Letter: The pure dairy

Submitted by Greg Alderete.

In the late 1960s, Hurley, Wisconsin, was a town where the chill of winter was a constant companion, and the Pure Dairy—fondly known as the PD—served as a warm haven for its residents. As sixth and seventh graders, my friends and I would often find ourselves drawn to this iconic ice cream parlor, even if our visits were brief. The high school upperclassmen, proudly displaying their letter jackets, dominated the prime seats, making us feel like mere spectators in their realm.

Don Anderson, the proprietor, was a familiar figure behind the counter, his white apron ever-present as he skillfully crafted milkshakes and sodas. The PD held a certain allure beyond its sweet treats; it was one of the few places where a young boy could purchase a pack of Marlboros for just thirty-five cents, no questions asked. In those days, charcoal-filtered cigarettes were all the rage, and for the daring, experimenting with a Virginia Slim was a bold endeavor, though we often joked about potential unforeseen effects.

The jukebox in the corner frequently played “Crimson and Clover,” its melodic tones creating a backdrop to our youthful escapades. After indulging in the PD’s offerings, we’d venture into the snowy streets, seeking the thrill of “bumper hitching.” With hockey skates laced tight, we’d grasp onto the bumpers of unsuspecting cars halted at stop signs, allowing them to pull us along until the sparks from our blades flew and the exhaust fumes left us both exhilarated and exhausted.

Reflecting on those times, the Pure Dairy was more than just an ice cream parlor; it was a cornerstone of our adolescence. It provided a space where we navigated the complexities of growing up, forged lasting friendships, and created memories that have endured through the decades. In the heart of Hurley, amidst the snow and cold, the PD stood as a testament to the simple joys and adventures of youth.