I’ve never been much of a Halloween guy. One of my earliest memories includes the cheap plastic masks we wore in the 60s and 70s. My older sister and brothers tortured me with a certain mask again and again, enough to make preschool Gerry cry. It resembled one of my uncles, a white-haired man, so the mask even had a name—the Uncle Stasiu Mask. To me, it was just frightening. Terrifying. That might have been strike one against the season of the Jack-o-Lantern.
By the time I got to first grade, I was game enough to dress up as Batman. Everybody was doing it, so why not me? I can still picture that costume and sense the weighty disappointment of a six-year-old: it didn’t look like TV Batman. My favorite show. This mask was clearly not modeled on Adam West. No, it was a poor imitation, with rounded ears. The suit was blue instead of gray. Still, I’d get out there and trudge around the neighborhood and mutter under my breath about the lame take on my superhero. Everybody knows Batman has pointed ears.
And I can remember porch lights and gangs of kids wandering around St. Benedict in the dark October night. Free candy. The free candy was cool—I’m not stupid—but none of this chilly autumn celebration floated my boat in the way I thought it should. I preferred reality to a mask, anyway, Adam West or not, in the same way I didn’t (and still don’t) like science fiction. I’ve never seen Star Wars. Or Star Trek.
At twelve or thirteen, the Halloween season enticed with a bit more possibility. I’d always heard the stories about soaping windows and throwing corn; that is, toss handfuls of dried corn against windows to scare people, or annoy them. Mr. Smith jumps off the couch and says, “What was that, Ethel? Who the hell’s out there?” The porch light floods the yard, and dirty sneakers speed through mud and fallen leaves. Mr. Smith is left scratching his head and peering into the gloom. “Damn kids.”
Dried corn is one thing, but you can use a bar of soap like chalk and cover a window so that no one can see through it. As pranks go, it all sounds innocent.
During the fall of my thirteenth year, Ryan Bills and I decided that it was our turn to move into the big leagues and soap windows. All the cool kids were doing it. Candy was alright, but life could be more dramatic. Why shouldn’t it be? But I suppose we weren’t very smart about our trip down criminal lane. Crimes of a serious nature take careful planning. Our very first soap target was Mr. Kelly’s blue station wagon, parked under a streetlight, not far from my own house.
We’d just begun our treacherous act when somebody grabbed me from behind, with a muscular arm clamped tight around my neck. Ryan sprinted away, but whoever held me hollered at him, “You! Stop right there.” Ryan did not abandon me. He halted his brave escape and moved my way. How can you deny somebody who’ll take one for the team? If I was headed for hanging or the guillotine, Ryan was along for the ride.
I can’t remember Ryan’s mask, but I know he wore one. And I can see my own mask, even now. Yes, it was the cheap plastic kind, probably gotten at G.C. Murphy’s: think Albert Einstein, with fake hair attached to it, all stringy and gray. A moustache, too. Much like the present day, I wore a blue flannel shirt and jeans as perfect accessories for the mask. But fashion choices don’t matter when you’re up against the long arm of the law. I’d been caught and captured by an adult.
The man released his grip. “Who are you? Both of you, take off your masks. Now.”
Danny Kelly was my friend and neighbor, not so different than Ryan on the neighbor scale. I suppose the major point of conflict for me was embarrassment, then. Danny’s dad was a nice guy. What had he ever done to me to deserve this immoral attack? And he’d tell my parents, so double trouble awaited my tarnished, delinquent mind. No wonder I considered Halloween as highly overrated. This was all in fun! I’m a good kid, I swear! Don’t call the cops! I don’t wanna go to juvie! I got school on Monday!
I turned around and pulled the mask off to reveal myself. Mr. Kelly probably doesn’t remember that red-faced moment. Or maybe he does. Maybe he sits around every Halloween and talks about that Stanek kid. Remember the time Gerry Stanek soaped the windows on the Malibu? That little SOB. You remember that, Pat? Why, I oughtta…
Ryan and I had to go up there the next day and wash the windows. In broad daylight. That was the agreement we came to under the streetlight. Mr. Kelly wouldn’t let this slide; he was very firm on that. It was like the old Baretta theme song: don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time. Does anyone beside me remember that show? Anyway, it was one of those I wish I could crawl into a hole moments. My one and only shot at being a true vandal, and I’d blown it through sheer stupidity.
My kids don’t seem to think about minor vandalism, maybe because it’s a different world. Or maybe because they’re girls. They do consider Halloween to be the greatest time of the year. Really, nothing can compare. Free candy, sure. But the masks and the decorations. The pumpkins. The chance to get made up as someone you’re not. This is great fun for them, and I happily go along because I’m dad. And that’s what dads do. Because masks and decorations.
I still don’t get it, though. I don’t like bats or spiders. I don’t like costumes. I don’t like masks. But sometimes you go with the flow. I haven’t talked to the girls about soaping windows, and maybe it’s not a North Carolina tradition, this urge to be a villain with a bar of Dove or Ivory.
But sometimes I wonder how my neighbors might react if I showed up with some Dial or Irish Spring. I wonder if they’d grab the big kid from behind and make him wash the windows on November 1st. I wonder if my daughters would be embarrassed if someone captured their father and urged him to remove the mask, how they’d feel if the guy a few houses down forced me to show my face right there on the dark October street.
Great story - and one I don't recall hearing about from my dad. Sending him the link to see if it rings any bells!
Keeping my car in the garage on Halloween night. Just in case delinquent Gerry decides to surface. Great story!