Open Writing

Let's go Halloweenin'

That's the call you were likely to hear in my neighborhood, among my friends. Back in the late '30's or the Wartime '40's. No mention of 'Trick or treat.' No suggestion of dressing up or even masking. No apple-bobbiing or tail-pinning, donkeys or otherwise.

Tricks were the order of the day. Audacity, innovation, misdirection, artistry.

For instance: Soaping windows, car windows or house windows, was a popular trick. About the only reliable way to get the readily-available and cheap yellow bar soap off, was to laboriously scrape it with a single-edged safety razor blade.

But -- some nameless genius realized that Bon-Ami, a popular and inexpensive glass and plastic cleaner, was sold in a white bar, even cheaper than laundry soap. When slightly moistened, it looked almost exactly like soap marks, would wipe off with a damp cloth, and be almost impossible to remove with a razor blade. So the target of the trick would be doubly chagrined to find he'd been had by the tricksters.

One of the most memorable tricks I personably heard about was pulled off by an elderly retired farmer who lived in, or just outside of, Mooresville. Mr.Smith, I'll call him, had an old-fashioned outhouse back near his garden fence. Next to the alley. I'm sure he'd had conventional plumbing for years, but he never got around to tearing the old place down. Since his place was close to the high school, a group would stop by, pick up the old two-holer, and move it a couple of feet off the pit.
A town tradition. But this time he changed the parameters a little. And I got lucky. I had been with the group, but I had a deadline. If I wasn't at a designated spot at a certain time, my boss, (I was a hired hand), would go home without me. A five-mile walk in the dark. I decided to go home. So I wasn't one of the willing movers who learned Mr.Smith had already moved the old building.

When they stepped into the pit.

Hello there, Scout

Stepped out for a quick walk to the mailbox. Just making sure. Today is the day they are supposed to pick up our trash. They usually get here by about seven in the morning. Maine Coast time. Darker than the inside of a cow around here at that time, and I hate to leave it out there any longer than necessary. Those bags can get pretty fragrant in hot weather. We don't have any stray dogs around, but plenty of eager and active possums and coons.

Couple of weeks ago, I was late, and as luck would have it, Ave had picked that weekend to clean out the old stuff from the back of the refrigerator. Only coon-proof place we could think of to stash the trash was the back of the van. Got pretty fragrant before next trash day.

Anyway, this morning, Scout, my American Crow friend, and his buddy, or maybe his mate, were in a mood for conversation. So, we talked. And talked. And talked some more. They must have tried at least a dozen phrases, some of them pretty complicated. And each one repeated at least once by me and again by them, assuming I got it right the first time.

They are much more patient than I'd be were I the tutor. And I have been. I was a volunteer ESL tutor for several Bosnian refugees a few years ago. Not easy, even when it's people to people. Scout and I first started this when he was just a young guy, doing his bit to protect the tribe by sitting in a tall tree as lookout when they were feeding. I was working in my garden, and we got to talking, just to pass the time.

Probably five years ago, at least.

Back to Boone Magazine again

Those magazines are a real treasure trove of oral history. I have just reread a reader's telling of an old family story about an ancestor who was captured by a group of unfriendly Indians who were passing through on an ancient trail which ran through his roughed out claim. They tied him up overnight, and took him along with them next day. This went on for most of the summer. Eventually he got loose and after many trials found his way back home.

Reminds me a little of what Sergeant Pawlowski used to say.

. " I can tell you many interesting stories of my experiences in the Army. Some of them true."

Of course I wasn't there, so what is my opinion worth? About what it costs.. Not much.

Boone Magazine reports that, according to The Boone County Pioneer,Apr.15, 1859,

McLaughlin & Son have a lot of the fanciest hoop skirts that have yet been brought to Lebanon. Ladies will please take notice. They have every size from a beer keg to a sugar hogshead.