On a recent sunny afternoon, Carolyn Kemp stood outside Loard’s Ice Cream in Oakland enjoying a scoop of butterscotch marble — which, she pointed out, is not the same as butterscotch ice cream.

“It needs the ripple, like a ribbon of butterscotch all the way through it,” said Kemp, who lives nearby. “There used to be three shops around here that had butterscotch marble. The other two closed, and then this one closed a long time ago.”

That’s mostly true. A fixture in the Dimond District since the company’s founding in 1950, this flagship Loard’s shuttered during the pandemic. But improbably, it reopened in June with new husband-and-wife owners.

The shop still carries the 40-plus flavors that’ve inspired sugar-based fever dreams for generations of locals — like cherry vanilla, black walnut and toasted almond, whose formulation supposedly was invented in the Bay Area. It has malted milkshakes, fresh waffle cones and sprinkle-flecked Tropical Treat sundaes. But it carries new things, too, like Vietnamese coffee and sandwiches with names like The Wakobe and The Wentino.

And it’s proving popular.

A deliveryman wheels a huge dolly of cardboard ice-cream boxes through the door. “This is only a third of it,” said Willis Yu, who co-owns the business with his wife Winnie Tam. “We’re basically ordering double of everything. It’s a good problem to have.”

Loard’s was founded 75 years ago by Illinois-born Russell Salyards, a U.S. Army veteran who worked in accounting at UC Berkeley before launching an ice-cream business with his wife. After establishing the first Loard’s in Oakland, Salyards watched it expand into a mini-empire with roughly 10 locations spread from Orinda to Livermore to San Francisco. The shops are independently owned but get their ice cream from Loard’s headquarters in San Leandro, which reportedly uses the original recipe with 15 percent butterfat.

Salyards left a legacy not only of frozen desserts, but of being an all-around chill guy. When he died in 2011, his obituary on Legacy.com was flooded with admiration. “I went to work for Russ in 1969 in the landmark store (in) Oakland. I moved to the plant and stayed working for the best man and boss I have ever had for 25 years,” wrote one person. “The father that I never had,” said another.

Loard’s is triggering warm memories for many.

“I grew up eating this,” Yu said. “The mango ice cream was the one I always got as a kid. It’d be like an after-school treat. Or we’d go next door to get a bag of chips, or to the McDonald’s that closed down and is now Dimond Slice.”

“It was one of our first few dates, so it just felt right to bring Loard’s back to this specific location,” Tam said.

The parlor wasn’t in the best shape. It suffered break-ins and window-smashing during its dormant years, and the couple had to renovate it from the ground up. They also added in a sandwich shop named Weslo’s — a combination of their children’s names — serving deli sandos on Dutch crunch and focaccia with kimchi spread, roasted garlic and aji verde.

They don’t expect Loard’s to bank their retirement fund. Both hold onto second jobs in real estate.

“There’s not a lot of money in ice cream,” Yu said. “We’re just trying to make sure it stays in the community for the next 15 or 20 years.”

Customers seem to appreciate the commitment.

“I used to walk to this Loard’s as a kid. There used to be an arcade around here that we used to go to, but we always came here first,” said Sinath Uong, who treated her children Vincent and Sinayah to some sweet treats. “Just bringing my kids here and enjoying this ice cream I had as a kid, it’s exciting.”

“We’re new to living in Oakland. We moved here last July and it wasn’t open yet,” said Lauren Taber, originally from Oregon. “Everyone in the area, especially a long-term friend of ours, said, ‘You got to try Loard’s, it’s like the best ice cream.’… Now we live right across the street, and can come all the time if we want.”

“It’s cool, we saw a couple of old guys the other day who got black-raspberry marble and they were just like hanging out and eating,” Yu said. “You could tell that they were friends and eating the same ice cream from when they’re in high school. Just shooting the stuff and talking about back in the day, in the building that was from back in the day that we revived.”