I would be hanging out doing whatever, playing baseball, riding my bike, chasing around with my friends after dinner and then you would hear the bells. Like Christmas bells! It made you think of Santa! And presents! And all you needed was a dime or a quarter. I could usually beg it from my parents, but if not, I usually had at least a dime stashed away somewhere in my sock drawer.
The bells would keep getting closer and closer, till finally it would turn our corner. And there it was - the Good Humor Man! You would never say, "the Good Humor Man truck." It was like they were one; man and truck and ice cream within.
And how white was that truck?! Gleaming, polar white! It radiated an aura of crisp, cold, clean treasure. The truck was solid too. It was thick. Like an armored car. Made sense with the very precious cargo of course. Even at four I began to learn to interpret the menu posted on the side of the truck. It was simple. It was pictures. And they were mostly cleverly illustrated "cut-away" pictures so you could see what was inside because a lot of those Good Humor ice creams had great stuff inside. You had the coating, then the ice cream, and then at the center sometimes something even better. Like solid chocolate!
The Good Humor Man was unfailingly nice. He always took his time with us. There was no rush. No impatience. He was smiling, all dressed in white. You would make your big decision and then he would open up that little square door on the back of the truck. The cold air would envelop us for a brief few seconds. Snow. Ice Winter. Inside that truck. He would reach in and come out with exactly what you asked for. And if you needed change he had that cool change maker on his belt. Bright chrome which looked like gleaming silver.