by Donna Swagerty Shreve
I remember looking forward to Halloween as a child because my family made it very special. My first memory of this big event happened when I was six years old and living in the small valley town of Escalon. The year would have been 1951 and my brother was three and my sister had just been born that summer.
Our tiny two bedroom home in Escalon had one bathroom with two doors that contained three children, Mom and Dad and Uncle Ronnie. When he lived with us, he stayed in a tiny make shift bedroom that had been carved out of the end of the enclosed front porch. The porch became the center of the Halloween presentation that year in 1951. Trick-or-Treaters came in through the front door of the porch greeted by my mother dressed as an impressive witch, cackling away. She sat by a small table that had a big bowl of punch where she served it up into small cups. By her side loomed a devil’s mask with a long paper beard covering an opening into the living room. The opening lead through an oatmeal box tube that reached into where I sat waiting.
The children were told to reach into the devil’s mouth for a homemade cookie that I put into their trusting hand when it came into my side in the living room. As a child reached into the bearded mouth, Mom pushed on a pedal with her foot that turned on the vacuum cleaner. The vacuum cleaner made a huge roar and blew the beard into the child’s face. I didn’t hand out many cookies that year as most of the children screamed and ran out of the door. Mom was the main event with her scary and effective performance. I felt very important as I got to hand out the cookies.
Several of the children were observed pouring their drink into their bags as they became so frightened and confused by the whole experience. A large garbage can had been placed out front of the house so our cups wouldn’t litter the neighborhood. Mom and Dad estimated that about 100 children came through that night. The good turnout in the small town of Escalon soon passed among future Treat-or-treaters for the next year.
The second year I had the porch bedroom as that was a year Uncle Ronnie lived elsewhere. Again the front porch became the focal point of the activities. This time coming into the front door seemed too tame. Uncle Ronnie and Dad made a tunnel out of bales of hay that Dad had borrowed from his father’s dairy farm in Escalon. The tunnel turned at a ninety-degree angle and aimed the participant to a side window of the porch. At the turn in the tunnel, a wooden square frame sat filled with red rubber playground balls covered with a tarp. The sign at the entrance to the tunnel said they would walk over rolling heads. There were other signs that warned of impending doom to all who dared to enter. Crawling seemed to be the best way to navigate the obstacle in the corner. Not all people who entered, finished the tunnel. They turned around and went back to the entrance. My brother and I got to try it out and walked over rolling heads. That was fun for a kid but I can’t imagine trying something like that today.
When one got to the opening to the house, each person had to climb up and through a window into the room. Grandparents remained outside. Inside the room was a new improved version of the previous year. The punch bowl now sat on a bed of dry leaves from our six sycamore trees with orange lights shining up from below the leaves. Dad had added dry ice and the punch seemed to be boiling. To add to this better atmosphere, a recording came from my tiny bedroom setting up the creepy feeling.
Dad and a janitor had gone into the girls’ bathroom after hours at the local elementary school where Dad was the principal. The girls’ bathroom was chosen because it had better echo capacity. Dad and the janitor screamed, yelled, begged for mercy, and various other hideous sounds that convinced all that something horrible was happening behind the closed door. Dad decided the recording was not enough and to add to the sounds, Dad had a record playing clanging unmelodic Chinese music. I don’t remember where Dad got that old 78 vinyl record but I knew it was part of the family collection. It was not pleasant music for easy listening to a western ear.
I don’t remember passing out cookies this time. I am guessing Mom handed the cookies out as very few kids got cookies the year before. I did get to go into my room to put the record back on or start the recording again as the background music had to be repeated several times during the evening. Mom and Dad estimated that this year there were over 200 participants. The word had spread throughout the town.
The third year Dad and Mom realized they had to expand as the crowds were growing and the local newspaper had written an article about our exciting event. This time the Halloween presentation was located at the end of our long driveway at the back of our lot. The garage was made into a torture chamber. As one approached the “torture chamber” there was a graveyard where a harvested garden had been. Each tombstone was had a clever name and Halloween type epitaph. I remember the brain- storming going into some of the tombstones, some much more clever than others.
Participants entered the garage on the right and exited on the left. Signs were in abundance warning to all who dared to enter. Greeted by a head on a stump with an axe that had separated it from its body made out of stuffed clothing from our costume box, various adventures awaited. Ghosts were hanging throughout the room and, if I remember correctly, one of the ghosts could be pulled by a rope and seem to fly across the room. Adding to the flying ghosts were bats at various levels coming down near the spectators. There were giant spider webs that had a big creepy spiders sitting in it waiting for victims. There was a display of torture devices. In the background behind a roped off area, sat two creatures at a table playing a card game gone badly! One of the creatures was holding his severed head on the table. Obviously beheaded figures was the ultimate horror.
As a kid, I remember it all as being rather grim and not as much fun as the previous years. The screaming recording was used again and various family members dressed up in creepy costumes. I was now 8 years old so my brother was 5 and my sister would be 2. Mom was not featured this year. I am guessing she became tired from previous performances. The emphasis was more on displayed items but there were active involvement with the pulling of pulleys to activate the ghosts and hanging spiders. There was less screaming this year, which as just as well because the crowd has surged to 400 by the end of the evening.
The next Halloween we now lived in Lincoln Village. I asked what were we doing this year for Halloween and both parents made it very clear that our Escalon tradition stayed in Escalon. I now got to go trick-or-treat like other children. I didn’t know what I was missing as previously I had always been involved in the activities.
We had a Halloween box where we could put together our costume for the year. The box had old sheets with eye-holes for the ghost costume. Dad had given over his derby hat he had bought in Chicago on a college football game. It got shabbier each year and my brother used it to be a hobo. He also wore Dad’s old huge boots, big shirts, baggy pants, and a “smoked” corn-cob pipe. Mom threw in old housecoats and over the years many Halloween artifacts were added to the collection.
That first year in Stockton we went throughout the neighborhood with a parent and only went to a small area near our home. As we got older, we got to actually go out with our friends with certain restrictions of where we went and how long we could stay out.
One of our neighbors, one street over, dressed up in a gorilla suit and frightened us quite effectively. He always had something going and was fun to visit. Another family had a haunted house that was fun. I kept thinking that they made good attempts but my family had put on the best show in Escalon.
1485 words
10/10/2014
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