Hark, I Hear the Huckster!: Batman and Other Produce Hawkers

Among the things that residents of South Philly like to relive are the memories of their youth. Face it, we come from a really unique neighborhood. A lot of people who live here or have moved away remember landmarks, monuments, and moments. But there is something that's often forgotten about the area: the characters that make our neighborhood somewhat different than others.

My cousin and I were talking about these characters some time ago, and he reminded me of one guy who I had forgotten about. That guy is Batman. No, not the Caped Crusader or the Dark Knight of comic book/movie/TV fame. Our Batman was the nickname of a local fruit huckster, and if he were to consider that old pick-up truck that he worked out of a Batmobile, he would have had to have had one colorful imagination. The kind that makes others want to cross the street when you walk by.

I have no idea where the name came from for this guy. I don't remember anything that would really make you think of calling him by the name of Batman. Even his hat was more like Jughead's in the Archie comics than Batman's cowl. Yet mention the name when recalling past characters around here, and a long-time neighbor may say, "Yeah! The tomato guy!"

Most folks fifty and older may remember the hucksters in the trucks with the loudspeaker who yelled out all kinds of nonsensical stuff. I remember one of them yelling out things like "Peaches... gowsie... and freshkie!", whatever that was supposed to mean. It sounded concocted to get attention. "Zuuu-cchini ... fresh cant-a-loupe! I got whatchya need!... Gowsie!" This droning went on until he made it to the end of the block and turned the corner. Then someone else had to deal with the headache that came with listening to him.
Batman was different than the others. He didn't use a loudspeaker. He didn't need to. Batman would just grab a basket off the truck and strut down the street yelling out what he was carrying for the day. "Squash!" "Peppers!" "Tomatoes!" He covered a lot of ground and had many regular customers. So many, in fact, that he would regularly run up and down the steps of the rowhomes, knowing which housewives were going to buy from him. The guys with the loudspeakers probably had to work harder. He worked with a partner who drove them around the neighborhood, but I don't think he ever left the truck. Unlike the superhero Batman, no one ever referred to his partner as Robin or "Boy Wonder". He remained nameless except for those who really knew him personally.

As likable as the guy was, Batman sometimes rubbed some of the ladies the wrong way. People just don't like to hear someone yelling constantly. They hear everything. Back in the day, it could be a minor crime with some when the ladies had the windows open in the springtime, the soap operas on the TV, and some nut was outside screaming about his romaine lettuce while they're trying to keep up with their "stories". (I know that I'm giving my age away. Like a lot of women, my mom, grandmother, and sister were glued to the soaps in the 70s and 80s. They would talk about the show characters like they were neighbors). Anyway, when you're shouting in someone's face, they don't take too kindly to it. One of the odd tales of Batman was when he bounced up the steps of a lady's house, pounding on the door with his basket of Jersey Tomatoes. She was a bit slow to answer, so he knocked again. Just as the lady answered the knocking, Batman let out his customary yell of "tomatoes!", loud enough and close enough to rupture her eardrums. Batman himself got an earful that day, the lady letting him have it for yelling in her face. Well, I did say he was a likable guy. Enough so that he kept his customers happy, even with all that yelling.

The day of the roaming huckster seems to be gone for good. Even the corner fruit stands have disappeared with the exception of a few endeavors like traveling Amish stands who set-up at a location once or twice weekly, or some neighborhoods where they have them to promote nutritious foods. You could at one time buy your produce on the street every day, down at busy corners like 10th & Oregon, 19th & Jackson, or other places where guys were set up to sell. They're all gone, scales, stands, and all. Now you have to go to the supermarket and pay more or take a trip to the Italian Market at 9th & Washington. Maybe it's because more women work today and they're not found at home as much. Maybe it's the noise statutes - wait, this isn't the suburbs, no statutes here - but I'd rather hear Batman than the crappy hip-hop music booming from cars of young wannabe gangsta types. Or maybe it's just that noise-canceling technology allows people to put on a set of headphones to tune out the world. Who knows? Probably the only yelling we'll ever hear now is what we remember in our minds. Or neighbors who want to share their business with everyone else whatever the time, like it or not.

I often say that I was blessed to have grown up in an earlier era in this particular neighborhood. If I repeat myself, just look at as an aging resident who refuses to forget the past. We'll never see some things ever again, but it was all great while it lasted.


AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...

... The Eggman: There was one man who I used to see in my grandparents' neighborhood. My grandmother was one of his customers. I can only remember him selling two things: eggs and butter. How he made a living is one of those things that will forever remain a mystery.

      * Milkmen: Everyone had a milkman at one time. If my mind is functioning and memory still works well, the major dairies all had men with routes selling gallons, half-gallons, and quarts in glass bottles along with other dairy products through the 1960s. Abbott's and Sealtest were the biggest ones here. 

They're a rarity now, but you may find while walking the neighborhood someone who still has a railing with a wrought iron tray for holding those bottles. And no one stole your milk back then. If you woke up late, your dairy would still be there. Try that these days.

     * I doubt anyone will remember him, but the last regular huckster would come by a few times a week until about a dozen years or so ago.  Maybe not a genuine huckster. He was just an older gentleman who might have been supplementing his Social Security check. He drove a station wagon with a few choice fruits and vegetables; those that everyone wanted. Plenty of corn, peaches, oranges and whatever. No kiwis, mangoes, or other fruits that were uncommon to older people. He had his regulars too, my mom and a few neighbors included. Like all the others, he suddenly stopped his route, either because of actual retirement or maybe passing away. And so ended the last huckster - alright, fruit salesman - hucksters in the traditional sense make a lot of noise - that I can remember in South Philly. Does anyone come by your home anymore with their produce?

Originally published in early 2012