Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, April 2, 1991 TAG: 9104020379
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ed Shamy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Sno-Kones. Snow cones. The intelligentsia call them Italian ice.
Pulverized, shaved ice packed into a paper cone, rounded off on top and soaked in flavored syrup. That is a Sno-Kone.
They are gross, which is their appeal, particularly when the summer heat is turning the pavement to mush.
Kids love them because they're sweet and they drip a lot.
Last summer, when the pavement was soft, Sno-Kones became controversial in Roanoke.
Sno-Kones! What kind of place could wring tumult from the innocence of a Sno-Kone?
This kind of place.
Brian Davis was selling the icy wonders on Mill Mountain, near the star and the overlook.
Made a few bucks at it, too, he says, and that's easy to believe. The mountain is a free enterprise wasteland, and while the city simmered below in August, Davis had the high ground cornered.
But city government eventually ousted Davis from Mill Mountain. He had most, but not all, of the permits he needed to sell there.
Davis howled. He wondered aloud if his Sno-Kone empire was under attack because he is black.
The city made clear it wanted to protect pristine Mill Mountain from tacky vendors, regardless of their race.
Davis was given a seven-day reprieve, and on Labor Day he left.
But the Sno-Kone is a migratory snack, and every year, just as sure as the swallows return to Capistrano, the icy sweets hit the soft-tar streets.
Soon it will be hot. Sno-Kone weather.
Are we ready?
Sure we're not.
The city is still ill-prepared to deal with vendors seeking lucrative monopolies on Mill Mountain, even though it's a park so unique and so classy in part because there aren't hawkers.
"Ideally, we [city government] would sell the food up there," says Gary Fenton, who directs the city parks department. "But we're not in a position to sell Sno-Kones or anything else."
Instead, we'll have to cope with the vagaries of private merchants.
"If we allow him . . . ," says Fenton, and the rest is obvious.
Brian Davis with Sno-Kones. Someone else with soda pop? Corn dogs? T-shirts? Inflatable Ninja Turtle dolls?
The problem may resolve itself.
Brian Davis, who is girding now for final exams of his final semester at Virginia Tech, hasn't given much thought to a Sno-Kone encore.
"Sno-Kones were just a means to an end," Davis says. "Somebody asked me last season, `Are you gonna sell sweet water to kids for the rest of your life?'"
"I may sell Sno-Kones sporadically, at festivals and things like that, but not like I did before, every day," he says.
Brian Davis is looking toward bigger and better things. A business management degree. Some job interviews. A career.
Which leaves the mountaintop Sno-Kone issue in limbo. Which lets the city off the hook. Which leaves Mill Mountain as it was.
Which is fine for right now, but will be annoying real shortly, once the pavement gets soft.
by CNB