Editor’s note: This is another column in Bill Boyd’s new series, “The Way It Was,” about growing up in Marysville. Bill continues to work with the Union County Historical Society to obtain information for his stories.
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1937 was a big year for our family. For starters, we got a new car, a Ford V-8. It took the place of our old Model-A Ford, which was a real basket case. It didn’t like to go up steep hills in any forward gear. So when we came to a really steep hill, my dad would stop the car and turned it around. Then he put the car in reverse and we went up the hill backwards.
My dad worked in Dayton, and he couldn’t rely on that old Model-A to drive home every day. So he only came home on weekends. With the new car, he could come home everyday, and I really liked that.
A few months later, we had another big day when we got a refrigerator. a Frigidaire. There were a few refrigerators in Marysville, but most folks in town were still using an ice box. Our neighbors, the Robb sisters, had one of the first refrigerators in town. It was an odd looking thing, which stood on four legs that were about a foot or so tall. The cooling unit, a large cylindrical thing, sat on top of the refrigerator.
But as odd as that refrigerator looked, I thought it was great. When I visited the Robb sisters, they sometimes gave me a glass of lemonade, and they put ice cubes in my glass. Those were the first ice cubes I ever saw. And they didn’t even need an ice pick to get them.
When we got our new refrigerator, my dad took our ice pick down to the basement and stuck it in a board above his workbench, and he said, “I won’t be needing this anymore.” It remained there for years.
But as much as I liked our new refrigerator, there was a sad side to the whole thing. When we got rid of that old ice box, we also lost our iceman, Mr. Neibler. I really liked that guy. He often stopped to talk with me, and pet our little dog, Nicki.
Mr. Neibler had delivered ice to Marysville folks for years. But as more and more people got refrigerators, his ice-delivering days were numbered. I don’t know how much longer he delivered ice in town, and I don’t know where he went after that. Maybe he got a job at the Milk Plant (Nestle) or at the Fisher Brass Factory (later Eljer’s). Or maybe he got one of those WPA jobs. Wherever he went, I missed talking with him. And I think Nicki missed him, too.
Those wishing to contact Bill Boyd can e-mail him at williamboyd514@gmail.com