By Elissa Ely
“Ranc’s chocolate ice cream can comfort the distressed, alleviate pain, and stand in for antidepressants if you have lousy medical insurance.” (Yelp)
Somewhere in the labyrinth of Facebook, where even unwinding a string won’t help you find your way out, there is a photo of Joe Rancatore sitting on a straight chair in front of a freezer of pre-packed ice cream pints in his Belmont store. He is listening seriously to a little girl in a princess gown and accessories, and she is speaking to him with the same intensity. It’s the perfect communion between a business owner and his customer.
This communion extends to Rancatore store employees, too. The Belmont store is a thriving little village, staffed by high school teenagers competently and confidently running the place. Usually, there’s not an adult in sight; autonomy is a Rancatore hallmark. “I always thought I’d attract the malcontent, the 15th pick in basketball,” Joe says, “but we attract the sharpest, smartest, overbooked kids, because it’s known how we treat our staff. I want to be a haven.”
Autonomy comes with responsibility. Cell phone time on shift: not allowed. Impatience with elderly customers: not allowed. There’s plenty of limit-setting, and a mentor’s insistence on accountability. “They’re amazed I don’t fire them. One kid said to me: ‘I used to think you were scary. Now I just think you’re loud.’ ”
“Rancatore’s Ice Cream: a prized job.
Looks for:
Social skills, customer service skills, commitment to schedule.
Won’t hire:
If you can’t say hello and introduce yourself.
Or, if ‘Mom’ is applying to the job for you.”
(Help Around Town website)
When the Rancatore family lived in South Jersey, Joe’s father—a WWII vet and product of the depression—worked in the men’s department at Macy’s. Well-heeled and un-heeled customers received the same respect. He told his son, “Treat a man as if he’d spend $500, treat him royally, and he might buy $25 BECAUSE he was treated royally.”
After the family moved to St. Louis, Mr. Rancatore started his own men’s store. He was in his 50s. “Don’t ever be afraid to start your own business,” he said. When Joe opened Ranc’s, advisory phone calls arrived every morning at 11 am.
Early mentoring came from a non-paternal source as well. Several unsuccessful semesters at U Missouri were salvaged by working in the local Jewish deli, where the owner “taught us to serve the old, to be exceptional, to run the place.” If an elderly man fixed in his habits wanted corned beef on brown bread instead or rye, eye-rolling was prohibited.
Moving to Cambridge with $300 in 1981, Joe worked alongside his brother at Toscanini’s ice cream for four years before branching into independence. He looked into Worcester, checked out Waltham, and finally settled on Belmont after a landlord offered to rent an empty piano and organ store next to a bridal shop. Joe’s preparations included researching how many cars drove on Trapelo Road and School Street in a given time. He neglected to realize, though, that driving by did not mean stopping in.
Source: Joe Rancatore
The first few years, he lived on tuna, rice cakes, and Grapenuts. “I felt like the loneliest man in town, one customer at a time, making ice cream in the back by myself.” Days were long, with hours to read the fine print of the New York Times. If a lone customer commented on the quietude, Joe would gamely answer, “You should’ve been here 20 minutes ago.” In the morning calls, his father reminded him: no one supports a loser.
That was then. Now three stores employ up to 70 school kids, and offer 75 to 100 different flavors annually, including some vegan recipes developed by one of Joe’s sons (“He’s like a mad chemist with the oat and hemp.”) Typical days probably don’t exist.
As de facto manager, Joe circulates between Belmont, Newton, and Lexington. He pops into the Waltham production facility, which produces up to 200 ice cream buckets daily during the hot season. Maybe an employee in Lexington—some high school senior—wants a reference written. Maybe someone in Newton calls in sick and there’s a coverage gap behind the counter. Special orders have to be discussed. A floor needs mopping. There’s rarely time for a second cup of coffee at home, and the New York Times gathers dust. Still, for the man no longer lonely, “Sometimes my favorite time is 7 AM, alone in the store, me and my thoughts.”
A large part of Rancatore’s ethos is its deliberate, well-known generosity. The window washer never leaves without free coffee. The UPS man gets a drink every time he delivers, and when repairmen climb down from the hot roof, teenage employees ply them with ice cream. “I love that they took the lesson,” Joe says. “They take care of people who take care of us.”
In 2019, Facebook announced that Ranc’s was “going green,” offering discounts for customers who brought aluminum spoons, their own mugs, or skipped lids and straws. Joe is moving towards compostable containers and garbage liners, though it’s more expensive and will mean taking the brand name off of plastic cups: worse for business, better for the world.
He also supports the larger community. Recently, a fundraiser for Food Access Programs at the Waltham Fields Community Farm included concierge rhubarb sorbet from their farm-harvested fruit and mint ice cream from plants grown in their gardens.
“Rancatore’s—a Belmont institution. I don’t believe there’s a single person who grew up in Belmont and didn’t know someone who worked there, if they didn’t work there themselves.” (Yelp)
Yet even Rancatore’s cannot go on forever with a Rancatore at the helm. In the future, Joe thinks of mentoring young business owners. He thinks of helping others through the snags of negotiating rental leases. He thinks of returning to yoga and swimming, of drinking two cups of coffee in his own home in the morning, and—because a giving nature does not recede with retirement—of volunteering for Crayons to Cradles. He knows what will happen, though. “Soon I’d be in charge of the whole thing.”
Elissa Ely is a community psychiatrist.
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