MISTER SOFTEE SQUEEZED
REJECTED JUNE 2005

This summer, while their little ones have been monkeying around on the jungle gyms of Church Square Park, a handful of stay-at-home moms in Hoboken, New Jersey, have been occupying themselves with a lively discussion of ice cream. More specifically, they've kept busy with a debate over the potential harm their toddlers might suffer from prolonged exposure to the noxious fumes emitted by the Mister Softee ice cream truck that idles on the park's east side from noon until 3 p.m. every day. So concerned are these mothers that they've filed a complaint with the City's Environmental Services office in Hoboken's City Hall asking that Mister Softee be banned from the park.

Whether or not one thinks Mister Softee ought to be allowed to continue to peddle cones by the park has become a polarizing question in Hoboken, and one with only a sprinkle of nuance. You're either for Mister Softee, or you're against him. And by extension, you're either for ice cream, or you're against it.

The concerned mothers have been vilified because, after all, what kind of person doesn't love ice cream?

In recent weeks, a handful of Mister Softee's longtime customers have expressed their support by placing editorials in The Hoboken Reporter.

One citizen wrote: "Please tell me you're kidding. Mister Softee has been around for decades and will continue to be here long after I'm gone and you're gone too. Next, you're going to tell us that people should not drive automobiles in Hoboken, lest the fumes harm their precious offspring! Give us a break. I don't know of any child who suffered from lung disease because they inhaled Mr. Softee truck fumes during their childhood while playing in the parks." The missive continued, "What really concerns me though is the fumes that come from the dogs in the doggie parks. I'm more concerned about the germs festering from that situation. Now that's a real problem. Doggie poop all over the grass. Have you taken a stroll through Columbus Park lately?"

Another Mister Softee supporter chastised the complaint's authors as "unemployed soccer moms, and "pre-madonnas (sic) having nothing else to do daily except mind other people's actions and being that they are clearly miserable with their own menial existence and lack of achievements feel compelled to cease another hard working American's achievements by unjustly targeting them in a dubious attempt to bring forth validation for their own failures in life and as human beings."  

It may not come as a surprise that the women at the center of this controversy are not at all eager to have their identities revealed. Some citizens have thus speculated that perhaps these "soccer moms" are apparitions, scapegoats constructed by the the proprietors of Ben & Jerry's and Coldstone Creamery, two new ice cream franchises that have opened up on Washington Street, the city's main thoroughfare, as a means of eliminating a formidable competitor.

But very recently Amy Kleisner, a young stay-at-home mom who expressed strong feelings of support for Mister Softee in an editorial to the local paper, told a reporter, "I know who they are. There's five of them. We call them the 'Gang of Five!' You know what kind of people they are? They're the kind of people who give their kids Soy Crisps and consider ice cream the devil's handiwork! It's because the truck makes a little bit of noise and smells a little bit and dispenses sugar. God forbid!"

Ms. Kleisner informed the reporter that a guy named

Rocco who coaches her next-door neighbors' kids little league baseball team also happens to be the Environmental Services clerk who help the "Gang of Five" file their imputation.  

However, when Rocco was reached on his cell phone (he keeps irregular hours at the office and a receptionist was more than happy to provide his private number), he explained that aggrieved parties are not required to include their names when filing a report. "But what you might want to do," Rocco instructed, "is go hangout in that park and ask around."

There are two toddler playgrounds at Church Square Park. On a very warm afternoon in the middle of June, a small clutch of moms and nannies were supervising play dates in the playground on the west side of the park. All of the women present said they had heard about the charges against Mister Softee, but they knew the "Gang of Five" only by reputation. "They go to that playground over there," one mother noted, pointing to a fenced-in area two hundred feet to the east. But, alas, in the far eastern region of the park, none of the idling mothers claimed membership in the "Gang of Five," either.

Fortunately, everyone in the park knew the identity of Mister Softee. His real name is Anthony Santomauro, though he's just Tony to most of Hoboken. He has the gentle disposition of a man who sells cherry slushies and chocolate-dip cones to four year olds for a living. He is a fit looking 45-year-old with dusty hair and dark eyes and a vague scar on his upper lip.

It is difficult to tell how tall Santomauro is because his truck's low ceiling requires him to stoop. He also spends quite a lot of time kneeling or squatting because his truck's service window is situated at the eye level of his clientele.

Santomauro is considered by many Hobokenites to be something of an institution. He's been selling ice cream in the city for 30, and bought his truck 22 years ago. There are only two Mister Softee trucks that circulate the square mile that is Hoboken. Tony's route, which he's been driving for 22 years, takes him for a mile along the waterfront, to Park Avenue and then back along Willow Avenue for approximately a half mile. Tracing his route on a road map of Hoboken yields an image that roughly resembles a slide trombone.

The truck itself is a 50-year-old white and blue Grumman model that has painted likenesses of the treats he sells spread along the side and metallic hubcaps that have been polished to a high shine. More than 56, 000 miles have been logged on the odometer.

Tony says his truck is certified by the State of New Jersey, and has passed all required emissions tests. "I can idle here so long as I'm busy," he said. "The police drive by and see that I'm busy and they leave me alone."

It was the City Clerk's office that notified Santomauro about the "Gang of Five"'s complaint. Shocked by the news, he immediately began collecting signatures of support. So far more than two thousand customers have signed the petition that he keeps on his truck's aluminum counter. Santomauro said that several high-ranking officials in City Hall--regular customers, he said--assured him that he's got nothing to worry about. "It's a ridiculous claim," he said. "Hoboken is sandwiched between the Holland Tunnel and the Lincoln Tunnel. New York City is across the river. And they're worried about fumes from my truck?" he asked gravely. "If I give up my right to idle my truck here, that means I give up my right to idle my truck at every park in the city."

Tony was done with the subject. Children began streaming from a nearby elementary school. A line of parents and children formed on the sidewalk. One woman, clutching her child in one arm and her purse and two cones (both vanilla, rainbow sprinkles) with her free arm, asked Tony if there was anything more she could do to help out? "I couldsign the petition again," she told Santomauro.

A littler later, Santomauro asks another customer to sign the petition. "You have got to be kidding me. I cannot believe it," the woman says. She has red hair and is wearing jeans and John Lennon glasses. "People just have too much time on their hands. Can I have a small vanilla? Also, those are people who have never worked a day in their lives.   I'll have a another small vanilla with Kit Kat and a little bit of chocolate syrup."

– ALEX FRENCH