades of buying from him.
He had a small delicatessen case (think olive loaf lunch meat) and sold tobacco. There was no air conditioning and a strand of flypaper hung from the ceiling fan. He sold newspapers, penny candy, Tastykakes, pickled onions, bottled colas and canned goods.
Tobacco was a part of adult life. My grandfather needed his Dan Patch chewing tobacco. Others in the family were always running out of their Lucky Strikes, Chesterfield and Pall Mall cigarettes. Children were the couriers — no questions asked then about tobacco purchases.
Ernie’s shop reflected his personality: It was spotless. Even the inevitable mess made by the gooey marshmallow topping did not last long at his snowball department.
Ernie’s little shop had its sports celebrity visitors. The shop faced what was the old Oriole Park, the one that burned in the early hours of July 4, 1944. Oriole legends Tommy Thomas and Billy Hunter stopped by to check out the old neighborhood.
More than the pennies that changed hands at the counter. This was also a message center for neighborhood stories and gossip.
And while today’s snowball customers seek out their favorites at the remaining stands throughout the area (people love snowball tasting and hunting, as if in search of the perfect crab cake), there were some extra charge variants in the old days.
Ernie’s Pike’s Peak was a fancy, top-price snowball. It was the sort of confection that you got only when a rich cousin was visiting and paying.
It may have cost 25 cents and involved a snowball with a Dixie cup of ice cream on top, with added marshmallow and chocolate. The maraschino cherry on top made it positively grandiose.
It was really something of mashup of a snowball and an ice cream sundae. Was it any good? No. Just pretentious.