Lift Up Your Hearts!

What was Hallowe’en like when you were a little girl, Grandma? 

No one has as yet asked me that question, but if things run true to form for most Americans, someone will, someday, after I am past being able to respond.  So I will answer it now.

My Hallowe’en formative years were in the 1950s and early 60s, in a small village in upstate New York.  Contrary to what we’d like to believe, it was not an idyllic and crime-free time.  One of my first (and worst) Hallowe’en memories was of the teenaged thugs who thundered onto our porch, grabbed our carefully-carved jack-o-lanterns, and smashed them to bits.  I lived a sheltered life:  this was my first view of senseless, wanton destruction; my first encounter with people who get pleasure from breaking the hearts of little children.  Our tiny village did not escape teen gangs and vandalism, which seemed to be more widespread, if much less dangerous, in those days.   At least they attacked property, not people.

That was the only scary thing about our Hallowe’ens.

The most important difference between Hallowe’en then and now is that the occasion was first, last, and always for children.   A few adults dressed in costume for the neighborhood parade and party, but the purpose of the event was to entertain the children.  The only excuse for anyone over 12 going out trick-or-treating was to escort the younger ones—every once in a while a compassionate homeowner would give us a piece of candy, too.  Now, when high schoolers come to my door, I give them candy if they’ve made any attempt at a costume, but I pity them, that at their age they are begging door-to-door for candy instead of helping younger children to have a good time.

On the other hand, teenaged trick-or-treaters is a clear improvement over teenaged vandals.

The Hallowe’en season began several weeks in advance of October 31.  No, not because Hallowe’en stores began popping up all over town, and shelves everywhere sprouted candy in yellow and orange.  Because of the costumes.  Store-bought costumes were largely unavailable, and anyway, who would have wanted one?  Hallowe’en was an occasion for great creativity.  Merely deciding what to be could take a month.  (Decisiveness, I’ll admit, was never my strong suit).  Those who come to our door today are mostly beings—a cat, a princess, a Star Wars character—but we favored things:  one might be a rocket ship, a pencil, or the whole Mad Hatter’s Tea Party (no relation to the present-day Tea Party, as mad—in either sense—as they may be).  The challenge was to create a costume from whatever we could scrounge around the house without actually having to spend money.  No problem—we had not yet forgotten what any five-year-old knows:  the cardboard box is the most universally useful of all materials.

My mother made my first costume, a clown, when I was age three or so, but after that costumes were joint projects, with me taking on more and more responsibility as the years passed.  For kindergarten I was a cuckoo clock; in first grade, my friend and I went as salt and pepper shakers.  One of my favorite costumes was that of a knight:  my father helped me make a wooden sword (truthfully, it was probably more “I helped my father make a sword”), and I can still picture him up to his elbows in silver paint, turning one of his old long-sleeved shirts into armor.  (The paint was toxic, and he didn’t want me getting it on my skin; that didn’t stop him taking the risk himself, however.)  I was able to re-use the same shirt and grey pants another year, when I became a parking meter.

Our costumes were decidedly un-scary.  Witches, ghosts, and devils have always been part of the scene, but in my day they were as innocent as little kids can make them, and we certainly had no cannibals, chainsaw slashers, or scantily-dressed hookers.

We never revealed our costumes in advance; that would be no more fun than revealing a baby’s sex and name before birth.  (Oh, wait….)  One year I inadvertently let the information slip at the last minute to some school friends, and frantically created a new costume to wear to school, reserving my original design for the neighborhood.

At our elementary school, the highlight of the day was the costume parade, held outside so that parents and other interested villagers could watch.  There was judging, and prizes; I don’t recall ever winning—those were the days before award inflation—but that didn’t diminish the fun.

Pumpkins.  Ah, pumpkins!  The smell, the feel, the heft, the sight of those glorious golden-orange globes spread over the grass at the farm market!  (Not a “farmers’ market” selling crafts, candied pecans, and produce from who-knows-where, but a roadside stand run by the pumpkin farmer’s family.)  Which one will be my own this year?  Round pumpkin?  Tall pumpkin?  All orange, or with green patches?   A blemish or two doesn’t matter, as long as it can be turned to the back, but be sure to pick one with a good stem!  October days are among the best in the year.  “Jacket weather,” we called it:   cool, clear, bright, and scented with apples.  With luck we’d take home some crisp Macouns along with our pumpkins.

The day before Hallowe’en was Carving Day.  First came the design phase:  Triangular eyes or round?  Square teeth or pointed?  Ears, or not?  After inscribing our final decisions with pencil or marker, the surgery began.  My parents did the honors for the youngest ones, but the real thrill came when we were considered responsible enough to do our own work.  The finest instrument was my father’s long, thin, roast-carving knife, but our own jackknives did the job splendidly and perhaps, for us, a bit more safely.

We cut the lid first, with its all-important stem handle, taking care to angle our incisions so that it would fit back on neatly, without falling inside the pumpkin.  Then we’d clean out all the gucky insides, and give them to my mother, who rescued and roasted the delicious seeds for later eating.   The inside of the pumpkin had to be scraped clean, and the bottom smoothed.

Teeth were the hardest to carve, and not a few jack-o’-lanterns ended up more gap-toothed than we had intended.  But we, ourselves, remained unscathed, despite exuberant work with sharp knives.  Candle stubs, of course, illuminated the interiors of our creations.  A nice, safe, battery-operated light would have been No Fun At All.  A few drips of wax held the candle securely on the prepared bottom surface.  Of course we burned ourselves trying to light the candles inside the pumpkins—no long-handled barbecue lighters back then—but so what?  It was all part of the fun.  What is Hallowe’en without candlelight flickering out of Jack-o’-lantern eyes, and the smell of slowly roasting pumpkin in the air?

Well, there’s trick-or-treating, of course.  I won’t pretend that the thought of all that candy didn’t have me excited for the entire month of October.  When the 31^st at last arrived, we could hardly wait for the sun to do down.  (Thank goodness no one back then had thought to extend Daylight Saving Time into November!)  Yes, we ran around our neighborhood in the dark.  (Actually, we did that a lot, Hallowe'en or no.)  Trick-or-treating during daylight hours was considered just plain silly.  And rude, too, as most people weren’t ready to hand out treats till after dark.  How could you appreciate the glowing jack-o’-lanterns in broad daylight?

Night came at last.  We lit our pumpkins, and brought out the candy we had purchased to give out as treats.  That, plus perhaps a child-made skeleton or similar object, or some orange and black crepe paper, was the extent of our decorating.  Where I live now, you might think it was Christmas—if you were colorblind—based on the money and effort that goes into Hallowe’en decorations.  It’s incredible to think how much fun we used to have without doing our part to stimulate the economy.

We donned our costumes, and headed out the door:   with our families (one person left behind to enjoy our own trick-or-treating visitors), or friends, or both, running from house to house, from door to door, taking time to receive compliments on our costumes along with our treats.  It was usually just one treat (though the candy bars were bigger then), dropped into our bags by the giver, lest anyone be tempted in a weak moment to grab a handful.  Nonetheless, we had no trouble collecting far too much candy—my brother made his last all the next year—in our own neighborhood alone.  Hallowe’en was a neighborhood affair, and nearly every adult was at home, helping to make it a fun time for the children, rather than elsewhere, entertaining themselves.  We didn’t worry about homemade treats, or weird strangers, or poisoned candy, because we knew our neighbors.  Trick-or-treat in someone else’s neighborhood?  Why?  Some days we didn’t even complete the rounds of our own before returning home—exhausted, satisfied, or eager to dig into our takings.

For some reason we never thought to sample the candy while still on the road.  Perhaps because at home we examined, sorted, and counted our loot as diligently as any miser his gold.  I remember being as generous, too, happily donating to my parents or siblings all the candy I didn’t like….

We weren’t allowed to gorge ourselves on our candy, but there was plenty of other good food to eat.  Teens and adults weren’t part of the candy-acquisition scheme, but didn’t suffer for lack of treats:  popcorn, apples, cider (hot or cold), pumpkin cookies with raisins, bowls of candy corn, and above all, doughnuts.  Not Krispy Kreme, not Dunkin’ Donuts:  these were about a third the size, and came in only three flavors:  plain, cinnamon sugar, and powdered sugar.  But they were wonderful!  And the cider!  It was nothing like what you can buy at the store today.  Nothing.  Fresh from the mill, from good New York State apples, raw, unfiltered, with no preservatives and unpasteurized.  Very few people in America today can even imagine how delicious cider can be.  When I remember Hallowe’en, I think most fondly not of candy, nor of costumes, but of apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts.

Sometimes I think what today’s kids miss out on the most is the sense of feasting that marked the holidays.  Sweets abound—all over, all the time, depriving Hallowe’en, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter of one of their great childhood joys.  If we have popcorn every time we see a movie, chips and soda at every party, and doughnuts after church every Sunday, it’s no wonder children are no longer thrilled by a cup of hot cider on Hallowe’en.

Hallowe’en was all that a special occasion should be:  delightful anticipation, creative activity, community spirit, good fun with family and friends, and a joyous feast!  I’m sure today’s children still have fun on Hallowe’en, but I grumpishly insist it is largely because they don’t know what they’re missing.  Except for the aforementioned gangs of thugs, I’d say I grew up at the height of Hallowe’en as a holiday.

Why the decline?  Here are a few reasons I’ve come up with.

• The take-over of the holiday by adults and commercial interests.
• Media-hyped fearmongering, which makes parents afraid to let their kids wander the neighborhood, eliminates homemade treats, encourages trick-or-treating during daylight hours, and spawns paranoia over even store-bought candy, despite the fact that the poisoned Hallowe’en treat is an urban legend.
• The association of Hallowe’en with that which is evil, sadistic, and gruesome, rather than merely scary.  Like fairy tales, Hallowe’en can be a vehicle to help children deal with the frightening things in their lives, but we’ve taken it to obscenity and beyond.
• The invention, by churches, shopping malls, and other organizations, of a pseudo-Hallowe’en, designed to give children something more pleasant than the adulterated, adultified version.  I see the point—but it misses the point.  The only thing a “Trunk or Treat” or trick-or-treating at the mall has in common with the Hallowe’en of my childhood is the candy.  Which children have all year, anyway.
• The birth rate decline.  Our neighborhood abounded with children.  Who wants to go trick-or-treating alone?  Or stay home all evening to hand out candy to no more than a dozen kids?  Or carve a beautiful jack-o’-lantern that will be admired by almost no one?  (I guess now we can take a picture and post it on Facebook for all to see, but that’s a far inferior substitute.)  A mug of cider and a plate of doughnuts is a party when there are plenty of children in your family, especially if a few friends and their kids stop by!

Call me old-fashioned, or even old — but I think we had more fun.

And that, children, is what Hallowe’en was like when Grandma was a little girl.