(Originally
published on 7/21/17)
It’s
officially a heat wave here in New York City—several days in a row of
ninety-plus degree temperatures—and I’m not a fan. Yes, I romanticize the summertime
of my youth every now and then—outdoors much of the time and playing the games
that little people played for generations, which, by the way, they don’t play
anymore. Admittedly, the one-two punch of summer’s heat and humidity was never
something coveted and rarely, if ever, appreciated. My father always said that the
discomforting clamminess and sordid air quality was a figment of our imaginations.
He was a Buddhist at heart, I guess. Mind over matter.
Growing up
in a seven-person household on the top floor of a three-family home with no air
conditioning in July and August was—in retrospect—brutal. In the 1960s and
1970s, we also experienced recurring electrical brownouts. During the
high-consumption months of summer, utility Con Edison’s answers to averting
widespread blackouts were periodic brownouts. On the warmest of warm nights, the lights
would flicker, which was no big deal. But brownouts were especially unforgiving
when it came to ice cubes. Heat, humidity, and half-frozen ice cubes with a
foul taste were an all-too-familiar summertime three-fer.
Nevertheless,
those were the days my friend, I thought they’d never end. Regardless of
the temperature or relative humidity of a summer’s day, stoop sitting was a
hallowed evening ritual as well as—for a spell—a Good Humor truck passing by.
These daily occurrences provided fleeting respites from the heat, particularly if
something icy was purchased like a watery, cola-flavored Italian ice,
lemon-grape rocket pop, or Bon-Joy swirl.
First
there was Larry the Good Humor Man, who drove the classic little truck that
required him to step outside and pluck the ice cream from its side-of-the-cab
freezer. And then there was Rod the Good Humor Man, who conducted business in a
stand-inside vehicle. Rod lived in the neighborhood. He would see us playing
during the Good Humor off-season—parts of fall, spring, and the entire winter. Focusing
on grocery sales alone, Good Humor sold off its fleet of trucks in 1976. And
that was the end of that! The present owners of the brand recently resurrected
the ice cream truck, I see, and—along with it—the ice cream man and woman. I
suspect now they are stationed at parks and events, where ice cream peddlers are
still spotted. But chumming for business on neighborhood side streets? I doubt
it. If a Good Humor Man materialized around these parts, he would find few kids
playing outside in the warmest of weather. And as for off-duty sightings, like Rod's, during
the winter recess—fuggeaboutit!
Epilogue:
Larry the Good Humor Man was last seen driving a New York City yellow cab. Oh,
but that was more than forty years ago. And Rod the Good Humor Man suffered a
heart attack in the mid-1970s and lived to tell. Rod told us at some point. Oh,
but that, too, was more than four decades ago. Larry, as I recall, was on the
younger side as a Good Humor Man, so he might still be among the living, but he
would be pushing eighty. If he’s still extant, I pray he’s in good humor. Rod,
I fear, is more likely among the angels. With any luck, he’s ringing the
celestial equivalent of his Good Humor truck bells, an inviting sound for
countless living and dead souls who bought ice cream on steamy New York City
nights a long, long time ago.
(Photos
from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)
