Halloween

When I was a child, Halloween was definitely a holiday for children. While our elementary school teachers dressed in costumes, I do not recall other adults donning any significant apparel of any kind. I do not even recall older students in costume. My older brother pretty much stopped dressing up at age 13, and so did I. When we were younger, we wore purchased full-body costumes made of some plastic-like material that basically had an image of the character’s body painted on. Along with the costume was a plastic mask that covered the entire face—devil, robot, Six Million Dollar Man, witch, Cinderella, Casper the friendly ghost.

The holiday consisted mostly of a children dressing in their costumes and going door-to-door through the neighborhood to collect a treat or two from friendly neighbors on one specific evening, usually October 31, but not always. In the 1970s, most neighbors were friendly. We also had a classroom party at school, and sometimes there was a Halloween party with games and activities at church.

Also, we didn’t have “pumpkin patches.” We went to the supermarket or the farmer’s vegetable stand for our pumpkins. We did have freshly made apple cider, however. A gas station of all places near our house had a cider press, and the owner would make gallons and gallons to sell. (Even when I learned that cider was made from rotting apples, I didn’t care. The tangy taste of the seasonal beverage always perked me up.)

When I was a little older, a community organization hosted a haunted house (which I volunteered for one year in high school). A few friends might hold parties in their homes or barns. (I grew up in a suburban/rural area.) There was some dressing up in high school itself. I recall that after rehearsal for a play when I was in 10^th grade, my castmates and I put on costumes, wandered through a cemetery and then went to Big Boy for a late night snack.

However, Halloween was primarily a holiday for small children.

During my childhood, however, there were glimmers of change. For example, in the autumn of 1979, the film Halloween was released. This film launched a couple of decades of horror/slasher films that included several more in the series, as well as the Friday the 13^th, Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream franchises. When I was in high school, Little House on the Prairie darling Melissa Sue Anderson (Mary) even starred in Happy Birthday to Me. Not all of these films were released for Halloween, however, but I do believe they increased interest in Halloween for more than just children.

For several years (decades), I have been an adult, and for a long time now the celebration of Halloween is much more expansive. I heard the expression “Halloween is Gay Christmas!” when I moved to New York City for graduate school, making it somewhat special. The evening parades and parties were a time for LGBT folks and their friends to let loose, dress up, and even for some to come out of hiding. Alas, in San Francisco, at least, the long-held Castro Street festivities were abandoned after several years of violence. In my estimation, this is part of the holiday’s expansion, or perhaps resurgence. (GLBT folks have long been leaders in cultural awareness.)

Today’s Halloween celebration still includes the annual trick-or-treating for children, with each community setting its own time and date. Children go door-to-door, ostensibly in the neighborhoods in which they live. They are dressed in their costumes (mostly popular film and television characters) and receive a treat—usually candy—from their neighbors. But instead of or in addition to this activity, there are many opportunities for children to dress, including business district walks, church parties, amusement park events (for young and old alike) and even local zoos.

As for adults, there are dozens of opportunities for dressing and celebrating—street parties, the aforementioned amusement parks, film parties, giant high-priced-ticket masked balls, bar celebrations and dozens of private parties. Cobwebs and giant spiders on the bushes, bats and rats hanging on railings, large blow-up demons and monsters, and orange Christmas lights have replaced the traditional jack-o-lantern with a candle on the front porch. With the popularity of The Walking Dead, Zombies are very much in style.

I am personally attending one family party, one adult party and a church-hosted neighborhood party for the holiday. I also have some Halloween decorations in my living area.

Another indication of the expansion of Halloween occurred in the 1990s, with conservative Christian congregations creating what they consider the truly scary tableaux within the concept of a Hell House. First, many of these groups eschew standard Halloween practices, and consider these Halloween-time fixtures as a vital ministry. In a typical Hell House (one can buy a kit—with a 263-page manual—from the concept’s champion), individuals are led through several “contemporary” American scenes of sin, such as a young woman dying from a botched abortion, an individual becoming possessed by a demon for dabbling in the occult, a gay man dying of AIDS. In each of these scenes, the sinner goes right to hell for eternal punishment. The scenes are graphic and gruesome. At the end of the journey, guests are invited to reject these sins and become “Saved.”

But the strongest indication I have had that Halloween has exploded as a holiday has been my experiences in Europe—Britain and Ireland, specifically. While many cultures throughout the world have observed harvest festivals (and many still do), for a very long time, Halloween was a uniquely American holiday. During the autumn of 1984, I was an exchange student, studying at S. Katharine’s College in Liverpool, England. At Halloween, the student association hosted a Halloween party. As this was a college activity, the event was mostly an excuse to get ripping drunk. About one-third of the students wore costumes, and most of the women were dressed as traditional witches with long black gowns and pointed black hats. If there were decorations, these were few and far between. (Yes, I went to the party; no, I didn’t have a costume; and I didn’t drink alcohol at the time.) During my attendance at the event, a couple of dozen of the attendees asked me if they were “doing it right.”

Now one of the origins—if not the primary origin—of Halloween is the Irish-focused Celtic Festival of Samhain. During this festival (held beginning the evening of October 31), everything human, including livestock, was kept in a protected area. This enabled the spirits, fairy folk—basically the defeated descendants of the magical people the Celts overthrew when they landed in Ireland—to leave their underground world and enjoy the surface world for the night. During some periods, food was left for these spirits. Anyone who has been to Ireland knows that the Island country is covered with ancient burial mounds (pre-Celtic). These were considered by the Celts and early Irish to be the entrances into the underground world of the spirits. The Christian All Saints’ Day, a solemnization of those who have previously died in the Spirit of God, is held the following day, November 1. As it dates back to the second century, there may be some connection between it and the pagan Samhain. From a literary perspective, celebrating all the saints on the day after the spirits of paganism/evil roam the earth seems quite logical.

In 2001, I was in the Republic of Ireland for several weeks. As part of my cultural study, I spent time at and conversation on the many burial mounds covering the countryside, Celtic festivals and current relevance. Again, there was very little celebration of Halloween. It was an American holiday. Well, last year, 2013, I was in both Northern Ireland and the Republic, and as far as I could tell, the Irish have taken Halloween back! In every city and village I visited, there were preparations for a community Halloween festival of sorts. Pubs and restaurants were closed for private affairs. All of the streets were decorated, and several places were planning to have fireworks! In Belfast, where I spent October 31, the entire city shut down for an evening festival at the shipyards. This festival included a large carnival, everyone in costumes, snacks and treats, a stage concert, after hours party and fireworks. I was grabbing a quick supper at McDonald’s (the only place open or not reserved for a “private party”), when the place closed down for the festivities!

What does all this have to do with my great-grandmother Leta and her scandalous and remarkable life? I keep wracking my brain for Halloween activities with her from my childhood. As her daughter—my grandmother—lived only a few blocks from us, we always stopped in costume to conclude our trick-or-treating. Grandma also gave us all her leftover candy. Because this happened for several years, my great-grandmother may have been present sometimes. But I doubt it.

I have a feeling that she was one of those people who turned off her lights and left her house dark during trick-or-treating, although not for any specific religious reason. By the way, she was a church-going Christian. I just never connect her to anything frivolous, and the activities of Halloween could be construed as such. It’s hard for me to consider myself that the holiday is not all frivolity. Still, she laughed frequently and loved spending time with her great-grandchildren. What more could we have asked for?

Richard Adrian Eckman data

Richard Adrian Eckman (sometimes called Richard and sometimes called Adrian) was my great-grandmother’s eighth and last husband. He was born on February 27, 1894 in Toledo, Ohio to Albert Eckman and Daisy James.

On July 9, 1912, Adrian R. Eckman married Phylana E. Luck (or a woman with a name similar to that—the handwriting is difficult to read) in Monroe, Michigan. He was 18, and she was 16. While I have yet to uncover divorce or annulment of the marriage, it did not last long.

On August 8, 1917, Adrian R. Eckman married Sadie Edwards. He was 23, and she was 25. Both were divorced.

Before he married Sadie, however, he registered for the draft for World War I on June 15, 1917. He was 23 years old, of medium height and build with dark hair and gray eyes. At the time he was living in Toledo, Ohio and working as a chauffeur for George Sinclair. He also reported that he was married. He subsequently enlisted in the army on May 24, 1918, where he served until May 16, 1919, as a Private First Class. He was honorably discharged. By this time, of course, the War was over.

Between 1919 and 1925, Richard and Sadie divorced, and he married a woman named Lillian. According to the 1930 census, Richard was living with three children and his wife Lillian in Toledo, Ohio. Their sons were Richard (5), Albert (3) and William (2). Ten years later, the 1940 census reports that Richard, Lillian and four children (now with a daughter named Lillian) lived in Toledo, Ohio.

In 1942, He registered for the World War II draft. He was 47 years old. There is no indication that he served.

My great-grandmother Leta Fields married Richard on September 22, 1960. They were issued their marriage license on September 12. He reported that he had been married once previously, and was divorced. She stated that she had been married three times previously. According to the records of their prior marriages, both were stretching the truth. The Rev. Myron R. Kells performed the ceremony.

Richard A. Eckman died of a heart attack at home at age 69 on December 27, 1963. According to my family’s memory, this occurred in the middle of the night. His occupation for 33 years was as a route salesman for Wonder Baking Co. (Toledo had a Wonder factory that made a variety of the beloved products, including the Twinkie. As a child, I toured the facility more than once.) He was also an organizer and president of the Teamsters Local 365 Pensioners Club. He was a World War I veteran and member of St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church. He had four surviving children: Lillian Friend, Richard, William and Sgt. Albert of the U.S. Army. Of course, he also had two stepchildren. The obituary says he had 16 grandchildren and 2 great-grandchildren. If the obituary includes Leta’s family, this may mean that six of the grandchildren were hers by marriage (my father, his two siblings and two cousins). As for great-grandchildren, my great-grandmother had two—my older brother Jeff and the eldest son of my father’s eldest cousin Connie. Her son’s name is Christopher. He was only a couple of months old. It is possible that I am included in the great-grandchildren. Richard Eckman died about 26 hours before I was born on December 28, 1963. By the time of the obituary, I was a couple of days old.

Giving up Vivian and Dale II, part four

Leta walked ahead, carrying two of the suitcases. Her children Vivian (age 15) and Dale (age 12), each carrying another bag, followed. Her arms ached the two blocks to the streetcar. She could have done this better, she thought. She could have taken her children to their father’s for the weekend, and then told them that their weekend would be extended indefinitely. Or she could have had their father pick them up directly from school, having already acquired their luggage from their house.

But what would he tell her children? That she was abandoning them? That she was incapable of taking care of them? That she no longer cared about them? Their father Ralph could and might say anything! After all, there was little respect between the parents. When she had taken the children and left years earlier, she had scarred him, and more than once over the ensuing years, he expressed his anger and disappointment.

During her subsequent marriage to Albert Mohr, she provided a warm and loving home for the children, with a positive male role model who also paid attention to them. This was something that their father had not done. But then Albert died suddenly, and Leta and her children’s lives had been a whirlwind of uncertainty ever since. Meanwhile, their father had risen in his station. After years of hardly working, he had secured stable employment with the post office. At age 36, he still lived with his parents, but they had a large house, and it was unlikely that this arrangement would change. Living with him would ensure that her children would be fed and clothed and have their physical needs met. This, unfortunately, was something that she could no longer provide.

The streetcar arrived almost immediately after they reached the stop, and the conductor assisted them in their boarding.

“Someone’s heading on a little trip, I see,” the charming young man said with a wink. Their ashen faces quickly told him that he was out of order.

It was only a few stops to their destination, so Leta tried to make best use of these few precious minutes.

“Now, remember what I told you,” she said. “I want you to behave for Grandma Ida, to eat what she gives you without complaining, be polite and help her and Grandpa Louis around the house. Do your schoolwork and keep your rooms clean.”

“Yes, Ma,” Vivian said dutifully but absently.

“Dale?” Leta pressed.

“Yes, Ma,” he squeaked.

“They are looking forward to having you,” Leta added. “I’ve packed enough clothes to last you for a few days, but will send over the rest of your things before too long.”

There was silence.

“It’s just that your ma needs to figure some things out, and she wants the best for you,” Leta finally said. Neither child looked at her. Dale was looking into his jacket and biting his lip. Vivian was staring out the window.

Leta wanted to be cheerful for them. She wanted to be more reassuring, but her own heart was aching. It took all of her strength to keep a smooth even voice.

“We’re here,” Vivian said, and the three rose.

As the trolley car stopped, she could see her former husband Ralph and his mother waiting at the stop. Their unexpected appearance was startling and seemed so final. Her plan was to avoid both of them, to walk the children to the house and leave them on the porch. The conductor handed Ralph the bags, and the children off-boarded from the trolley without a word. Ida took a hand of each child. She was always a serious woman, but under the circumstance, she looked downright grim. Then without a flicker of acknowledgment, Ida turned the children away, and began walking. Ralph followed.

Leta clutched one of the poles of the streetcar. Did Dale try to turn back? For a moment, she thought so. Then the trolley lurched forward, and her children disappeared. She would not see them again for several months.

Giving up Vivian and Dale II, part three

In the morning, Leta fed her children Vivian and Dale a simple breakfast of toast and coffee. There was no cream or milk in the house, so they all had to drink it black. She instructed them to dress for the weather and then sent them off to school. For a long time, she watched down the street, still in her nightgown, wrapped for warmth in a ragged shawl she had received from one of her sisters years ago.

If the children had noticed anything peculiar about her, they didn’t say. However, they were quiet and obedient. As they were putting on their coats and hats, she thought she heard Vivian whispering, but when she approached, neither behaved as though they had been caught in an inappropriate or secret act. She packed a surprise in their lunches – cheese sandwiches. These were the last bits of cheese in the house. They would be surprised, she thought, and pleased.

At least a quarter of an hour after they left, she closed the door. She was chilled, but barely noticed. Then she finished her coffee. It was cold and tepid. It didn’t matter. Her entire body felt to her like it was working independent of her mind, that some other brain controlled it, like an automobile in neutral slowly rolling down a hill. The engine was running, but gravity governed its progress.

She dressed and then went into Vivian’s room. As she anticipated, everything was in its place. There wasn’t much, of course, just a bed, dresser and small nightstand with a few hooks on the wall. The bed was made with the coverings pulled tight. Vivian’s dresses were neatly hung on the hooks. Her brushes and a small bottle of perfume she had received from her Uncle Walter were in assigned places on the nightstand. Two books from the library were stacked on one corner of the dresser. Within the dresser her clothes were folded and arranged by type—underclothes in one drawer, stockings in another, nightclothes, sweaters and shawls all reasonably organized. Everything was dusted.

Her son Dale’s room was a different experience. He had a bed and one dresser as well as a toy box that Leta had acquired several years earlier. The bed was unmade with the sheets and blankets dragging onto the floor and his largest ball in the middle of it. He had removed his pajamas and left them beside the toy box, which was open and piled so sloppily with toys it looked like he actually had more than he did. A fire truck lay beside the dresser, draped in used underwear and socks. Or maybe they were clean. Leta had difficulty knowing, for all of the drawers of the dresser were pulled out from two to four inches with garments either climbing in or trying to escape. Two pairs of slacks and one jacket were clutching one of the hooks for dear life, and the other four were empty. A faint odor of sweet mold hung in the air, and she knew that she would eventually discover some half-eaten jelly sandwich among the tumult. In several places, she stepped on something sticky.

By the time Vivian and Dale arrived home from school that afternoon, the rain had stopped, but a damp dreariness still clung to the air. Leta had turned up the heat as high as it would go, but still, wearing a wool dress and shawl, she felt a chill. Mostly, she felt as though she would never be warm again.

Vivian had not even taken off her coat when she noticed the bags. There were four of them, placed beside the couch as inconspicuously as Leta could.

“Ma?” Vivian questioned. “What are those bags doing there? Have you been packing?”

Leta was sitting in an easy chair. She had not turned on a lamp, so the children would not see her swollen red eyes and flushed face. She held a mottled handkerchief in her hand, damp with tears and mucus.

“I want you two to sit down,” Leta feebly squeaked, “right there on the davenport together.”

“It’s cold in here,” Dale noted.

“Go put a sweater on,” Vivian instructed.

Leta cleared her throat loudly.

“First, I want you to sit her and listen to me,” Leta ordered.

The children sat down with fifteen-year-old Vivian sharing her shawl with her twelve-year-old brother.

To be continued.

Giving up Vivian and Dale II, part two

When she first meet Leech Hoose, Leta was hiding from her unhappy life in a place where no one would know her. A couple of nights a week, after her children were in bed, she would leave the house quietly, take a trolley car three miles from her home and recuperate at a speakeasy for a couple of hours. She could not imbibe at any place locally, because her husband Ora might appear. While she didn’t know where he spent his evenings—at least not specifically—his patterns were easy to follow, and one of those patterns was to drink excessively at a local blind pig. If they saw each other at one of these haunts, an altercation of some sort was probable. She might even be the instigator, having a hot temper herself and considering his complete neglect and viciousness toward her and the children.

Ora left them for days at a time, much of the time with little to no financial resources to sustain them. Sometimes he was working, but more often than not, he was playing cards and drinking. Even when he was home, money was scarce, and she was constantly requesting credit—from the grocer, the butcher, the milkman, the power company and the phone company. More than once the savings and loan that provided Ora’s mortgage telephoned to notify them of past due and request immediate payment. In the mean time, she scrimped as much as she could in order to keep her children fed and a roof over their heads. This was her life.

No, this was not her life. She had the ability to alter it, and she was. However, the cost of the change was high, and she recognized that she would regret it. Still, as much as what she decided would cause great grief, what needed to be done needed to be done.

She was a mother; her children’s welfare was her concern—her primary concern.

The speakeasy she visited was not one she expected her husband to frequent. It hosted a better-dressed, more sophisticated crowd. For several months, she had been meeting Leech there, enjoying his humor and getting to know him. After the first couple of months, she wondered if perhaps he would be her rescuer. He owned his own home. He was a widower. He was funny. He was considerate. He had a good job and went to work every day. Once she was free of Ora, they would marry. Leech told her that.

But she did not know how long the divorce proceedings would take. Ora still had not signed the divorce papers. She did not know whether or not he was so reluctant because he believed in their dreadful marriage, wanted to torture her for not loving him (because she didn’t), or was simply too neglectful to really care.

The previous day she had received a visitor from the lending company. He had a document instructing her husband to make the past due financial payments on the loan of the house or be prepared for foreclosure. When she informed the agent that her husband was not at home, that he could found at any number of places, including his friend Alfred Hayward’s home, the agent sniffled and shook his head. He refused to take the notice back. It was dated; it was final. They had twenty-four hours to pay up or get out.

After the children arrived home from school and the three of them had a supper of oatmeal and toast, Leta put on her coat and went to three places where Ora might have been to deliver the message. He was not at either blind pig, and Alfred Hayward’s house was dark. She banged on the door in case both or either man was sleeping, but still no one answered.

She had spent her last bit of change on the trolleys and was forced to walk the several blocks home. It was deep in the night. While she could not see her own face, she could feel that every muscle and vein were tangled in fear and anger.

By the time she arrived back at the house, the dismal, dingy single man’s residence she had tried unsuccessfully to warm up for a family, Leta had made a decision.

To be continued.