Chew on this

Bubble blowing, cracking, and other gum-centered moments

Back in October, I did a post on candy in which I mentioned I liked chewing gum. I’ve since decided my lifelong relationship with all manner of gum products deserves revisiting. Thanks, Bruce, for the suggestion.

My relationship with gum dates back to the previous mid-century, but gum has a lengthy and interesting history of its own on which to masticate. According to my sources, chewing gum has existed in some form since the Neolithic period—five thousand year old chewing gum of birch bark tar was found in Finland. Ancient Greeks chewed products made of mastic gum. Chicle, a natural resin of the sapodilla tree, was chewed by ancient Mayans to quench thirst and freshen breath. The Aztecs chewed gum, but it was negatively associated with being a harlot (women) and being effeminate (men). Chewing spruce tree resin was popular among Native Americans; that same substance was used by John B. Curtis circa 1840 to create the first commercial chewing gum.

Twenty years later, Thomas Adams experimented with using chicle as a substitute for rubber but found greater success incorporating it into chewing gum. He later created licorice Black Jack, the first flavored gum product. Not long after, William Wrigley, Jr and other manufacturers developed a variety of products. In 1880, several gum manufacturers introduced additional flavorings: William White combined sugar, corn syrup and peppermint. Henry and Frank Fleer added a coating to cubes of chicle to create Chiclets. Adams produced Tutti Frutti gum (the first to be sold in vending machines). And Dr. Edward Beeman added pepsin to aid digestion. Nine years later, pharmacist Franklin Canning invented Dentyne gum, named to combine dental with hygiene. Dentyne was marketed as a product that could freshen breath, thwart decay, and whiten teeth. Of all the gums I’ve chewed, Dentyne packs the most cinnamon kick. And its flavor lasts the longest.

And then came bubble gum. Diemer introduced the concept before the turn of the century, and in 1906, Frank Fleer invented Blibber Blubber, a sticky form of bubble gum that didn’t sell well. Meanwhile, Henry Fleer and Wrigley developed Doublemint using mint and fruit extracts. Diemer eventually found a way to make bubble gum without the stickiness and named it Double Bubble. He also added red dye to his original gray-colored formula to get what has become the iconic bubble gum pink.

My first personal gum-related memories involve my Mom mom Minnie, my dad’s mom. I am relatively certain I never saw her actually chewing gum. And I am POSITIVE I never saw my mom’s mom, Mom mom Annie, chew gum, because she wore a full set of false teeth. [Sidebar: my mom once threw out Annie’s dentures because Annie insisted on leaving them wrapped in paper towels. My mom saw what she thought was a wadded up piece of paper towel and into the trash it went.] ANYway, I cannot conjure an image of Minnie chewing gum. But she carried a small tin of Sen Sen and/or sticks of Clark’s Teaberry gum in her purse. Remembering the taste of either takes me back at least six decades.

I had ready access to all kinds of chewable fun at the front of my dad’s pharmacy. There was bubble gum, available as Double Bubble (roundish) and Bazooka (square). The latter came with a free Bazooka Joe comic wrapped around the gum. Every pack of baseball trading cards included a flat, powdery piece of bubble gum.

There were Chiclets—minty ones in the familiar yellow box, fruit-flavored ones, and teeny tiny mini Chiclets that if you weren’t careful would spill all over when you were pouring them into your hands.

There was all manner of stick gum sold in packs of five for five cents a pack. Wrigley’s offered spearmint and peppermint and the combination thereof, Doublemint. We all knew the commercial—it featured twin women singing, “Double your pleasure, double your fun, with Doublemint, Doublemint, Doublemint gum.” It was a highly suggestive sales pitch that would have been made into an infinite number of memes in today’s technology. There was Juicy Fruit in its bright yellow package and Big Red in appropriate red (cinnamon-colored) wrapping. And there was Beechnut Fruit Stripe Gum, that, unlike the other stick gums, is no longer manufactured as of last year. I loved it, but of all the stick gum, it lost its flavor the fastest.

I loved bubblegum cigars, available in all the colors of the San Diego Padres’ current City Connect uniforms (seriously. What are they thinking). I gave them out to my second graders when I gave birth. And I loved bubblegum cigarettes because if you puffed on them before removing the white wrappers, the sugar dust emitted looked like smoke. It’s a small wonder I didn’t become a cigarette fiend, what with a mom who had a two-and-a-half-pack-a-day habit and my personal enjoyment of “smokable” candy products.

I loved Gold Rush gum, yellow nuggets in a small burlap sack. I loved Razzles. I wasn’t much a fan of Blow Pops; if I wanted a surprise in the center of a lollipop, I preferred Tootsie Roll. I came to love chewing so much, I chewed the tasteless wax bottles from Nik O Nips and the wax lips available at Halloween.

Sugar-free gum has been available since the 1950s and gained popularity in the 1960s. Trident was one of the most popular and had the most flavors. With four out of five dentists recommending the brand, its sales took off. I’m convinced the fifth dentist didn’t want to lose the business generated by all the sugary gum chewing. I didn’t knowingly chew sugar-free gum until I was an adult. Even then, I did so sparingly. I was offput by the artificial sweeteners that provided the sugary taste, much like I do not drink diet sodas. I’ve misguidedly decided substances like xylitol and sorbitol and mannitol and aspartane and acesulfame K give me a headache (turns out, lots of stuff gives me a headache). I probably just have a sensitivity to artificial sweeteners, if at all. The Ice Breakers I now chew regularly are artificially sweetened, and I’m fine. But I’d rather gnaw on products containing real sugar. Which is partly why my HbA1C borders on pre-diabetic.

For a long time, after lunch at work, I chewed Bazooka or Double Bubble gum, sometimes supplied to me by the plastic bucketful (thanks, Rob!). Up to three pieces at a time. I needed a little something sweet after my meal, and even at its sugariest, gum has fewer calories than, let’s say, an M&M hit. But after being advised by my dentist that chewing a wad of gum was not good for my jaw (I have TMJ), I ceased and desisted, opting instead for a small piece of candy or an age-appropriate Viactiv vitamin D3 chewable. Eventually, I found chewing a small piece of gum relaxed my facial muscles, soothing my temporomandibular joint, and sometimes dispelled a headache.

Meanwhile, the bubble gum market exploded through the years, with products like Bubble Yum, Hubba Bubba (available in tape), Big League Chew, and bubble gum-flavored versions of products like Trident, Ice Breakers, Mentos, Extra, Orbit, and such. Bubble gum (and sunflower seeds) have replaced chewing tobacco for baseball team consumption, the former preferred by players seeking a more healthful product to spit on the field.

When I was a kid, gum machines held the promise, not only of a sweet chew, but also a collectible charm, all for a penny a try (I always indulged in several tries). Gum machine design evolved to include jawbreaker-sized gumballs that spin down a long chute before reaching the trap door to freedom. The increased price (now the machines require a quarter) afford the entertainment of watching the gumball wend its way through the machine. I guess I stim fairly easily.

Getting the full gum experience requires a few talents. Like being able to blow a bubble. When I chewed multiple pieces of Bazooka, I made bubbles so large they would break on my face, demanding I also acquire the talent of being able to remove all traces of gum before venturing out of my office. Now I can blow bubbles from the tiniest piece of Trident, a single Ice Breaker, and one or two small gumballs.

And then there is the ability to “crack” gum. Growing up, I thought teenagers were so cool when they got their gum to crack. The best gum crackers were my mom’s Mah Jongg group. I can still hear the crack of their gum over the clack of the tiles as they mixed them between games.

Another talent that came of gum chewing was the creation of chains made of discarded wrappers. When neighbor Stephanie babysat our kids, she showed them how to fold and interconnect stick gum paper. One chain was long enough to drape over Missy’s bedroom door frame. I think I still have that chain in a box somewhere.

Certain Asian cities and countries (and Disney theme parks) have banned the use of chewing gum, citing unsanitary disposal and the difficulty involved in cleaning up after careless users. We are a family divided when it comes to gum chewing. Ali abhors gum chewing and asks her kids to refrain. Conversely, Rob’s boys have a gum drawer in their kitchen with a number of varieties—lots of bubble gum and fruity stick gum—for frequent use even when they are not playing baseball.

Bruce never chews gum. But that didn’t stop him from acquiring an antique gum machine to add to the other artifacts of bygone eras that live in our den. The gum machine stands next to our 1903 piano. The kids and later the grandkids used to scavange pennies from the old brass cash register across the room until they learned how to bypass using a penny by unscrewing the top of the gum machine and digging right in. The mechanism is now broken, so the gum machine doesn’t require any money to release the gumballs. I treat myself to two after lunch and dinner for that something sweet. I chew for just a few minutes until the gum loses its flavor. I promise, though. I don’t leave it on the bedpost overnight.

Little colorful balls of happiness. Sorry if I look like a cow chewing its cud, as we were often told. It’s a happy habit I’ve retained all these years.