Trick-or-treating before razor blades

(Above: circ. 1956, My family on the porch of our home at 1299 Spruce Avenue, Twin Falls, Idaho. l-r. Arnie, David, Mom [Norma], me, Ron)

As a baby boomer child in the 50's, life on the edge of the Idaho desert was good. It was a "no worries" time for me and my brothers. Planted square in the middle of a pack of boys, I could hold my own with the best of them. I had friends outside the family, sure; but the friends inside the family were always there - still are - and we had a great time being kids together during a time when society was just fine with kids just being kids.

Halloween was always one of the favorite nights for me. I loved the candy. I think that was it most of all. I'd get canker sores from eating it all so soon after I got home (well, minus all the pieces I ate as I went door to door).

A few days before the "big" day, Mom would cart us all down to the local 'Five and Dime' and let us pick out the mask we wanted to wear. There was no need for full costume in those days; a 25 cent mask was all we needed to transform into someone or something else. I'd try them on one at a time, leaning typically toward the cute princess types. I remember the smell of the plastic, the way the elastic would stretch over my head and hold the mask snug to my face, and the way the world became focused into the peepholes left for the eyes to look through. Though there were holes for the eyes and holes for the nose and holes for the mouth, the vapor from my breath still managed to trap inside the mask, and by the time I arrived home after going Trick-or-Treating, I was a dripping mess.

But it was so worth it.

I grew up in a day when there were no plastic grocery bags, no plastic pumpkin baskets. We'd just flip our pillows out of their cases and take the cases around with us as we went door-to-door.

One particularly warm Halloween night when I was a little older - probably fourth grade - Arnie, David, and I plotted to make it the best haul ever. We left early and trekked out. Our goal? Don't come home until our pillowcases were completely full of sugary treats.

Do you know how much candy it takes to fill a pillowcase?

We walked and we walked and we walked. Our cases got heavier and heavier, but they were still only, maybe, a quarter full. The evening grew later, and the streets grew quieter. We had to be the only kids out there still ringing doorbells. Finally, one man answered my knock and asked us if we knew it was after 8 pm?

Oh, NO! Mom was going to be hotter than our coal klinkers over this one!

We turned around and started back home, but by now even our young legs were getting worn out. I remember dragging my pillow case behind me, bump bumping against my calves as I retraced my steps back to the house. Home was a long, long way away by this time. The bag seemed easier to carry, though, the closer I got. It wasn't until we got into the light of the house, however, that I discovered why. Dragging the case had rubbed a hole open in the bottom of the bag. By the time I got home, there was a sweet candy trail winding through town behind me.

Of course, there were still the apples in the bag.