Who was the man who rounded up all of the young children in our neighborhood on 43rd street in North Bergen in the early 1960s? He loaded us into the back of his truck and took us all out for ice-cream.
I was only 7 or 8 years old and I didn’t know the man, but my father must have, because he let me go. My 9 year old brother was too shy to come along. The memory has always stuck with me because it was such a nice thing for a grown-up to do. We children had the time of our lives an unexpected thrill on a truck ride with all of our friends and a grown up doing suck a nice thing, treating us to ice-cream.
The shy brother turned out to be outgoing, and I’m a hermit-type, too scared to make conversation at a cocktail party, but I still wonder, over five decades later — who was that man?