Bear's Den: "The Kid Who Was a Halloween Saint"
David Walks-As-Bear
October 31, 2009
The concept of All Saints Day is tied in with the Communion of Saints. It´s the notion that all of God's people upon the Earth Mother, and in Heaven, are connected. In essence, Catholic and Orthodox Christians believe that – spiritually – the saints of God are just as alive as always and are constantly interceding with the Creator on our behalf. That´s pretty similar to the American Indian view of the old ones, so I kind´a understand it. Now the night before All Saints Day is called All Hallows Eve. Over time, this day got shortened to Hallows Eve or… Halloween. Yep, and history notes that October 31st focused on spooks, goblins and ghosts – the bad stuff – because the following day was all about angels, glorified souls and martyrs – the good things, eh. Well, I remember one November 1st when a pal of mine almost joined the angels following our trick or treating.
Joe Carol was one of the kids in the neighborhood, and, as such, we played together often; he was part of the gang I ran with. Now, this was back in the day when a kid didn´t have to worry much about being abducted. We could, and did, play outside from early morning to early dark. We had to be in the house, or at least in the yard, when the streetlights came on. Otherwise, we were free to roam. And 99% of us obeyed these simple rules because these were the days of corporal punishment, as well – know what I mean? If a kid avoided bathing as much as possible, then he/she equally avoided a whipping whenever do-able, too. Halloween was an exception to this rule because darkness came before the end of the event. Now, Joe was an okay kid. But, he went to a different school every day – not the public one that we all attended. Joe and his family were strict Catholic, and he was always going to church at the oddest of times – no kid´n. Yeah, and on Fridays, he always had to eat fish, too – nobody knew why. Since the rest of us weren´t Catholic, and few 6, 7 or 8-year-olds paid a lot of attention to grown-ups when they talked unless… going to the lake, food or Christmas were mentioned… we didn´t have a clue to what being Catholic was all about. Nope, we just felt sorry for Joe. We were sad for him, especially when we had a good ball game going and his mom stood at their door, cupped her hands and hollered. "Joooooe!!!" and he had to stop playing and go to church… in the late afternoon of a weekday for Pete´s sake? I mean… Joe was a good hitter. But, oh well. A kid is stuck… with the family he has… that´s just the way the cookie crumbles.
Well, that Halloween we were out trick-or-treating. Joe was a hobo, complete with charcoal face and a stick with washcloths tied up in a bandanna on its end. I thought that it fit his non-Halloween persona, too. Me, I was a soldier in my brother´s army helmet liner and a way-too-large fatigue shirt on. That fit me, also. When people started turning their porch lights off, we headed home in the dark. As we walked down the dirt road, kids peeled off and went into their houses along the way. Joe and I were the last two and my home was six houses down yet. Now Joe badly wanted a home-made caramel apple that I´d gotten; he was willing to trade maybe two Baby Ruths for it. The candy bar trade seemed a good one to me, eh, so I agreed.
As we walked into Joe´s yard, his dad pulled in and parked his 1959 Ford pick up. He and Mrs. Carol went to back, lowered the tailgate, and grabbed bags of groceries from a passel of them there. Mr. Carol looked at us as we walked up. He was a gruff adult, and, I knew from Joe, that he was strict disciplinarian. But heck, every kid had received paddlings– that was just part of life in kid´dom. A kid just thought, ´there… but for the grace of God go I´… know what I´m saying? Anyhow, Mr. Carol seldom said much to us kids. And even though it was Halloween, he never even said "Boo" to me, but he addressed his son. "Joseph, carry these groceries in," he said sternly. Then he headed for the house. On opposite sides of the tailgate, illuminated by the streetlight, we dumped our candy out. Joe only had one Baby Ruth, but he did have a Zagnut Bar – one of my favorites – so the deal was sealed. We loaded our take back into our paper bags (plastic bags weren´t around back then). Some lucky kids used pillow cases to hold their loot, but Joe and I were poor enough that our mom´s wouldn´t take a chance on destroying one, so paper bags were always our candy packs.
Then Joe´s older sister Phyllis and little brother Charles were out there, too, all grabbing sacks from the back of the truck. About then, I remembered that I was going to get to stay up late and watch scary movies on TV – "Abbot & Costello Meet the Wolfman" was going to be on, and it started soon. I said "See ya", grabbed my bag and raced home. Now, back then, once you were in for the night – you were in – and that meant no going back out. So, when I got home, and got situated in front of the TV, and dumped out my bag, I found out I was screwed. Instead of wads of candy, I had all kinds of dumb junk: lipsticks and face cream, powder in a little round mirror container, a receipt from Ken & Bea´s grocery, little bottles of rouge – whatever that was – and a box of sanitary napkins. Well, I sure wasn´t going to need any napkins if I didn´t have any candy. Somehow, I´d accidently grabbed one of the Carols´ grocery bags instead of my candy. I pleaded with my mom to let me go back and get it, but she said no, it was too late at night now; I could get it tomorrow.
Abbot and Costello meeting the Wolfman wasn´t all that scary, but boy, I tossed in bed all night long scared to death about other things. Joe was okay, but maybe his siblings had scarfed down all of my candy. The next morning I was up early, tying my shoes in a rush, when I heard my name being called at the back door. That´s what kids did in those days, stand a friend´s door and call their name until they opened it. I raced to the door and there was Joe. He jammed the candy bag into my chest saying, "I didn´t take none. I gotta go, my dad ain´t never late for church, and he´ll leave without me." Then he leapt off the porch and left running like mad. But, he was back in ten minutes and the look on his face said it all – his folks had gone to church without him. I asked why on earth they were going to church on a Saturday, for crying out loud; he just looked at me like I was a fool and replied, "Because it´s All Saints Day". He was in really big trouble. Joe watched cartoons with me, but he never smiled at any of the animated antics, even though I shared my best candy with him. Then, he headed home. I knew, and he knew… what awaited him. So that´s why I say that I remember my awe at his bravery and friendship – he was a saint to me. Yes´sir, and today, in my fifties… I´m still astounded at his dedication to what was just and right – in the world of kid´dom.
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David Walks-As-Bear is an Inter-Tribal Elder and Kispoko Shawnee Indian. He works as a private game warden and detective and is a novelist and syndicated newspaper columnist living in Northwest Michigan. Contact him at The White Lake Beacon: 231-894-5356 or visit his website at: www.Walks-As-Bear.com
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