The Good Humor Man

Off in the distance last evening, I heard music. I couldn’t make out the tune. It sounded somewhat familiar.

Over the next few minutes, it got closer and closer and closer. It was just then that I deduced the familiar strains of “It’s a Small World.” And upon recognizing that familiar song - albeit broadcast through the warped sound system of these trucks - I was easily able to identify the location of this outdoor music box.

The “ice cream man” was driving down my street. Talk about an immediate warp drive time travel trip back to childhood.

The “ice cream man” (or as he is often branded, “The Good Humor Man”) brightened many a dull dawg day afternoon. He’d turn his vehicle onto your street and instantly, there was a hoard of youngsters digging in their piggy banks and then racing across front yards and sidewalks clutching their dimes and quarters.

And his wake, he’d leave behind the same children, their faces besmirched by melted chocolate or red and blue bomb pop stains across the cheek.

One drive down a well-located street could empty the sandlots and driveways and, at the same time, net himself a handsome profit.

Ice cream was popular everywhere. My friend Ed and I often reminisce about how we’d walk up to the counter in the school lunchroom, slap down a dime and chirp “Sammitch!” (meaning we were ordering an ice cream sandwich).

Ten cents in the school cafeteria was a much better deal than a quarter on the street to the ice cream man but then I guess he had more overhead charges.

Ah…the good ol’ days.

Flashing back to the modern era, my first thought was how the 2012 version of the ice cream man - with the same warped-sounding music - was likely violating our neighborhood’s no solicitation policy. We’re not usually treated to ice cream man visits and that’s why. I’m sure it won’t be long before some crabby neighbor will phone the guy’s supervisor to put an end to such nuisance!

Incidentally, on the subject of the warped-sounding music, I mentioned to my sister that we had heard the ice cream man in our neighborhood and she replied that she, too, had experienced the happy visit. The tune that graced her neighborhood was a warped-sounding version of the 1970’s instrumental, “Music Box Dancer,” if you can imagine.

No melody, it seems, is immune.

Even still, warped music aside, seeing an ice cream truck immediately transmitted me to innocent childhood days. Our ice cream man visits tended to come early in the evening (just after dinnertime). But, in other near-by neighborhoods, there was also a late-afternoon run – say around 4:30 or so.

Either way, it was a good result; the ice cream truck was a welcome sight.

When I was little, we must’ve received twice-a-day visits, because I also remember a mid-morning run. In fact, it reminds me of one of my most embarrassing moments as a child.

I heard “Turkey in the Straw” or “Bicycle Built for Two” or whatever ubiquitous childhood tune graced the warped-sounding jukebox that summer. I grabbed my quarter and I took off running across the front yard to catch him just in front of the Benefields’ house near the corner of the street. I must’ve been about 5-years-old at the time.

Clearly, I was afraid I would miss the 10:20 special that day. I managed to find my quarter, so I’d have just enough funding to procure my ‘sidewalk sundae.’ What I forgot to do, however, was throw on some shorts or pants. Yes, that’s right…that was me right out on Fortune Avenue in broad daylight sporting nothing but a t-shirt and undies.

Keeping a straight face, our version of the Good Humor man was obviously trying to stifle his laughter when he said to me, “Son, you sure were in a hurry this morning. Did you forget something?”

I think I played it off well. But, I probably got an earful when I made it back home – with my popsicle, brown cow or ice cream sandwich and not much more - and a little good-humored ribbing from my buddies.

Those were simpler times.

JG

Originally posted 5/8/2012