Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 12

As promised, today I'd like to talk about a few other friends of mine from Portage North Middle School: Jamie Francis and Mike Thompson. I think I met them in 6th grade, though it might have been 7th, and from the get go we became pretty good friends. Jamie was the more laid back and chill of the two, whereas Mike tended to be wacky and far more extroverted. Mike was also an artist, which immediately appealed to me since at that time I was really getting into cartoons and illustrations (and yes, I plan to take an entire Memory to cover how that all came to be in the near future). So the three of us -occasionally with a third member by the name of Jay Hansen, who also happened to be a great artist and eventually ended up working with me at the Tower Times at KVCC back in '93-'95- began hanging out and doing stuff quite often after school as well.

Which brings me to the summer of 1986.

Now Crossroads Mall had been around since the early 80's (maybe '81 or '82), but it was the once-called United Artists movie theater (now Celebration Cinema) that had just gotten built by the summer of '86. It was a beautiful 10-screen multiplex that easily dwarfed its next closest competition in town, the lowly Plaza 2 that was across Westnedge near Toys R Us. Now don't get me wrong, I loved me the Plaza 2. It was the one place in town where I saw the original runs of all of the following movies: The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, E.T., and the wonderful Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie (three nights in a row, as it ended up only running there a week) and The Kids In The Hall: Brain Candy. Those last two are the really important ones, since their run nationally was severely limited and we were really lucky to get them at all, especially MST3K. Anyway, where was I... oh right, the Crossroads UA Cinema...

The first summer it opened it ran Tuesday movie matinees for a whole $.99! That's CENTS, kids! You can't find squat for 99 cents these days. Try, I dare you! Especially first-run flicks at a theater! It just doesn't happen! So, obviously we spent every Tuesday going to the movies. It was either Jamie or Mike's parents who'd drop them off at my house and we'd walk to the theater, since it was literally built 200 yards from the back playground of Haverhill Elementary, maybe a total of 2 miles away. Sure, there was (and is) Constitution Boulevard that bisected the two, but back then it was never that busy. So we'd hoof it to the theater with like twenty bucks between us and see a couple flicks and still have enough for drinks! Man, I sound like a guy waxing nostalgic about the 50's when I talk like this, but it's true! Cheap entertainment and lots of great movies that year. And the best part? For some unknown reason the employees really weren't into checking ID's back then, and we got into R-rated movies as well! We saw killer stuff like: Top Gun, Crocodile Dundee, Star Trek IV, Back to School, Aliens, Ferris Bueller, Cobra, and Stand By Me. It was an epic summer to say the least.

Beyond the movies, we hung out at one another's houses. I seem to remember Jamie living pretty close to Mike, but I can't for the life of me remember where in town. Oh, and I just remembered another memory that featured these two knuckleheads....

This brings me to life at Star World...

If we weren't seeing movies or otherwise hanging out doing other stuff, we were at Star World. Star World was the most epic arcade we had in town. This was long before Putters (then Putt-Putt Golf) had the array of games it has now, and when arcades ruled both in the malls and out. In Kalamazoo alone, at one time, we had 5! There was the granddaddy, Star World, there was Pocket Change in Crossroads, there was The Fun Factory off of West Main, there was Tilt in Maple Hill Mall, and there was Show Biz Pizza that had quite a few decent titles, as well. So, Star World was the joint. And we loved it for three simple reasons:
     1) It was DARK. Only neon for this place, and just enough so you didn't fall and bust your skull.
     2) It had easily 100 games, not including pinball and ski-ball.
     3) Wednesday mornings from 9-12 was OPEN GAMES for just 5$. Yup: all the games you wanted.
It's hard to get much cooler than that on a hit summer day when all you wanted to do was get a high score on Kangaroo. Star World was our place for birthdays, school magazine sale winnings, and just about any other thing you'd want a noisy place for. And it seemed that Jamie, Mike and I were there just about as regularly as we could, when we weren't seeing movies. Just so much fun.

Back at school, Mike and Jamie and I would doodle and create funny pictures including, for whatever reason, a superhero Jamie and I came up with called Captain Corn Turd. Why do I remember that? Basically because I could probably still draw it if I put my mind to it.

So that was Mike and Jamie.

I don't think I've seen Mike in 25 years or more, but oddly, I ended up working with Jamie at Bravo for three years. Small town, this Portage...       

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 11

I've talked a lot about my three really close friends from those years on Suffolk, but there were definitely others. In fact, I had a couple of really good friends from middle school who became almost as integral to my life as Chad, Jayesh, and Kerry. So, for this installment, we'll talk about two of them: Brock Rotkowski, and Andrew Mautz.

I met Brock at Portage North Middle School. He was the one exception to the odd rule of good friends living in my neighborhood; he resided down Oakland almost to Parkview on a street I've since forgotten the name of, but still currently sits kind of near the new Valley Family Church. There would eventually be others who didn't live near me, but we'll get to them another time. So Brock and I had a few things in common, such as our love of Transformers, MAD Magazines, and his then-recent fall under the warm, dark blanket of horror movies. But I think the one major thing that brought us together was skiing. Back then I had decided to take up downhill skiing. Our school offered a Ski Club and I decided to join, as did Brock. So, every Wednesday and every-other Friday we'd head to Bittersweet Ski Lodge and learn to schuss our way down the slopes without snapping a leg bones in the process.

Before I go on, I have to yank out the images in my head of just what Brock looked like... or at least what I remember. You see, I've only seen him once since I left Middle School and that was way back in like 1993. Anyway, he was a pale kid with fiery-red hair and freckles. Kinda short -well, shorter than me at the time- and just an all round cool kid. I think he had glasses, as did I (I first started wearing mine during the transition from Elementary to Middle School), if I can remember right. When I saw him years later, he might have had contacts and I seem to recall him having shot upward in height quite a bit, too. Anyway, he was a good friend for quite a number of years and was definitely one of the sadder ones when it came time for me to move away... but we'll get to that later.

Anyway, I remember sitting in the back of Mrs. Bunce's English class creating our own MAD Fold-Ins while she droned on about prepositions and dangling modifiers. It was fun and it killed the time. Oh, but don't get thinking I got bad grades in her class, oh no. If there was any subject I excelled at, it was English. Despite my disdain for organised classrooms and their epic doldrums, I was the king at poetry, book reports, and sentence creation and functions. But making Fold-Ins was just too much fun. Also we made Ninja Stars, we both had really nasty Asthma getting us out of gym class a lot, and we both had an affinity for really cool mechanical pencils. How's that for crummy grammar? HA!

So we skied a lot, we hung out outside of school, we even went camping together with his family once and the only piece I can remember is being on a big pontoon boat fishing and Brock getting something gross in his eye after we'd swum for a while. I don't know why just that piece of memory surfaced, but there you have it. Brock was a good dude, and sometimes I miss him just a bit...

Now we come to Andrew. And sadly, I remember very little about him. Maybe because we didn't hang out as much, or maybe I don't remember if he even went to Portage North with me. Now I know he was in my Scout Troop. but school... hm. My suspicions say he did, since he lived in my neighborhood, but I'll be damned if I can remember him being there at all. But then again, a lot of Middle School is a big blur and it's only now just starting to rearrange itself into cohesive memories. In fact, the more I think about it the more I want to say he was on the swim team with me. Yeah... I was on the swim team. We'll get more into that later, too.

The one thing I do remember is sleeping over at Andrew's house quite a bit during Summer break. I seem to remember him having an Atari 7800 and we'd stay up all hours playing that. I think he had a ton of LEGO, so I think we did a bunch of that, and maybe remote control cars, which eventually led to me getting one a few years later. Either way, I was there a bit. And Andrew taught me one really cool thing when sleeping over. And no, it's not that...

If you're a fan of fans, like I am, then this is really neat: First, take a sheet and put a few couch cushions or big pillows on one side just on the edge. Second, flip the sheet over the cushions so it covers them and all the rest of the sheet is now on the opposite side. Third, lay another series of cushions or something on the inside of the un-cushioned side, effectively making a weird igloo shape. Then, lay one last pillow (or whatever) on one end to seal it up, like a mini tent. Now, with the open end, spread it around a box fan (assuming you have one handy - this works best if you're already inside the tent getting ready to sleep) and drape the sheet over the back just enough so the suction from the fan blowing into the 'tent' keeps it 'sealed'. Turn on the fan: enjoy! If you do it right, it inflates the sheet like a weird balloon and you can sleep right inside! Yeah, it has to at least be on medium so it makes enough air to keep it blown up, but it's fun! Perhaps you should use the bathroom before attempting this, because once inside, it sucks getting out and then rearranging it all over again in the middle of the night.

Well, that was Brock and Andrew in a couple of nut shells. I wish I could remember more, but writing this one has definitely opened up a few previously sealed memory doors, so that's nice. I think next time I'll cover Mike Thompson and Jamie Francis. Maybe with a sheet fort!

Oh, and I've been doing some funny lately, here, too! http://saidnobodyever.blogspot.com/

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 10

So, I suppose it's finally time I tell the story of the day I got my face smashed in. And it's every bit as colorful as you're likely imagining. It all starts with my once monthly pilgrimage to J. Rollin's books to acquire my MAD Magazine...

I was 11 or 12, so it was fall of '84 or '85, and, as I did once a month every month (typically on a Wednesday) I would walk home from school in the opposite direction of my house so I could cut through the South Land Mall parking lot to the John Rollin's Book Seller. Just to acclimate you with where South Land was, just in case you're reading this and you aren't from the area, it used to be where the Office Max/Barnes and Noble galleria is now. South Land was an indoor mall, but it had a few outdoor stores such as the J. Rollin's and a few clothing shops and I believe a T.E. Murch's. At any rate, this is where I'd walk home from school on those great days when the MAD's were released.

So I went in, made my exchange for American cash, and left. As I was leaving, I took the alley that ran between the store and the Hodgeson's Light and Log (that's still there, by the way) and cut to the back parking lot so I could cut through the wooded area to our neighborhood. Oh, and that wooded area is now a Menard's, a Brann's Steak House, and the old Sam's Club. As I was cutting through, a car drove by. And it was this car that ultimately caused all of the issues that day.

If I remember right, it was a VW Rabbit. Well, at one time at was a VW Rabbit... when I saw it, it looked like some kind of psychotic clown car: a myriad colors, rainbow paint job, and a mad, psychedelic theme that was as disturbing as it was fascinating. I couldn't help but stare.
Big mistake.

So there I was, gawking at this prismatic hatchback like some kind of child... mostly because I was some kind of child... and the car slams on its brakes about fifty yards down the back lot. I was instantly petrified, but, like in most movies you've seen, my legs didn't want to make me run fast enough or even work properly, for that matter. So I just stood there and watched as the car backed up, stopped a few feet from me, and emptied its contents of three very punk-looking and angry individuals. And still, as though I were frozen to the asphalt like some kind of shuddering statue, I just stood there, and waited for the inevitable.

Now I don't remember what any of them said, except for the fact that they asked what I was staring at. I don't think I said anything in return, either, mostly because at that very moment one of the three punched me right in the mouth. My lip split right open and I fell onto my butt. I'm not sure if I cried (believe me, I'd admit to it if I did) but I was definitely stunned as I watched blood drizzle onto my shirt. They laughed, flipped me off a few times, and made their way to their car... but that wasn't the end of it.

There just happened to be a delivery truck dropping off goods at the Murch's, and the strapping lad (a decidedly older dude) saw the whole thing go down. He immediately sprinted to the punks and their car, and got right in their faces. In a odd twist of ironic fate, those three jackasses were just as frightened of this guy as I was of them! He had some kind of tool in his hand, I don't recall what it was, and he whacked at their trunk and brake lights a few times, breaking one. The guys jumped in the car and took off. Just then, the Samaritan came up to me and made sure to clean me up as best he could, offered me a drink of water, and sent me on my way making sure I didn't need any help. I thanked him, and left the parking lot headed for home.

Now what I don't remember is if I ever told my mom what happened. I don't know if it's just because my lip didn't look that bad, or if I just avoided her... I don't know. But what I did learn that day is: clown cars are never funny, especially when they aren't filled with clowns.

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 9

I've been in a bit of a slump lately. I don't know why, precisely, but for some odd reason I can't seem to make any cohesive thoughts out of the memory bits I have floating around. My wife asked if I'd written anything lately and I had to tell her that it's not that easy when you're trying to gather decades-old memories. I can't just force it; they have to come by themselves with as little formatting of my own. You see, when we as a species attempt to search our brains for memories, the brain itself can be our worst enemy. As you think about things you have seen or instances you have been involved in, the brain will fill in any gaps with things that may or may not be right. To you -or me- they might seem accurate, but there is a good chance those spaces are just being filled with other memories, or even things that you -the rememberer- never even actually experienced. So you have to be careful.

So I think I'll use today as just a vacuum bag of sorts, and just toss out a few small pieces and see what comes of them.

One year in Scouts, I want to say maybe 1985 or '86, we took a very cool trip to Shiloh, Tennessee. Apparently we were studying Civil War battles or something (you see what I mean? I don't even remember why we went- but I know for a fact we did), and wanted to do a march similar to the soldiers from the 1800's. Anyway, for what ever reason, we spent ten days on the battle trail and just camped where we could, and hiked and stopped at historically significant spots. As far as I remember, it was fun, aside from the one point that, since I was the biggest and tallest of the scout, I had to lug the most stuff in my pack. Boy, I can just imagine that work out now! That gear was heavy! I had the cooking supplies, some bed rolls, and nearly all the food. Oh, and guess how hot it was doing this in the late Spring? The answer is: very. Regardless, we had a ball and that is definitely one of the coolest trips we went on while I was in scouts.

Some of the other trips I remember: Washington DC, Gettysburg, VA, The Michigan UP a few times, and a bunch of Jamborees in Ohio, Illinois, and Michigan. We had a lot of trips.

I remember the deck around our pool was some kind of really crappy stone. I can't even describe it properly, but the way it was made left hundreds of little, sharp ridges that never got worn down and we learned in a hurry that if you didn't wear some kind of sandal from the sliding back door across the fifteen feet to the pool, you's slice your feet to ribbons. Some of us never got the point and there was always a bunch of blood and equally bloodied feet whenever we had company over. I seem to remember at one point we replaced it with a more foot-friendly deck, but it'll always be that horrific mess that I'll never forget.

One summer I broke my brother's arm. Don't worry, it was an accident. We were playing football with my dad in the front yard because, as I said, the backyard was 85% pool and demonic deck. Anyway, we were really getting into it; dad would throw it up, and my brother and I would fight over who would catch it and try to score a touchdown. Well, I was (and still am) bigger than Brandon by a fair bit, and therefor had a size advantage over him. I was taller, too. Now, we're pretty even on the height issue, but I'm still twice his size. Kinda sad, really. So, dad chucked it up, we positioned ourselves... unfortunately Brandon's position was right behind me. Well, I caught it all right, and I fell directly on Brandon and his outstretched arm. Whoops! Broken. I'm not sure if we knew it right away, or just when he finally caught his breath and wailed like a sick banshee. Either way, I broke it real good.

As I said, my sister, Kristy, had her own room at the end of the upstairs hall. I did forget to mention, though, that there was an additional room upstairs that was, for a time, used as my dad's office or den or whatever, until it eventually became my brother's room. Anyway, Kristy's room ha a window that looked out over the backyard and the pool, and this was a bad thing. It was bad because it turns out Barbie dolls can dive pretty well! Yeah, we (and by we, I'm only assuming Brandon and maybe my cousins) used to chuck them out, completely naked (the dolls I mean, not us) directly into the pool. Days later we'd find their separated heads bobbing around in the filter... and it was about this time that she'd run screaming to our parents. Yeah, that was fun.

My friend, Jayesh Mehta lived just a few houses down from Chad on Bellaire (the street adjacent to ours) and we used to all meet up at his house pretty early in the mornings and then walk to school together. The only reason I could think of for meeting at Jayesh's house was to watch Three Stooges at like seven a.m. That and maybe it took him forever to get ready, because I really only remember Chad and I sitting in his family room laughing at the Stooges. That's about as much as I can dig up of that memory, but that little bit is there, at any rate.

Okay, there's a few little nuggets for ya! See ya next time!

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 8

Today we are going to talk about pets. During my time on Suffolk we only had a handful of critters living around the house, but there was one in particular that was a veritable psycho.

But we'll get to him in a little bit.

First, let's talk about hamsters.

You see, my buddy Kerry had what one might call a 'zoo' under his care. That is to say, his room was lined top to bottom with terrariums and tanks, cages and aquariums, from floor to ceiling. Literally. The boy had some animals (and these aren't even including his yellow lab -why I remember that is beyond me- and his super irritating cat. I hate cats). His menagerie was complete with lizards, Cichlids (semi-tropical fish. This is where I gained a certain appreciation), a tarantula, rats, snakes, and a parrot. All of which were located in the confines of his bedroom. With all of this and his impressive collection of LEGO sets, I'm still surprised he found anywhere to sleep... but I digress. I used to watch him feed his pets, and I'd even get to hold the lizards and snakes (no spiders for me, thanks) and watch his parrot do some tricks and vocalize all the bizarre stuff Kerry taught him over the years. It was cool, but it made me long for a little animal of my own.

Up to that point all my brother ever had were goldfish in simple bowls. Nothing even slightly more difficult or time consuming than that. And even then we had to be reminded to change the water ever so often, and even to feed the boring little boogers. But one day I pleaded to my mom for something a bit more active; something I could really hold and play with and watch do... anything. She and my dad talked and they agreed that, though they were more high-maintenance, we could either get a hamster or a gerbil a piece. Well, that decision was ridiculously simple: My brother got a tan gerbil, and I got a black and white Teddy Bear hamster. Even the names came easy, as I recall already having them picked out the minute we got to the car from the Mall Pet Store: Mine was to be Gizmo (after the Mogwai, of course) and Brandon's was Cosmo. Couldn't have been better choices. Oh, and we even got really nice round cages with the plastic bottoms, a ton of bedding, boxed food, chew sticks, wheels, clear plastic balls, and a big HabiTrail we could set up in my room for the little guys to play around in! It was awesome!

Well, we finally had our pets. We played with those rodents constantly, so much so that they became likely the two tamest hamsters and gerbils in town. Gizmo would would sit on my shoulder and let me play without having to even worry about him (especially if he had a hunk of food to gnaw on), and Cosmo loved to make little singing sounds that Brandon could induce just by rubbing his belly. The gerbil's I mean, not his own. The pets were great and we had them in perfect health and activity for a year or so. Until tragedy struck in a big bad way. First, Cosmo escaped. I don't know how it happened, or when, but I think it was on a day Brandon decided to take him outside for some reason, and he just bolted, never to be seen again. As for Gizmo, he lasted a few more months until the winter hit. You see, I used to (and still do) sleep with my window open a crack even in the dead of winter. I used to put Gizmo's cage under my desk near the heat register where he stayed nice and warm. I think you can see where this is going. Let's just say one night I forgot and we went away for the weekend. I came home to a Giz-Cicle. So sad.

But these were not to be our last two pets. Oh no. We also got a dog. Quite possibly the most high-energy, wacky, mentally unstable dog in all the canine world. And his name was Sonny. It was a Lhasa Apso we got from a breeder I believe, because I remember that damn thing being really expensive, and completely untrained/untrainable. He was little and squat, and he might have been a runt because its memory capacity barely rivaled Gizmo's... and I'd like to believe Gizmo wasn't only smarter, but had a far better personality. What I'm saying is this dog was hyperactive to the N'th degree, and as dumb as you read about. And trust me, it wasn't for a lack of trying! My parents put in the effort the were able, and so did my brother and I. But eventually we had to try obedience school. Yeah, fat lot of good that did. It served only to make him angrier and prove that some dogs are just naturally idiotic.

On the long list of things this demonic dog used to do were things like hiding under the good couch in the living room (before we gated it off) and chewing the lining off, pooping all over the place, peeing in our beds, destroying our shoes and toys, and plain and simply becoming so enraged that he was all but impossible to deal with. And yet, we kept the little bastard for a good long time. Oh that dog will haunt me for the rest of my life.

In a little epilogue, we ended up giving Sonny away to some family my grandparents knew shortly after my parents divorced. I feel sorry who ever that was that had to deal with him in the prime of his life. He probably caused their divorce, too. I kid... probably.

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 7

As I mentioned a few stories ago, I was a very avid little Scout. I started Cubs some time around 1980, and I went all the way through to Eagle Scout in 1989. At first, my dad was a huge part of my troop, and even went so far as to be Den Leader when we'd have our meetings at the United Methodist Church and eventually Haverhill Elementary School. Sadly, I don't remember many of my friends from Scouts in those days, save for my buddies Andrew Mautz, Kenny Aldritch, and Timmy Baldwin (the son of our future Boy Scout Troop Leader). Other than that, it's very much a blur. But a good blur, because there are a few camping trips I remember over others, a few Jamborees I can pretty readily piece together, and certainly a decent slew of other Scouting activities I can definitely coalesce into remembrances. The following tale will cover one of our camping excursions that we went on over a weekend when I was working to become a WeBeLo Scout.

Our standard camping locale was Camp Rota Kiwan off the Appledorn Trail just behind Kalamazoo Valley in Texas Township. It was easy to get to -still is- and far enough into the woods to have that feel of distance and lack of civilization, even though it was less than five miles in either direction from... stuff. But, it was a favorite and we planned trips on as many weekends as we could; setting up games for badge earning, and scheduling hikes for nature experiences. Those trips were always so wonderful and it didn't take much to walk away with a sash full of new advancement fodder and even little adornments signifying your achievements in hiking, swimming, teamsmanship, and gamesmanship. It was, at its most basic essence, what Scouts were all about.

But below the surface of what Scouts do to be Scouts, was the seedy underbelly of what makes kids, kids. And when night fell and the bonfires were lit, it was time to attempt to out-scare your fellow campers with the most nightmare-inducing tales we could come up with. Fortunately, I was friends with one Kerry Frieben, and he told me all about the Pin Man. No, not the be-studded demon from Hellraiser, this was an entirely different story... and apparently a pretty damn frightening one, too.

The story goes like this: Years ago, Kalamazoo Valley wasn't a college, but an insane asylum. It harbored the most diabolical and insipid criminals in the state who were deemed to 'crazy' to be placed in prison. Some were people who heard voices, some were people who worshiped the Devil, and still others were so twisted and evil that they just had to be kept in padded rooms far away from anyone else. One man in particular was a serial killer with one calling card to his profession: when he was about to kill you, he left a pin on your pillow as a symbol of what was to come. You see, he wasn't called the Pin Man only because of his gruesome ritual, he was dubbed the Pin Man because that's what he jabbed into your eyes and ears while you slept. And not those little sewing pins, but those giant hat pins that are several inches long! 
A few years before he was scheduled for a rehabilitation program, he escaped the asylum and fled to the huge woods that encompassed the many acres behind it. In fact, it was the very woods we are in right now. You see, after they gave up attempting to find the Pin Man, and eventually assuming him dead, the asylum closed and a college was built in and over its remains. But soon, stories of locals being murdered with gigantic pins began appearing on news casts and in papers. The community was once again under the fear of being killed by the Pin Man. 
The murders came (maybe a dozen over a few years) and finally ebbed, and the Pin Man was once again forgotten. But some still say he haunts these very woods even today, seeking out campers and leaving pins in their beds...

Now, this story was scary enough. It would definitely get many Scouts looking behind them and scooting closer to the older Den Leaders. But it was made all the more frightening by the fact that I would choose one camper at random and put two pins on his pillow as he slept. Yeah, that caused a few screams and bed-wettings, I don't mind telling you. I think maybe once some boy was so scared he had to have a parent come pick him up. I suppose if this didn't all go down in the 80's when 'Friday the 13th' was in full swing, it might not have been as bad. And yes, I would let everyone in on the joke the next morning and either win applause and accolades, or else a private scolding from my dad. I think he secretly thought it was funny, but he couldn't let on.

Just be careful if you're ever camping Rota Kiwan... Pin Man might still be out there. Or maybe he's dead. One can never be too sure.

Ha ha ha ha ha...

* 

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 6

I think it's time for another spooky tale, don't you? And yes, as always, it's 100% true.

This little story takes place on Halloween I believe in 1985. Halloweens were always the best in our neighborhood because it was (and is) just so sprawling and inviting. Everyone participated; the yards were decorated, Jack O' Lanterns were lit and set on porches, Haunted Houses were set up in people's lawns, and hundreds of kids marched from house to house barking their Halloween mantra and getting their requisite treats. It was definitely one time of year where the whole neighborhood came together and enjoyed the evening.

This particular year was to be a bit different, though. It would become one of the most frightening Halloweens I have ever experienced both before and since. And maybe it was because I was only 11, and likely because I had yet to fully and truly embrace horror and fear as more of an exciting feeling and less of a stomach-churning terror. Either way, the events that unfolded that night are very hard to forget.

As was per the norm, regardless of how old the kids got (as I said, I was 11 and my brother was 8 and 1/2), the dads from all over the little community took them out Trick-Or-Treating. In our case, my little sister (5) stayed at home with my mom and handed out candy. It wouldn't be till the next year that she would join us on our annual pilgrimages. Sadly, however, I don't remember what our costumes were that year. I have pictures of various outfits we wore over the course of those years on Suffolk, and it might be safe to say that that particular year I was a werewolf (gee, maybe I kind of did dig just enough of the creepy to pick out a cool costume) and my brother was a giant spider. What ever the case, it was time to fill our pillow cases with the delicious treats of the season.

Unlike the Trick-Or-Treats of today (it's amazing what a difference 27 years make) we always waited until it was dark out... like fully dark, none of this 'sunset' nonsense of today. Sure, we had flashlights because hey, no one wanted to trip and everyone wanted to see each other's costumes; it was never because we feared weirdos walking around or creepy people with evil intentions. Well, maybe we should have, in this case.

This particular year, we walked with Matt and Rich Durian and their dad. Our fathers had gotten close enough to partner up for Halloween, and they seemed like they had a good time, anyway. We met up at the edge of our yards on the sidewalk, and took off on our merry way stopping at every house we could. Now, our house was (and still is) only a few houses from the west end of Suffolk, and by the time we got there, a few other groups of dads and kids had made their way to our six-person party and had slowed enough to chat up my pop, as well as Mr. Durian. The conversation was slightly muffled, and we were excited to move on, but we clearly heard 'stranger' and 'Frankenstein'... and no, I am not making that up. My brother and I surmised that there was a 'stranger' in the neighborhood dressed as 'Frankenstein', and we were right.

My dad gathered the Durian boys and us together, and told us to stay close because there might be something weird going on, but there was nothing to worry about. A father telling his kids something 'weird' was happening and not to 'worry' immediately caused the opposite reaction. I was instantly scared, and my brother basically had one foot heading toward home. But the dads calmed us down, and said we needed to remember the fun we were about to have and to just stick close rather than wander too far ahead. It must have worked because we went on about our business, only a little more wary and a lot more paranoid.

It seemed the further we worked our way into the neighborhood, there were more and more dads informed of the potential situation. Soon, it seemed so many people knew, that even some of the older kids we walked past were talking about some huge guy stumbling around who either looked like, or, in fact was, Frankenstein. Our fears were piqued and we were on high alert as we weaved up and down driveways and walks, and in and out of lawns getting our gains and trying to maintain a level of fun at the same time. But it was difficult as the evening progressed, and we couldn't help but check over our shoulders just to make sure we weren't being pursued by some giant creature. We got our candy supply, and gradually Trick-Or-Treated around the connecting streets to the east end of Suffolk.

It was a melancholic mix of happiness to finally be close to home, and exhaustion from being on monster watch all night, as we finished up the last few houses and prepared to end our evening.

And then we saw him.

Walking with a perfect hitch and a stuttering gait coming up the west-end of our street was Frankenstein's Monster. His echoing wails could be heard over the terrified caterwauling of the kids that were fleeing in all directions into the arms of their collective fathers. We stopped dead about fifty yards away, still too far from our house to simply make a run for it and slam the door behind us. My level of panic was so far in the red a could literally feel my legs getting weak and that tell-tale buzz arcing through my head that attempted to trigger my Fight-Or-Flight response. But my dad was right behind me only pressurizing the situation by asking us what we thought it was, and if we were scared.
Scared?
I was petrified and if I, for one second, thought that dropping my candy and careening through people's yards just to get back to the safety of my house would get me there faster, I would gladly have done it. But just then, he turned, and began working his way to the other side of the street and moving away from us toward where ever else he could frighten the Hell out of some more kids. That was enough for us, and I'm pretty sure my brother was in sobbing hysterics at that point.

Once inside, it was all we could do not to jump into our mother's arms and rapidly attempt to regale the events of the evening. She was soothing, but a large smile played on her face and there was just something not quite right about it. My dad just hung back and laughed, admitting that whomever it was definitely look an awful lot like Frankenstein's Monster. And the more I think about it now, the more I have to assume it was all set up by someone on the neighborhood and just trickled to every father's ear throughout the night.

Ironically, any piece of candy I got that night that featured Frankenstein was immediately discarded. Cuz ya never know what might have brought him back...