LITTLE ROCK — In a recent poll, Americans were asked which holiday was their favorite. “Holiday” was limited to all the biggies-you know: Christmas, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Columbus Day (formerly known as Akron Day, but the Akron Chamber of Commerce officially ended it back in the ’30s when only three guys from Tulsa turned out. They arrived by accident, having gotten lost looking for some bowling tournament. Being opportunists, the Columbus, Ohio, Chamber of Commerce jumped on the bandwagon and renamed the holiday. Apparently to some degree of success.).
The number one holiday that most Americans voted for in the poll was (drum roll here . . . ) Christmas! When asked why, the majority of respondents indicated that they treasured the profoundly spiritual, emotionally satisfying true meaning of Christmas. Getting stuff.
The number two holiday that most Americans voted for was (another drum roll please . . .) Halloween! It turns out that, even as adults, we never outgrow our fascination with costumes. For some unknown reason that social behaviorists, psychologists and anthropologists find difficult to identify, almost all of us enjoy dressing up in a costume and assuming an alternate identity.
Since I was a kid, way before this fancy poll was published, Halloween has been my favorite holiday. I eagerly anticipated the arrival of All Hallow’s Eve with more excitement than most folks feel for Christmas. I usually started planning my costume sometime in July.
My crazy mom shared my enthusiasm and fed my imagination with all kinds of creative costume ideas. I’ll never forget the year that she convinced me to dress up as King Kong.Well, I guess a more accurate description would be Kiddie Kong, as I was only 8 years old. She let me stay up late with her one night to watch the 1933 movie classic on the late show. I was terrified as we watched the hairy beast gather the diminutive Fay Wray into his bone-crushing, leathery ape hand. Mom even allowed my younger brother Dick to stay up with us.
When I got up the next morning I went down to the kitchen and saw a box of Rice Krispies on the table along with 14 bunches of bananas. There was a note on the table in Mom’s delicate script: “Monkey Food-better get started-Halloween is only five months away.” Then she jumped out at me from around the corner, nearly scaring me out of my Captain Marvel jammies, brandishing a black hairy robe that vaguely resembled King Kong roadkill. Its head was simply a hood with two small slits for my eyes. She insisted that I try it on so she could complete her alterations. As I pulled on the moth-eaten mass of matted black fur, my nose twitched from the unmistakeable tangy odor. It was grandpa’s old bear rug, made from the bear he shot back in 1924. For years it had been relegated to our storage shed in the backyard along with his many other “trophies.” He often told me how he nailed it to the side of his barn and tanned it himself just like his father showed him-with urine.
That was the year I went trick or-treating alone. Most folks cringed and tossed candy at me from their partially opened doors.
Every year Joanne and I go to the big Halloween party over at Julius and Marsha’s house. They have been hosting these big events for several years and we never miss. There is one rule, however: A costume is not optional. It’s a requirement. And every year Julius is the judge of the Scariest Costume Contest. He calls it“The Scariest Costume Contest.”
I came in second place five years ago when the theme was movie monsters. I wore a mummy costume that Joanne helped me make. She used six rolls of toilet paper, which proved disastrous as the evening wore on. She forgot to put in a fly so I had to borrow one of Marsha’s kitchen knives. But my buddy Barney beat me out that year. He came dressed as Frankenstein and forgot his mask. Julius, being the fun-loving prankster that he is, awarded the Scariest Costume Contest trophy to the maskless Barney.
Last year, the theme was Star Wars and once again, I came in second place in my Darth Vader costume. I would have won too, if my Star Wars FX light saber hadn’t shorted out and melted my plastic Darth Vader helmet. It took three hours for the emergency room doctor to painfully peel it off. And three months for the skin grafts to heal.
This year I am determined to win Julius’ Scariest Costume Contest. So here I stand, ready for him to begin judging. I really think I have a chance to win. The theme this year is “Blood-Suckers.” This is absolutely the most frightful costume I have ever designed. When Joanne and I walk in, folks dressed as hideous blood-sucking monsters, blood-sucking vampires, blood-sucking zombies, ghosts and goblins will scatter from me screaming, falling over furniture as they flee, spilling their drinks, frightened out of their minds.
I dressed up in a pair of dark slacks and a white T-shirt. On the front of the shirt I pinned our July electric bill.
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William Rausch is an award-winning freelance writer who lives in Little Rock.
Editorial, Pages 19 on 10/29/2011