Boomers Got Mischievous

The night before Halloween has been called by different names in different regions: Mischief Night, Hell Night and Devil’s Night, among them. It marks the time when (mostly) young boys, usually teen or pre-teen in age, would carry out pranks such as soaping windows, the toilet-papering of trees and homes or setting bags of feces on fire in front of a homeowner’s door — the “trick” in “trick or treat” — along with other acts of minor vandalism such as egging or smashing jack-o-lanterns.

Halloween is thought to have evolved from practices of the Druids thousands of years ago. Their year began on Samhain, which was November 1 and started with a festival the day before. Bonfires were set and crops and animals were sacrificed as a way of honoring the dead, who Druids believed returned to Earth for that night. Animal skins were worn as costumes in celebration of the first day of the new year and the coming of winter. When the Romans conquered the Celts in 43 A.D., the Roman harvest holiday of Feralia and Samhain were combined as a way of honoring the dead and celebrating the harvest. It is thought that apples became associated with Halloween through this connection.

The history of Mischief Night dates back to the late 1700s in England. Then, it was observed on November 4, the day before Guy Fawkes Night. You may recall that Guy Fawkes became involved in a plot to blow up the Parliament House in 1605, but was captured before he could ignite the fuse on the dozens of barrels of gunpowder placed in the basement by the conspirators. In subsequent years on the night before his arrest, citizens would mark the occasion by setting bonfires on what became known as Bonfire Night.

In the U.S. at the end of the 19th Century and the beginning of the 20th Century, October 31 — Halloween night — was marked by acts of mischief, presumably carried over from traditions practiced by the wave of Scottish and Irish immigrants in the late 1800s. By the time of the Great Depression in the 1930s, relatively harmless pranks had become increasingly violent toward people and damaging to property. In order to reduce the incidences of vandalism, it was suggested that children be “bribed” with candy on that night, thereby adding the “treat” to the “trick or treat” tradition of door-to-door begging in costume. It caught on and has evolved to the Halloween we see today.

In boomer times, practices on Mischief Night, which by then was observed the evening before Halloween, were regional in nature. In some areas, boomers would merely ring doorbells and run away, or toss toilet paper over houses or onto tree branches. In others, egging houses, cars, buses and occasionally, other kids, were popular. Mister Boomer’s neighborhood tended to take a walk on the mild side. On one particular night, a pre-teen Mister B recalls heading out with his brother and the neighborhood boys for an evening of wandering, pretty much like many other nights. Unbeknownst to Mister B, one boy had a couple of firecrackers that he had probably saved from the Fourth of July, and another boy had a bar of soap. As the group walked around, a plot was hatched to have one boy light a firecracker on a house porch and another would ring the doorbell while everyone ran away. Mister B was safely hidden behind a car a few houses away, along with several others. The plot failed as the firecracker went off before the homeowner answered the door. After the bang, a man flipped his porch light on, opened his front door, and, not observing anything, closed the door and shut the light.

As the boys walked, they came upon a group who were toilet-papering a tree. It was a cold, wet night, and the participants were having a hard time tossing the roll just so it would festoon over a branch and drop back down. Instead, the paper tore on the wet branches and shredded in the wind, making a mess of it. A little further on, they encountered a car that had been egged. Mister B was appalled at the scene, since he believed the urban legend that eggs could damage or even remove paint from the vehicle. That just seemed to be a senseless waste and unfair to the car owner. While boys debated whether egg would in fact remove paint, they wandered on through the night.

A few blocks later, one of the boys remarked that the boy with the bar of soap had stopped behind the group. He was diligently marking the windshield of a car. The usual method of soaping was a few scribbles on a house window, or a line drawn on side windows of a car as one walked by. Mister B, though never having participated in the practice himself, thought this one of the more harmless pranks because, unlike wax, the soap could be easily removed with water. In this case, for some reason the boy decided he wanted to completely cover every inch of the windshield. The boys scattered as a tall figure was observed in the dark on the porch of the house where the car was parked. One of the boys tried to warn the soaper with his best “stage whisper,” but he was too absorbed in his work to pay any attention. As he finished, he let out a giggle of glee. It was then the silhouetted figure spoke. “Have you had your fun?” the man said. The boy stood in silence. “Good,” he added, “Now tomorrow you’ll be coming over to clean it.” “Yes, sir,” was the muted response.

Therein lies a difference between young boomers and the generations that followed. The night became quite violent in later years in some parts of the country, escalating to arson in areas such as Detroit, Michigan and Camden, New Jersey. Yet here was a boy in the mid-1960s, caught in the act, who first of all respected his elder in his speech, and secondly, voluntarily returned to the house the next day to wash off the soap he had worked so hard to layer on that windshield.

What memories of Mischief Night do you recall, boomers?

Boomers Make Halloween A Real Boom-Time Event

Halloween has been celebrated in various forms by various cultures for a couple of thousand years. Yet modern trick-or-treating — the practice of children dressing in costume and going door to door to collect candy — didn’t take hold in this country until the 1920s, and it took a while for the new tradition to become standardized. Therefore, it was the parents of the Boomer Generation who had the first sweet taste of what this heretofore minor holiday was to become.

When you think about it, the Boomer Generation was the first group that was chronologically able to elevate the traditions and form them into a purely secular paean to sugary excess, but we have the Greatest Generation to thank for opening the door for us. As our parents grew, and the practices and customs of modern Halloween spread across the country, it was a rather low-key event. Just when the new traditions were beginning to take flight, the Great Depression ruined the fun. Several austere years meant limited opportunity for a family to have disposable income for such trivial matters. When World War II entered the scene, our parents were out of their prime trick-or-treating years. As if robbed of a piece of their childhood, it would seem they held a collective memory from their shared history that surfaced again after the War, with us, their offspring.

The years after the War brought expansion — of housing and population — that are the hallmarks of our Boomer Generation. Our parents moved to the new houses that were cropping up just outside of the cities, as “suburbs” were the real estate word of the day. With the perfect storm of a burgeoning population, housing in close proximity that formed new neighborhoods of young families, and an increase in leisure time and disposable income, the modern Halloween experiment was ready to enter the scene. The long-standing American belief that each parent wants more for their children than what they had laid the final bricks to our parents wanting more fun, more smiles, and yes, more candy, than they had been able to experience.

Mister Boomer’s Halloween memories center around two main things: trick-or-treating and costumes. As the school year blended into October, the order of the day was kids asking each other, “What are you gonna be?” The answer was usually, “I don’t know yet” as the temperatures started to drop and darkness approached earlier each night. Store-bought costumes, around since the 20s, were not the first choice of Mister B’s neighborhood. Store costumes were rather cheap and uncomfortable, consisting of a pajama-like body suit of whatever the costume subject was to be, and a brittle plastic, frontal mask that sported eye and nose holes and an elastic band to fit around the head. Young parents might purchase a costume for their toddlers, but they usually held on to them and after the first child wore it for a few years, it was passed on to the next toddler.

Once we arrived at our own Age of Halloween Reason, somewhere around age seven — when we could trick-or-treat with older siblings and neighborhood peers instead of parents — we wanted to make our own costumes. Rarely getting very complex, our costumes relied on what was available in the suburban boomer’s household. First was clothing that was either our own or from another family member, and second, rags — the discards of our family unit. Rags were a renewable resource because polyester fabrics had yet to take over the store racks, so eventually, after a few patches extended the life of the garments, our natural fiber clothes and bed linens wore out and were relegated to the rag bin. In Mister Boomer’s house, rags were kept in an old potato chip tin in the basement. Rags played an important part in every suburban house because they served utilitarian purposes; they were used to wash windows, walls, floors and cars, for dusting and cleaning just about everything. In fact, in Mister B’s house, paper towels weren’t purchased until his mom went back to work in the late sixties. When Halloween came around, we could raid the rag bin for inspiration and in some cases, our entire costume.

Since we were mainly on our own, costumes fell into just a few categories. Girls could be cowgirls, princesses, ballerinas, gypsies, ghosts, the occasional angels or, as a harbinger of egalitarian opportunity, hobos. Boys were hobos, too, and pirates, clowns, cowboys or military men as we donned our father’s discards. The default costumes that would do in a pinch were mummies or ghosts. In the case of the former, all that was needed was a rag sheet. Years before colors entered the world of bed linens, cotton sheets were always white. Torn into strips, mummy bandages were ready to be wrapped at the last minute around our cold-weather outfits. The ghost costume was a final resort, as all it entailed was making two eye holes in a sheet draped over your head.

The homemade hobo costume was particularly interesting from a cultural sense for two reasons. First, as mentioned, it could be gender-neutral on occasion. Since it was Halloween, a girl could be whatever she wanted to be — within reason. Secondly, no hobo outfit was complete without a little charcoal beard to accompany the prop of a bandana stuffed with belongings tied to a stick. Our mothers would take corks and blacken the ends in the flame from the stovetop. They would then rub the blackened cork on our faces to simulate beards or dirt. The same technique was used for rounding out a pirate look. Today, there aren’t many corks left in the marketplace to show your grandkids this all-too-common makeup application from our day.

For proper trick-or-treating, an appropriate vessel was required to collect the sweets. Toddlers had plastic pumpkins, but youngsters wanted more — much more — than those simple pails could hold. We used pillow cases, and our goal was to fill them. Naturally, it was an impossible task given the hours and quantity of subdivision houses available. There once was a neighborhood boy who claimed he did fill one, running like a madman from house to house for hours, hitting the houses where they gave out chocolate bars more than once. Though the neighborhood kids doubted the veracity of his story, Mister B was witness to a pillow case filled up to the overlapped fabric stitching — close enough!

Then there were the treats. Mister B liked anything chocolate, and anything that gave you more than one piece. Candy bars, Smarties, Turkish Taffy, Squirrels, Chuckles, Lifesavers, malted milk balls and root beer barrels were among his favorites. He was not at all fond of suckers like Dum-Dums, though an occasional Tootsie Pop was OK. Kids dreaded the households that gave out popcorn balls, apples or pennies. Though these people put in more thought and effort than simply opening a bag of candy, their efforts were not appreciated.

Arriving home with at least a half of a pillow case of goodies, Mister Boomer’s mother laid claim to the Milk Duds, Mary Janes, SweetTarts and Milky Way bars, which she would freeze. Mister B’s dad was partial to Butterfingers, Mounds bars and Junior Mints. Naturally, this meant Mister Boomer and his siblings had to hide a reserve of any of these items to keep them from the claws of the parental units.

As boomers aged, costumed parties were more the norm, or they could man the door and give out candy. It was common to take the screen top out of the front door so as to reach out and drop whatever the household had into the kids’ bags. Besides, the weather change demanded that the storm windows would be put in soon, anyway. One year, Mister B’s parents gave out the dreaded Dum-Dum suckers. Mister B conspired with his brother to try an experiment to see if they could retrieve a sucker dropped into a bag. Tying a string around a sucker’s stick, the trap was set. When an older kid — near the age when the activity was probably his last year — approached with a paper shopping bag, Mister B dropped two suckers in. He was destined to keep one, but the other had a string attached. As the boy stepped off the porch and down the walk, Mister B tugged on the string, causing the sucker to fling out of his bag and onto the sidewalk. Before the next group of kids approached, he quickly reeled it in to set the trap again. Laughing hysterically, Mister B’s brother observed the process a couple more times. Then he wanted to give it a try. This time, the string broke and the amusing game was discovered by Mister B’s mom. It remained a fun Halloween memory anyway.

Today, Halloween is a nearly $6 billion industry that exists in no small part thanks to boomer parents and their children who now decorate their houses with displays that rival Christmas. Adult parties with all the trimmings, from scary foods and treats to music, movies and decorations are extremely popular with boomers and their offspring. And it looks like there is no turning back. Take a minute, though, boomers, and think about how we had such fun with a few simple ingredients: rags, imaginations and friends.

What is your favorite Halloween memory from your youth?