The Kool-Aid Stand

“Two friends, two buddies, a couple of neighborhood kids, on a sunny day selling Kool-Aid; what could be more American than that?”

July 1965


I hadn’t seen all 47 years of Norman Rockwell’s Saturday Evening Post covers but I had a hunch the one scene of Americana I had in mind was one he must have done. Well, the Net is a wonderful thing; I just this moment discovered that it does indeed exist. A matter of fact, there are two that I was able to find. One is confusing though. It shows a boy selling lemonade to a girl but he is also selling apples. Apples? But the other one is classic: two boys selling lemonade. The hand drawn sign is there which must have served to convince a girl to part with her nickel. She drinks her lemonade while one boy hawks the product in search of the next customer and the other boy cleans the glass of what must have been a previous customer. The boys are wearing standard issue post-war, pre-Beatle attire --tee-shirts and jeans with rolled up cuffs.
That was Doug, my buddy and best friend who lived next door, and I. For a long time I couldn’t figure out why some people called him a “lonely child.” Later I found out the expression was “only child,” and so after that I start thinking of him as a brother.
There was certainly nothing lonely about him; he was like a ring leader for a circus, waving his arms and announcing events in our lives. I liked playing side-kick to him even though I was 2 ½ years older. I was 11, and Doug was not far from 9.
“You know what we haven’t done yet?”
“No.”
“We haven’t sold Kool-Aid from a stand for five cents!”
“Yeah, that’s sounds good.”
“Good? It’s great! Two friends, two buddies, couple of neighborhood kids, on a sunny day selling Kool-Aid; what could be more American than that?” He should have become a promoter.
“Yeah, that’s great. You mean like today?”
“Of course like today. Look at that sky, perfectly blue. Think about the temperature, hot but not too hot.”
“Ok. Shouldn’t we be selling lemonade though? You know, like the All-American kids?”
“Too complicated. Too messy.”
“Oh, yeah. We want something that’s easy to make.”
“You forget, we’re two guys. We’ll get our mom’s to make it.”
“You sure they’re gonna do that?”
“Oh course! They’ll think it’s so cute, they make it.”
We went to his mom first. She was in the living room with the ironing board set up to face the TV. She would attack a pile of wrinkled clothes, taking long drags on her Salems while “As the World Turns” played out before her.
“So, you want Mom to do all the work and you guys make all the money. That it?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Doug offered bravely, smiling gamely.
“It’s Kool-Aid. It’s not hard or anything,” I chipped in.
“Thanks very much, Jackie. I think I could manage,” she took a drag and looked at me from the corner of her eye.
I felt embarrassed and found somewhere else to look. I stared at the painting of the flowers that hung on the wall. I remembered that Doug had once told me that without his glasses he could not see the petals of the flower clearly. No one was speaking. Had I annoyed her? I had never seen her cook anything, and Doug told me that she probably couldn’t boil water even if she wanted to. I envied that family; there were always going out to McDonald’s or Doug’s dad would make peanut butter and butter sandwiches.
“And what about Frances, Jackie? What’s she contributing to this business? She’s not leaving it all to one mom is she?”
“No.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say; an incorrect answer could quash the deal. Doug came to the rescue.
“Oh she’s letting us use their card table.”
Mom was likewise in the living room but she was reclined on the couch, eating an apple and reading a book. She nodded approval of our request, took another bite of the apple and resumed reading.
We wrestled the card table out of the crowded hall closet, set it up in front of Doug’s house, and Doug set about making a sign. I had to convince him that spelling the k backwards was not going to get us more customers.
We had the sign, the table, the Tupperware pitcher, the Dixie cups, but we had no customers.
“I told you we should have spelled the K backwards.”
“That’s not it.”
“Ya-huh”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Well what is it then?”
“The cars are going too fast. By the time they see us, they are already half way to Buena Vista.”
Doug thought about it, puzzled for a moment. Then he pointed his finger in the air like a mad professor.
“We gotta be like those guys.”
“What guys? What are you talking about?”
“Those carnival guys on the outside of the tent. They yell and stuff.”
“I’m not yelling.”
“We’ll go broke.”
“We can’t go broke, we didn’t spend anything.”
“Ok wise guy, we won’t make any money.”
“You yell then. It’s a family trait. On your mom’s side.”
“KOOL-AID! GET YOU ICE COLD KOOL-AID RIGHT HERE!”
“Yep. That’s loud all right. Don’t see anybody though.”
“FIVE CENTS!! YOU CAN’T GET ANYTHING FOR FIVE CENTS ANYMORE, FOLKS! KOOL-AID, RIGHT HERE!”
“Wow. That was louder than Mike Buckley.” Mike could do a perfect Tarzan yell so loud that anyone could hear it two blocks away.
We were arguing about why I wouldn’t yell and whether it would do any good when we hear brakes screeching across the street. It was a new Mustang, the color of the blue sky Doug had been talking about that morning. The Mustang certainly held our attention but then two girls got out and waved cheerily at us. Doug waved back with one hand while poking me in the ribs with his elbow of the other. We were prepubescent but we weren’t going to let that stop us from dancing the dance.
“Pay dirt, buddy boy!” Doug said in the voice of a conspirator.
“You said it, brother.”
Here were Betty and Veronica the blonde and brunette best friends, right out of the comic book, looking bubbly and happy crossing the street headed our way. The only comparable feeling I had at that time was waiting for your turn on the Slip n Slide.
“Hi guys!” they spoke in tandem, smiling like they were on the cover of Teen Magazine.
“Hello!” I chirped, grinning like Stan Laurel. Then Doug’s arm came across my chest and he shoved me back.
“I’m Doug; he’s Jack,” he said in a voice that suggested he was a diamond while I was a lump of coal, “What can we do for you ladies?”
“They want Kool-aid, Einstein.” They giggled lightly. Then the blonde turned her attention to Doug.
“I’m Valerie, this is Vee.” Doug shook hands with them both, tipping his head sideways like it was something they did in King Arthur’s court.
“Oh Vee, that’s my brother’s girlfriend’s name. It’s really Veronica, but everyone calls her Vee.” I figured finding common ground would be a good thing.
“Does your brother go to Burroughs?” Vee seemed interested in finding out if she had a namesake at her high school.
“No, he’s old, he’s in college.” They giggled again. I filled the Dixie cups and Doug handed them out, but when they started to fish in their pocketbooks, Doug raised his hand.
“On the house,” he said nobly.
“How sweet,” Valerie said in a coquettish tone.
They stayed and chatted for a while, Doug gave them a second free round, and then they crossed the street, got back in the Mustang and took off. When the car was out of view I turned to my business partner.
“What the heck are you doing? Our only customers and you give the drinks away?”
“They’ll be back,” Doug said confidently, “the blonde likes me.”
“Likes you? Are you blind or crazy?” I said incredulously, “I had them both laughing at everything I said.”
“And who held Valerie’s hand?”
“That was a handshake, that doesn’t count.”
“Ok, tell you what I’m gonna do: You can have brunette; I’ll take the blonde.” He raised his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, I rolled my eyes. We weren’t rivals, but we loved the idea of playing at being rivals.
“No way man, no way. They like me better. Sorry, that’s how it goes sometimes.”
“You’ll see tomorrow when they come back.”
They did come back the next day, and they paid for their Kool-Aid this time. The day after that they gave us a dollar each and bought the whole pitcher. By that time we were like old friends, somehow. Doug was smart enough to set out four folding chairs that day. We talked and joked and Doug and I razzed each other. The fourth day though they didn’t show. We knew they wouldn’t ever come back. We sat in our folding chairs with the legs sinking into the grass. The ice was melting in the pitcher. Flecks of unidentifiable stuff floated in the Kool-Aid. We had made two dollars and ten cents and two friends who didn’t stick. We sat watching cars fly down Verdugo Ave. We had our arms on the other’s shoulders as was our custom when we were younger. Just before we put the stuff away Doug spoke.
“Heck of a week, eh Jack-boy?”
“Heck of a week, Doug-Doug.”