What’s it like to grow up in the Ice Cream Business?

Steve George’s favorite childhood memory is when his dad would bring home all the
ice cream sandwiches he could eat. His dad and his uncle Mike were building what would
later become Melody Farms, a small family owned company started by Steve’s grandfather in 1948 with one old truck and a route consisting of 3customers.

Tom George and Sons Dairy could have gone either way because it was tough finding customers back then. But Steve’s dad, Sharkey, and his uncle Mike realized early on that persistence and developing great customer relationships by making the customer most important were some of the cornerstones of building Melody Farms.

One of Steve’s first jobs was at 14 years old calling customers on the phone for orders. At 16 he drove an ice cream delivery truck during the summer. After graduating college with a degree in Business Administration, he later joined the company, first as a salesman and eventually in new product development. With his family and cousins all working in the business, Melody Farms was growing rapidly, from 1 million to 5 million to 30 million to over 130 million. By then Melody Farms owned and operated several plants including Stroh’s Ice Cream in Detroit, Mi.

Steve’s role in product development was his dream job. Tasting and testing new flavors, and then the reward of seeing your ice cream come down the production line, are some his fondest memories. He also had a role in print and media advertising, drawing on his passion for collecting antique posters.

At the height of its growth Melody Farms was listed in Dairy Field Magazine’s Top 100 Dairies and one of the largest privately owned dairies in the US. Obviously the values that were instilled in the kids paid off. Eventually Melody Farms, like many businesses today was taken over by a larger company. But if you ask Steve what his favorite treat is, “The classic ice cream sandwich,” of course.

WHAT IS YOUR FIRST FAVORITE FROZEN DESSERT MEMORY?

My first childhood memories of food were that of helping my mom hand-make ravioli, manicotti, and many other Italian favorites. Born in Brooklyn, NY in 1950 I have very fond memories of shopping up and down the open markets on 18th Avenue and 86th Street. The smell of the blue sparks that cracked from the street cars as they trundled past, my mom asking the produce man in Italian if the fish guy next door got a delivery this morning so that she could be sure the fish was fresh. The produce guy wouldn’t lie, she’d say.

Our shopping excursions always ended the same. I would beg my mom for a Charlotte Russe, 5 inch tall, round, white cardboard cylinder with a piece of yellow cake at the bottom, a plump sugar-soaked strawberry, followed by a cloud of the most delectable flavored whipped cream, piped to perfection. As a kid I ate it by pushing up the cardboard from the bottom to expose all that whipped cream, finally the strawberry and the juice-soaked cake.

If I was really a good boy and I didn’t overdo the begging, she would let me have my all-time favorite, the lemonata, Italian lemon ice that the bakery made—a scoop of heaven in a pleated white paper cup, snow white with bright yellow flecks of lemon zest. The smell of fresh lemon filled the air even before I tasted it. The bouquet was intoxicating. To try to have this experience last as long as possible, I would languish over the lemon aroma—not too strong, almost flowery. My mom would then say, You wanted it so bad, when are you going to eat it? After it melts all over?

That first taste, it was always like the first bite of watermelon in summer after not having it all winter. You forget that it really is that good. Not too sweet, not too lemony, not too sharp, not too icy, not too smooth. Years later this would be the benchmark for creating my own sorbet.

Probably the other childhood experience that “sealed the deal” for me to devote my life to food, and specifically frozen desserts, was being the kid to be picked to get on the Good Humor truck and drive around the block with the Good Humor Man and actually ring the bells. Our blocks were quite long and there were a lot of stops. My dad would walk two blocks over to rendezvous with the truck when my ride was over.

All I could talk about was that I wanted to be the Good Humor Man when I grew up. Not a fireman or policeman. Definitely the Good Humor Man. “I’m the friendly man that sells Good Humor, the ice-cream kids all favor . . .” I would fall asleep at night singing that jingle. Oh my God, I wanted to wear that crisp white uniform and hat, the black belt, and that change-maker stocked with pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. I wanted that change-maker.


As soon as I was old enough, age 6, I had my first lemonade stand on my front stoop, in front of my house on 62nd street and 18th avenue. Thus began my entrepreneurial career.