Halloween: The Best Night of the Year

It was horrifying, to say the least.

October 31, 1964.  I was a few weeks shy of turning 10.  What I had to go through I wouldn’t wish on a Georgia Bulldog fan.

I was in fourth grade in Quonset Point, Rhode Island.  For whatever reason (overcrowded classrooms, school bus shortage, threat of an alien invasion) our elementary school was divided into split sessions; one from 7:30 a.m. until 12:30 p.m. and the other from 12:30 p.m. until 5:30 p.m. 

I found myself in the latter session, a godsend if you consider I didn’t have to wake up at the unholy hour of 6:30 a.m.   PLUS I could stay up late to watch my favorite westerns on our 19-inch black and white television (and on a really good night the horizontal hold didn’t have to be adjusted).

But on Halloween Eve 1964 the latter session became my worst nightmare.  You see, ‘Old Yeller’ (we named our school bus) didn’t drop me off in front of my house until slightly after 6:00 p.m.  That meant two things: (1) It was already dark outside and (2) all of the kids attending the early session were already out trick or treating!!!!   

‘Whose idea of a cruel joke is this?’ thought the number one fan of the absolute best holiday of all (Halloween is indeed a holiday; it’s best not to challenge me on this point).  I immediately rushed into my bedroom, threw on my Paladin costume (if you have to ask, don’t) and headed out the front door with one pillowcase firmly in hand and the other, my spare stuck in my back pocket and threaded through my holster (perhaps the name ‘Paladin’ rings a bell now?).  Before the night was over they would both be filled with Baby Ruth’s, candy cigarettes and Double Bubble, a stash of sweetness that would last me for about four or five days once I sorted out the popcorn balls and anything else that didn’t have a factory wrapper.

I love Halloween.  Always have and still do.  Some of the best nights of my life were taking Justin and Josh trick or treating when they were boys.  I remember one year Cindy made Justin an elaborate Big Bird costume out of yellow crepe paper, and I’m here to tell you Justin looked like the real deal.  Everyone else thought so as well, up until when it started raining and his costume started peeling away from his body about as fast as the gutters on the sides of the street were filling up with water. 

I love Halloween.  Always have and still do.  I used to look forward to ‘dress up’ day when I worked at JC Penney, not only to observe the best holiday of all but to get a break from wearing a necktie, if only for that one day each year.  When I lived in Rex, Georgia during the ‘80’s I always wore my Jason/hockey mask for my morning run on Halloween that always drew a lion’s share of second looks as drivers along Highway 42 began their early-morning commute to work.

I love Halloween.  Always have and always will.  Our black lab Magic used to love Halloween as well.  Magic looked forward to all the little boys and girls who would dress up in cute and occasionally scary costumes just so they could stop by our house and pet her for a few minutes on our front porch before they got a handful of candy and disappeared into the night.

I love Halloween.  Always have and always will.  I accompanied my grandson Krischan on his first Halloween.  We visited a couple of houses on our block, his little hand with a vice lock grip on the strap attached to the little plastic pumpkin containing a couple pieces of peanut butter taffy, a Three Musketeers and (a Halloween isn’t complete without) a Baby Ruth when his short and sweet night was over.

This year Halloween seems different.  Justin and Josh are grown.  Krischan is living in Texas.  Magic has been gone now for seven years.  It’s just me, my basket of candy and the hope that the little boys and girls will dress up in cute and occasionally scary costumes so they can stop by my house, yell ‘trick or treat’ and smile when I drop a handful of candy—the kind with the factory wrappers--into their pillowcases and little plastic pumpkins.

But if it’s anything like last year I don’t expect to see much action.  You see, I live in a cul de sac consisting of only 12 houses.  The cul de sac climbs uphill for about a tenth of a mile.  Last year there were only two or three houses with the lights on.  Most of the houses were pitch dark; they may as well have had ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs in the yard.  If I were nine years old and I looked at the hill I would have to walk to get candy at only two or three houses, I might be inclined to move on to greener pastures.  Last year most of the children felt the same way; I only had six trick or treater’s the entire night.

It’s sad what my street has done to my favorite holiday.  If I didn’t know better I might think the owners of the houses with their lights off never dressed up as Paladin, a Power Ranger or whatever the costume of the day was when they were kids.  If I didn’t know better I might think they never trick or treated when they were kids. 

The problem is, I do know better.  And I find it horrifying, to say the least.