Vanilla ice cream and watermelon are often associated with the summer. There’s a piece in Medium – which you may or may not be able to access – titled How The Ice Cream Song Exposes Absurdity of American Racism: An essay about ice cream, racism, and stereotypes by Allison Wiltz, M.S.
She notes a song, “released in March 1916 by the Columbia Graphophone Company, entitled ‘N—— Love a Watermelon Ha! Ha! Ha!’… written by Harry C. Browne, a White banjo player and actor who regularly performed the song wearing blackface… This portrayal undermined Black Americans’ use of the watermelon as a symbol of resistance during the Reconstruction Era. In the song, Browne referred to watermelon as ‘colored man’s ice cream.’
“The ice cream song began with a shockingly racist line, ‘You n — — quit throwin’ them bones and come down and get your ice cream.’ Originally, ‘Turkey in a Straw’ was a folk song with British and Irish roots, with no racial connotations. Nevertheless, in minstrel shows throughout America, Browne popularized a racist remix.”
Not my preference
This intrigued me because, as my family knows, I do not like watermelon. I never have, which predates my understanding of the fruit’s implication. Over the years, people have asked me if my disdain for the fruit was based on the stereotype. Nope.
I’m not too fond of cantaloupe either; I’m not a melon guy. When my daughter offered us some gum on a recent car trip, she knew I’d decline when I learned what flavor of gum she had.
When I was in charge of the NY/PA Olin reunion in the 2010s, one job was picking up the watermelon from the grocery store. I always felt ill-equipped to pick out a “good” one by tapping it or whatever scientific method one uses.
However, if they were washed off, I loved propelling watermelon seeds with my tongue and was not bad at it.
Dairy
Wiltz wrote this, something I already knew: “Folklore in the black community suggested that, in some areas, White people were so racist during Jim Crow that they would deprive Black people of vanilla ice cream… In Maya Angelou’s autobiography, ‘I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings,’ she shared such a narrative. ‘People in Stamps [Arkansas] used to say the whites in our town were so prejudiced that a Negro couldn’t buy vanilla ice cream. Except on July Fourth. Other days, he had to be satisfied with chocolate.'”
When I was in sixth grade at Daniel S. Dickinson in Binghamton, NY, we were to get ice cream; I don’t remember the occasion, but I remember the little cups of Sealtest (I think) ice cream with these odd wooden spoons.
I was briefly out of the room when our flavor choices were being determined. When I returned, I was asked for my pick. I said, “Vanilla.” The whole class moaned. They had all picked chocolate.
It would be easy to create some racialization of this: the only black kid in the class picks vanilla. But I knew my classmates, about half of them – 7 of 15 – since kindergarten. They were disappointed that we didn’t achieve unanimity. If I HAD been in the room earlier, I probably would have also picked chocolate. Unlike watermelon, I like chocolate ice cream just fine.