Keeping It Cool: Summer of ’72 🍦🚛

They say you never forget your first taste of freedom, and for me, it came in January of 1972 when I got my driver’s license. But the real magic started that summer when I landed a job driving a Good Humor truck.

It was the ultimate gig. I’d show up, fill that truck to the brim with ice cream, and the world was mine. I spent my days rolling through Somers, East Windsor, and Broadbrook. I’d head up by the apple orchards near the prison in Enfield, ringing that bell and selling the hell out of ice cream.

The king of the truck back then? The Chipidy Chocolatey. It wasn’t just a bar; it was that solid hunk of chocolate frozen right onto the popsicle stick, hidden inside that vanilla goodness. If you knew, you knew.

My biggest night ever was the 4th of July, likely at the new mall in Enfield. They had the fireworks going, and I was a man on a mission. I rolled that truck in, sold every last drop, rolled out to reload, and did it all over again. It was the best night of my career behind the wheel.

But the best part of that summer wasn’t the sales—it was Cheryl. I remember driving through her neighborhood for days, just hoping she’d hear the bells and come out. When she finally did, she was wearing those short-cut-offs, holding little Angela. Angela was a foster child, born with club hands and feet because of the hand she was dealt at birth, but she was a girl I truly loved. That was the day I officially met Cheryl, all thanks to that white truck and a freezer full of ice cream.

I don’t remember exactly how long I did it, but that summer of ’72 in Connecticut is one I’ll carry forever.