It was a hot and muggy August evening in the summer of 1957, when a square of frozen water dared to drown her. After searching through the freezer for something cool and refreshing and not finding an acceptable treat, the little girl wrapped an ice cube in a paper towel and began to lick it like a lollypop. A delicious little taste of icy cold that was barely an effective thirst quencher. Soon she began to draw on it more earnestly, and it was at that moment that her homemade popsicle burst out of its wrapper and shot down her throat, working it like a water slide. The ice blocked her windpipe, cutting off her air flow. A gurgled “help” was inaudible to her brother playing with his train set, but her teenaged baby sitter, who was watching “You Bet Your Life” on the television, knew what to do. She picked her up and turned her upside down, and in seconds, what was left of the ice cube was a little innocent puddle on the kitchen floor, leaving no trace of mischief for the parents to notice.
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