This summer at lunch time Mister Softee ice cream truck passed through the industrial park off Greenpoint Avenue in Brooklyn. I couldn’t recall the last time I had licked at a vanilla cone, yet every time its siren call announced its arrival in the area, I ran outside hoping to catch the truck.

Not once was I lucky.

Today I assisted RT, Handsome Dave, Rod Duckworth, and Hulio Bubbles in assembling and installing a $100,000 bronze door for a Park Avenue apartment building. It was a proud accomplishment for the Studio 40 crew, especially since the weighty doors fit the carved stone portal like a finely carved Incan stone.

Upon completion the team broke ranks.

It was 5 O’Clock and everyone had someplace to be other than work.

RT and I returned to the metal shop with the tools and the building’s previous bronze door. He was my boss and longtime friend. No way I was leaving RT in the lurch, especially since the gesture meant an extra hour of overtime.

After unloading the pick-up, I parked on Humboldt. The early evening air was heavy along the Newtown Creek. I walked back to the shop. A familiar tune filled my ears. The Mr. Softee’s truck was coming my way. I stepped into the street and waved my arm. The truck drove past me.

“Mother fucker!!!”

The truck kept going, but I couldn’t get the tune out of my head and back at the shop I sat at Handsome Dave’s desk and conjured up Mr. Softee on Google finding out that the jingle originated from a 1915 hit by Aaron Pryor A WHISTLER AND HIS DOG.

Check it out here.

It’s in an E-flat major at 6/8 time.

WHERE’S MY MR. SOFTEE TRUCK.

Here are the words.

Let’s all sing he song.

The CREAM-i-est DREAM-i-est SOFT ice CREAM
you GET from MIS-ter SOF-tee.
FOR a re-FRESH-ing de-LIGHT su-PREME
LOOK for MIS-ter SOF-tee….”