Yesterday was October 30. Had I remained with my kids dad we would have celebrated or in some way acknowledged 51 years of marriage, but I did not, and since he is no longer in this world I am assuming he did not either. 1964 marked the one and only time he took me out for our anniversary. Took me to Saint Catherines Hospital in Garden City, Kansas and I gave birth to my third daughter, Dona Marie. One year later to the day, he took me on a trip back to Hutchinson as my only brother was in a coma from a car crash the day before. He died the next morning which was Halloween. So you see, Halloween is not much fun here at my house.
But I do recall the Halloween's we had in Nickerson and they did not even faintly resemble the ones I see here in Pueblo County. See. we did not buy a costume. I had never heard of a costume shop. We did what is know as improvise. If mother happened to come across an old sheet in one of her cleaning jobs that was cabbaged on to and brought home and saved for Halloween. Cut a couple eye holes and you were good to go as a ghost. Old clothes were never tossed until after Halloween. Hell, they were never tossed. More about that later. So when we left the house we were dressed as a ghost, a farmer (overalls), or a hobo (a stick with a bundle on the end of it), or a little kid going to school. The inside of the old wood stove gave us the black paint necessary to smear on our face so nobody knew who we were.
Brother Jake always led the pack with strict instructions that he was to watch out for the little ones and not let them get lost out there in the dark. Hell, we held on to each other and if one of us got lost, we were all goners. We knew that this was Halloween and that meant the real ghosts were out there and the Gypsy's were camped on the edge of town and we might not ever get home again. Halloween was a very dangerous time. I do not think sister Joanne went with us because she became interested in the boys very early and married an older man from town before I was even old enough to really know what marriage even was. I just knew he had a black and white car and it was really nice. But back to the streets.
"Oh, look Elmer, it is all six of them! Let's see what we got here for these little ghosts and goblins." And we would all hold out our brown paper bags which were saved just for this occasion. See back in those days there were no plastic bags. Those came much later and were considered a luxury. And she would smile at each of us and put a home baked cookie in our bag. Or a piece of cake, or fudge or a hand full of store bought candy corn if we were really lucky. Some times we would each get an apple. Or an orange. Most times they were just wrapped in a piece of wax paper or maybe nothing at all. But that was back in the day before people started putting stuff in the home made cookies to kill little kids or sliding a razor blade into an apple so when they bit into it their gums would be sliced.
Yeah, that was back in the good old days of front porches, happy neighbors, good clean fun and everybody watching out for the little ones. And as much as I miss those days, there were signs then of what was to come. Nickerson was a little town with maybe 1200 people, but even then there were signs of what was to be. We knew we needed to be off the streets and home before 8:00 because then the bullies came out. Only one year did the bullies get our candy. They just ran out of the dark and grabbed out bags and ran away. My God, mother could her us wailing as we came home and thought surely the Gypsy's had gotten one of us this time for sure. But my mother was wise beyond belief.
She knew who the bullies were and she was not even there. The next day she left the house early and when she returned she had a big brown sack full of goodies for us. Of course we immediately ate enough to make us very sick. But the point here is this; small towns are open books. You just kind of know who the trouble makers are. There were three of them in our town and they hung together. Now whether my mother went to the bullies homes or just did daylight trick or treating and explained to every one what had happened, I do not know.
And trick or treating and Halloween aside, I would not trade my growing up years in Nickerson, Kansas, for all the tea in China. While we were poor, we were rich. I had a guy tell me just yesterday that he is rich beyond beleif because he has friends and a home and a dog and what more could one man need. And he is right. As I get older I find it takes less to make me a happy content woman. Nickerson is always in my head. I can travel to the ends of the world and meet Kings and Queens, but I will always be the little ragamuffin girl from Nickerson, afraid of my shadow and always needing my momma. I can bury my brother, but I can never bury Louella Bartholomew because she will live forever my heart. My hope is that some day, some one will pick up one of my journals and actually read it and think, " I would love to have met this woman. And her mother. And her brother. And I wonder where her kids are today."
But right now, this is just another day to get through and I can feel my brother over my left shoulder as I write this, and I can see his lopsided grin and the long scar on his left cheek where the horse kicked him when he 9 years old and he snuck up behind the horse and "goosed" it. He changed the date on his birth certificate and joined the Army at 16 years old. That was before computers. I sure do miss that boy and can not help but wonder about the man he could have become had he stayed on this side of the veil with me. I guess today I will mourn the "what could have been."
Happy Halloween.
But I do recall the Halloween's we had in Nickerson and they did not even faintly resemble the ones I see here in Pueblo County. See. we did not buy a costume. I had never heard of a costume shop. We did what is know as improvise. If mother happened to come across an old sheet in one of her cleaning jobs that was cabbaged on to and brought home and saved for Halloween. Cut a couple eye holes and you were good to go as a ghost. Old clothes were never tossed until after Halloween. Hell, they were never tossed. More about that later. So when we left the house we were dressed as a ghost, a farmer (overalls), or a hobo (a stick with a bundle on the end of it), or a little kid going to school. The inside of the old wood stove gave us the black paint necessary to smear on our face so nobody knew who we were.
Brother Jake always led the pack with strict instructions that he was to watch out for the little ones and not let them get lost out there in the dark. Hell, we held on to each other and if one of us got lost, we were all goners. We knew that this was Halloween and that meant the real ghosts were out there and the Gypsy's were camped on the edge of town and we might not ever get home again. Halloween was a very dangerous time. I do not think sister Joanne went with us because she became interested in the boys very early and married an older man from town before I was even old enough to really know what marriage even was. I just knew he had a black and white car and it was really nice. But back to the streets.
"Oh, look Elmer, it is all six of them! Let's see what we got here for these little ghosts and goblins." And we would all hold out our brown paper bags which were saved just for this occasion. See back in those days there were no plastic bags. Those came much later and were considered a luxury. And she would smile at each of us and put a home baked cookie in our bag. Or a piece of cake, or fudge or a hand full of store bought candy corn if we were really lucky. Some times we would each get an apple. Or an orange. Most times they were just wrapped in a piece of wax paper or maybe nothing at all. But that was back in the day before people started putting stuff in the home made cookies to kill little kids or sliding a razor blade into an apple so when they bit into it their gums would be sliced.
Yeah, that was back in the good old days of front porches, happy neighbors, good clean fun and everybody watching out for the little ones. And as much as I miss those days, there were signs then of what was to come. Nickerson was a little town with maybe 1200 people, but even then there were signs of what was to be. We knew we needed to be off the streets and home before 8:00 because then the bullies came out. Only one year did the bullies get our candy. They just ran out of the dark and grabbed out bags and ran away. My God, mother could her us wailing as we came home and thought surely the Gypsy's had gotten one of us this time for sure. But my mother was wise beyond belief.
She knew who the bullies were and she was not even there. The next day she left the house early and when she returned she had a big brown sack full of goodies for us. Of course we immediately ate enough to make us very sick. But the point here is this; small towns are open books. You just kind of know who the trouble makers are. There were three of them in our town and they hung together. Now whether my mother went to the bullies homes or just did daylight trick or treating and explained to every one what had happened, I do not know.
And trick or treating and Halloween aside, I would not trade my growing up years in Nickerson, Kansas, for all the tea in China. While we were poor, we were rich. I had a guy tell me just yesterday that he is rich beyond beleif because he has friends and a home and a dog and what more could one man need. And he is right. As I get older I find it takes less to make me a happy content woman. Nickerson is always in my head. I can travel to the ends of the world and meet Kings and Queens, but I will always be the little ragamuffin girl from Nickerson, afraid of my shadow and always needing my momma. I can bury my brother, but I can never bury Louella Bartholomew because she will live forever my heart. My hope is that some day, some one will pick up one of my journals and actually read it and think, " I would love to have met this woman. And her mother. And her brother. And I wonder where her kids are today."
But right now, this is just another day to get through and I can feel my brother over my left shoulder as I write this, and I can see his lopsided grin and the long scar on his left cheek where the horse kicked him when he 9 years old and he snuck up behind the horse and "goosed" it. He changed the date on his birth certificate and joined the Army at 16 years old. That was before computers. I sure do miss that boy and can not help but wonder about the man he could have become had he stayed on this side of the veil with me. I guess today I will mourn the "what could have been."
Happy Halloween.
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