Where I grew up there were two milk companies that delivered door to door. One, which we learned to ignore, was refrigerated. The other still used crushed ice for keeping the milk fresh. We would plead with the milkman for a chunk of ice that he could spare. He always came through for us. The one with the refrigerated truck would stop at this one house up the street for the longest time. Always around lunchtime. He always had a spring in his step when he left to continue his route. But that was okay since he lived there with his wife.