America Exposed: Ice Cream Truck Turf Wars

It's a problem that's been swept under the collective American rug for nearly a century.  Nobody talks about it because the reality is just too disgusting.  Every spring and summer day, nearly 1.1 million kids are deprived of ice cream because of it...You know what it is.  That's right:  Ice cream truck turf wars. 

In 1919, an Iowa store owner named Christian Nelson invented the choco-covered "ice cream bar" (History of Ice Cream, 2010).  In 1920, a heartless business man named Harry Burt copied the idea and called it the Good Humor "Ice Cream Bar" (Good Humor, 2010).  Shortly thereafter, Burt and his band of hooligans decided to distribute their dairy concoction by way of white "Ice Cream Trucks."  The rest is history--bloody and ugly history.  Good Humor ruled the frozen dessert roost and ruled the streets for years before others decided to get in on the mobile ice cream distribution business.  Next thing you know, ice cream guys started staking their claims in communities and parks nationwide.  Behind the Mafia, the Bloods, and the Crips, it was the "Ice Cream Man" that you didn't want to cross.  As long as you were buying, you weren't in danger.  But, as soon you as you decided to try your fortune at frozen milk solicitation on wheels, you're life would hang by a thread.  You don't sell ice cream in another man's hood--his domain, his wheelhouse, his special spot, or on his TURF.  I was unaware of these facts until this weekend.

Saturday, I saw the best and worst of Americana while working at Sokol Park in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.  It was a beautiful day.  Low to mid 80s, light and variable cloudiness, low humidity, kids playing softball and baseball, and families spending time together.  It was perfect.  It appeared it was getting better.  Just as everyone was starting to realize how dehydrated, hot, and hungry they were becoming, a sound in the distance brought hope...

I've noticed that when people hear something fantastic and awesome, their reaction is identical to when they hear something potentially threatening or deadly such as thunder or sirens.  At the first echo of an ice cream truck Saturday, many people stopped what they were doing.  They cocked their heads just slightly and hushed their friends with a single finger extended to notify them of something significant.  Although filled with excitement, their faces suggested concern.  I saw a small child stop his game of catch with his dad in mid-throw just to listen.  His eyes got big and his right ear turned towards the sound in highly animated anticipation.

Next was the moment of discovery and a confirmation.  Eddie Murphy describes the moment of ice cream  truck discovery best in (warning: lots of needless profanity, but funny if you can get past it) this video.  I saw some spectacular reactions.  One girl who was probably 3 or 4 started running towards the park gate with both arms in the air and very little stability in her lower half.  I was standing right behind a set of grandparents who were watching over their grandson while his brother played.  The younger brother was upset about something, and when the ice cream truck showed up, Gramps said, "Looky here now.  This will make you feel better.  Here's some money.  Got get'chu some ice cream.  And grab us a soda."  That wasn't the best, though.  There was an AWESOME 7 or 8 year old boy who had apparently seen some re-runs of the 70s show "Good Times."  As soon as he heard the ice cream truck, he did his best Jimmie Walker (Check out Jimmie on Good Times in this clip).   The kid started shouting, "DY-NO-MITE!  DY-NO-MITE!  DY-NO-MITE!"  The best part is that he was simultaneously doing his best Tiger Woods fist pump in sync with each running stride and with each syllable as he ran towards the truck.

"Kool Moes Ice Cream and Frozen Treats" had saved the day.  The driver rolled in blaring "Mary had a Little Lamb" over the truck speakers.  There were no words of course, so for all I know, the actual song Kool Moe was playing could have been "Mary had a Sno-Cone" or "Mary had a Drumstick."  Maybe, "Mary had a 3-toned, 3-flavored, Firecracker."  Who knows?  Anyway, the driver, who I would later discover is actually named Randy, also utilized the speakers to announce, "It's hot.  Real hot.  Come get your ice cream, cold sodas, cold gatorades, and cold water!" 

Things were good, but not for long.

What was that we heard in the distance?  Could it be?  Yes, another Ice Cream truck!  It had to be a good thing, right?  Right?  I mean, 2 hawkers of Flinstone Push-ups are better than 1, aren't they?  In short, the answer is no.  But I will give you the answer "in long."

The second truck to roll in was owned by "Tuscaloosa Special Service Ice Cream."  Oddly, this truck's speakers were blaring the "Happy Birthday" song.  Doesn't this alienate 364/365ths of the potential clientele?  Again, I was assuming, though.  There were no words to go along with the melody.  Perhaps the song was, "A Chocolate Eclair for you!" or "Mickey Mouse ice cream to you!"  In my mind, that song would go like this (to the tune of Happy Birthday in case you've lost me here): "Mickey Mouse ice cream to you! Mickey Mouse ice cream to you! It will smear on your faaa-ace! And it'll melt on you too!"

Anyway, 2 ice cream trucks are not better than 1.  Believe you, me.  "Special Service" rolled up in the "hood" and the driver said to Kool Moe, "I thought we settled this, Randy..." 

Randy immediately responded, "We didn't settle jack, Roger.  Now move along.  I'm busy."

The parents and kids were split.  Some were turned off by Roger's apparent invasion and his belittling tone. Others saw that Roger was offering waters 2 for 1 and dropped their allegiance to Ralph quickly.  Still others realized that this was just the beginning of this little spat, and it was time to leave.

"We settled it, Randy.  We settled it, and you know it.  Sokol Park is mine.  I don't want to get out of this truck."  ....  For the remaining patrons who hadn't yet realized -ish was about to get real, they now knew it was time to evacuate. 

"You would ruin a perfect day wouldn't you?" asked Randy. "Who cares about all these people, right?  God forbid I sell ice cream at Sokol Park."

While everyone else looked on with disgust, I inched closer because I knew you folks would love to hear about it.
 
"The problem, Randy (belittling pause), is that Sokol Park is mine when they aren't running concessions.  You agreed to it.  Now leave before I make you." 

Crunch time!  What would Randy do?????? OMG!!!!

"Fine!  ATTENTION EVERYONE," yelled Randy.  "I will sell everything for 25 cents off across the street.  It's worth the walk!"

One elderly lady applauded.  It was CLASSIC.  Thankfully this Ice Cream Truck turf battle didn't end badly.  My fear is that this is the exception, though. Not the rule...

"Sources"
1.  Wikipedia (2010, May 16).  Good Humor.  Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_Humor
2.  Bellis, M. (2010, May 16). History of ice cream. Retrieved from http://inventors.about.com/od/foodrelatedinventions/a/ice_cream.htm

Breaking down Talladega-Part 1: "I was thinking about it...That could have been one of the most awesome experiences I've ever had." -Will Speight

After years of dreaming and planning, a NASCAR dream was finally fulfilled.  We got to see a race at Talladega. 

I'll get all the boring NASCAR details out of the way first for those of you that aren't enlightened to the greatest spectator sport in America.  And as the greatest spectator event in America, it should go without saying that by default, it's the greatest spectator sport in the world.  Anyway, the camping was as well organized and as well mapped out as I have seen. Easy entrance, easy exit, good times.  The speedway was incredibly clean and nice, and there wasn't a bad seat in the house.  Also, Talladega has far and away the best sound system I've heard at a speedway.  Kevin Harvick won the race, and I'm pumped for Richard Childress Racing.  Also, maybe Harvick's wife didn't beat him after a race for a change...I've heard she's feisty.

Now, on to the stuff that really matters.  How can I describe the atmosphere?  It was like Mardi Gras met the TV program "Hee Haw" met a gun and knife show. 

The absolutely insane Cory Willis and the certified lunatic Will Speight met the NASCAR newbie Jon Handy and myself at the Wal-Mart in the city of Talladega.  We did have to secure some basic provisions, but I think mostly, any NASCAR weekend should start at Wal-Mart.  The wide array of NASCAR clothing and head gear led Speight to say, "If we don't get out of here soon, I'm going to spend all of my money on Dale Jr. gear."  So, we expedited.  Jon, who in addition to being a finance PhD student, is also a photographer, an avid reader, a skateboarder, a carpenter, and a chef ran down a basic checklist to make sure we had the food items we needed.  Chuck made sure we had all the "water" we needed, and after that we were ready to go to the speedway campground.  When we started to set up, Cory realized that some rat scoundrel had taken the tarp and other key accessories for his tent.  Soooo, Speight and I went back to Wal-Mart partly to tie up loose ends but mostly because two trips to Wal-Mart in a day are better than one.  On the way back, we bought firewood from a very large bald man on the side of the road who had a slight majority of his teeth left.  "That guy up there will charge you 5 more dollars for less firewood" he said.  "He's a jerk.  Ya'll from North Carolina?  I love Dale Jr."  What else could a man say to make us trust him?  He has 2 customers for life.  To the campsite we returned.

Our neighbors on one side were from Alabama.  To the other side, we had new friends from Indianapolis.  We all liked to party, so we ended up in the "North Camping Lot" which is always set aside for that...seriously.  Go to talladegasuperspeedway.com. Check out the camping information. It will ask "What will you will be camping in?"  Then "Where are your seats in the speedway?"  Then..."What kind of atmosphere are you looking for?"  Your answer choices for this question are: 

A.  I prefer to party with my friends and camper neighbors.  (Bingo)
B.  I am bringing my family and we are making a family vacation out of this trip.  (really?  ill-advised vacation)
C.  I like to have a good time, but I also like to sleep to get ready for the race.   (lame-o)

We picked A.  Duh.  You can tell that the North Camping Lot is set aside for partying because it is adjacent to I-20 and no sleep is possible unless it is induced via low sobriety levels, medication, or a pop-knot to the forehead because you stared at some maniac's wife the wrong way.  Truckers and people that thought they were clever honked all day and all night. 

Right as camp got set up and the canopy was secured above our royal lawn chairs, it began to rain.  Beverages and a friendly game of Spades would be all she wrote for Friday night.  The rain got harder and harder, and finally at 2 or 3 in the AM, Chuck, Speight and myself called it a night.  Jon had peeled off a bit earlier and had the foresight to sleep in his car...The rest of us should have been so lucky.  I've never tried to sleep in a kiddy pool, but I think if I did, it would be pretty much like our camping experience that Friday night.  For at least an hour, the 3 of us in the tent exchanged pleasantries such as:
- "My underwear is wet."
- "Well, this couldn't be much more miserable."
- "This rules."
- "My socks are wet."
- "Who's idea was this?"
-  "I'm having a great time."
- "Do you think we'll make it?"
- "Is that a fish swimming in the corner?"
- "My entire bag of clothes for the whole weekend is wet."
- "Could you knock me out so I can get some sleep?  Seriously.  Just hit me right here (pointed to temple) as hard as you can."

Now, it may seem like our camping experience was awful...But friends, this was just Friday night.  So much was yet to come.

'Casey at the Library': A loose adaptation of 'Casey at the Bat'

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the studying man that day,

The library was full of losers, who had just computer games to play.

And then when the "Silent Zone" filled up, and the private rooms did the same,

A feeling of anger and resentment made it hard for Casey to stay tame.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair; The rest-

Clung to the hope that spring's eternal in the naive college student's breast.

They thought, "if only Casey could legally get a hold of these brats-

He'd use tear gas and fisticuffs to shut their annoying traps."

But cultural norms prevented Casey, as did also silly laws,

The former, a joke, the latter a forestall to broken jaws.

So upon the quiet and afflicted student body, grim melancholy sat;

For there seemed little chance of Casey laying one out on the mat.

 But then the librarian let loose a yell to the wonderment of all,

And Ted, the security guard walked his way down the hall.

When the dust had lifted, and students saw what had occurred,

 Three pricks had been thrown out from the loud and noisy herd.

Then from 90 or so obnoxious students, there rose an angry mood,

They were here to talk and laugh, but mostly to be rude.

So they protested the actions of the honorable library staff,

This led to an increase in noise; at least by one and a half.

This was Casey's best and only chance, chaos had ensued,

It was likely no one would notice, if some loud-mouths left battered and bruised.

So he finally gave up on his studies and closed up all of his books,

He started doing calisthenics and giving dirty looks.

He wanted the dude with the loud iPod and speakers before he took on the rest,

That friggin' dude that had been beatboxing audibly to Ludacris and Kanye West.

He got up, set his sites and slowly started walking that way, 

His studying had been ruined, but this would make Casey's day.

Casey got to the table and grabbed the fella's music system,

He said, "no talky talky, homeboy; just sit there and listen."

The dude didn't know what to do as his jam box got turned off,

He did as Casey said, not letting out a peep or a cough.

As this dude's lecture was about to end,

A swarm of pesky students out of nowhere, came in

Casey was just about to finish his just and worthy job,

But the unthinkable was happening; a daggum flash mob. 

Un-rattled, Casey tried to finish what he had started,

There was no way, even in his haste he would be out-smarted.

With fire in his eyes, he raised the I-pod and speakers above his head,

After one more motion, this stinking noise machine would be dead...

Oh, somewhere in this favored land, obnoxious students get their due,

They're punished, expelled, written up, or given a beating to.

And somewhere men like Casey can put rude people in their place,

But not in that library, not on that day and not in that particular space.

When Casey had raised the speakers above his tiny head,

An officer of the law spotted him from his lazy stead.

"That one's part of the flash mob!" the officer did shout.

And before the deed was done, little Casey got thrown out.