Yep, nothing changes. I'm not one for the costume holiday.
And no, that’s not me.
This dude is way too skinny to be me at that age. When I was around seven years old, my body was so bizarrely contoured that this Superman cape would have looked like an ascot on yours truly. But, there was one Halloween where I did go trick or treating as the Man of Steel. Wearing a cape/handkerchief.
Welcome to Halloween, my least favorite holiday of the whole year. Believe me, I would have more likely been willing to plant a tree on Arbor Day than I was to go begging for candy around my neighborhood. Besides I wasn’t allowed to eat most of it anyway. My folks were very mindful of razor blades being placed in your Halloween treats.
“Don’t eat that. There’s probably something in it.”
So most of my candy would be verboten to me. But, my father would pretty much wolf it down himself over the next week or so. Apparently, he was totally immune to injury when it came to ingesting razor blades.
It really wasn’t more than three or four years that I was prime Halloween material. You had to dress for the requisite class party that more than likely featured chocolate cupcakes with orange-colored icing. Then you recycled the same get-up on the night of the main festivity. But, first, the major task at hand would be the actual selection of the costume itself.
I would get dragged down to H.L. Green’s department store on Fourth Avenue in Mount Vernon by my mother. The official costumer to the non-stars.
“Don’t make this a big project.”
Yeah, but this is a very important decision. How I would be seen on Halloween by my neighborhood friends and my school chums. It just couldn’t be any old costume.
“Hurry up. I have stores to go to.”
Like Bromley’s Dress Shop, where my mother had a revolving charge card and a search party was ordered if she didn’t walk through their front door at least twice a week.
I’d sift through all the costumes on display, all of them in boxes from some company called Ben Cooper, whoever the hell he was. Hmmm.
Popeye the Sailor?
Bugs Bunny?
Batman?
Invariably, I would pick one out and then try it on, only to discover it didn’t fit. Unfortunately, the folks at Ben Cooper thought every child in America had the same skinny body frame as Jay North of “Dennis the Menace” fame.
I know I dressed up once as each of the aforementioned characters. And, of course, there was my Superman year as well, where my cape got stuck in my grandfather’s car door when he came to pick me up at school. And, on the actual night of Halloween, you would wait anxiously for 6PM which was the optimal time to start trolling the neighborhood.
With my mother walking behind me, I would start to scamper up Fifteenth Avenue in Mount Vernon, New York. A short block of residential homes as well as two six-story apartment buildings for those feeling really ambitious. I’d meet with my childhood best buddy Leo and some of the other gremlins on the block and we would start attacking the neighbors.
“Trick or treat!”
The older ladies liked to linger when you rang the door bell. They spent all their time going over each of the costumes that had just shown up on their front doorstep.
“And who are you dressed as tonight, young man?"
I’m Bugs Bunny. What are you freakin’ blind??? Just cough up the candy that I won’t be allowed to eat anyway.
My mother was the final word on what houses to visit.
“Don’t go there. He drinks.”
“It's dark on that porch and they have a big dog."
“Stay away from that house. We don’t like them.”
Okay.
Indeed, the whole ritual took less than an hour to complete. We stayed totally on our block. Venture out-of-the-box to Fourteenth Avenue? That was not allowed. Even in that much simpler era, you stayed close to home. Usually, by 7PM, my mother was dragging me home. Meanwhile, my friends got to stay out longer. In my entirely Catholic universe, all my friends had off the following day for the All Saints celebration. Me? I was headed for bed and a new school day. As we approached our home, it was completely dark. The venetian blinds on all of our windows downstairs were drawn. The illusion of nobody being home. But there was.
Grandma.
"I'm not opening the door for any of those ragamuffins."
Yep, she was no fan of Halloween. And, shortly thereafter, neither was I.
Welcome to Halloween, my least favorite holiday of the whole year. Believe me, I would have more likely been willing to plant a tree on Arbor Day than I was to go begging for candy around my neighborhood. Besides I wasn’t allowed to eat most of it anyway. My folks were very mindful of razor blades being placed in your Halloween treats.
“Don’t eat that. There’s probably something in it.”
So most of my candy would be verboten to me. But, my father would pretty much wolf it down himself over the next week or so. Apparently, he was totally immune to injury when it came to ingesting razor blades.
It really wasn’t more than three or four years that I was prime Halloween material. You had to dress for the requisite class party that more than likely featured chocolate cupcakes with orange-colored icing. Then you recycled the same get-up on the night of the main festivity. But, first, the major task at hand would be the actual selection of the costume itself.
I would get dragged down to H.L. Green’s department store on Fourth Avenue in Mount Vernon by my mother. The official costumer to the non-stars.
“Don’t make this a big project.”
Yeah, but this is a very important decision. How I would be seen on Halloween by my neighborhood friends and my school chums. It just couldn’t be any old costume.
“Hurry up. I have stores to go to.”
Like Bromley’s Dress Shop, where my mother had a revolving charge card and a search party was ordered if she didn’t walk through their front door at least twice a week.
I’d sift through all the costumes on display, all of them in boxes from some company called Ben Cooper, whoever the hell he was. Hmmm.
Popeye the Sailor?
Bugs Bunny?
Batman?
Invariably, I would pick one out and then try it on, only to discover it didn’t fit. Unfortunately, the folks at Ben Cooper thought every child in America had the same skinny body frame as Jay North of “Dennis the Menace” fame.
I know I dressed up once as each of the aforementioned characters. And, of course, there was my Superman year as well, where my cape got stuck in my grandfather’s car door when he came to pick me up at school. And, on the actual night of Halloween, you would wait anxiously for 6PM which was the optimal time to start trolling the neighborhood.
With my mother walking behind me, I would start to scamper up Fifteenth Avenue in Mount Vernon, New York. A short block of residential homes as well as two six-story apartment buildings for those feeling really ambitious. I’d meet with my childhood best buddy Leo and some of the other gremlins on the block and we would start attacking the neighbors.
“Trick or treat!”
The older ladies liked to linger when you rang the door bell. They spent all their time going over each of the costumes that had just shown up on their front doorstep.
“And who are you dressed as tonight, young man?"
I’m Bugs Bunny. What are you freakin’ blind??? Just cough up the candy that I won’t be allowed to eat anyway.
My mother was the final word on what houses to visit.
“Don’t go there. He drinks.”
“It's dark on that porch and they have a big dog."
“Stay away from that house. We don’t like them.”
Okay.
Indeed, the whole ritual took less than an hour to complete. We stayed totally on our block. Venture out-of-the-box to Fourteenth Avenue? That was not allowed. Even in that much simpler era, you stayed close to home. Usually, by 7PM, my mother was dragging me home. Meanwhile, my friends got to stay out longer. In my entirely Catholic universe, all my friends had off the following day for the All Saints celebration. Me? I was headed for bed and a new school day. As we approached our home, it was completely dark. The venetian blinds on all of our windows downstairs were drawn. The illusion of nobody being home. But there was.
Grandma.
"I'm not opening the door for any of those ragamuffins."
Yep, she was no fan of Halloween. And, shortly thereafter, neither was I.
As I wrote, I pretty much tired of this whole trick-or-treating ritual after a few years. And the costuming started to be a drag as well. There would be one more year for me. But I was completely done trying to fit into some outfit that was one size too small. Here comes Frankenstein with that spare tire around his waist. I didn't need to endure that one more year. I would simply wear a mask. And a current one to-boot.
I went as President John F. Kennedy.
I tried to wear the same mask the following year. Although I had updated it by cutting out the top corner of the head. Mom was not amused.
'YOU'RE NOT GOING OUT WITH A HOLE IN YOUR HEAD!!"
And, with that, trick or treating officially ended for Len.
Costuming, however, would make an ignoble return right after college. In my twenties, I was a little more daring to make an asshole out of myself.
There were several Halloweens where good friends decided to throw Halloween parties. I was encouraged to dress up as well. I searched around for my JFK mask. This time I could wear it complete with a blood-spattered suit. Maybe I could get one of my female friends to don a pink pillbox hat. Ultimately, I opted to go as a television character.
So, along with the erstwhile blogger Djinn from the Bronx, I forgot to shave, threw on a medical labcoat, and entered into the world of MASH 4077.
Hawkeye and Hot Lips at the ready.
I got a little lazy the next year. I had no desire to dress up for another TV character costume party. But, I ultimately did. Simply by donning a suit.
And renting a wheelchair so I could be Detective Robert Ironside.
"That's a sin. God's really gonna put you in a wheelchair now."
Yeah, but, for the very last costume party I ever went to, I had a seat all night.
Dinner last night: Grilled chicken sausage.
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