Ice Cream, Ice Cream
During the 60s with the arrival of the dog days of summer, came the
clanging of the bell and the music of the ice cream truck arriving in the neighborhood. Kids all over
the area stopped in their tracks and ran home to get their dime to purchase a treat from the frozen
confectionary pusher. Yes a dime would buy a pretty good size ice cream cone, a drumstick, ice cream
sandwich, fudge sickle or ice cream bar. Parents just hated to hear the music of that contraption which
could be heard a block away. I also remember earlier when the ice cream was sold from a bicycle.
Of course there were no cones. Can you imagine pedaling around a bicycle with that large container
filled with frozen goodies attached to the bike? It had to be a tough way of making
Ron and I were no different when it came to buying our frozen delights. We at times waited
either on his or my front porch with money in pocket for the arrival of the ice cream
truck. It usually arrived between two and four PM. Of course my favorite was the chocolate ice cream
cone. I would usually spend the extra nickel to get the larger size but at times Ron was reluctant to cop up
the extra nickel.
While waiting for the arrival of the truck we would sit and talk on the porch and kill
the time getting carpenter ants to fight by rubbing their heads together. We would have a contest to see who
the toughest ant was. These big black monsters would fight until one gave up or died. Then we would
find another challenger for the champ to fight. Hey, you had to have something to do to kill the time while
we waited impatiently for the ice cream truck.
I recall this one particular time, Ron finally decided to go all out and buy the large
cone. Wow!! This is same guy when he offered you a stick of gum, broke in half to share with you.
Man he is splurging now.
After what seemed like ages, we heard the truck's familiar bell and music coming down the
street. All the neighborhood kids from ages 1-99 were lined up on the street waiting to place their
I ordered my large cone as Ron did his and he complained that you never got an extra nickel's
worth for the large cone but nonetheless he admired it as we walked under the elm tree to my house.
We made our way up the walk and then it happened; a direct hit from the tree above. Yes, Ron got an
extra topping for his ice cream cone, courtesy from the bird in the tree. There couldn't have
been a more accurate bomb drop than what that bird did to Ron's cone. I couldn't do anything but laugh and as
I look back to that hot summer day. Thinking about it today brings tears of laughter as I
recall the look Ron had on his face as he looked at the cone and then the tree limb above him.
Ice cream anybody?