Ice cream trucks are music to the ears of Americans. Are they melting away?

RUNNEMEDE, NJ − Zoe Green missed the sound of the Manapua Man and the way the trucks with their twinkling music, ice cream and candy would draw children out of their homes on warm Hawaiian nights and create a bond with neighbors.

“One day it was really hot and I said, ‘Let’s go outside and make some ice cream cakes (frozen treats made from fruit syrup, evaporated milk and water) and musubi (Spam sushi) and give them out to the neighbors,” she recalls.

She’s not the only one missing that bit (scoop?) of Americana: According to a survey by Good Humor, nearly 70% of respondents said they saw fewer ice cream trucks in their neighborhoods, and two-thirds of them said they would be angry or sad if ice cream trucks became a thing of the past. (Good Humor sold its fleet in 1978 to focus on retail.)

Good Humor (and its parent company, Unilever) launched the Neighborhood Joy Program, a two-year, $200,000 commitment to support independent mobile vendors in the U.S. with information, resources and opportunities. The first initiative: the Neighborhood Joy Grant Program, which awarded grants totaling $100,000 to 16 drivers and cart operators, including Green (who won the $20,000 grand prize).

On that warm day two summers ago, Green hitched a trailer to her electric bike with a portable speaker. She’s still at it, finding a way to connect with her neighbors even as the high cost of living forces many of them to move off the islands.

“We handed out some supplies and brought the kids outside,” she said. “I gave them a little taste of what it was like when we were kids. It’s a little taste of simplicity.”

‘The ultimate American dessert experience’

Steve Christensen, executive director of the North American Ice Cream Association, said that while ice cream trucks don’t drive through neighborhoods as often as they used to, they’re still dishing out treats.

The business model is changing because of a number of factors, he said: Changing consumer habits, rising costs and demographics all mean you’re more likely to see an ice cream truck parked at a Little League game, festival, birthday party or corporate event than driving through a residential neighborhood.

Ice cream trucks and carts, from the bicycle-and-refrigerator factory Green Pedals in Hawaii to the Fudgy Wudgy Man (now men and women) that roam the beaches along the Jersey Shore to the Good Humor and Mister Softee trucks that many remember from their childhoods, “are the quintessential American dessert experience,” Christensen says.

“I don’t think ice cream trucks will ever go extinct,” he said. “They’re something that’s essential to our shared memories.”

But, he said, like any business, “they have to change their tactics in how they do business. Just standing around parked or driving around neighborhoods is not enough anymore.”

Customers have become more discerning, he said, and the ice cream industry as a whole is responding with more organic, locally produced and smaller batches of ice cream, dairy-free options, more brick-and-mortar stores and ice cream sold directly to retailers.

“A lot of the newer generation of ice cream makers are focused on the story behind the ice cream, from cow to cone, where it comes from. There’s a lot more social responsibility in the business.”

Rising costs, from ingredients to fuel, are forcing operators to think strategically: parking their truck at a festival or sporting event attracts customers who are already there. Corporate and private events mean a guaranteed payout and the ability to buy more specifically.

“I would encourage people to support their local ice cream shop or vendor,” said Christensen, who added that July is National Ice Cream Month and Sunday is National Ice Cream Day.

“They are some of the hardest working and nicest people out there,” he said.

Sweet, icy treats and a sense of community

For Green, who was recognized by Good Humor for her efforts to bring people together over sweet, icy treats, ice cream trucks are a reminder of community, shared experiences and a simpler past.

She’s upgraded her trailer and the bicycle she calls her “steed” with a generator and a small freezer, and added more goodies (including soda made from lemons from a tree in her yard, Good Humor popsicles and novelties, and shaved ice, a Hawaiian favorite). She donates goodies at community events and hopes to inspire more people with “random acts of aloha,” such as donating anonymously to local teachers’ wish lists.

Treats from the trailer, which she sometimes gives away for free, usually cost $1-$2, money she puts back into the inventory. She lives with her husband and three children on the Windward side of Oahu, in a small town where families have lived for generations.

The Manapua Man “played music and we scrounged up whatever we could find on the couch,” she said. “I really enjoyed it; we’d be with our cousins and then go outside and see all the neighborhood kids. We’d pay for our treats and stay outside and play.”

Green goes outside three or four times a week and feels a strong connection to her heritage. “I ask people where the grass grows greener, and it grows greenest where you water it.”

Her neighbors have responded, she said: “The community has a way of making things grow that are planted. When someone starts something that is good for the children, everyone wants to be a part of it.”

Mister Softee: Family Fun

Mike Conway said his 7-year-old daughter Whitney “thinks I have the coolest job in the world.”

In a way, she’s right: Conway is vice president of Mister Softee, the largest franchisor of ice cream trucks in the United States. The Runnemede, New Jersey-based company has more than 625 trucks operating in 21 states. Conway and his brother JP are third-generation owners of the company, which was founded in 1956 and took over from their father and uncle in 2020.

That’s right. They took over just before “the whole world changed,” and Conway admitted the early days of the pandemic were “difficult and scary,” especially when most states forced their trucks — and everything deemed non-essential — to close.

When trucks started running again in most places in May 2020, people showed up in droves, he said.

“Everyone was still at home,” he recalled. “But when they saw the trucks, people felt normal again.”

He says he has seen changes in the industry, but he also recognizes why ice cream truck operators need to adapt.

Families have fewer children and more and more families have both parents working, meaning fewer children are running after trucks as they drive through the streets.

“Our trucks are still doing well,” he said. “But now it’s more events, schools, parties. Our phones are busier than ever.

“It used to be that you’d go out and do a route and maybe a birthday party here and there,” said Conway, a former franchisee. “Now there’s (jobs) all the time.”

Mister Softee has also opened physical locations in New Jersey (12), New York and California (one in each).

The drivers are changing too, he said: “Twenty or thirty years ago it was mostly men, college-age guys. Now it’s every age, every gender.”

The 42-year-old appreciates the tradition and the nostalgia. He and his brother grew up in South Jersey, and their father had a career outside the family business for a while. So Mr. Softee’s visit was as special to them as it would be to any other kid.

“We’re trying to do something very simple: give people ice cream and make them happy in that moment,” he said. “And that’s what we’re pushing for. Every day, our drivers are dealing with people who are happy to see them. There’s not a lot of jobs that give you that.”

Contact Phaedra Trethan via email at [email protected], on X (formerly Twitter) @wordsbyphaedra, or on Threads @by_phaedra