Sover Scene: Goblins, witches and politicians

As my kids fill the front window with ghoulish drawings in anticipation of tomorrow night’s sugary festivities, I find myself haunted by the ghost of one particular Halloween past.

The United States was submerged in a costly, increasingly questionable war and there was a fierce presidential campaign under way that had become mired in nonstop volleys of divisive accusations and cookie-cutter rhetoric. Hmm … sound familiar?

It was 1972 and as a budding political junkie, thanks to an activist older sister, even at age 10 I sensed that the escapist fun of Halloween was mightily diluted by what was happening on the political stage. Though parents probably assumed national politics didn’t distract us kids from visions of bubble gum and mini Hershey bars, it managed to infiltrate even grade school psyches, casting an ominous cloud over the whimsical proceedings.

Conversations about costumes were peppered with discussions of whose parents were Nixon supporters and whose folks were voting for McGovern. I remember one little girl who proudly wore a Nixon button on her Cinderella outfit during the Halloween parade, telling me that my hippie costume and peace-sign necklace were stupid.

Thanks to a diplomatic and politically engaged teacher, we held mock debates during history class, though I wondered if anyone else had noticed the McGovern bumper sticker on her brown Pinto.

The beginning of that school year was steeped in heavy issues of the day and yet, as Hallow’s Eve approached, most kids focused on the pumpkin-carving and sweet loot to come. I had my orange UNICEF boxes folded and at the ready, as well, anticipating plenty of coinage.

My 15-year-old sister, Dale, however, was a bit distracted from all the faux-suspense of Halloween by a very real sense of anticipation that held the nation in its grip. She and her best friend Karen had been volunteering in the McGovern-Shriver campaign and were planning to go out before sundown on Halloween to canvass the neighborhood. I remember thinking how unfair it was that I got to go out and collect candy and she had to pass out fliers and talk about politics. For some reason, I had it in my head that all teenagers had to go door-to-door before elections, the way young adults go to college and grownups go to work — just part of the job description.

At the end of a bountiful night, as I was examining my mountain of Charleston Chews and Sugar Babies — and while Mum confiscated any apples, which in those days were common but regarded as nefarious objects of suspicion, much to the delight of children everywhere — the political activists were sprawled on the couch, exhausted, brooding and seemingly oblivious to my treat-induced rapture.

A week later, while my candy supply prevailed, their hope for the future did not. Nixon won, by a landslide, and my sister was devastated. I remember thinking, as she cried in her room and the adults spoke in somber tones in the kitchen, that we probably wouldn’t even have Halloween anymore, since everyone seemed so upset. If the whole family was this distraught, it must mean everything was going to change, as if something apocalyptic had happened that would alter life as I knew it.

But lo, Halloween arrived the next year as per usual and costumed kids went house-to-house with their sacks and flashlights collecting that autumnal windfall of individually wrapped goodies.

Years later, when I became a parent, I was reminded of the joys of this annual costume-candy cocktail, but it wasn’t until we experienced Halloween in a tiny rural village that I learned for the first that it can actually be a galvanizing event in terms of community.

In the big city, Halloween is all too anonymous and laced with parental trepidation. Moms and Dads walk their kids right up to every door, later examining their spoils with a metal detector and a klieg light, and it’s unheard of to accept anything homemade.

So on our first Halloween in Vermont, when my kids were 4 and 6 years old, it felt a bit like walking into a scene from “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown,” with its tacit atmosphere of safety and familiarity. In our little village, a sweet, informal parade forms in front of the elementary school and winds its way through a few streets before returning to the gym where the PTO puts on a supper of soup and sandwiches.

Afterwards, flocks of kids criss-cross roads that are blocked off from traffic, with parents strolling casually behind, chatting, or Moms convening on a front porch to give out candy while the Dads are out with the little ones before trading shifts.

When it’s my turn to man the fort, I’m always amazed at how many kids I know personally, if I can recognize them behind their masks and make-up, that is.

There’s one house up the road that always makes me pinch myself yet again that I am so fortunate to be raising my children in Vermont.

Instead of bearing a vat of store-bought candy, the woman of the house stands at the door holding a bowl brimming with warm, freshly made doughnut holes. It’s the most popular stop in town and every year I joke that next time I’m bringing a Thermos of coffee to go with her scrumptious treats.

This year my Mum’s cousin Dutchy will be here visiting from England and, as he usually makes his yearly sojourn during the summer, it’ll be his first encounter with a proper Hallow’s Eve. Some kids trick-or-treat in the UK but it’s a very Americanesque holiday that went over on the Hallmark boat, no doubt. They might have their Guy Fawkes Day, with the bonfires and everyone running around saying “Penny for the guy,” but there is nothing like an authentic American Halloween to make kids of any age appreciate the chill and expectancy of autumn, not to mention elections.

Dutchy had decided that this year he’d come over to finally experience not only New England foliage, but the American electoral process as well. Little did he know that about a week before the vote-counting, he’d be stationed on my porch handing out candies to 2-foot-high ghosts and diminutive fairies. He’ll be equally amused by the big guys as well, since every Halloween at least one teenager seems to show up in one of those rubbery Nixon masks, though this year a few other visages might be in the mix.

And though I will not be taking down my daughter’s colorful Obama sign that she made — of her own volition, I might add — that hangs in the window among cut-out pumpkins and squiggly spectres, I do plan to bring in my lawn signs tomorrow night.

Don’t want the little tykes tripping over my political activism, no matter who their parents are supporting.

Annie: www.annieguyoncommunications.com

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