Read more childhood memories from Boomer readers in our From the Reader department. Burt, Burt Confectionery, and the creation of the “Good Humor” Bar And sadness came over me knowing that my grandkids would never experience the big, white, iconic Good Humor truck. I smiled and remembered that there never was a time that truck missed us because we were quick on our feet. As soon as I saw the truck, the happy memories rushed back and thoughts of happier times growing up in the ’50s. Well, a few years ago, I was visiting my daughter and grandkids in Minnesota and drove by a fully restored Good Humor truck on display on an outside platform. Now you might be wondering why I’m bringing up such an insignificant memory. There were always ice cream vendors around and we could hear the bells, but never the big white truck. A couple of years later, we moved to the Chicago area, and I never saw a Good Humor truck again. Our mom would never let us eat the ice cream in the house. My brother and I would sit in the shade and munch on the heavenly treat. Ah, to think … an ice cream bar for a dime?
I think my favorite was the toasted almond bar, but my memory has clamped onto the experience, rather than the end result. If we were lucky, we could feel the cool air that blasted from the side of the truck.
#Good humor ice cream truck driver#
Once the selection was made, the most exciting memory came to life, as the door on the side of the truck was opened by the driver and he would reach into the very back, while a mist of white, ice-cold smoke would pour out of the interior. I wonder if they did that because they knew we were too young to read. Hmm, they always had a picture of the treat next to the name. We couldn’t read, so we would have to point to the item on the menu on the side of the truck. I can’t remember if he had a hat, but I always remember he was a portly older man. The driver had white pants and shirt and a black belt that diagonally crossed his chest, which helped hold up the money changer he was wearing. I don’t know if it was on purpose, but the driver would park in such a way as to compel us to put our bare feet on the hot concrete and make us dance through the sales process. We would frantically wave and jump until the truck pulled over to the side of the road and stopped in front of us. For some reason, we always thought there might be a chance he wouldn’t see us, and we couldn’t let that happen. The truck was enormous to a four-year-old. It was the iconic, cab-open Good Humor Truck. And it wasn’t just any old ice cream truck. We would stand on the curb and watch the big, white open-air truck slowly work its way toward our staked out position on the street. We knew that if we didn’t move quickly enough, there was the chance that we would miss the ice cream truck. We quickly ran into the house and descended on my mother with unrelenting excitement until she coughed up a dime to just get us out of the house. It was as if my brother and I were on a mission and the clock was ticking. There was no such thing as air conditioning back then, but it was just the way it was.ĭuring the early afternoon, we heard the distinct bells of the ice cream truck blocks away. When I was a little guy, about four or five, I fondly remember the hot, sweltering days of summer in Detroit. He relates the experience, from hearing the bells to feeling the cold air that wafted from the truck when the Good Humor man got the frozen confection. Begora recalls the childhood excitement when the Good Humor Truck came to the neighborhood.
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