Our gang had Halloween down to a science. A few days before the event, we would gather around the dining room table and map out a strategy. We would note the houses that, the previous year, had been generous with their handouts. We would also note and cross off the ‘apples’ and ‘pennies’ homes. Any establishment that made us do a trick for our food was also eliminated.

Our gang was serious when it came to candy. Most of us received maybe $5 a week allowance, of which at least half of it went to candy. A good Halloween would give you up to two full weeks of the stuff. That meant more money for comics and baseball cards.

In our neighborhood the more enterprising in our group actually went out the night before Halloween to try their luck. Believe it or not, there were a few people who did give out candy on that night, probably just to get rid of us.

I must note that I don’t remember ever wearing a costume on Halloween. Perhaps when I was little my parents made me wear something silly, but by the time I went out on my own, it was strictly casual wear. It was the same thing with my brother and our friends. No one in our gang would have been caught dead in a costume. Though it could be argued that our manner of dress back then was costume enough.

As we entered our teen years, Halloween became less about treats and more about tricks.

Moving night (the night before Halloween) in Northwood was an occasion most adults feared. True to its name, lots of stuff got moved on moving night. Backyards, in particular, suffered the most during this tradition. Our standing philosophy was that if an item wasn’t locked down or too heavy, it would be moved. Trashcans were usually the first to go, but chairs and small tables were popular too. Lawn ornaments such as flamingos and gnomes were usually avoided. They were considered too creepy.

Usually these items would just go into the next yard. If a neighbor was to give us grief during the year, the items more than likely would go missing. The woods near our home became a haven for such items. I’ve no doubt there are raccoons still calling those rusty ‘60s trashcans home.

Our gang would also not above utilizing a tried and true classic; the burning bag of dog poop by the front door. Every Halloween we did this gag. I can’t remember a time when it didn’t work, even if it was multiple times at the same residence.

One moving night we had wandered a few blocks out of our neighborhood. We came across a house with a foot high picket fence around its perimeter. Thinking it would be easy pickings, I began to pull the little wooden fence out of the ground. I was about halfway through when the front door of the house flew open. The four of us took off running. Let me say up front that I was a fast little guy back then (I was maybe 13 at the time).

Anyhow, we were running along at an impressive clip confident that we’d made a clean getaway. I seem to recall something attaching itself to my back. I looked down at my feet. They were still going a mile a minute by they weren’t touching the pavement. Just as disturbing was the fact that I appeared to be about a foot in the air.

It seemed that the owner of the property, a man who appeared to be in his mid thirties, had in fact caught up with me. Me! The fastest kid in the neighborhood had been outran by a middle aged adult.

He had grabbed me by the back of my belt. Once I was securely in his grip, and my feet had stopped flailing about, he calmly turned around and carried me back to his house.

By this time my friends had stopped and watched in amused amazement as this angry homeowner walked me up the block. Because he had me by the belt, I dangled from his arm like a turtle out of its shell. I was too frightened to attempt escape. I simply swung about watching the sidewalk pass beneath my eyes.

When we finally arrived at his house, he walked over to where his little fence had fallen and, without saying a word, held me there over it. After a few seconds, I got the hint and began to put up the fence while still a couple of feet off the ground.

At some point, when I was about halfway through my landscaping, I caught a glimpse of my gang. They were across the street in the throes of wild convulsive laughter. Then, just when I thought things couldn’t any more humiliating, the guy’s daughter stepped on to the front porch. Though I could only catch her face on the upswing, she appeared to be my age and quite cute. Despite my predicament, I attempted to introduce myself, only to hear a gruff “shut up!” from above my head. It was the only time I heard my captor speak, but it was loud enough to shut me up. I was wise enough to assume that I didn’t stand much of a chance with that girl anyway.

After the picket fence was put up to the man’s satisfaction, he took me to the curb and dropped me to the ground. Then, without looking back, he walked into his house, closing the door behind him.

I wobbled to my feet, tightened my belt by a notch, then quickly got out of there. I was traumatized enough to think that the guy might decide he had some inside repairs for which I could be of use.

The gang never let me live that incident down, and, as for me, I had learned my lesson. On future Halloweens I only wore beltless pants.