Before I went there on an obscure errand last weekend, what I knew about Damascus was that a) there's nothing to do here because b) it's illegal to buy or possess alcohol here and has been since the 1880’s so c) we go to Jimmie Cone. I went to a driving school where all of the instructors were cops, and they would tell stories about kids who died in horrible accidents are going to or coming from this ice cream stand. Surely Jimmie Cone must be good, I thought, if kids are willing to die for it.
In the business district, three roads meet at an awkward intersection. There's an elementary school and a library; a CVS and a McDonald's; and two strip malls. It reminded me of Burtonsville. Except at the center of Damascus is Jimmie Cone, an unassuming little box with a big green canopy and a parking lot surrounded by picnic tables. What sets it apart is that, on a Friday night, it looks like the entire town showed up for ice cream. The menu is simple: two flavors of soft-serve, two flavors of frozen yogurt, and a list of toppings, among them jimmies. (If you don’t already know, jimmies are another word for “sprinkles.”) A small ice cream is $1.66.
This place is worlds away from Rockville, where I spent a year and a half at Gifford's selling four-dollar scoops of ice cream. But both places are community institutions, gathering places made relevant when the temperature rises and the schools let out. While it doesn't scream "city" like Rockville Town Square does, you could say Jimmie Cone contributes to the urban realm as well.
Why do people come here for ice cream and not the McDonald's across the street? It's cheap. It's close to home. But, most importantly, it's community. You may know the family who started it in 1962. Your kids/your neighbors' or friends' kids may work behind the counter. Or you expect to run into people you know. This place fosters those relationships in a community more so than any chain could because it is a product of its location. You can only experience Jimmie Cone in Damascus or their second store in Mount Airy, a few miles away.
For the younger set, Jimmie Cone is a place to see and be seen. There are two sets of picnic tables here: one next to the stand itself, under the canopy, and another next to the street. I saw the teenagers in the latter area, where they'd be in plain sight of anyone who drove by. It's the same reason kids sit in front of the Majestic in Downtown Silver Spring. Were he still alive, I'd say sociologist William H. Whyte could do a whole Social Life of Small Urban Spaces-style review of Jimmie Cone.
Places like this are what I find so exciting about suburbia because they dare to challenge the status quo created by big cars and big houses: they encourage and often force us to interact with other people, to embrace our innate social urges. It’s no Dupont Circle – hell, it’s not even “the Turf” in Downtown Silver Spring. But places like it are integral to creating stronger communities.