ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Sunday, August 11, 1996 TAG: 9608120007
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV21 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
DATELINE: CHRISTIANSBURG
SOURCE: DONNA ALVIS-BANKS STAFF WRITER
My youngest son's first hero was Greg Feuchtenberger.
The boy wasn't quite 3 years old - barely old enough to say "Mama," much less "Feuchtenberger."
It wasn't long before he was shouting the two syllables he associated with his hero, though:
``Snow cone!''
When Greg Feuchtenberger barreled up the hill beside our house on his weekly route in the red-and-white ice cream truck, my half-pint son and his pint-size older brother, age 4, would come running.
Like Pavlov's pups, they quickly developed a conditioned reflex to the clang-clang-clanging of the bell on that truck.
"Mama! The snow cone man's here!" they whooped, hands outstretched.
As soon as I plopped quarters into their chubby palms, they sprinted for the curb on Grant Street and waited excitedly for the truck to top back over the hill.
Feuchtenberger - the "snow cone man" - would slowly chug to a stop and call out his cheerful greeting:
"Hi, Guys! How are you fellows today?"
I watched from the back door as Feuchtenberger prepared two icy treats - one orange, one grape.
"Thanks! Be careful now. Sip around the edges!" Feuchtenberger rattled as he watched the boys start for the house, slurping happily.
He'd wave to me at my lookout, give the bell one last clang and head down Grant and back onto Depot Street.
I held the door for my boys as they carefully carried their soppy paper cones inside.
"Mama," the little one announced through his baby teeth, "I want to be a snow cone man when I grow up!"
That little boy is 14 now. He outgrew Mama last year. And these days, he talks of a career in heavy metal music.
Maybe that's why I picked up the phone and called Greg Feuchtenberger a couple of weeks ago...
"Can I ride with you on your snow cone truck?" I asked. It was time to relive those summer days.
LENGTH: Short : 48 linesby CNB