Halloween 1956
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| Halloween Old School |
I lived in Falls Church, Virginia, a very quaint community about 15 miles from Washington, D.C. There were tons of kids in the area, and I had watched them Trick or Treating through my living room window for years. Sigh. My brother always got to go, and I was always left behind. No candy for me because he was a greedy kid who wasn't giving it up. In fact, he would eat it in front of me and describe how good it was. Then he would tease me and ask if I wanted some. Of course, I did. He said I had to ask him nicely, which of course I did. I even lowered myself to begging with the "pretty please," followed by tears of anger and frustration. The pig never gave it up. But this year would be different.
Back in those days, kids would go Trick or Treating the night before Halloween and the night of Halloween. Now I don't know if this was just a Falls Church thing, a Virginia thing, or another accepted practice everywhere. I only got to go out on the actual night; the candy hoarder went both nights.
When my uncle came home from work, I was already dressed. I was Davy Crockett and had my very own coonskin hat, tomboy that I was. My uncle had bought it for me, and I wore it all the time, even wore it to bed. Global warming had not started to show up back then, so Halloween night was cold enough to wear a coat. Basically, I had the hat and a long gun, and everything else was covered up. I was ready to go, but Uncle Jerry said he was going to trick or treat too. Okay. I was ordered to sit down and eat while he got dressed. My brother sat across from me, itching to leave. Now, he had gone out the night before with some older kids in the neighborhood. On that night, he met one of my good friends. Karma introduced herself to him in the form of a teenage boy who snatched his bag from him and deposited a dead fish in it. Ronnie was so mad that he came home crying like a big baby. I laughed at him and had to stand in the corner for what seemed like an eternity. I love Karma; it was worth laughing at him. So now we were both candy-less waiting on my uncle. What was taking so long?
We lived in a two-story townhouse. Just about when I was ready to pass out from lack of sugar, I heard a noise and looked up. Something was sliding down the banister, something I didn't recognize. I know I was just a little kid, but what the hell was that? It had on a pink evening gown and heels. I started at the feet and looked up. It had big overgrown boobs and three inches of makeup. Holy crap, it was my uncle.
I, along with everyone else in the house, was staring with my mouth popped open. He said his name was Geraldine, like Jack Lemon in Some Like it Hot, but he didn't look as good as Jack. My uncle had a nose that had been broken in countless fights throughout his young life. He was about 24 at the time. A short guy, but a guy who worked out, had been in the Marines and been a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne. He was rough and tough and unfortunately afraid of nobody. Women loved him. He had girlfriends everywhere, even in the hood. He was at that time being financed by his married boss. New cars, new clothes and that allowed him to be very generous to me.
My mom and aunt were taking pictures of Uncle Jerry and Ronnie. Uncle J was hanging on him like an ugly hooker. Yeah, it was funny, but I wanted candy, and I was totally ignored as usual. Finally, we left after he answered the door a few times and was coming on to any man that appeared. One guy told him he was the ugliest woman he had ever seen, and my uncle laughed so hard that his mascara ran down his face. I remember the guy grabbed his chest; I believe that was the action that caused the hysteria.
We went to so many houses where my uncle knew the women. Everybody took pictures of him, and because they were distracted by my uncle, they told Ronnie and me to take what we wanted. We laughed with everybody while we were picking out the best candy they had and lots of it. Yuck, yuck, Snickers, haha, Milky Way, hooha Hershey bars. Keep distracting them. Our paper bags were full. They didn't have plastic bags or plastic pumpkins to carry your candy in back then—paper bags, like the bags in the picture, with handles. The only problem was they tore easily. We stayed out until 9:30, raiding candy from every house where they knew my uncle.
Sadly, the evening had to end. Our bags were stuffed with chocolate candy bars of every type. No suckers, no orange and black wrapped mystery candy, we had Fizzies, chocolate, Bazooka, and Double Bubble gum, Tootsie roll pops, Jujubes, no cheap candy made it's way into our bags that night. We were the 1% of the candy world; we were candy rich. And the candy bars were not teeny like they are now.
On the way home, Uncle Jerry had to take off his heels; his makeup was all smeared and caked from touching and kissing exchanges. One boob was broken. Somewhere he lost his wig. He looked like a hard, worn out, bargain-basement whore.
When we got home, I was in candy heaven. I kissed and hugged my uncle and told him how much fun I had and asked if we could go next year. Of course, it didn't happen, he married one of the girls we had been to visit, and they had a new baby. The next year I had to go with my brother, who kept stealing my good candy. It was never the same as that one special Halloween night in 1956. I think about my uncle frequently and how much I miss him, the mental photo I have retained of him on that night always makes me smile.
Wherever you are, Uncle Jerry, I love you and miss you.
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