`Shopping was done with street vendors`

By Wally Wachter
Retired Herald Managing Editor

A 1946 vintage of a panel bread truck drew my interest away from a historic collection of old cars and limousines that graced a spectacular antique auto display.

There were limos of most of the U.S. presidents of the last four decades. There were old models of the large cars once owned by Adolf Hitler, Nikita Khrushchev and several other world leaders. There were even the colorful convertible of late actress Marilyn Monroe and the dazzling sedan of the late flamboyant entertainer Liberace.

But the sight of the bread truck brought back memories of the era when most of our food shopping was done with street vendors. An old open-back vegetable truck displayed nearby added to the nostaglia.

The bakery trucks traveled their routes every morning, their built-in drawers and racks full of freshly-baked breads, pastries and cookies. The aroma emanating from within had people from the neighborhoods scurrying to curbside to be first in line for the 10-cent-a-loaf bread or the quarter-a-dozen sticky breakfast rolls. The trucks' stocks usually were depleted before the routes were complete, even the day-old drawer which stocked baked goods at a reduced price.

Except for fresh meats, a housewife never had to leave her doorstep to buy the essential foods for her family. The early-morning milkman deposited each day's supplies of milk and cream on the front porch, often before the sun was up. Farmers en route to curb markets often canvassed a town's streets giving residents a pick of the freshest produce. Most families had their regular "egg man" and "potato man."

In the summer, vendors with their open trucks piled high with fresh fruits, enticed the neighborhoods with their bellowing cry: "Watermelons!"

With electric refrigerators still in the era to come, ice trucks made regular runs through town selling blocks to fit the top compartments of the old-fashioned ice boxes. The four-cornered card hung on the front porch indicated to the iceman how large a chunk he should deliver. The corners were numbered 25, 50, 75 and 100, the required amount appearing on top.

Neighborhood kids looked forward to the ice deliveries. While the man was carrying the blocks into the homes with his heavy iron tongs, they would scavange the rear of his truck, refreshing themselves with flakes of ice that had been chipped off the big blocks.

Summer refreshment also was provided for the kiddies by the ice cream "good humor man" who made regular rounds with his truck, summoning the youngsters with his tinkling bells. "Iceball" vendors, who fashioned their own carts, wheeled them around town, making treats with shaved ice topped with various flavors of soda pop. And there was the "popcorn man" with his two-wheel cart and class-encased chamber which showed the big kernels bursting. He also had roasted peanuts and candy bars.

National companies, using coffees and teas as their basic commodities, had regular routes selling those products and offering the customer housewives attractive premiums, the value based on the amount of coffee or tea they bought. Some of those premiums, of little value then, have become collectors" items.

Then there were salesmen selling needed home products along with useless other wares for which housewives were easy prey. There were Fuller Brush men who had a bigger variety of brushes to sell than their were uses for them.

Insurance men came to the door selling all types of coverage. And when the policies had been sold, made weekly trips to the homes to collect the premiums. Kids, in particular, waited for them to come because they often brought little story books or song books for them.

Some women even bought their clothes from vendors who called at the homes with large bundles of clothing from aprons to dresses.

Even services were provided at curbside. An umbrella man would make regular rounds, selling or repairing bummershoots. He also sharpened scissors or knives and even tried his hand at fixing clocks.

I hope the bygone world leaders and celebrities will not frown on me from the hereafter for not going ga-ga over their left-behind limos. But I found more memories in a bread truck that took me back to my youth.

Wally Wachter is retired managing editor of The Herald