Brooklyn Street Vendors

Hey everyone, welcome back to *Brooklyn Echoes*, the podcast that keeps the borough’s legends and memories alive. I’m your host, Robert Henriksen.

### The Knife Sharpeners of Brooklyn

Ah, those wandering wizards of the blade in 1960s and ’70s Brooklyn—the knife sharpeners who roamed neighborhoods like Park Slope and Cobble Hill in their rumbling trucks, a throwback to immigrant roots that sharpened the city’s edge. Many hailed from Italian families, like the Pallottas from Abruzzi, where scissors-making was an art passed down generations. By the ’60s, pushcarts had given way to green Chevy trucks loaded with grinding wheels and bells that clanged arrhythmically, summoning homemakers and barbers from their stoops with dull knives and scissors in hand. Mike Pallotta, a fixture in the trade, would park his truck—its sides emblazoned with “Sharpening Service”—and fire up the wheel, sparks flying as he honed edges to razor perfection for a buck or two, chatting in that thick Brooklyn accent about the old days when his grandfathers pushed carts through Manhattan.

These sharpeners were more than vendors; they were community keepers, working nights in other jobs but daylighting as grinders to preserve the family legacy. In the ’70s, as supermarkets rose, their numbers dwindled to a handful, but spots like John’s Sharpening Service in Brooklyn kept the tradition alive, brothers Vincent, Joe, and Dominick grinding away on WWI-era wheels for hairdressers and surgeons alike. Kids would watch mesmerized from sidewalks, the whine of metal on stone mixing with the summer hum of the borough, a reminder that in a fast-changing city, some skills—like a perfectly sharpened knife—never dulled.

### The Pony-Drawn Vegetable Carts

Step into the fading echoes of 1960s Brooklyn, where the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone streets signaled the arrival of the last horse-drawn vegetable carts, a nostalgic holdover from an earlier era amid the borough’s bustling avenues. Though motorized trucks were taking over by then, a few resilient peddlers like Vincent “Jimmy the Peddler” Cincotta in Cobble Hill clung to tradition, his pony or horse pulling a wooden wagon piled high with fresh produce—shiny apples, crisp lettuce, and plump tomatoes sourced from Jersey farms or the old Wallabout Market. In neighborhoods like Boerum Hill and Carroll Gardens, these carts rolled through on summer mornings, the vendor’s melodic cries of “Fresh veggies! Get yer cabbages here!” drawing housewives to haggle over prices, kids sneaking grapes while the horse munched contentedly on a carrot reward.

By the ’70s, interstate highways and supermarkets had all but phased them out, but in quieter enclaves, the sight of a pony-drawn cart evoked the immigrant spirit of South Brooklyn, where Italian and Irish families relied on these mobile markets for affordable, farm-fresh goods. The carts, often family affairs passed down generations, navigated narrow streets better than cars, their wooden wheels groaning under the weight, leaving behind the earthy scent of soil and greens. It was a simpler time, when the pony’s gentle neigh and the vendor’s banter turned shopping into a neighborhood ritual, soon to be replaced by the roar of engines.

### The Seltzer Guy

Oh, the fizz and fortitude of Brooklyn’s seltzer men in the ’60s and ’70s, those carbonated crusaders hauling wooden crates of clinking glass bottles up brownstone steps in Crown Heights and Williamsburg, delivering bubbly relief to thirsty households. Eli Miller, starting his route in 1960, was a legend among them—loading his truck at Gomberg Seltzer Works in Canarsie with siphon-topped bottles filled to 60 PSI, their spray so potent it “hurt when you drink it,” as one aficionado put it. These guys, often Eastern European Jewish immigrants or their sons, navigated routes like lifelines, chatting with customers who became family, mixing egg creams with Fox’s U-bet syrup or just spritzing plain for that old-world refreshment that store-bought “dreck” couldn’t match.

In the ’70s, as plastic bottles emerged, their numbers fizzled from hundreds to a handful, but men like Walter Backerman and Steve Levine kept the tradition sparkling, wooden cases rattling in open-sided trucks labeled “Home Deliveries.” They’d exchange empties for fulls, the hiss of release echoing in kitchens, a ritual that blended nostalgia with necessity in changing Brooklyn. Eli, working into his 80s before passing the torch to young Alex Gomberg of Brooklyn Seltzer Boys, embodied the grit—rain or shine, those bottles brought joy, one spritz at a time.

### The Milkman

Picture the quiet dawn in 1960s Brooklyn, the soft rumble of a delivery truck breaking the silence as the milkman made his rounds in Flatbush or Bensonhurst, glass bottles tinkling like wind chimes in insulated crates. Back then, about 30% of milk still came via home delivery, the milkman—a friendly face in a white uniform—placing fresh quarts of whole milk, cream rising to the top, into metal milk boxes on stoops or through built-in chutes, collecting empties and payments left the night before. In those pre-supermarket dominance days, he’d often add eggs, butter, or bread, his route a daily lifeline for families without cars or fridges stocked for weeks.

By the ’70s, as refrigerators became universal and grocery stores proliferated, deliveries dropped to around 7%, but in Brooklyn enclaves, the tradition lingered until the late decade. Kids would wake to the familiar clink, shaking bottles to mix the cream for cereal, while the milkman, perhaps from local dairies like Borden’s, navigated snowy winters or humid summers with a wave and a smile. It was more than milk; it was community, a vanishing echo of simpler times when the milkman’s early arrival signaled the start of another Brooklyn day.

### The Ice Cream Delivery Trucks of Brooklyn

Ah, the sweet symphony of summer in 1960s and ’70s Brooklyn—the tinkling jingle of ice cream trucks echoing down blocks like Flatbush or Bushwick, drawing kids from stoops and playgrounds with pockets full of change. These weren’t just vehicles; they were mobile joy machines, white trucks with colorful logos cruising neighborhoods at a leisurely pace, bells ringing or that looping tune blaring from speakers to announce their arrival. Brands like Good Humor dominated early on, their uniformed drivers—often called the “Good Humor Man”—pedaling bikes or driving vans stocked with novelties: chocolate eclairs, toasted almond bars, and strawberry shortcake pops, all wrapped in crinkly paper and handed out for a dime or quarter. By the late ’60s, Mister Softee surged in popularity, their soft-serve trucks with the iconic cone-headed mascot swirling vanilla, chocolate, or twist cones topped with sprinkles, the creamy treat melting fast under the sun as you licked it down to the sugar cone.

In enclaves like Bensonhurst or Coney Island, you’d spot rivals too—Bungalow Bar trucks with their distinctive blue-and-white designs selling bars from mini markets on wheels, or Freezer Fresh from New Jersey, their mint-green rigs offering factory-fresh popsicles and ice cream sandwiches. Puerto Rican vendors added flair with helado de coco carts, shaving coconut ice for a tropical twist. These trucks were community fixtures, stopping for block parties or after Little League games, the driver a familiar face swapping stories while kids debated flavors. As the ’70s rolled on, amid rising costs and competition from stores, their numbers dipped, but the magic lingered—a jingle, a treat, and a slice of Brooklyn childhood wrapped in one chilly delight.

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