Trick-Or-Treat, 1963

"Don't go to any doors where the porch light isn't on," Mom advised as we bounded off the front porch, and out into the darkness. My favorite Halloween memory comes from 1963. Our next door neighbors had made caramel apples that they were giving out, and there was a woman across the street from us who gave popcorn balls wrapped in wax paper. The most incredible thing about this particular Halloween night was we walked down to the corner store on 72nd and Clatsop Street. In the store they were giving out full-size candy bars which I had never even seen any store do before. None of our neighbors could afford to give out regular sized candy bars, so my bag was usually filled with miniatures. (That was fine as I had a miniature sized stomach anyway).

Probably the most exciting night of the year (aside from Christmas Eve), was Halloween. It was usually cold outside, and underneath my costume I had a coat zipped up to my neck. The official ribbon-cutting ceremony began when I heard that first plunk of candy hitting my empty paper bag. And I always looked; if the lady, or the man was grabbing assorted candy from a bowl, I always looked down greedily at how much was there. The whole purpose of trick-or-treating was to acquire candy, and I was an eight year-old machine designed for that very purpose.

How beautiful it was in the dark of night, with the echoes of laughing kids and voices from open doors. There were spooky moments whenever I walked out the direct safety of street lights into the shadows where monsters lived. And how exciting it was when I saw other kids in the distance; we were the armies of the night on a dedicated mission of candy-collecting. Eventually I got a bit warmer from all the walking, and felt the need to unzip my coat. My bag also got a bit heavier which indicated a good haul. My mom decided I was going to be a Martian for Halloween that year. And I had to wear these springy antennas from an old set of rabbit ears that we had in the house. She'd fastened it into some sort of headband that fit snug on my head. I felt like a real idiot but, but at least it was an original costume. In the end I didn't really care as I was more interested in the huge bag of candy I was going to bring home.

After a long night of trick or treating I came in quickly changed out of my costume as fast as I could put on regular street clothes and went back out again. Greedy devil that I was I was able to hit some more houses that I hadn't hit a few blocks over in a different direction. I ran across an old woman who lived in a nicer house and she was giving out noise makers. Yes, the Halloween of 1963 is one of my most favorite memories. Even though I was dressed like an idiotic Martian for the most of the night, it was still a blast.

There were many kids outside, an army of costumed grade-schoolers who likewise suffered the pitfalls of sweaty masks that slid down at inopportune moments. With each porch my bare knuckles rapped on a wooden door, or pressed a doorbell. I heard approaching footsteps or dog barks from the other side only to be greeted by warm light and a candy bowl. How I miss those neighborhood blocks, the cool October eves, and the excitement of trick-or-treat. Upon our return home, we went to our room to dump the bags out onto the bed and glory in the sugary spoils of such a perfect night.

"Were they safe?..." This was a question that not only our household pondered, but many of our neighbors as well. The fear of "nuclear radiation" leaking out while heating up one's Tater Tots was one of the stigmas attached to microwave ovens. In 1974, when Amana produced their newest "Radarange" model, my Mom refused to even consider having one in the house. She was still using our conventional oven to heat up our Banquet chicken and TV dinners. 30-45 minutes was the cook time, and we'd learned to be patient as there was no other way to heat up frozen dinners. Though the Radarange has its roots in the market as far back as 1967, they were still a relatively unknown product in our corner of the world.

Rumors circulating of a super-oven that could cook sausages in 30 seconds as opposed to the 6-10 minute stove top cook time made many American households want one. There were also rumors of radiation poisoned food that came out of a microwave oven that prevented our house from having one. However, as they grew in popularity, (and no news reports of people dying from radiation poisoning or radioactive leakage), they were far more acceptable in our neighborhood. I believe we got our first microwave in the late seventies, or early eighties. "Just nuke it for 10 seconds" was the perfect instruction on how to warm up a cup of coffee.

There were rules to microwave ovens though: do not put anything metal in them; they may explode and turn you and your family into 50-foot tall super freaks with X-ray eyes! Don't leave a fork on a plate, and make sure the plate doesn't have any gold trim to sizzle and spark on the platen. (Also, if you were wearing braces on your teeth, don't stick your head in the oven). Ah, such were the days of great inventions, and the wonderful memories they provide.

There were evenings I spent with a friend after dinner who lived about a half mile away. By October the nights came quicker than before, and there were a few times I decided to break the monotony of my usual walk home by taking another way. My foot steps always picked up and went at a quicker pace when I wasn't in completely familiar territory, or near a street light. Shadows in strange places seemed to take on a life of their own.

I knew for a fact that two driveways and three garbage cans down the street was where monsters waited for me.They lurked behind the laurel hedges, behind bushes, or high in the tree tops. I could almost hear them slithering slowly down the trunks of dried bark and dying branches. They landed on crunchy dead leaves creeping in the blackness of night. I wasn't stupid enough to try and find them, but instead, I picked up the pace. Whenever a straight section of road, or path appeared, I ran like the wind.

Every slip in gravel, every crunch of dead leaves in the grass, and every whistle a night wind made told me they were close. It was only by the time I reached our front porch that I knew I could afford to look over my shoulder. What a relief it was to know that I was in a monster-free zone. Still, they were out there, somewhere...

What a wonderful season!