What happened to the Ice Cream Man?

Ice Cream Man no longer a superhero

By Kelvin Wade | | July 03, 2008 16:57

Something has happened to the Ice Cream Man.

When I was a kid living in Virginia, the melodic music carried on a summer breeze would signal all kids to halt what they were doing and run as fast as their Chuck Taylor Converse would carry them into their homes to finagle money from their parents for the Ice Cream Man. With fistfuls of coins, kids would come flying out of their houses, smoke contrails behind them, flagging down the truck.

The Ice Cream Man drove a big truck with colorful pictures and descriptions of the sweet frozen treats he sold. When the truck stopped, the Ice Cream Man would step out of the truck wearing a crisply pressed white uniform. He wore gloves on his hands and had a shiny chrome money changer on his belt to give you change with.

Depending on what you wanted, he would open up various secret compartments on the truck. A Neapolitan ice cream sandwich here, a cherry pushup there, and a Fudgesicle in a compartment in the back.

With his clean uniform, money changer belt and secret compartment truck, the Ice Cream Man was the closest thing to a superhero any kid knew.

Now, I don't know what happened to the Ice Cream Man out here in California. From what I've observed, it must be a completely unregulated industry.

When we moved to Novato in January of 1976, I got my first inkling that the Ice Cream Man out here was different. The truck seemed like an old mail truck. And the Ice Cream Man didn't step out of the truck and open any compartments. There were no compartments to open. He just stood at the window, looking bored. He didn't even wear a white uniform.

We moved to Fairfield in June of '76 and still no professional Ice Cream Man complete with money changer.

Nowadays, I see old Dodge Caravans with faded, wrinkled Popsicle stickers pretending to be ice cream trucks. I was stopped at a stop light behind what was once a short yellow school bus that had been converted into an ice cream truck.

Is it that easy? I get the feeling that if I put some Otter Pops in a Styrofoam cooler full of ice, slap a Sno-Cone decal on my car door and play a nursery rhyme CD, I'm in business.

A few years ago, a man pedaled a bicycle/ice cream cart past my house.

No.

California did introduce me to female ice cream truck drivers, which was unheard of back where I was from. One summer, a female driver beat the heat by serving treats while wearing a bikini top. I think I bought $18 worth of ice cream that day.

One time I swear I heard the Ice Cream Man playing an instrumental version of Pop Goes the Weasel and 2Pac at the same time. 2Pac Goes the Weasel? Sacrilege. Is there no ice cream truck driver school? A manual?

And they drive so fast down the street that there's no time for kids to run into the house and do the whole begging for change thing.

The magic of the Ice Cream Man is being ruined for today's kids. The Ice Cream Man is supposed to be an icon, not a regular Joe trying to earn a living. The way it is now, there's no excitement. It's like being rescued from danger by Clark Kent or Peter Parker.

Yeah, they can do the job but at least put the uniform on. Peace.

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NOTES: This was interesting because I actually wrote this three or four weeks ago. In the interim, I had a conversation with my brother Tony about the ice cream man. He brought up some of the things that I'd already written about, like the money changer and the truck with the compartments. I told him I had a column in the can about it but he wanted to tackle this subject since I hadn't published mine. Initially, I didn't care.

The next morning, I reread what I'd written on the Ice Cream Man and liked it too much to part with it, so I called him up and told him I was going to run it. He reluctantly acquiesced. He sent me a rough draft of what he'd written. I'm reprinting it here for your enjoyment:

By Tony Wade

Back in the day, an Ice Cream Man was a professional. I can’t be sure but I think they went to Ice Cream Man Boot Camp. There, after getting all their hair buzzed off, they lined up in a barracks and the Ice Cream Drill Sergeant came in and let ‘em have it.

“LISTEN UP, MAGGOTS! YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHAT BEING AN ICE CREAM MAN IS ABOUT, WELL YOU DON’T KNOW @#$%&*! YOU MAKE ME SICK! WHAT? ARE YOU GONNA CRY? DO YOU WANT YOUR MAMA? WELL,I AM YOUR MAMA FOR THE NEXT SIX WEEKS! NOW GET ON YOUR FACE AND GIVE ME TWENTY PUSHUPS!

Such ego stripping was a necessary tool for only after the recruits had been torn completely down could they then be rebuilt. Little by little they gained confidence, studied their Ice Cream Man manual until it became second nature, and drilled constantly.

At last the day came when they were given their sacred uniform. It featured a white cap, finely pressed white shirt and matching slacks, a black bow tie and patent leather black shoes. Then the accessory that set off the entire outfit, the glorious metal coin changer maker which attached onto their belt. It looked like it had been made for Batman and the well-trained Ice Cream Man who had mastered its complexity could work that baby without even looking down at it.

Upon leaving Ice Cream Man boot camp and given their duty assignments, the men carry on their task of providing cold treats to sugar loving children.

As a kid we couldn’t hear my mom calling us from the next room, yet we could have the radio blasting the Jackson 5, the TV blaring “HR Puf’N’Stuf” and yet like the Bionic Woman we could hear the familiar strains of the ice cream man’s truck o’ treats eight blocks away.

Scrounging any money we could by begging our parents, turning over sofa cushions or busting open piggy banks, every kid in the neighborhood would then sprint after the truck. I can’t be sure but it seemed like the Ice Cream Man would always give it a little gas and make us run for a while before finally pulling to the curb to take our orders.

He would exit the truck and walk around to the side where the magic compartment where the creamsicles, Nutty Buddies, ice cream sandwiches and my favorite, fudgesicles were kept. He would often remember what our particular favorites were.While I loved my treats I thought it was so cool that he could make change with his Batman utility belt change device without even looking at it. The guy was a consummate professional.

Now, contrast the tidy, highly trained, competent and knowledgable Ice Cream Man to today's version. Evidently there was a loosening of the regulatory laws surrounding the Ice Cream Man profession because now any Tom, Dick or Harry with a beat up van can play annoying amplified music and call himself an Ice Cream Man. It’s a disgrace.

The only good thing is that they probably take debit cards.

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