Paleteros: A beloved sight in Latino neighborhoods.

In Monterey County, when bells chime through a neighborhood, it’s often a sign that something sweet is coming.

Ice cream trucks have their trademark track – a jingle that echoes from the truck’s speaker system on summer afternoons – drawing people in for push-pops and Klondike bars. But in Latino neighborhoods, the prefered ice cream comes from a paleta (or popsicle) cart.

The people who push those carts – the paleteros – roll and ding through residential areas, parks and schools selling paletas that are either water – or milk-based and chock-full of chunks of fresh fruit.

The treats come in an array of colors and flavors ranging from spicy lime-chile to savory rompope (eggnog).

Often the chimes in Seaside emanate from bells attached to the cart of 38-year-old Alberto Reyes, who has been roaming the area for about eight years.

At the end of a breezy day in December, Reyes walks uphill with his cart and cardboard box of churritos – orange-colored fried flour chips that look like little wheels – stacked on top of it. He says that although most of his customers are children, he gets to know most people in the neighborhood.

“You spend time with the kids, get to know the people in the neighborhood, some get angry at me because they don’t want to spend money, and then sometimes you encounter racist people who don’t want you in the country,” Reyes says in Spanish.

“But overall,” he says, “it’s safe.”

Reyes used to work in Salinas, where business is better because of the larger Latino population, but he got robbed once. That made him more wary about where to keep his money and led him to Seaside.

“It’s much safer here,” he says. “The cops patrol a lot more.”

In Salinas, Jose “El Chilango” Aguillon, who has been a paletero for nine years, says getting robbed is a risk that comes with the job.

“It doesn’t matter if it is dark or not, they can find you and take your money if they want to,” Aguillon says in Spanish. “I just give the money to them. Better to do that than for the situation to get more violent.”

Aguillon has two kids, ages 13 and 15. He says his kids worry about him roaming Salinas.

“Every night when I come home they go: “Dad, dad, are you OK?” and “Are you going back out tomorrow?” I tell them not to worry, that their dad is a ‘chingon,’” he says, invoking the Spanish equivalent of tough mofo. “It’s all I can do. I need to provide for them.”

Aguillon says he makes an average of $40 per day in Salinas. Reyes says he earns about the same amount, but for him, being a paletero is a side job. He says that, at the most, he will sell about 100 paletas during a 5-hour shift, which would leave him about $50.

He’s saving those extra earnings for a rainy day. The money also allows him to buy a small meal at the end of a day and to purchase more paletas the next day, he says.

In Salinas, there is plenty of business for the paleteros who hang out at the Cesar Chavez Community Park after school.

Luis Alejandre, a librarian at the Cesar Chavez Library, says the kids flock the five to six paleteros who work the area.

Alejandre says female and male paleteros, both middle-aged and elderly, cruise through the park and past the library Monday through Friday.

“I see them all the time. I don’t know them by name, but I know they are people who have either a second job or are [under] employed,” Alejandre says. “They rent these carts for some extra money.”

Jose Orizaba of Salinas has been a paletero for four years. He says he does the job because he came to the U.S. to work and provide for his family back in Mexico. He doesn’t make much, but it’s better than what he could earn at home, he says.

“It’s like any other job, you just have to do it to support your family,” Orizaba says as he packs his cart with dozens of paletas at a warehouse-like ice cream business in East Salinas. “It’s our duty and it’s an opportunity.”

The company rents the carts to the paleteros when they purchase paletas for them to sell. Once their carts are packed, the company offers transportation to numerous cities in the county including King City, Watsonville and Seaside, where the paleteros will hustle until the sun goes down.

With the menace of muggings lingering and the low-profit margin, the job proves more demanding than many members of the community realize.

“We don’t make much, but it is enough for what we need,” Aguillon says. “That’s why I keep doing it. It’s a humble job that keeps me grounded.”