“Werewolves howl. Phantoms prowl. Halloween’s upon us now.”---R. E. Goodrich
Among other things, “Halloween” is probably the greatest grammatical contraction in the English language, a streamlined reconfiguration of “All Hallows Evening,” nee All Saints Eve, preceding All Saints Day, celebrated in the Catholic Church on November 1. Halloween evolved from the Celtic holiday of Samhain, which marked the end of harvest season and the beginning of Winter. The holiday was also regarded as a bridge to the world of the dead. November 2, All Souls Day in the Church, is celebrated as the Day of the Dead in Mexico, although it is somewhat more famous in the western world as Bill Killeen’s Birthday.
During Samhain, The Celts ignited fabulous bonfires and wore costumes to ward off roaming ghosts, which for some reason always returned to Earth on that date. Although the visitors were thought to be general troublemakers and crop despoilers, the Celts thought the presence of otherworldly spirits made it easier for the Druids—Celtic priests—to make accurate predictions about the future. For a people entirely dependent on the volatile natural world, these prophesies were an important source of comfort and direction during the long, dark winter.
In the second half of the nineteenth century, America was inundated with new immigrants, including millions of Irish people fleeing Ireland’s potato famine of 1846. The newly-arrived Irish helped to popularize the celebration of Halloween nationally. Taking from Irish traditions, Americans began dressing up in costumes and circulating from house to house asking for food or money, a practice which led to the current-day “trick-or-treat” hijinks. A new American tradition was born and continued to grow. Today, Americans spend upwards of $6 billion annually on Halloween, making it the nation’s second largest commercial holiday.
When We Were Kids….
For us, growing up in the 1940s, the Halloween traditions were alive and well. We lived in a neighborhood rife with children, and on All Hallows Eve, the streets were alive with costumed critters of every description, most of the outfits having been fabricated by inventive mothers and grandmas skilled in the techniques of sewing and pattern-following. There was not as yet a cottage industry of Halloween costumers and the stores were limited to a few witch outfits and your basic skeleton models. In those days, there were virtually no incidents of kiddie-snatching, so our parents left us free to roam the streets gathering our loot in little bags, tasting an occasional contribution along the way. Although the donations varied from candy bars to apples to jellybeans to chocolate eggs, all of these paled in quantity to the irrepressible flood of candy corn, which outscored its many rivals 10-1. A candy researcher eventually discovered that all the candy corn ever created was made in 1911 and had been selling ever since, a remarkable feat of engineering which continues to this day.
Looking back, the 1940s/‘50s may have been the Golden Days of American Halloweens. It was an age of relative innocence and civilized behavior in which nobody thought it might be a fun idea to insert razor blades into the gift candy bars or poison the Peeps. If there were any shenanigans pulled, it was on the part of the trick-or-treaters, who replied to an unanswered doorbell or a darkened house by waxing the offending windows. And I guess this might be the time to shamefacedly admit there were a couple of flaming boxes of dogpoop left on the porches of chronically grouchy kidless neighbors. After the streets were sufficiently haunted, there were parties to attend, apples to be bobbed for. I am not embarrassed to admit that never, not once, did I successfully wrangle one of these slippery apples, nor could I understand how this remarkable feat was ever achieved without near-drowning. I think my sister, Alice (the Republican) managed it once or twice, however, so I will have to assume that success involves some sort of sneaky conservative trick. Go ask Alice (when she’s ten feet tall).
HMB celebrant, vintage 1972
The Gainesville Halloween Balls
In 1969, two years after the opening of the Subterranean Circus, the first annual Halloween Masquerade Ball made its debut in Gainesville on the Plaza of the Americas at the University of Florida. Aided by a nice collection of feisty rock ‘n’ roll bands, cheap drugs and the libertine inclinations of the times, the HMB promptly exploded into a must-go event of 10,000 frolicking debauchers, a no-holds-barred bacchanal where costumes were optional and often minimal. Before Las Vegas ever thought of the slogan, the HMB flouted it: “What happens at the Halloween Masquerade Ball stays at the Halloween Masquerade Ball!” The thing became so raucous, the university bumped it off campus, citing the great potential for lawsuits. But it was probably more the great potential for orgy that sent the Ball packing. The HMB moved to the outskirts of town at Santa Fe Community College for a couple of years but, alas, it was never the same, evaporating into the vapors shortly thereafter, a sad finale for such a noble undertaking. The Halloween Masquerade Ball, however, will live to infinity in its infamy. These days, noone will admit to not having been there. And whatever outrageous tales participants relate of their experiences at these affairs, the inclination is invariably to believe them.
I did miss one Ball, however, even though I exchanged it for another. One Halloween evening in the late ‘60s, as the Circus was about to close and the crew depart for the event, a young blonde sylph named Pam Dubois came waltzing into the store with a couple of friends. Dubois had been a dormmate of my old girlfriend Pamme Brewer, with whom I opened the Circus, and I had met her earlier in the Murphy Area dorms at UF. We talked for a few minutes while the store employees and Pam’s friends gradually emigrated to the parking lot, eventually walking down the three steps to the exit. Then, in a sudden move the equal of any directed by Federico Fellini, Pam put her back to the door, slammed it closed and kissed me like there was no tomorrow. I don’t mean to suggest that lovely women aren’t available in this world if one expends a modicum of effort locating and charming them, but it is not an everyday occurrence to have one come smashing into your life, demanding attention. My first thought was, uh oh, I guess I’m going to miss the Halloween Ball. My second thought was: who the hell cares?
Discussing philosophy in the aftermath of sex, as often occurs, I soon realized that Miss Pam Dubois was looking for something—someone—to hold on to, a person to reinforce her own beliefs, an idealist, in fact. The world was full of treachery and disappointment and a sensitive poetess felt it more than others, it seems. Pam saw in me a person who had battled the UF administration with my Charlatan magazine, an editor who had challenged the deans over en loco parentis and exposed the nefarious university censoring of the student newspaper. “After all of it, are you still an idealist,” she wanted to know. And that was when I discovered that honesty is not invariably the best policy, something I had long suspected.
“You know, Pam….” I started, recalling the punishment meted out by my opposition, which included a lawsuit lost and the appropriation by my opponents of such as automobiles and real estate on Newberry road now worth….ahem….millions of dollars. Somewhat disillusioned, I honestly reported that I still held most of my beliefs but I was no longer a purist of the first order. This, of course, was not what Pam Dubois wanted to hear. She reflected on my words for a suitable period, then got up and dressed. She kindly deposted one last gentle kiss and disappeared slowly through the doorway. The next time I saw her she had a girlfriend. Gee. I didn’t feel too bad for myself but I was inconsolable in having let down the entire gender.
A Scary Halloween Story
As Snoopy likes to write, it was a dark and stormy night, a perfect canvas for ghosts and goblins to paint their pictures. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and poor Eddie was left abandoned in a motel in the middle of nowhere after a terrible fight with his girlfriend, Chloe. The power was down and the phones were useless and Eddie decided the only possible escape was hitching a ride on the lonely road which fronted the motel. He stood in his doorway, half-blinded by the swirling storm, until he saw a vehicle slowly approaching from the west, then ran out and tried to wave the car down. It did not stop completely but was traveling so slowly that Eddie assumed the driver was picking him up.
The sopping wet Eddie quickly opened the door and jumped into the passenger seat, glad to be saved. When he looked to his left, however, he was shocked to see no driver. This ghost car was traveling to who-knows-where on its own power and suddenly it seemed to be going a tiny bit faster. Eddie was terrified but what were his options? He decided to stay put and wait for signs of electricity along the highway. Adding to his discomfort, however, was the driver’s side window, which was down, admitting the furies of the storm. Eddie tried to raise it but it seemed locked in position. Eddie felt the car—and the entire night—was laughing at him, positioning him for some dire fate. Then something shocking happened.
Eddie’s conveyance faced a sharp curve up ahead. It showed no signs of turning. Suddenly a large white hand appeared from nowhere and turned the wheel, then it simply disappeared. Eddie had his head in his lap, he wished to see no more of this but he felt he had to watch the road. Another curve, the hand returned. Eddie was beside himself with fear. Were they taking him straight to hell? Would he ever escape this nightmare?
Then, suddenly, lights ahead…neon enticements of a small bar….an oasis from his dastartly plight….Salvation was at hand! Eddie jumped from the car into the raging storm and ran inside the pub, grateful to be alive. And no, the bar was not full of vampires, just normal folks like you and I. Eddie sat himself down for a bracing drink and surveyed the customers. A friendly lot, all in all, and in surprising numbers considering the weather. Suddenly, the foor banged open and two drenched customers stumbled in, dripping and angry.
“There he is, Joe!” one of them yelled to the other, pointing directly at Eddie. “There’s the asshole who jumped in our car while we were pushing it.”
Three For The Road
1.--A nurse at a doctor’s office was busily sorting out patients in the waiting room when the doorbell rang. She went outside to a Fedex truck, where a giant package awaited. The nurse brought the package inside to an anteroom and opened it, finding the large plastic skeleton which had been ordered earlier.
She brought the skeleton into the waiting room on her way to the doctor’s office, startling some of the patients. Feeling a need to explain, the nurse said, “I am bringing him in to Doctor Henderson.”
An old lady in the front row looked the skeleton up and down and shook her head dismissively. She peered up at the nurse in amazement. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit late?” she said.
2.--A man in Worcester, Massachusetts was waiting for his wife at the Walmart checkout counter when he noticed someone had left without their broom. When no one had claimed it after a few minutes, he went outside to the parking lot where he noticed two elderly ladies climbing into their Ford 150.
“Excuse me,” he said, tipping his hat. “But by any chance did you ladies leave your broom inside?” The first women looked over at her friend, then turned and winked at the man. “Nope,” she said. “this time we came by truck.”
3--Sister Mary Agnes and Sister Louise Clara were motoring through Europe and and eventually reached Transylvania. While they were stopped at a traffic light, a small vampire jumped directly on the hood of their car and began hissing at them through the windshield.
“Oh, my Lord—what are we going to do?” fretted Sister Mary Agnes. “Turn the wipers on, that will get rid of him!” assured Sister Louise Clara. The nun switched on the wipers, which began battering the little vampire, making him very angry. He continued to hold on, now cursing and gnawing at the wipers.
“NOW what?” Mary Agnes wanted to know. “The little monster won’t turn loose.” Her partner considered the problem. “Okay then, squirt him with the windshield washer. I filled it full of holy water. Let’s see what he thinks of that!” The vampire screamed bloody murder as the water burned his skin but he continued to hold on.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” cried Mary Agnes. “He still won’t let go. He’s a maniac!”
“I’ve got it!” shouted Louise Clara. “This ALWAYS works! Just show him your cross.”
“NOW you’re talkin’!” roared Sister Mary Agnes. She leapt from the vehicle, rushed around to the front and screamed at her nemesis: “Get the hell off our car you little motherf*#cker!”
That’s all, folks. Have a nice Halloween….and don’t mess with those nuns.
