The Ice Cream Man Cometh, Bells Ringing...

I returned from Florida in April (1976) with a little bit of cash and no job. I bumped into Mark and explained my situation. I met Mark when I was in Nursery School in the early 60s. Like most kids that age, we all had small bodies with large heads, like Charles M. Schulz’s “Peanuts” comic strip characters. But Mark had a much larger head than the rest of us and a huge jaw, but his big smile is what I remember most. He had an incredible amount of energy and must have been a handful at home. He was a year younger than me and spent an additional year in Nursery School.

In his late teens, early twenties, Mark’s large head still dominated his overall appearance, but his body was catching up. He was about 5 foot 8, heavy through the middle from good living, wore expensive shirts he left partially unbuttoned revealing a hairy torso and two thick gold chains that dangled from his neck. He had a full head of light brown hair he kept well-groomed. He maintained that bigger-than-life smile and developed a very effective shtick to go with it. He was definitely an acquired taste. You either liked him or you didn’t. I liked Mark a lot. He was fun to be around and a loyal friend. He’d do anything for you.

After graduating from high school, Mark began working for his father who owned a cleaning company based in Boston. Mark sold the cleaning contracts and scheduled the cleaners. Even at a young age, he was a dynamic salesman. You had to be careful or he'd sell you something you didn't need.

Mark said he knew a guy who owned a house in Manomet, a seaside village of Plymouth, MA, who had two empty rooms he was renting cheap. He said him and I could move in right away, no deposit, and he'd pay the rent until I got a job. Sounded good to me.

The two-story house was less than 10 years old and on a large lot. I got the room downstairs next to a bathroom and kitchen. There was a mattress on the floor and nothing else. I hung my very limited wardrobe in the closet, put the rest on the floor, and began making myself at home. Mark and I both had Yamaha 650 XS-2 motorcycles and we rode them up a walking plank and parked them in the living room. We didn’t have any furniture and the bikes made interesting and unconventional living room decor as well as great conversation pieces. Fortunately, neither one leaked oil.

Mark and I began brainstorming, thinking of jobs I could do on the Cape. He drove into Boston every day and I drove in with him once and his driving scared the shit out of me. His six-cylinder Plymouth Duster was a beast, or at least he drove it like one. He eliminated the frequent speeding tickets he got by installing a radar detector. He didn't drive slower, just smarter.

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Mark was a businessman and he was looking for an opportunity for himself and a job for me. We drove to the Onset section of Wareham by way of the Cranberry Highway, to speak to one of the owners of Dainty Maid Ice Cream. It was a restaurant that leased ice cream trucks and they'd been doing it since 1954. We got our vending licenses quickly and put a deposit on a truck and filled it with ice cream we had to pay for in advance. The plan was that I would drive during the day and when Mark got home we’d peddle ice cream together at night.

The truck was a tall, stand-up type with a large window counter on the passenger side and real brass bells above the two large panes of glass that made up the windshield. It had all the ice creams available colorfully pictured on the side. Even when they knew what they wanted, most kids couldn’t resist staring at the pictures that were tempting them into a potential order change. We had it all. Push-ups, Buried Treasures, Nutty Buddies, ice cream sandwiches, chocolate and strawberry éclairs, English Toffee’s, frozen Malted Milk, vanilla and fudge swirl Hoodsies, Superman pops, Fudgicles, Popsicles, Bazooka bubble gum and Wrigley’s Spearmint. There was something for everyone.

It was early May when we started and selling ice cream wasn’t easy. I went to Hyannis and parked my truck in the downtown area in a parking space next to the busiest sidewalk on the strip. Business was great, I was outselling the local ice cream shops. Although I wanted to take credit for it, after all, I could hock ice cream with the best of 'em, I believe an ice cream truck with bells ringing brings out everyone's inner child and I was cashing in on it. That was until the shop owners complained to the local authorities. Even though I had a current vendor’s license I was told I couldn’t park downtown near businesses that sold ice cream. I moved on without a fuss.

From there I went to the local high school and waited for the final bell… I sold out. The kids went crazy, ran right over and bought lots of ice cream. I found my best spot and it was back in high school!

I went there for three days straight and crushed it. On the fourth day, there was a suit waiting for me on the curb. I've never been able to escape the wrath of high school principals, and there he was, waiting. He immediately told me I couldn't park in a "School Zone", and that I had to leave.

I drove around and did a little business at construction sites, but an ice cream truck is a lightweight compared to canteen trucks that have real food, cigarettes, and hot coffee.

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I used to laugh and tell Mark I had two sandwiches for lunch, ice cream sandwiches! Business wasn’t good until I went to a low-income housing project after school let out. These kids heard the bells and came running! I had a rule: single file, the first kid in line jumps in the truck, helps me, and then gets free ice cream. I’m sure there was some pushing and shoving before I arrived, but I made sure everyone got their chance to be my helper. It was like being in the circus instead of just watching. The kids loved helping me.

On Saturdays and Sundays, I started hitting the project twice, once mid-afternoon, and then again after supper. Some of the mothers asked me politely to come only once a day because they couldn’t afford to buy ice cream twice. I understood and came only after supper.

Mark and I brainstormed again. We came up with another plan to increase business. We’d find out where the kids held their outdoor parties and crash ‘em. We got directions from a local and we went to the party site. The road leading to it was dirt that quickly turned into a bumpy trail. We bumped our way deep into the woods until we saw a campfire and lots of high school-aged kids drinking beer, smoking pot, and having themselves a grand ole’ time. They were very happy to hear the familiar ring of an ice cream truck.

We sold out, emptied the truck. With a full-blown sugar high on top of too many domestic beers and an overabundance of testosterone, one guy had a great idea- “Let’s tip over the ice cream truck!” Uh-oh. There were 40 of them and only me and Mark…

Things were getting tense. The truck was being rocked side to side. Mark and I looked at each other with grave concern. We had a deposit on the truck!

Then all of a sudden, without warning, Mark jumped through the window counter and unbelievably, landed on his feet. He immediately went into a horse stance and started doing some Karate moves he learned at a free two-hour intro class several years ago. He ended his Kata with a loud yell “EEEES!”, and then held his position, eyes wide open. By then his hair was a mess, the two gold chains were swinging outside his partially unbuttoned shirt, and his oversized cranium had a light coating of sweat covering it. He was my best friend at the time, but I had never seen him act like that. Then, while holding his aggressive Karate stance he said, “If you don’t back away from this truck my friend Vinnie and I are going to do some real damage. Back away slowly!” By this time I could see the fear in their eyes and I was all in. I motioned my approval of Mark’s threat with a convincing nod. These kids had never seen anyone with Mark’s physical characteristics or with stones the size of Medieval cannonballs! They backed away cautiously…

We turned the truck around and rode out of Dodge like a couple of ice cream cowboys, ringing the bells, and laughing hysterically. From that point on I started calling Mark “EEEES!”, and after hearing the story, everyone else did too.

Our experience in the ice cream business hadn’t quite worked out as planned and so a week later we decided to turn in the truck and leave Manomet. But, we had a truck full of ice cream that was paid for. First, we thought about putting it in ice-filled Styrofoam coolers, but the ice cream wrappers would get soggy. Then I came up with another idea…

I drove to the low-income housing project and the kids lined up like they always did. The first in line jumped in and became my helper. When kids started to order I began tossing ice creams at them, three, four at a time, urging my helper to do the same. Kids were yelling “Vinnie’s going crazy!” I responded with " Free ice cream for everyone!" I emptied the truck and I had the time of my life doing it.

My brief career as an ice cream man turned out to be more memorable than it was profitable, but that's okay.

Mark married a beautiful girl, they had two beautiful children, and he had become a devoted husband and father before he passed away too soon. EEEES!