Kids can count on Mr. Bill -- Curbside candy vendor a McCook fixture for 30 years

Bill Donze, also known as "Mr. Bill," has been serving his 25-cent snow cones to the community for 30 years. His big seller this year is sour cherry flavor, he said. (Lorri Sughroue/McCook Gazette)

McCOOK, Nebraska -- In a world where things can change in a split second, it's nice to know some things stay the same.

Enter Bill Donze, also known as "Mr. Bill" to the hundreds of kids he's sold candy to for almost 30 years.

It's a humble profession, one he loses money on every year, he said. When he started out, insurance was $300 per year, Donze said. Now it's $4,000. Snow cones cost him 40 cents apiece to make, but he still sells them for 25 cents, the same price when he started in 1983. Business can be good one day, terrible the next.

Bill Donze offers advice to young customers pondering which treats to purchase. (Lorri Sughroue/McCook Gazette)

For six days a week in winter, seven days in summer, he sells candy while parked outside the city pool, parks and outdoor community events from his van.

His tolerance, as well as his snow cones, are legendary. While it might drive some people crazy being around kids jonesing for a sugar fix, not Donze. It can be 98 degrees out, 30 kids lined up and he'll calmly sit inside a sweltering van and wait while a 6-year-old deliberates between a snow cone or beef jerky.

So why does he do it?

Maybe it has something to do with his early years of life, that he chronicles in one of his 300 YouTube videos, "Nobody Wanted Him." Donze talks of being in an orphanage until the age of four, still in diapers and not talking when he was adopted. The family who took him in loved him and taught him common sense, he recounts. And apparently, a lot of patience.

But Donze says it's more than that.

"Kids need something positive in their lives," he said. "There's a lot of negatives in the world. I want them to remember something good about McCook."

A stout little girl in a shiny blue swimsuit, hair pulled back in a wet ponytail, comes up, says her snowcone got knocked over. She needs to buy another one. Mr. Bill shakes his head, "You don't have to do that," he says and makes one up for her for free. "Oh here, at least let me give you 10 cents," says the little girl, digging in a pink pocketbook and carefully handing him a dime.

His routine is the same for every kid. "What can I do for you, future multi-millionaire billionaires?" he'll ask, then go through a litany of the candy he sells -- lollys, (lollipops, two for a quarter) licorice, pixie sticks, snow cones, bubble gum, brownies, dead cows (aka beef jerky).

Kids can count on certain things from Donze: Almost everything he sells is a quarter. There's always a free piece of candy for kids who don't have money. He won't lie, he won't cheat them. Shoplifters are forgiven.

In 1983, there were three candy trucks in town, Donze recalled and one hot food vendor. Now, he is the only one left. "They found out there's not much profit in this," he laughed.

He got the first van from a buddy who wanted to get out of the business and at first, Donze tried selling apples and oranges along with the candy. They weren't big sellers. In fact, they didn't sell at all. "They rotted in my truck," he said.

So he switched gears and gave consumers what they wanted and is now known for his 25-cent snow cones. The big seller this year is sour cherry; another flavor, called clear energy, he describes as "industrial strength liquid concentrated sugar added for extra kick."

"I'd be lost without this guy," said Esther Botsford, who, after taking her grandkids swimming, doled out quarters so they could buy something from Mr. Bill. "I have 15 grandkids, I can actually afford all the goodies he has."

One little boy comes up and asks, what can I get for a penny? Although Donze technically sells nothing for a penny, he gives the boy a piece of gum anyway. The little boy hands him a penny and then stands there, glowering. When Donze asked what was wrong, the boy said, "Where's my change?"

Kids haven't changed much the past 30 years, he contended. There's always that kid who has $50 dollars in his pocket and another kid with nothing, Donze said. The kids who share, kids who don't, kids who pick fights, kids who walk away.

And from the inside of his van, he's seen a lot of kid life through the years. The two little girls who wanted to trade a toad for a snow cone. Boys picking fights with other boys, that Donze said he'll routinely diffuse "with a little humor. I'll tell them, no beating up that kid until he finishes his snow cone. Everyone gets to have a last meal."

Donze smiles. "But there's always drama, you never know what might happen."

A girl comes running up to the van, says breathlessly, "Mr. Bill, can I use your scissors?" Donze replies, "Tell you what, why don't you bring here whatever you want to cut, I'll do it for you." "I can't," the little girl says. "We found a baby bird and my friend tried to feed it licorice but it got stuck in his throat and we can't get it out!" Mr. Bill stands up and peers outside the van, where he sees a crowd of little girls squatting in a circle around something on the ground. One of them shrieks, "It's out!" and another little girl stands up and triumphantly dangles a long, thin piece of white licorice from her fingertips.

"I kept thinking God would give me more to do, something bigger, but I guess this is it," he shrugged.

But for many kids -- and now, kids whose parents used to buy candy from him -- what Mr. Bill is doing is exactly right.

Check out Mr. Bill's YouTube channel here.