The Ice Cream Truck

Cape Cod Ice Cream Truck at Bank St. Beach

Harwichport, MA 1998

(left to right) My mom, Alicia(niece)

Jason(nephew), Kim(niece)

 Although this photo doesn't reflect the ice cream truck memories I have growing up on Brookside Drive in Wilbraham, MA, it shows that enjoying the tradition continues in a small way. Through the years of vacationing in Harwich, MA every Summer we  would also listen for the tune of the ice cream truck, not from our house, but from the beach. We would grab our money and race up the boardwalk to the parking lot to buy a tasty cold treat. In those later years, there was a bigger selection, like Rockets and Bombs and you needed dollars, not dimes.

The Ice Cream Truck

The much anticipated Brrrng, Brrrng, coupled with the familiar music, heard from several streets away, alerted us that the ice cream truck was on his way. Before frozen novelties were a supermarket commodity in 12 and 24 packs, every neighborhood kid knew the ice cream man. The ice cream man (never a woman or high school or college student) became a friend to all, sort of like the school bus driver. He never arrived in the morning, or even at lunch time but usually mid to late afternoon, that 3 o'clock hour when my mother was just putting away her ironing board that she had set up in the dining room so she could watch “The Guiding Light” on our 17” black and white Zenith t.v.

I have this visual of her donning one of her hand sewn floral aprons in preparation for supper and then the clear notes of the truck's music rang out. The last words we would hear her shout were, “Don't let this spoil your supper.” My sisters and I dashed from the house, joining our other neighborhood friends, arms waving crazily, hands clutching our nickel or dime. Wild screams of delight trailed after the truck as tots to teens and even an occassional parent, clamored for a spot in line as the driver slowed to a stop, usually somewhere between #24 and our house #28. We knew if we missed our opportunity on his way down the street we would get a second chance on his return route. I would always get an ice cream sandwich which was a dime, twice as much as a popsicle, creamsicle or pushup, but in my opinion well worth skipping a day to afford. Good Humor bars, the vanilla ice cream with dipped chocolate coating was my second choice but on a hot day the chocolate covering had a way of cracking off on the first bite and slipping to the ground. Within minutes the truck had moved on to other neighborhoods and the only evidence remaining were our sticky fingers, and our wide grins revealing purple and orange tongues or, in my case, a chocolate covered mouth.