Subscribe to this blog's feedThe smell of musty, drying leaves carried in a crisp autumn night makes me begin reminiscing about Halloweens of the past as everyone it seems is preparing for it. Oh, and the change back to Standard Time tends to make it even more vivid as evening comes earlier now.
I like the cool, crisp, clear nights of fall the best. I think the stars look their most elegant, like someone threw silver glitter on black velvet. Am I making you nauseous yet with this overly dramatic prose?
Some of the best Halloweens that I remember run the gamut from childhood to the recent.
My very favorite costume was a hand-made “Uncle Sam” my mother had made. I had the red and white striped pants and my blue blazer covered with stars topped off with my very own patriotic top hat made of construction paper. And, I had the white beard that stuck on by an elastic cord that went over my ears. That was my most memorable costume and it won 2nd Prize in the local contest that year at the elementary school. It was one of my few honors throughout my childhood in matter of fact.
When we became teenagers, yes, we soaped windows, but two instances really stuck out.
One favorite thing we loved doing was tying toilet paper across the town bridge to see if the cars would break through or turn around. I grew up in a rural town, so traffic was not a problem as we would run out to tie the toilet paper and then run to hide behind the steel girders that criss-crossed the span to wait and see the outcome of the prank with labored breath.
We “egged” only one car one year from the embankment not far from our house. We hid in the bushes up on the embankment and pelted the unsuspecting motorist with eggs swearing to only aim for the side or back which made us feel better – a little. We waited, hidden by the bushes waiting for our hapless victim. Here came our target and we let loose our volley of eggs. To our surprise, flashing lights immediately came on (the cops!!) and we RAN through bushes of all kinds – burrs, thorns – we felt nothing at the time as the adrenaline coursed through us. We ran up the hillside, staying hidden in the bushes until we made our way to the neighbors’ house. Two of the culprits with us were our neighbors, so we piled – seven of us – into the eldest one’s Mustang. I don’t know how we all fit in that car, but we managed. It seemed a safe enough spot and so we drove away from the scene to add credence to our excuses of not being at the scene. We were never caught, but we never, ever threw an egg again!!
My first “gay” Halloween was when I was nineteen after just coming out four months prior - 1978. I didn’t dress. I thought I was to cool for it, or was I afraid? Oh well. I was in Minneapolis and they always had “cattle call” at 1 AM when the bars closed and Halloween night was especially festive on the avenue. I was out joining in the hedonistic ritual of the night, when a guy dressed as Dracula with a latex mask playfully bit me on the neck. It was a nip actually, and it sort of hurt. I must have freaked out a little from the alcohol or whatever “goodies” I had indulged in because since then, I have had a deep down dread of latex masks, especially covering the entire face and head.
I saw my first Halloween Parade in the Village in NYC in 1992. I loved the parade, but it was very crowded. I felt almost claustrophobic as we snaked through the crowds and did not like the eerie feeling I got when I saw so many full-face latex masks. I grew anxious with each one I encountered and if “it” stared at me too long, I bordered on panic until we left the parade route and found a safe haven in one of the nearby bars. WHEW! Alcohol made it ALL better!
In the late 90s, before I was sidelined by my HIV/ AIDS/ PML, I always went out to the bars and clubs to see which of my friends had fabulously transformed themselves into a dream or nightmare. I still wouldn’t dress in costume, more out of embarrassment to myself. But, then, I was warming up to the idea slowly and every year I was determined to dress in costume but chickened out with the declaration that there’s always next year. “I’ll do it for 1999” I told myself. In my Halloween dreams, I saw myself as an old-time cowboy or a lusty pirate or an Arabian prince a la Rudolf Valentino – callous, but, oh, so sexy. (Those damned romance novels of my teen years! Reading them had been my one true vice from 15 to 18 years of age which warped my sense of romance to this day. Sad, huh?)
Well, I enjoyed the various costumes that tended to distinguish the Village on Halloween. Imagination and talent seemed to be on their loftiest perch that night. I loved it and the fact that so many of my friends dressed up made it even better. Of course, I had to deal with all their comments because I didn’t dress up. “Next year, I promise.”
It will be a long time for me to be my Arabian or a cowboy or a pirate. I just have to keep fighting the good fight and hope I improve enough to dress up soon. But, I chuckle when I think of this! I can always go as Blanche Hudson from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? I can be pushed by Baby Jane! And I think I can do Joan Crawford's eyebrows and "bitch face!" Any takers???
“Blanche, there are rats in the cellar.”