I don't think I've seen a mobile ice cream anything since I was a kid in Edmonton. And back then, the only engine mobilizing the ice cream was the pedalling capacity of the person rolling it along.
 |
| Photo from CBC article: Dickie Dee ice cream bike circa 1959 |
While the fellow in the photograph (right) is from 1959, other than a few more flavours, updated decals, and some modernized bike parts, this is exactly what it was when I was kid in the 1980s. Minus the hat and jacket too.
What kid, who was fortunate enough to be in a town or city where there were Dickie Dee ice cream bikes, does not know that magic jingly-bell sound? Regardless of the enthusiasm of the vendor pedalling the bike, the rocking bells on the handle bar were an irrefutable message: ice cream! Incidentally, I learned from a recent CBC article that Dickie Dee was actually a Canadian icon, born in Winnipeg, MB in 1959, rolling its fame country-wide and into northern US before being sold off in 1992, and alas folding completely in 2002.
The ice cream truck coming up my road did not have any jingly bells, but instead repeated 'The Music Box Dancer' tune on its loudspeaker. Even without the bells, my first reaction upon hearing it, for I knew instantly what it must be before I saw it, was one of sharp nostalgia - great memories of just being a kid. Not specific memories, but an aura of those simple summer days, romanticized through age into the meaning of life, stress-free innocence and happiness.
Immediately followed a pang of sadness. Would kids today appreciate the great childhood experience of something as simple and tangible as mobile ice cream at their doorstep on a hot summer day? Would the poor driver meander his way through the neighbourhood streets, ignored, sad and lonely, braking as the tumbleweeds rolled by, while children sat, oblivious, in air-conditioned rooms playing with digital things?
Nevertheless, just like when I was a kid, hearing the distinct jingle of those ice cream bells, I dropped everything. I must have been lost in my reverie for longer than I thought, for the truck was already past the house by the time I grabbed my wallet and ran outside. Ah, but he had to come back this way. I fetched my book from the house, and posted myself out front for his return.
Every minute or two, the fading tune of 'The Music Box Dancer' would stop mid-bar for a moment, then would start up again from the beginning. At long last, the tune grew louder again, coming back down my road. I raced out to the street and waved. The truck stopped, the music stopped mid-bar for a moment while we chatted and I picked out an ice cream each for Colin and I, then started up again from the beginning as he moved off down the road. In a few seconds, three children ran up to the side of the road and waved him down - the music stopped mid-bar...
The ice cream man told me when we were chatting that he had the best job ever. As he pulled away from the three children, one of them called out "Thank you so much Mr. Ice Cream Man!".
