Sometime around mid-October, with lots of spookiness and a hint of mirth in her playful voice, Miss Greenlee made a terribly important-sounding announcement.
“Halloween is coming! It’s Halloween! We must prepare!”
Naturally, none of us farm-country kids who’d come up during the war years had ever even celebrated Halloween. We didn’t have a clue where to start. But Miss Greenlee’s exuberance was, as always, contagious as the pox, and the whole class went saucer-eyed.
My own ideas were limited.
On Halloween night the year before, Mama and some of her women friends from the Sand & Gravel plant drove Timmy and me to a harvest festival on a farm way out in the boonies.
We played at dodging shadows and bobbed for apples floating in a big washtub along with some other kids, while the grownups traded pumpkins and baskets of corn and nuts and such around a roaring bonfire in the dark. But other than sensing somebody watching me from behind a tree and the hair on my arms standing up, it was pretty uneventful.
As for the idea of trick-or-treating on Halloween, it usually got too cold at night by late October for kids to be running around outside begging candy from Havenwood folks. Nobody had kept extra candy during the war and the habit stuck, and the houses were too far apart for any big hauls if they had any.
But in that freer world of 1946, nothing said we couldn’t celebrate at school . . .
Spiders, Bats and Hump-Backed Cats
With the able tutelage of Miss Greenlee, our gang launched into the spirit of things and learned as we went along.
After a titillating, quick study of the history of Halloween in the Old Country, we created a host of orange and black construction paper silhouettes for decorations, American style. Hairy spiders, hump-backed cats, witches on brooms and flying bats and toothy jack-o-lanterns got traced and cut and tacked around the classroom walls to leer at anyone who dared to look.
The boys from Shop Class brought in a ladder and hung some from the ceiling, dangling from lengths of feed sack string that let the creatures sway and swirl whenever a draft blew in under the door.
And there were times when they moved all on their own – I know it’s true, I saw it happen with my own eyes. And I wasn’t the only one.
Tales about the figures moving on their own, however, were classified as top secret, and could only be embellished amongst ourselves. That was the rule.
So our whole class had to swear a pact of secrecy. We swore in the Shop Class boys and Miss Greenlee, too, for good measure. And with abundant giggles, loud shushes and plenty of bad acting, we pretended the source of all those spooky decorations was surely “a mystery.”
“Gee, they were just here when we got here.”
“We have no idea.”
“Honest.”
And so the story went for any outsider who might inquire, especially the older kids who thought we were cute and would drop by before their classes to play along. And our impishness and those innocent thrills only fueled further collusion, as the camaraderie between us swelled like a fearsome juggernaut.
The Halloween Muse
The Halloween Muse had sequestered our lives and rendered us unstoppable — a force to be reckoned with.
We kept cranking out spooky artwork until we ran out of the whole semester’s supply of construction paper. Without skipping a beat, Miss Greenlee assigned us to gather up all the fabric scraps we could scavenge and bring them to school. And from every description of colorful cloth, we proceeded to cut out strange-looking trees shapes, people and animals and their various habitats, gluing them onto long panels of brown butcher paper with homemade flour and water paste.
Prissy ran the glue factory crew at a table hidden in the trees behind our building, keeping us well supplied with buckets of yeasty-smelling paste. And while others cut and I designed, the old hardwood floor of the classroom protested our messy business in grumpy silence.
Hand-painted touches were added to make the whole scene look more Halloweeny with hoot owls, ghosts and gravestones. Sketches of skeletons, scary skulls and three pairs of glaring wolf eyes, courtesy of the hooligans Bobby Blackstone and Teddy MacDougal, completed the work. And panel by panel, the kaleidoscope final mural depicting our very own Halloween Village — our masterpiece — was spread across the windows, wrapped around the walls and covered both sides of the door.
We were beyond elated! Life was a Halloween party!
The rest of the school would have killed to know what we were up to. And predictably, the whole happy scenario infuriated the dickens out of dreadful old Miss Hickey.
~
Copyright©2008, 2013 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.
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Mystery Novel Memoir – World War II – Heartland America
Posted in America, tagged America, Coming of Age Story, Freedom, Heartland America, Historical Fiction Books, Mystery Novel, Secrets, Social Commentary, World War 2 Veterans, WW II on May 24, 2012| 13 Comments »
Excerpts from HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings
by D.J. Houston
~ Honoring My Father on Memorial Day ~
.
My first pearl appeared the summer I turned six, not long after Daddy and Uncle Arthur returned from the Second World War . . .
It was a time of new necessity for Man. For despite any halt to the march of evil, that war had turned humanity inside out when the white-hot specter of an atom bomb shocked and awed a pre-dawn New Mexico desert and twice carried death to Japan.
Yet no one could begin to grasp the consequences; it was too impossible to confront that such a thing as an atom bomb could ever happen in the first place.
Even after the war, top-secret scientists kept right on with the military to convince each other, time and again, that bombs do, indeed explode, while regular Joe civilian had no clue of such experiments. And anyone who might have been aware felt powerless to stop them. So they did nothing.
Post-WW II Heartland America
Families were reunited with their military loved ones the world over, and did what they could to reorient them to whatever became of their lost years at home.
Most made the transition; all were scarred. But I’d like to think it was easier for the battle-weary to recover in a place like Havenwood . . .
Livestock and chickens and barns and crops and bank accounts needed tending, leaving little time to ruminate about the war. And with new enterprises springing up as manufacturing shifted to producing wares and gadgets for the new Consumer Age, earning opportunities outside the home soon grew abundant for adults and young folks alike.
Not that play wasn’t fun and important to youth back then; if anything, a crippling Great Depression with a Second World War on its heels had led Americans of every age to value their freedoms and pleasures more than ever.
But work is its own reward. If you don’t believe me, ask someone who has none. And with more choices that come to a freer people, we could enjoy work more than ever, too.
All the kids I knew did chores, before and after school. And those who had already proven themselves as volunteers for war efforts on the home front had a long leg up when it came to getting hired for the paying jobs.
With no TV screens to spectate at for hours on end, and decades yet before the advent of ubiquitous shopping mall arcades, video games, and personal phones and computers, young people tended to play hands-on at the game of growing up.
They practiced the real deal with real people, in an insular world without internet . . .
~
Author, D.J. Houston
Copyright©2007, 2014 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.
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