Ice cream.
In this vintage photo from the Mount Vernon Daily Argus newspaper, you'll see not me, but the kid brothers of my neighborhood best pal, Leo. They are cashing in on a promotion at our favorite Carvel stand, which was located at the corner of 14th Avenue and First Street. Free ice cream when it rained.
Examining this snapshot a bit more closely, note the attire on the two youngsters. This ain't summer. More likely a blustery day in March. Nevertheless, it obviously had rained so cones were ready to be made.
Still, ice cream at the end of a long summer's day of play was the cherry on top of whatever sundae you were savoring. In our neighborhood, we had several sources for these treats.
The Carvel stand above is now a Jamaican super market as our beloved neighborhood has literally and figuratively gone to pot. But, back in the day, this is where you went for a "bigger" ice cream experience. Made-to-order custard oozing out of the machine into your cone or plastic dish. Get it covered with that special chocolate syrup and it would harden into a "Brown Bonnet." Dump it into a boat-like container with a couple of bananas and you had your "Barge." Cleopatra may have loved hers. These usually made me sick. The real ending of this snack on a long summer's day would be in a vomit flow into your toilet.
Now, this Carvel was located right next to "our stadium." A vacant lot which was the location of our nightly baseball game with ground rules that defied logic. Hit the sidewalk and you got a homerun. Hit it further and you were out. Carvel was in foul territory down the left field line. Whoever went to retrieve that ball usually came back with a milk shake. Okay, time out for refreshments.
My dad liked to frequent this Carvel when he was on vacation. A hot fudge sundae with butter pecan ice cream was always his favorite. Sometimes, Grandma would give me money. All she wanted was a dish of vanilla, but I could buy something for myself, too. Those were the kinds of errands that had pay-offs for an eight-year-old.
My mother? She'd bring me to the stand for a treat, but rarely got anything for herself. But, there was one day where Mom had another experience at our local Carvel.
When we arrived at the same window in the photo above, there was a big button set up on the counter. Inside, there was a woman pretending to be a waitress/robot. The sign said, "Press the button and the robot will serve you."
Huh, I thought?
My mom was a bit more realistic.
"What is this?? Candid Camera??"
The lady robot broke down into laughter. My mother had outed them. It sure was Candid Camera. And that ended any chance we had to be laughed at on a Sunday night by Allen Funt.
Shortly thereafter, the Carvel signage came down and up went a new name for this place.
"La Creme."
Huh?
It was still the same ice cream stand, but now did not have the Carvel backing. As I would later figure out years later when I did actually work for the Carvel Corporation, I'm guessing that, suddenly, the owners of this joint had balked at paying the price to be a "participating dealer." Screw that, they probably said. And, miraculously and almost mystically, they became French.
On really hot days, you needed that frozen feeling at multiple times of the day. Leo and the rest of us would troop on down to Charlie's Delicatessen for what was then called a "Freez Pop." It was nothing more than a clear plastic tube filled with flavored ice shavings. You got your choice of cherry, lemon, blueberry, or orange. Well, you didn't order them that way. You identified your choice by color, instead.
The problem that this junk presented was that they were often re-frozen several times over whenever Charlie shut down his freezer. The more they thawed and then were re-frozen, the more the flavor got crummy. You'd suck the ice shavings into your mouth and promptly spit them into the gutter. Or at whoever was pissing you off at the moment.
For a brief time, we had near us some establishment called "Luigi's Italian Ices." I doubt the guy who ran it was either named Luigi or Italian. Nevertheless, we all got into this concoction for a while. The only problem was that Luigi's was located across First Street, a major thoroughfare of traffic. If you really wanted that freakin' lemon ice, you had to dodge oncoming cars to get it.
I've written before here about our strange-o neighborhood guy named Louis. Well, one day, his kid sister Toni Ann was making a Luigi's run and the traffic won that battle. There is something completely unsettling for a nine-year-old when you hear screeching breaks in the distance and then...impact.
Toni Ann was spread out all over First Street in a pool of blood and cherry ice. She wound up in a coma for several weeks and then a wheelchair for the rest of whatever her days were. On that afternoon, her life continued but effectively ended.
Nobody really bothered with Luigi's Italian Ices after that.
Dinner last night: Orange chicken and lo mein.
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