Witches and Common Sense

What do Halloween and safety have in common? Sure, there are the typical safety reminders that we go over in safety meetings about being sure you only purchase masks that have a clear field of vision, wearing reflective vests, using flashlights, etc. But that’s not what I am getting at—what I am talking about is simpler. It’s common sense. Sure, there is training and experience, but having common sense is what we need to put training and experience into everyday practice so we can all go home safely at the end of our shift. Let’s take a look at some of my very own Halloween experiences so we can fully understand how everything ties into safety, especially common sense.

Chapter 1

Dracula and the Mummy

The first Halloween I remember was when we were living in Houma, Louisiana. I was just a little boy, probably no older than four or five, and the season of candy corn was upon us. While I don’t remember much from that age, I clearly remember a few things about Halloween, some good and some bad, and I have kept all of them with me to this day. My favorite memory was the giant Frankenstein monster decoration that Mom hung on the apartment door. It was colorful and made of thin cardboard, about the thickness of a poster board, and its arms, elbows, legs, and knees were moveable because of the grommets and slit-back paper fasteners that held them together. He was a huge fellow, especially for a boy of my size, but not scary looking, and seeing him hanging on our front door somehow made Halloween a little less frightening. Yes, he had the typical surgical scars from Doctor Frankenstein putting all of the pieces together, as well as the bolts in his neck, but he seemed jovial and festive. Mom also had some black cat decorations as well; you know, the typical scary ones where their backs are arched and their hair is standing up in a menacing manner. Anyway, Mom always made Halloween extra special for us, especially since our costumes were homemade from patterns and materials we would pick out at a fabric store. And while I do not remember what I dressed as that year, I do remember what two particularly nasty grown men were dressed like, as they came to our door and scared me senseless! I am pretty sure that Dracula and the mummy leaning into our apartment and roaring at us little kids is just one of the experiences in my life that gave me a healthy fear. Well, that and the fact that my mom let me watch movies like Jaws and read novels like The Wolfen, by Whitley Strieber, before I was ten years old. Maybe being terrorized at a young age by two adult men, who were most probably trying to impress my mom, was where I learned that horseplay was not acceptable. Either way, going into the remainder of my life with a healthy sense of fear and an innate dislike of horseplay probably saved me from making a lot of dumb choices that kids and young adults usually make.

Chapter 2

Homemade Costumes and Fruit

And because of that, year after year Halloween came and went, with me both relishing the holiday and dreading it. It would all start just fine with a trip to a fabric store where I would pull out one of the many metal drawers in the sewing section and look through the different Halloween patterns until I found one I liked. Mom would then buy the patterns and the materials to make the costumes, and then it was weeks of waiting and watching as Mom sewed my costume. I remember watching in amazement as the material transformed itself and then me into all sorts of amazing characters, if only for a night. The older I got, the scarier the costumes became—but not too scary, no killer clowns for me! One year I had an amazing cape with a bloodred satin liner that transformed me into Dracula, and another year I had a black bodysuit with many bones sewn on it that made me into a skeleton. Over the years there were so many other amazing costumes that my mother lovingly made for me. Yes, my mom loved us, and that was evident when so many other kids walked around in store-bought costumes and masks made of plastic. I knew those kids were sweltering because of the sheer amount of sweat dripping off of them. It was definitely not the right choice of material to wear, as it was generally still hot in Louisiana and Texas in October.

Still, in the back of my mind, I knew this was a dangerous holiday because lurking right outside could be the next Dracula or mummy waiting to cause me further mental anguish. There was one safe place for Halloween in the 1970s, but it was a place I hated going to—my Mammaw and Granddaddy’s house. Any other time I loved going over there as my Grandaddy Gus would rake up huge piles of leaves and let me jump in them over and over again, all the while telling my mom “Stop worrying about it, he’s having fun.” He also had cages full of raccoons and one particularly big one that roamed around inside his house. Halloween was different because it meant we had to go all the way out there to show them our costumes just to get an apple or a banana; no candy ever came out of that house! Now any other day I would love an apple or a banana, but not Halloween, and that annual trek to their house caused us to waste valuable trick-or-treating time! After what seemed like an eternity of kisses, hugs, and comments of “Turn around one more time and let me look at you,” this mandatory stop would finally come to an end, and it was off to the main event.

Halloween in the 1970s was not as easy as it is today. First, you would knock on the door, and when they opened it you had to say, “Trick or Treat!” And if you didn’t, they would ask, “What are you supposed to say?” Then, once the pleasantries were out of the way, there were the mandatory poses and spins so they could look at your adorable costume. “Lady, I am not adorable. I am an Indian war chief!” I thought to myself one Halloween. Still, it was compulsory that I spun around like some ridiculous ballerina even though I was wearing buckskins and a war bonnet, complete with war paint on my face! And could you eat candy along the way? No, not unless it was from someone’s house that your mom knew. And did we scarf it down when we got back to our apartment? Once again, nope, and that was because when we got home, we had to check each piece of candy for razor blades, needles, and poison. I mean, it was ridiculous back then! Looking at each piece of candy, then unwrapping it, then tearing it apart to check inside while my mother sat nearby eating piece after piece of my candy as if she knew which ones didn’t contain razor blades, needles, or poison. That was why all the kids were skinny back then—because it took hours just to get the first piece of candy inspected and in your mouth, and by then it was bedtime. And the poison, how in the heck were we supposed to check for that? Worse than all of that was if there was one defect in the wrapper or the candy, it was suspect and into the trash it went. I have got to tell you that these kids have it easy nowadays, and it is almost like they are doing Halloween on demo mode while we were stuck trick-or-treating on level 89!

And so it went, year after year, until our cuteness wore off and we were relegated to street clothes and some rubber mask we had to buy for ourselves as we were “too old.” Still, we did not give up, and I would join one of the many packs of preteens and teenagers roaming the streets asking for candy, but not wanting to say, “Trick or Treat.” Not every house agreed that we deserved candy, and they would callously let you know by saying, “Aren’t you a little too old for this? Shouldn’t you be working somewhere instead of being out here with the little kids asking for candy?” Now some of you may brag about getting those people back with toilet paper or bags of flaming dog poop, but I often find that the actual truth is most of you didn’t do it. I am not sure what neighborhoods you lived in or what era you grew up in, but in my reality, an adult would just as soon hit you than deal with you being a little punk. And if you ran, they always somehow found out where you lived and would show up at your door seeking retribution. Now you have all seen the videos of helicopter parents defending their kid’s bad behavior, but back then parents would simply hand you over to whatever angry adult showed up at your front door, as long as they weren’t driving a panel van. Simple as that, a knock at the door and your mom calling out “Someone is here to see you because you did something stupid, get outside and get what’s coming to you!” Please remember the entirety of the 1970s and 1980s was dangerous, and it’s amazing any of us came out of it alive.

Chapter 3

My Hansel and Gretel Experience

And what did all this do for me? Did I roll into adulthood and the 1990s with an understanding that I needed to be safe on Halloween and not do anything stupid? Not necessarily! You see, I was sitting in my barracks room at Lackland Air Force Base one particular October 31 in the early 1990s getting ready to go down to the River Walk to meet some friends when a knock came at my door. Remembering Houma, Louisiana, I knew better than to just open the door since it was Halloween and Dracula or the mummy may just burst in to have another shot at me. After all, they are immortal, and it is not too farfetched to think they had been tracking me all of these years. In a rather cautious tone, I asked, “Who is it?” A friend of mine said, “Open the door you chicken sh@*!” Well, it couldn’t be Dracula or the mummy, because he didn’t have an Eastern European accent, and his words were clear and not moaning. So I opened the door. Oh, he still burst in and scared the crap out of me by excitedly saying, “You have got to come with me and help me move out of my girlfriend’s apartment!” “I thought you were married,” I replied in a curious and judgmental tone. “Yes, but my girlfriend is a witch, and I got to get away from her,” he excitedly replied. “OK, a lot of women that are being broken up with are witches, but why tonight?” I asked. He excitedly replied, “Scott, are you listening to me? MY GIRLFRIEND IS A WITCH, you dummy, and I need to move out! She is actually a real witch, like with pentagrams, candles, spells, and such. Now will you help me?” I know that all of you are thinking I was dumb enough to go to a witch’s house on Halloween with her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, but you need to know that I did question his wisdom about this. “Are you sure that sneaking into a witch’s house on Halloween is the smartest thing to do? I mean, wouldn’t it be safer to go to the River Walk, grab a couple of beers, and find you a new girlfriend? Or maybe, you could call your wife?” I asked. He looked at me like I was some sort of idiot and very rationally explained, “No, you idiot. Halloween is the perfect time because she is probably out dancing naked around a pentagram and drinking goat’s blood or something. Now get your @%# out here and help me.” So, to those of you who thought I would be stupid enough to sneak into a witch’s house on Halloween to help her married and soon-to-be ex-boyfriend retrieve his belongings, let me tell you that you were right. Somehow, I had failed to retain enough of the hard-earned fear I had built up over the years, and I simply said, “Your truck or my car?” He replied, “We will need both.” “My goodness, how much stuff could you possibly move into a girlfriend’s apartment? I mean, if you had a change of uniform, a razor, and a toothbrush, we could retrieve them and still have time to make it to the River Walk and find you another girlfriend! Then again, I find it silly of me to question you about your level of stupidity, as you are dating an actual witch!” I replied. “Fine, actually your car will do as I can leave the furniture there,” he snarked back at me. I looked at him as if he had a third eye and said, “You bought furniture with her? You’re an idiot, and I am not a moving company. Let’s take my car, and act like you’re a man. We are only getting your clothes, your razor, and your toothbrush!”

We drove off base in my car, and as we headed across San Antonio, he filled me in on the details of his girlfriend. Come to find out I knew of her, as she was attending the same school as me just a couple of classes back. I mean, even though I knew she was a very pretty redhead, I had no idea she was an actual witch! And one thing was certain—I hoped that she wasn’t home. We drove up to the apartment complex, got out of the car, and walked up to the apartment. Then he put his key in the lock and opened the door, without even looking over his shoulder. Believe it or not, he just strolled inside like we weren’t going into a witch’s house on Halloween. As for me, I clearly remember reading Hansel and Gretel as a child. So I just stood at the door knowing that if I entered, my life may very well be on the line, and with that thought I said, “You’re on your own. I just can’t bring myself to walk into a witch’s home, especially on Halloween.” The living room was lined with three short bookcases on one wall, and through the darkness I noticed the outlines of your typical knickknacks that people normally set on tops of shelves. A couch was on the back wall and faced into the kitchen, where I was sure there were knives. I went no farther than four feet inside and stopped there because the innocent knickknacks were witch trinkets. Now I am not sure what witch trinkets are called, because this was my first experience being inside a real witch’s home. My so-called friend then called out, “Are you coming back here to help me or not?” “Uh, no,” I replied. “And why not?” he ignorantly asked. “Duh, because it’s Halloween and you are in a witch’s bedroom. Did you not read Hansel and Gretel as a child, you idiot? I’m staying close enough to the door to run and just far enough from the stove that I can’t get pushed in,” I clearly and sarcastically replied, so maybe he would know never to ask me to do something this stupid again! As I stayed in my supposed “safe space,” I excitedly said, “Will you hurry up? Let’s get out of here,” because every episode of the television series, The Night Stalker, that my mom let me watch when I was far too young, was playing in my head. “Calm down, we have plenty of time” is what came back from the idiot in the bedroom. I excitedly replied, “How do you know we have plenty of time? How do you know she’s not clairvoyant and is heading back with her entire coven to throw us in the oven? How do you know? Come on mister, got to check a box and sleep with a witch. How exactly do you know?” “Scott, calm down. She will be gone until after midnight, and wherever she is, she is probably dancing naked around a bonfire, and that is not happening right around the corner,” he retorted in a strangely calm manner. My eyes darted back and forth at the witch trinkets and books that one should never know how to get, at least not before Amazon.

I truly was nervous and wondered if I would ever see that pretty little blond lady again. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he came out of the bedroom as if he had just packed for a monthlong African safari, not as someone who was trying to get out of a witch’s house before she returned with her coven to cook us in the oven. “My goodness, what took you so long?” I asked excitedly as my mind still played the many close calls that curious reporter, Kolchak, had in “The Night Stalker series.” As we left and he locked the door behind us, I couldn’t help but wonder whether she would be able to track me down by my scent. No, I would be OK as she was a witch and not a werewolf. As we drove away, I finally felt safe, and I made my idiot friend promise—no, I made him swear to the God he should have known, the God that would have kept him from getting into an adulterous relationship with an actual witch—that he would never tell her that I helped him or even that I was in her apartment. Hey, what can I say, my healthy fear that started with Dracula and the mummy had returned to me in that witch’s apartment. And what did we do the rest of the night? Well, my friend lugged his stuff back up to his barracks room without any of my help, and I went back to my barracks room, showered, and did some laundry, just in case witches can track you by scent. One thing is for certain, and that is I did not go out that night. A couple of beers and a bag of chips in a barracks room was enough sustenance for me back then.

Chapter 4

No Offense – It’s All About Safety

And as we find Halloween upon us once again, I find myself excited to see my grandchildren all dressed up in their store-bought costumes—thank you, Spirit Halloween and Amazon. Who knows, maybe this year I will give them an apple or banana in honor of Mammaw and Granddaddy Gus, so I can see the disgusted looks on their faces. Then that pretty little blond lady and I will sit in our golf cart at the front of our driveway and watch as all the little trick-or-treaters come up to receive candy that they can easily get x-rayed for free. And then my mind will drift, as it does every Halloween, back to the time I almost got roasted in an apartment oven by a coven of witches on Halloween all because my friend had no common sense!

So, you see, safety is much like my Halloween experiences, and much like my first traumatic run-in with Dracula and the mummy, there is no place for horseplay. Furthermore, we must check our safety harnesses and lanyards for damage just like we checked our candy wrappers all those years ago. We also must wear proper clothing in hot weather, so we don’t overheat like those kids whose parents were either too lazy to sew a costume or simply didn’t love them. Most of all, we must not hang out with stupid people, especially if they have never developed a healthy fear about just how dangerous our work can be. Because by doing so, we, too, may find ourselves lacking the common sense needed to make good choices.

Happy Halloween, and let me inform all of you that I have nothing against witches, nor do I discriminate against them in any way, shape, or form. I am a lot like the famous words Chuck Berry spoke on the live version of his hit song, “My Ding-A-Ling”—“That’s alright honey, this is a free country. Live like you want to live baby.” Thus, my fear of witches is not discriminatory in nature, as it comes from my mother letting me read books and watch shows that I was far too young for. Similarly, my fear of redheads is also not discriminatory in nature, as it stems from one particularly large redheaded bully from middle school and a redheaded woman I used to date. As a matter of fact, sneaking into an apartment belonging to a beautiful blond-, brunette-, or raven-haired witch would have also scared me senseless, especially on Halloween. Lastly, my thoughts on witches have more to do with the era I grew up in and not some modern concept of inclusion caused by the recent popularity of paranormal romance books. So, no hexes, no spells, no nothing, against the author. We want nothing but peace, love, and safety. Happy Halloween and y’all stay safe out there.

End