The iceman's robber cometh

Someone stole the iceman's honor box, and the whole town is steamed.

The mayor and the police chief. The church group and the construction workers. The fishermen and the barmaids.

Who would do such a dishonorable thing, they want to know.

For 25 years, Bill Allison of Gloucester City has peddled 8- and 50-pound bags, first from a big cooler outside a liquor shop and for the last 15 years from a walk-in fridge in his garage in this blue-collar Camden County riverfront community.

It's a neighborhood staple and a family business (his granddaughters join him on the weekends to sell lemonade).

And it's open 24 hours, seven days a week.

"People need ice when they need ice," said Allison, 62, a lifelong Gloucester City resident.

When Allison's not around, customers jot down what they've taken on a hanging clipboard and drop payment into a steel box clasped with a metal lock.

Except for the empty-pocket cheats and sloshed teenagers who have made off without paying over the years, the honor system always worked fine until two weeks ago, when Allison awoke to find the honor box ripped right off the wall.

"I stood here gazing at it, thinking, 'Am I really seeing what I'm seeing?' " Allison said the other afternoon, scratching his ball-cap-covered head and surveying the broken wood where the box once hung. "I still can't believe it."

Gloucester City has had its share of problems in recent decades as longtime residents moved out, and quality-of-life and drug crimes have risen.

The ice-money thieves made off with only about $30, Allison said. Still, many residents are angry that a cherished neighborhood tradition was violated.

"A disgrace," said Police Chief George Berglund, who has been buying ice from Allison for years.

"I always make sure to break a twenty at the Wawa, so I have exact change for the honor box," he said. "You take this sort of thing personal."

His men are still looking for suspects, he said.

"You're kidding me," Mayor Bill James remembered saying when first told of the theft. He visited Allison's earlier this summer, buying for a family engagement party, and his children use it for their Shore trips.

"Something like this really hits people's heartstrings," he said. "Breaking the honor system? I mean, where's your morality?"

Sean Murphy, 40, remembers how Allison donated all the ice for the St. Mary's Church spring picnic, and Bob Bevan and his gang always stock up there before their Cape May fishing trips.

A local blog, Clearysnotebook.com, ran an item on the theft, and the happy-hour crowd at the Highland Tavern was not happy to learn the news.

"Oh, my God," said bartender Lynn Stinsman.

"They should throw whoever did it in the river," added 53-year-old Jay Franklin, nursing his beer.

Allison returned home from his part-time job as a security officer at a nearby park about 11 p.m. Aug. 15. He walked out to the backyard and emptied the honor box.

In the morning, the steel box was gone.

"They must have used a crowbar," Allison explained to Bill Johnson Jr., a young, off-duty patrolman who stopped by one day last week for a 50-pounder.

"This really burns me up," Johnson said.

Allison's icehouse sits at the end of an alleyway, overlooking Cedar Grove Cemetery. An American flag hangs above the cooler, and Big Mouth Billy Bass, the singing fish, guards the entrance.

A few years ago, when the economy nose-dived, Allison installed a security camera.

"But kids just used it to watch themselves dance," he said. "And then somebody cut the wires."

There is a bell, which runs to the house, in case people need change. And a lightbulb, also visible from the house, goes on every time the cooler door is opened.

A cardboard sign says, "Charlie's Ice Shop" - honoring the original owner from the 1950s. Small bags go for $1.50, while large bags go for $9.

The business makes Allison some "extra spending money in the summer," he said.

The retired Teamster with arthritic knees works hard for what he earns. Every weekend he drives his beat-up yellow pickup 45 minutes to Vineland, where he buys 300-pound ice cakes from a vendor.

After hauling them home, he slides the cakes down a wooden ramp, feeds them into a grinder, and bags the cubes, while setting aside some big slabs for anglers and construction workers.

His sons, Billy and Jason, help him out during busy holiday weekends. All tips go into a jar for the grandkids.

Allison will have his first of two reconstructive knee surgeries later this fall, "once the busy season ends," he said.

After the burglary, his wife of 44 years, Jo-Ann, asked him to hang up his ice gloves.

"I thought about it for a second," he said. "But I'm not going to let one creep ruin it for all the honest people."

In the days after the theft, customers tacked their money to the clipboard or just left it in the cooler.

On Wednesday, his brother-in-law, Tom Farley, who runs an iron shop, delivered a new 25-pound honor box, made of steel.

Allison and his son secured it on the wall with two heavy steel plates.

"You'd need a tank to get this off," Allison said.

The next day, a scribbled note on the clipboard proved there's still honor in Iceville.

A customer had signed her name for a $1.50 bag of ice, but she had only $1.38.

"I owe you 12 cents," her note said.