Happy days of the ice cream truck

In the magical, early 1950s, in suburbia, we had what were called “Route Men.� Before I go into this, let me say one quick thing about the ’50s. They were not carefree, “Happy Days� and “The Fonz� notwithstanding.

The economy was pretty good, although I remember hearing about layoffs at the aircraft plants from time to time. We also flinched every time one of the test pilots at Grumman Aircraft over-flew us, breaking the sound barrier and sometimes the windows. People would step outside to see if there were any mushroom-shaped clouds in the distance.

 But wait! Is that the tinkling of bells in the distance? Yes, it’s the Good Humor ice cream truck. As charter members of suburbia, it was our right as kids to have ice cream every single day at 10 or 15 cents a pop. The pop was the preferred form. The cup was for babies, unless it was a sundae, seldom purchased as this was the most expensive.

You could buy pints, but this was reserved for adults and the rich kid across the street. He not only got a pint, but when he bought his bubble gum baseball cards, he bought a case of packs, not one pack at a time. He had cards for Duke Snider, Yogi Berra, Jackie Robinson, etc. Furthermore, he was a sharp trader, often demanding multiple cards for a single one of his duplicate premium cards, damn him!

In addition to the Good Humor Man, there was Judy Ann Ice Cream, derisively know in our neighborhood as Judy Ann the Garbage Can. I don’t know why we took a dislike to this brand. They actually had some pretty good stuff.

The best and the most sporadic visitor to our street was Howard Johnson’s. The truck had a roof shaped like the roof of a house and it was orange, just like the restaurant. This guy had the 28 flavors. Woe to the kid who had blown his daily ice cream allowance when HJ showed up.

We also had bread and pastry trucks that came around twice a week to sell stuff to mom and a milk truck every morning. There was a once a week beer and soda guy, too. Neighborhood dads who had never seen more than a few bottles of beer in one place at one time were now stocked up with cases of the stuff, because they could be.

I can still see our jolly bread man, spread-eagled on our driveway after “hitting the dirt� when one of the local jets flew over extra low. He thought, just for a moment, that he was back in Korea ducking Mig 15s.

Happy days ... indeed.

Bill Abrams resides (and enjoys his ice cream) in Pine Plains.

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