If you’re not from Chicago’s North Shore, you might not immediately recognize this beloved institution.
It’s Homer’s Ice Cream Parlor in Wilmette, Illinois. Home of famous, fabulous ice cream.
Especially peach ice cream in season.
Its eighty years has been filled with happily serving hamburgers, tuna fish sandwiches and scrumptious ice cream desserts to generations of delighted kids and parents.
In 1979, it was the very first place I went to the day we moved into our house in Winnetka. I left baby Natasha- then eight months old- in my housekeeper’s Mary’s more-than-capable hands, and I drove a few minutes up Green Bay Road to pick up sandwiches for the movers and for Mary and me.
I remember it as if it were yesterday.
It was the very first place that I ever took Natasha to eat. She was a toddler by then, and her baby table manners were not quite Miss Manners perfect.
But at Homer’s, I was surrounded by a crowd of chatting moms and screaming babies, and giggling, rambunctious kids, and it was okay for her to toss a piece of hamburger on the floor.
It was the very first place she ever had ice cream.
I’m sure I gave her vanilla, but it didn’t take her long to land on Homer’s famous strawberry concoction. That soon became her go-to flavor.
In April of 1980, Natasha was joined by her brother Nick. Different from his sister in every way, he never emulated her behavior or choices.
Except in one area.
Homer’s strawberry ice cream
As hard as I tried to woo them over to my beloved vanilla, they both stood firm as rocky road on their choice.
It had to be Homer’s and it had to strawberry.
Okay. I knew when I was licked. (Sorry about the ice cream pun.)
Homer’s was our neighborhood kiddie hang. Our Malt Shoppe. Our Sweet Shoppe. Our Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor.
Decorated in candy apple red, just walking in there raised the spirits.
It was quick, easy, delicious, wholesome and fun. Many’s a time that my weary nerves and fretting children were soothed just by strollering into their friendly confines.
It was where I took my kids after stitches at the hospital or a ribbon at the swim meet.
Thus it was with very great sadness that I read a news story this week in Crain’s Chicago Business. Steven R. Strahler reported that a son of the founder accused his two brothers of skimming cash and letting the business “fall into debt, disrepair and unprofitability.”
It’s a heartbreaking saga of Alzheimer’s disease, addiction issues, mismanagement, greed, chaos.
The article is filled with ugly legal terms like “dissolutions” and “trustees” and “court filings.” The death knells of any business.
And all in the family.
Not the first family business to come apart at the seams. Not the last.
But the news that dark forces had enveloped one of the happiest places in my family’s personal narrative really saddens me.
I never thought it could happen at Homer’s.
Anywhere but here.
Sure could use a scoop of their vanilla right about now. Why isn’t real life as sweet as this?
I took Anne to Homer’s Ice Cream a year or two ago. I remember being a bit disappointed, not with the Ice Cream, but with the experience. I wasn’t sure why; and there is no reason to point to the family spat as the cause, but something did not fit with my expectations; perhaps it was just small differences from what I had once experienced. I had had a similar reaction when we went to the Sweet Shop years before, but the reason was more obvious there; they had split the place in half.
Thanks for the movie clip; I recognized the young George Bailey and remembered Mary’s whispering into his bad ear just by looking at the photo. But then; who wouldn’t?
I had a similar experience and feeling a couple of years ago myself, Jay. Now it’s all too clear. But I’m going to give them a chance and make it a point to go there. I hope they can rally. Thanks for the thumbs up on the clip. Glad you approved.
It’s always a little sad when a part of your past dies. Your blog about ice cream reminds me of when I was a kid and a couple of my buddies and I used to go to the Cubs games, sit in the bleachers, and get the greatest treat at the ball park….Frosty Malts. But it wasn’t just the ice cream that was special, it was also the old man who was the Frosty Malt vendor. His name was Irv. His looks are indelibly etched in my memory. He had 2 teeth, one upper left, one lower right, but his smile was contagious. His balding head had hair that was very thin and white. His face was weathered. He reminded me of what the fisherman in “The Old Man And The Sea” probably looked like. He looked like he was about 80 years old. Of course to a 12 year old, anyone over 50 looks like they could be 80. We would only buy our Frosty Malts from Irv. He would always stop to talk to us for a few moments to ask how we were doing in school and make sure we were staying on the straight and narrow. He shared stories and pictures of his family. He was especially proud of his daughter. He became a friend. I can never think of ice cream without thinking of Irv the Frosty Malt vendor. I’m quite sure he has passed on by now. It’s like a little bit of me has died too. RIP Irv.
Very nice tribute, Steve. My brother felt that way about a vendor- Kenny- who just recently passed away. It’s amazing how these people become part of our “story” and remain important to remember. Thanks for sharing, buddy. This meant a lot.
It’s no secret that ice cream was and still is an important part of growing up. The first time I remember having ice cream was when my folks used to make home-made when we lived in Minnesota….which meant it was only a treat in the summertime. Then we moved to St. Louis and my world changed when Mr. Softee drove right up to the edge of our driveway and served up soft-serve ice cream…pure heaven for a kid in grade school. That lasted until high school days when we moved to Wilmette and I learned after a few days at NT that Homers was the place to go for an ice cream fix. Now years later it is sad to hear about the family dispute but so much of this goes on in families that inherit a valuable entity. It happened in my family and created a rift for years with factions of my family. Funny how money and a little fame can affect some people. So sad!
Thanks for the memories here, Steve. Wow! I’m impressed. Home made ice cream. So “Little House On The Prairie.” And yes, family businesses are potential mine fields. Let’s buy a cone or a carton and hope we can help. Not so easy to do from Tucson but keep the thought. Thanks, buddy.
Right after we read about this mess in Facebook, Sally and I drove to Homer’s and bought 3 quarts of hand packed ice cream (strawberry, chocolate chocolate chip, raspberry chocolate chip), plus a strawberry milk shake (with an extra scoop of ice cream) – no peach available yet. This was “just in case”!!!
This is the EXACT right thing to do, my friend. I’m going to make it a point to do the same. Minus the shake. I only drink the LSCC vanilla shake. And then only once every five years or so. Love to you both. And thanks.
Every time I go through the intersection at Tower & Forestway I think of the Good Humor Man who parked on the SW corner. Our mom dreaded having to go that way!
I get where she was coming from. Just the jingle of the bells still makes my brother and me want to rifle my mom’s purse. Thanks for chiming in here today!