Halloween: costumes and candy

Like probably most young kids in Ambridge in the '50s, I loved Halloween.

What wasn't to love?

Cheesy costumes that came in a box and usually weren't much more than a printed flimsy synthetic fabric (What were those costumes made from? Nylon? Acetate?) with a neck opening that tied shut, and maybe was divided at the bottom for your legs if you were a boy. Stiff plastic or cardboard masks that made your face hot and sweaty, made it hard to see, and were held on by a string or thin black elastic. Well, "held on" wasn't exactly accurate. It was more like "kept the mask from slipping too far below your ears."

Or your mom would dress you in a flannel shirt, dungarees, tie a man's red "work" handkerchief around your neck, plunk a cheap felt cowboy hat on your head, and--ta-da!--you were a cowgirl.

Another option if you went to Doris Singer Dance Studios or Peggy Ann Studios of Dancing, was to recycle last season's recital costume and go as a puppy or "Suzy Snowflake."

If you went to Catholic school, maybe your mom would make you a lovely, detailed nun's or St. Peter's costume, which impressed the nuns and maybe got you extra points towards heaven.

And the always-popular fallback, especially for boys, was "hobo." What family didn't have some old clothes you could wear?

There was a costume party at school that involved eating goodies like on Valentine's Day, but didn't involve the pressure of wondering if you'd get Valentines. Changing into our costumes at school was incredibly exciting. Did we focus on learning anything on party day?

Then, after dark, trick-or-treating, going to house after house, block after block, coming home with a bag of candy that was getting almost too heavy to carry, emptying it out, and then setting out again for homes on blocks you hadn't hit yet, hopefully, this time without your younger sister because she was too tired to walk anymore and slowing you down.

While exciting, Halloween wasn't the big event it is now. There were no multimedia productions at houses with lights, and scary sounds, and animated figures, and fake fog. Homes were decorated with, perhaps, a few cardboard Halloween black cats or witches, and on your porch, the jack o' lantern you'd carved, lit by a candle that hopefully wouldn't set anyone's costume, or your house, on fire.

Halloween was a kids' holiday. Adults didn't get dressed up. They perhaps helped you carve that jack o' lantern and waited at the door to give out candy. If you were really young, and didn't have an older sibling to tag along with, an adult would go with you as you went door to door. But siblings were better if you had them because they went to more houses than parents thought necessary.

And moms would also totally ruin your Halloween costume by insisting that you wear a jacket over it because it was cold, and she didn't want you to get sick.

The sidewalks would be filled with bag-toting kids, and the air would be filled with their happy, excited voices. I'd start at my house on the 1500 block of Beaver Road and head north towards 16th Street. Beaver Road was a tough street to trick-or-treat on, because in my neighborhood, the houses on the east side of the street were far above street level, and I had to walk up a lot of steps to get to the front door. But, I did it because...candy!

I knew most of the neighbors on my block, and yet they never guessed who I was beneath my mask.

One neighbor I didn't know was an elderly woman who always seemed to be so pleased to see us and whose house always smelled like buttered popcorn and hot sugar. Every year, she gave out homemade popcorn balls and tiny bags she'd filled with candy corn.

I'd work my way north up Beaver Road to maybe as far as 19th Street, then make a left down to Lenz Avenue, then another left, work my way south on Lenz, maybe up 16th Street and back towards home to drop off a load of candy (and my sister), then go out again, hitting the homes on 14th and 15th Streets.

Finally, long after I'd set-out, the streets, which had earlier been packed with trick-or-treaters, were beginning to empty, porch lights started to go out, and I was cold despite the jacket my mom forced me to wear. The quieter night seemed spookier than it had been until then--were ghosts real?--and I'd head towards home.

My dad would help us sort our loot. There was always enough to cover the kitchen table that seated six, and sometimes we had more goodies than could fit on it.

There would be an apple or two (really?!), small boxes of raisins (meh), maybe some packages of peanut butter filled cheese crackers, and Indian brand pumpkin seeds, OK because I liked them. Sometimes there would be a few pennies or even nickles (yay!).

And there was always a religious tract that ended up on our bags every year. Clearly not Catholic. This would not please my Catholic mom. Maybe if it had been a Catholic holy card, but Protestant proselytization? In our Halloween bags?! Our Catholic Halloween bags? And now on her Catholic table in her Catholic kitchen? Not acceptable!

My dad would have the candy sorted by type. First the candy bars. Big full-sized 5-cent bars. I was always happy to see Clark bars--my favorite; Zagnuts, not chocolate, but still yummy; Mallo Cups; Sky Bars; Reese's Cups; Hershey bars, with and without almonds; Mr. Goodbars; Crackles; Butterfingers; Nestle Crunches; Mounds; Almond Joys; Snickers; Milk Ways; Three Musketeers; Baby Ruths; 5th Avenues; Heaths; Milkshake bars; Paydays, also not chocolate, but I was a fan; Chunky bars which I generously allowed other family members to have because I didn't--and still don't--like raisins in my candy.

There would be many rolls of Smarties, which I usually ate while deciding which candy I would eat first...er...next; Lifesavers: butterscotch, Pep-O-Mint, Wint-O-Green, and Cryst-O-Mint; Necco Wafers, I liked the brown (chocolate) one the best, wasn't fond of the purple (clove); Chick-O-sticks; Dum Dum pops.

Bags of Whoppers and M&M's. Boxes of Good 'N Plenty; Mike and Ike; Boston Baked Beans; Hot Tamales; Cracker Jack (they had good prizes then.)

And if that wasn't enough to make a dentist cry, there was candy that was both sweet and sticky: Tootsie Rolls, big and small, and Tootsie Pops; BB Bats; Bit-O-Honey; Chuckles; Sugar Daddy suckers; Black Cow suckers, which were like a Sugar Daddy, only better, because they were covered in chocolate; Jujubes; Jujifruit; Turkish Taffy; taffy kisses.

Maybe the sugared gum we'd gotten would help clean our teeth? Teaberry; Black Jack; Beemans; Beech-Nut; Juicy Fruit; Wrigley. At least we'd have fun pulling sticky gum off our faces when we tried to blow big bubbles with Dubble Bubble; Rain-Blo; Bazooka, which came with a comic strip.

I usually finished up the candy around the Christmas holidays.

Good thing we had to walk everywhere to burn off all those calories.

It's in the Book

by Robert Giles

This remembrance is about Baden. It may be out of place here in "Ambridge Memories". I hope you will overlook that and read on.

As a child, I went to the Baden Methodist Church. That is where I was baptized, attended Sunday School, was confirmed, took communion, and joined the Youth Fellowship (MYF).

Two of my brothers met their wives and were married there, as was my older sister. A minister of the Baden Methodist Church officiated at the funeral services for my father and mother.

When I saw a picture of the old church recently on Facebook, it aroused many memories.

My brother Chuck has many gifts, among them a gift for comedy. He was in the class play at Highland School, where he played one of three suitors.

He was the reticent, bumbling suitor. His thin hair was parted in the middle and slicked down on the sides. He wore a dark baggy suit. He spoke in a high reedy voice. He was nearsighted. You get the picture.

Chuck was a ninth-grader. I was in sixth. Our class went to see the play. I laughed with everyone else when Chuck courted his lady love. He, breathlessly - "Yes, yes, yes." She, turning away - "No, no, no."

When the play was over, my classmates all remarked about how funny Chuck had been. I was so proud to be his brother.

A year or so later, Chuck had wowed them again.

The MYF was putting on a variety show to raise funds. Most of the acts were pantomimes of popular songs. It was amateurish to be sure, but so much fun. That was my sister and brothers up there on stage. Weren't they brave, and talented?

Linda and Jim performed "The Little Nash Rambler" with a few of their friends. They all pretended to be riding in a cardboard automobile. "Beep, beep. Beep, beep, his horn went beep, beep, beep."

The best was saved for last - Chuck.

An assistant started a phonograph as he shambled up to the pulpit, in the guise of an old time minister of the Gospel. He started with a sermon on "Little Bo Peep" and ended with the congregation singing an enthusiastic "Grandma's Lye Soap". (Members of the MYF sat in the background, playing the part of the congregation.)

Our pastor and his congregation didn't mind Chuck's satire. In fact he did a reprise of his act, by special request, for the Methodist Men.

Years later, in Trigonometry class, the teacher answered a question from a student, then thumped the text and surprised everyone by exclaiming, "It's in the Book." The teacher gave me a wink as if to say, "We know where that comes from, don't we Bob?"

Just this morning, I learned for the first time that Johnny Standley's comedy record was number one on "Billboard" in 1952, selling two million copies. You can hear it on Johnny Standley "It's in the Book".

It's more than a little cornball, but I hope you will enjoy it and have a few laughs with my brother and me.

Small Game

by Robert Giles

Pete Dinnerlein lived on the edge of Legionville Hollow just above the path we took into the woods. He liked to hunt. He had a beagle named Cody.

It was a July morning. My brothers and I were on our way to the other side of the hollow to pick blackberries.

I stopped at Cody's to say hello. As usual, he was chained to his doghouse.

In his fretful roundabouts, Cody had trampled away every blade of grass in the circle circumscribed by his chain.

In winter, he had a lawn of mud and ice. In spring, the lawn was merely mud. In midsummer, it was dry as dirt, which in fact it was. It was autumn that Cody lived for.

I didn't insult Cody by trying to pet him or scratch his ear. He was a working dog, and proud to be one. Pete had cautioned that affection would take the edge off his hunting instincts.

Cody made a sudden u-turn with his head and neck to attack an itch at the base of his tail.

His tormentor vanquished, he turned to me, as if to ask, "Why don't you hurry along and catch up with your brothers?" Cody let out a sneeze.

Suddenly autumn had come and Cody's long stretch of unemployment was over. Pete took him down into the hollow to exercise. Cody splashed through the creek. He chased squirrels up trees. He snapped at a dragonfly. He was a puppy once again. Rejuvenated. Reborn. Ready for the hunt.

Pete and his dog crossed Duss Avenue near the Legionville Bridge. Pete wore a red plaid jacket, green pants, and an orange cap. Cody, as usual, wore his tan and cream coat.

I ran to catch up. I didn't know if Pete would let me tag along - he never had before. Maybe I was old enough now.

Pete shouldered his shotgun. "OK, Bobby, you can come along. But do as I say. I would hate to accidentally blow your head off."

I said OK.

We walked along the roads of limestone slag that led through Byers' Field. There were a few stunted trees. Each one seemed to contain a red-wing blackbird, defending his territory. As soon as we stopped trespassing on one blackbird, we seemed to offend another. "Scold, scold. Keep out. Get going."

We crossed the Byers' railroad siding just at the top of the wooden steps leading down to the tracks of the "Pennsy". Beyond was the Ohio River. (The final stretch of Route 65 had not as yet been cut through to spoil the view.)

We didn't go down the steps. Instead we walked along the siding north toward Baden.

Cody had run off ahead. He stopped and snuffled the air on both sides of the track. Then he was off into the high grass to the east, his shoulders low and his tail erect. We watched the tip of his tail until he disappeared entirely.

The air was crisp, the sun was bright, a 20-gauge, a good dog, warm clothes, rabbits in the grass. Who could ask for more?

"He's on to something." Cody had let out a single sharp bark. Pete added evenly, "He'll turn it toward us in just a second. Stay back. Get out of the way. Now!"

About 40 yards away, a rabbit burst from the weeds. After him came Cody. He no longer wore an air of intent concentration. Somewhere in the grass, he had exchanged it for an air of noisy exhilaration.

He was level-headed enough to give Pete room for a shot. He had felt the sting of shotgun pellets once too often.

I heard a bang from Pete's gun. The rabbit tumbled toward us, moving forward even in death. He lay at our feet.

Quickly, Pete wielded his knife. In a moment, the insides of the rabbit lay on the ground, steaming in the cold air.

The dog had pined for this reward. He had earned it. Now it was his. The steam vanished.

Pete put the gutted rabbit in his bag and tied it to his belt. By then Cody was off in the brush looking for seconds.

One dead rabbit, one happy dog, one fine morning in small game season.

Halloween window decorating contest

I remember when I was a young child, walking down Merchant Street as Halloween neared, and admiring store windows with large painted Halloween scenes on them: pumpkins, ghosts, witches. I liked things that were different from everyday Ambridge, so I thought the paintings were wonderful. 

I knew that the scenes had been painted by older students for a contest, and that I was too young to participate. I thought, "I can't wait until I'm old enough to paint a window too." But by the time I would have been old enough, the Halloween window decorating contest was no longer held.

I seem to remember the painted windows during several Halloween seasons, but so far, all I've found is this photo from the October 22, 1957, Beaver Valley Times.

Photo of Ambridge Junior  High School students preparing pictures for the Halloween window painting contest, Beaver Valley Times, October 22, 1957

The text under the photo says:

KICK OFF HALLOWEEN CONTEST--Three Ambridge Junior High School students--Walter Conte, Mary Simko and Carmel Humbert--are shown preparing pictures similar to the ones they will draw on various merchants' windows during the Halloween window painting contest sponsored by The Beaver Valley TIMES, Daily Citizen and Ambridge Jaycees. Looking on, left to right, are Kenneth Hare and Theodore Homjak, head of the Jaycees' committee in charge of the event. Prizes will be presented the winners.

Was there only one year of Halloween window painting, 1957? If the decorating occurred over a number of years, what were they?

Better than Perfect

by Robert Giles

Harvey Haddix of the Pittsburgh Pirates pitched what many think was the greatest game by a pitcher in major league history. On May 26 1959, Harvey retired 36 Braves in a row - no runs, hits, errors, walks, or hit batsmen - twelve innings of perfect pitching.

My brothers and I stayed up to listen to the game on the radio. Usually we turned it off about 9 o'clock. Lights out. Bedtime.

At nine, I was a few years younger than Chuck and Dave, my brothers.

That night the game had a different feel - Harvey was pitching a no-hitter.

"Let's just listen to one more inning."

"OK, turn out the lights."

"Turn down the radio. And be quiet, Mom won't know we are up." Chuck held a finger to his lips.

Along about the eighth inning, the announcer, Jim Woods, as casually as he could, said that Harvey was working on a perfect game. He didn’t want to say more - if he did, he'd throw a wrench into the works. Harvey would be jinxed.

It was difficult enough for Harvey as it was. The Pirates were getting plenty of hits but couldn't score. No one had gotten closer to the plate than Roman Mejias, who was thrown out at third base trying to stretch a double.

The villain in the piece, Braves' pitcher Lew Burdette, was also pitching masterfully. If you're going to give up twelve hits in nine innings and win, you have to be evil. Pitch around the hitters. Leave those  base-runners stranded out on first or second. Let the opposition hit some long fly balls for outs.

The ninth inning was over. The game was going into extra innings. Still perfect. The tenth, the eleventh, the twelfth. Still perfect. Still no score. Maybe we ought to say a prayer.

"Darn that Mejias. He should have stayed at second. We could have won if it wasn't for that bone-head."

It was midnight. We were wide awake. The tension grew with each out. It was the top of the thirteenth. Again no Pirates had captured home plate.

Felix Mantilla led off the bottom of the thirteenth for the Braves.

"Felix Mantilla, what kind of a name is that? Come on Harvey, put him away."

Mantilla hits a sharp grounder to Don Hoak at third. Hoak fields the ball cleanly. Easy out. No wait, the throw to first is short. Rocky Nelson can't scoop the ball out of the dirt. 

Mantilla has reached base. Until now, Haddix has pitched a perfect game. But he can still win. 

Oh no, the meat of the Milwaukee lineup is coming to the plate - Matthews, Aaron, and Adcock. With horses like these, no wonder the Braves have been champs for the last two years. 

Matthews executes a perfect sacrifice bunt. Mantilla is now in scoring position. Hank Aaron steps to the plate. 

The signal goes out to the mound - don't take a chance with this guy. First base is empty. If Mantilla scores, Aaron won't matter. Swallow your pride. Walk him.Harvey pitches wide four times to Smoky Burgess, the Pittsburgh catcher. 

Joseph Wilbur Adcock strides out of the Milwaukee dugout. Remember when Joe hit four home runs in a single game against the Dodgers a few years back?Joe takes the first pitch for a ball.

It was then that Harvey made his first mistake. He threw his trademark breaking ball, but hung it for an instant ... before Adcock slammed it over the 394 foot mark in right-center.

The game was over, right? One clean shot off the bat of Mighty Joe and we all go to bed.

Except ... I didn't feel like sleeping. I felt like crying.

The radio was still on and making confused noises.

Aaron had gone to sleep on his way to third and Adcock had overtaken him. That made Adcock out for overtaking the runner ahead of him. Aaron had then gone towards the dugout. No, wait. He had tagged up at third for some reason, then crossed home plate. Since he hadn't touched third, he went back to tag the bag. Milwaukee had won 3-0, no 2-0.

Wait a minute. Shouldn't it be 1-0, since Aaron had gone out of the baseline and therefore had made the third out? What if Aaron had made the third out an instant before Mantilla crossed home plate?

Instead of a home run, Adcock's blast was ruled a ground-rule double. It would take a team of lawyers to score that last half inning.

Sweet Jesus. Perfection itself was ruined by a throwing error on an easy play to third. And on top of that, Harvey and the Pirates were beaten by a ground-rule double. Tragedy had descended into farce.

O, ye gods and mortals!