Halloween

My Mother says I have the memory of an Elephant. So, let's start this story in my youth. (Familiar territory.)

The evening of my seventh Halloween still sits fresh in my thirty three year old skull. That was the year my Mom dressed me up as Count Dracula and whisked me out into the night. My parents differed greatly in their Halloween tactics. Mom would simply take me wherever she smelled Candy but my Dad always tried to get a little fancy.

One year he wanted to "go where all the rich people lived... up by the Monniemint." Referring to "The Bunker Hill Monument." An obelisk in the middle of town commemorating, a battle lost, in The Revolutionary War. A spot where most of Charlestown's elite reside. He would take me up there to see if we couldn't scare us up some elite booty. I have no idea what was expected. Godiva chocolate? Tobelrone perhaps... The major thing we achieved was ringing the snooty doorbells of a couple of real live deadbeats.

The first couple refused to believe it was Halloween, laughed like they'd forgotten how, and then tried to shovel Beluga caviar into my plastic pumpkin. I'd like to think that was the first time I ever swore at an adult,

"Get that shit outta my face lady!"

Probably promptly followed by the stern pulling down of a plastic Luke Skywalker mask. The second couple gave me a ten spot. Which I tried to share with my Dad. For as long as I've known the guy, he's always been right.

Now my Mom, she's a different story altogether. We had some lucrative Hallows Eves storming C-Town, She and I, but none I remember more clearly than that Seventh. The fateful 1984 evening when everything changed.

Right about the time most other kids were recently shuffled home or beginning the ritual of snuggling safely into bed my Mom and I were, on the opposite side of Charlestown, visiting Jean Puliafico. As luck would have it Jean had two teenage kids.

We arrived. Mother presented me. And then there were the requisite:

"he's so adorables"

and

"oh how cutes!"

followed by me sidling around hissing at people, arms folded across my chest like a dead guy, and threatening

"I Vanttt to Suck Your BLUUUUD!"

Ya know, Same way I greet people as a grownup.

Then. Even Later. After my mom had used something called "cold cream" to get all of the white face paint off. (Applying a little too much, if you ask me. Failing to recognize her son has the complexion of the undead.)

I was then asked one of my favorite questions ever.

"Hey Chris, You wanna watch a scary movie?"

Not my first Rodeo, by a stretch. That distinction goes (and a whopper of a mistake it was) to my Pops. When he took us kids to see "Creepshow" at the tender ages of 5, 8, and 11.

Halloween Night Seven, however, was just the right time. A perfect elixer of candy, festivity, popcorn, courage, and film choice.

I may tell myself, "I'm not THAT old" but certainly I'm old enough to remember when MTV was cool. The peak of that cool may very well have been Halloween Night 1984 when some clever bastard in programming chose to run "Night of The Living Dead." And it Rocked. My. World.

"Night of The Living Dead" is not only the King of all Zombie movies, it's also one of the best Horror movies ever made and, simply, a dynamite Classic film. But because it was in black & white, old looking, and not quite so terrifying I was able to hang in with the older kids and root for the good guys. (Although, that scene with the little girl going at her mom, in the cellar, with a gardening tool is haunting.)

We spent the night digging through my candy reserves, crunching popcorn, and yelling at the people in that little white farmhouse not to be so stupid. (If you fire a gun at a gas pump you probably deserve to die.) I don't think they heard us.

"Hey, Chris, want to stick around and watch 'Halloween?'"

I bet you can answer that question for yourself. Those're some cojones on that seven year old.

-Chris

p.s. see if you can guess what I did, for Halloween, last night. Let me save you the trouble. There's a new Zombie T.V. show on AMC that may as well have "Chris Walsh" in the title. Check it out, if you're not too frightened. Perhaps it'll appeal to your inner Count Dracula.