Maybe it’s regional or cultural or perhaps just a sign of the
times, but when I grew up in 1940's Brooklyn, N.Y. we didn’t wear costumes and
beg for treats at our neighbors’ doors on Halloween. Because of the war, with
everything rationed, people had few treats to give away. Instead, we children
wore our oldest clothes and with a box of chalk in hand, plastered images of
ghosts, skeletons and graffiti over every concrete surface within our reach.
Janitors made sure they kept all trash cans out of sight in the basement and
away from the mischief of the neighborhood goblins. We never thought to toilet
paper a house. Mother would never waste paper that way, and besides, how can
you toilet paper an eight family apartment house? Instead, we ran amok and
chalked our playmates backs and arms as we skipped by.
Some kids
“borrowed” mother’s stocking and filled it with some “borrowed” flour. They
twirled it like a flail, and slammed it into anyone near. The stocking emitted
a puff of white flour into the air and on to the clothing of the whacked. As
the day grew dark, the older boys set a bonfire in the street and we roasted potatoes
on a stick. We called them “mickies.”
After the war and as we grew to
pre-pubescence, costume house parties became the norm for Halloween. We never
wore store bought costumes but always created an outfit from whatever we found
at home or in the trash. Cardboard boxes cut and painted became a knight’s
armor and sword or an old white sheet with eyes holes turned into a ghost. A
piece of black felt and shoelace sufficed for a pirate’s eye patch. I always
dressed as a gypsy in a borrowed skirt from my older sister. I needed to pin
the waist to make it fit but the full skirt reached my ankles. I wore a paper
flower in my hair and all the beads and bracelets my sister let me borrow. We
bobbed for apples, drank apple cider and played games. We told made-up ghost
stories by candle light and sang songs. Activities of a different time.
As an older adult, I went to a
Halloween Party with blacked out teeth, smudged and dirty face, a scraggly wig
and frumpy clothes. I carried two shopping bags filled with rags and tied a
sign around my neck that said “will dance for booze”. No one recognized me and
the anonymity meant I could act outrageously, chasing the men asking for a
kiss. Not one wanted to kiss the ugly old bag lady. I had great fun. And once I
dressed as a Nazi nurse for a Halloween Party. My sister Dorothy went as
Morticia.
…. Mary Fahey
