Ice cream trucks are music to our ears. But are they melting away?

RUNNEMEDE, N.J. − Zoe Green missed the sound of the Manapua Man, and how the trucks, with their twinkly music and icy treats and candy would bring kids out of their houses and bond neighbors on warm Hawaiian evenings.

"It was really hot one day and I said, 'Let's go outside and make some ice cakes (frozen treats made with fruit syrup, evaporated milk and water) and musubi (Spam sushi) and give it out to the neighbors," she recalled.

She's not alone in missing that slice (scoop?) of Americana: According to a study by Good Humor, nearly 70% of respondents said they noticed fewer ice cream trucks in their neighborhood, and two-thirds of them said they would be upset or sad to see ice cream trucks become a thing of the past. (Good Humor sold its fleet of vehicles in 1978 to focus on retail sales.)

Good Humor (and its parent company, Unilever) started the Neighborhood Joy Program, a two-year, $200,000 commitment to support independent mobile purveyors across the U.S. with information, resources and opportunities. Its first initiative: The Neighborhood Joy Grant Program, which gave away grants totaling $100,000 to 16 drivers and pushcart operators, including Green (who was awarded the top prize of $20,000).

On that hot day two summers ago, Green put a trailer on her electric bicycle with a portable speaker. She's still doing it, finding a way to build connections with her neighbors even as the high cost of living drives many of them to move from the islands.

"We gave out some things and and we got the kids outside," she said. "I gave them a taste of what it was like when we were kids. It's a little taste of simplicity."

'The quintessential American dessert experience'

Steve Christensen, executive director of the North American Ice Cream Association, said that while ice cream trucks might not be roaming neighborhoods as much as they once did, they're still doling out treats.

The business model is evolving because of a few factors, he said: Changing consumer habits, cost increases and demographics all mean you're more likely to see an ice cream truck parked outside a Little League game, festival, birthday party or corporate event than driving down the street in a subdivision.

Ice cream trucks and carts, from the bike-and-cooler rig Green pedals in Hawaii to the Fudgy Wudgy Man (now men and women) who walk the beaches along the Jersey Shore to the Good Humor and Mister Softee trucks many remember from their childhood "are the quintessential American dessert experience," Christensen said.

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

But, he said, like any business, "they need to change tactics on how they do business. Being parked or driving around neighborhoods isn't enough anymore."

Customers are more discerning, he said, and the ice cream industry as a whole is responding with more organic, locally sourced and smaller batch offerings, nondairy options, more brick-and-mortar shops and direct to retail ice cream.

"A lot of the newer generation of ice cream makers is focused on the story behind the ice cream, from cow to cone, where it's sourced from. There's a lot more social responsibility in the business."

Rising costs, from ingredients to fuel, force operators to think strategically: Parking their truck at a festival or sporting event draws customers who are already there. Corporate and private events mean a guaranteed payout and the ability to target purchasing more precisely.

"I'd encourage people to support their local ice cream shop or vendor," Christensen said, noting 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, recognized by Good Humor for her efforts to use sweet, icy treats to bring people together, ice cream trucks are a reminder of community, of shared experience and of a simpler past.

She's upgraded her trailer and the bike she calls her "steed" with a generator and small freezer and added more treats (including soda made with lemons from a tree in her yard, Good Humor popsicles and novelties and shave ice, a Hawaiian favorite). She donates treats 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 out for free, usually cost $1-$2, money she plows back into restocking. She lives with her husband and three children on the windward side of Oahu, in a small town where families stay for generations.

The Manapua Man "played music, and we'd scrape together what we'd find in the couch," she said. "I really enjoyed it; we'd be with our cousins and then go outside and see all the kids from the neighborhood. We'd pay for our treats and stay outside and play."

Green goes out 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 growing things that are planted. When someone starts something that’s good for the kids, everyone wants to be part of it."

Mister Softee: Family-run 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 franchiser of ice cream trucks in the United States. The Runnemede, New Jersey-based business has more than 625 trucks operating in 21 states. Conway and his brother JP are the third-generation owners of the company founded in 1956 and took over from their dad and uncle in 2020.

That's right. They took over right 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 anything else deemed nonessential ‒ to shut down.

When trucks began to roll again in most places by May 2020, he said, people flocked to them.

"Everybody was still home," he remembered. "But seeing the trucks made people feel normal."

He said he's seen changes in the business, but he also recognizes the reasons ice cream truck operators need to adapt.

Families have fewer children, and more families have both parents working, so there aren't as many kids chasing trucks as they trundle down the street.

"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 you'd go out and do a route and maybe a birthday party here and there," said Conway, a former franchisee. "Now there are (jobs) all the time."

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

The drivers are changing, too, he said: "Twenty or 30 years ago, it was mostly men, college-age guys. Now it's any age, any gender."

The 42-year-old appreciates the tradition and the nostalgia; he and his brother grew up in South Jersey and for a time, their father had a career outside the family business so Mister Softee paying a visit was just as special to them as any other kid.

"We try to do a really simple thing: Give people ice cream and make them happy in the moment," he said. "And that's what we push for. Every day our drivers are dealing with people who are happy to see them. Not many jobs give you that."

Contact Phaedra Trethan by email at ptrethan@usatoday.com, on X (formerly Twitter) @wordsbyphaedra, or on Threads @by_phaedra