Editor’s note: Here is a selection of letters from our readers on their most notable Halloween memories. We will publish more of readers’ letters on Friday and Saturday. Due to the significant volume we received, several letters will appear online only, also on Saturday.
Excitement, plus a scary house
As a child of the 1970s, Halloween night was an evening of bliss for me and my friends. We would hit the pavement and not return home until well after dark, with our pillowcases full of treats to enjoy for weeks to come if we could control ourselves. And we did it without the watchful eyes of our parents.
It was in Oak Park, a town full of wonderful architecture, at a time before Dutch elm disease felled many enormous trees that once made the leaf piles extra playgrounds for us. The cool air, the excitement, the scary house at the end of the street. That house was enormous and sat on the corner with a huge wraparound porch and was intimidating as could be.
When I’m in that area now and see it, I think it is beautiful and stately, and I wish I lived in it. Back then, you couldn’t have gotten me to climb the steps to that porch for all the candy bars in the world. Not even if they were full-sized.
— Lynn Cimino, Addison
Loved by our neighbors
My 8-year-old brother led me, two years his younger, down Ardmore Avenue on Halloween night in 1957 — a stone’s throw from Senn High School. Back then, it wasn’t uncommon for young kids to roam the streets unsupervised without fear of child abuse.
I shivered as we started out. The thin improvised costume wasn’t warm enough, so Mom made me wear a jacket. I left it unzipped to show the Superman logo stenciled on my T-shirt. I held a paper shopping bag decorated with crayon drawings and decals of spiderwebs, bats, witches on broomsticks and pumpkins.
We passed a group of excited scavengers waving their bounty: popcorn balls! Details were given. We raced to the apartment building and bounded up the stairs, guided by the smell of warm buttery caramel, toasted corn and vanilla. Razorblade and tampering scares came in later years.
We knocked on the door ready to offer our bags and chanted the magic words that delivered sugary treats. Cheery smiles and apologetic shrugs delivered the bad news. There were no more popcorn balls. Among the consolation prize candies was a Payday, my favorite. We trudged down the creaking staircase onto the dimly lit street. A partial moon shined through the branches of a catalpa tree. Disappointment faded as our bags filled with candy.
Every Halloween, I still think about the smell of popcorn balls, the treat I didn’t get. Not with regret, but about something homemade, on a gas stove, without artificial ingredients or sweeteners, by people who loved their neighbors and opened their door to welcome a kid from the neighborhood.
— Jerry Levy, Deerfield
Pizzeria’s appropriate treat
I grew up on the Southwest Side of Chicago, and my fond memories of trick-or-treating included going to Little Joe’s Pizzeria on Halloween. Instead of candy, the owner would give us pieces of pizza!
At that time, it was a real treat to get a piece of pizza, and of course, it was delicious.
— Arlene C. Hogan, Naperville
An unexpected fortune
One night in the 1950s while making our annual trick-or-treating rounds in our Bloomington, Illinois, neighborhood, my twin brother and I decided to try our luck at a local restaurant. When we entered the front door, we were told to go around to the side door, which was located at the end of a horseshoe-shaped bar. The bartender gave each of us a small bag of potato chips that had been clipped to a vertical rack.
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A man sitting on a stool told us to wait where we were and passed his hat around the bar. When it came full circle, it contained over $5 in coins. I have always believed the man wasn’t totally sober, but we split the money and couldn’t believe our good fortune. That was a lot of money to a kid, and we went back every year hoping for the best. Although a bag of potato chips wasn’t our goal, we never saw the man at the bar again. Even so, we’ve never forgotten that once-in-a-lifetime experience.
That’s why every year on Halloween, I give every kid who knocks on my door a dollar bill with their candy. They always seem to remember where I live, just as I remember the man at the bar.
— Mel Theobald, Chicago
Doughnuts and kindness
Donna Lichty, the doughnut lady, lived in my neighborhood when I was a child. Every Halloween, she made her amazing, mouth-watering glazed doughnuts for generations of kids of all ages. When those kids grew up, they came back to the neighborhood to go trick-or-treating with their kids. I was one of them. My five children had the joy of experiencing Donna’s warmth and the warmth of those doughnuts melting in your mouth. Donna was famous in our town of Elmhurst. She enjoyed making those doughnuts and looking at each child with her warm eyes and smile.
When my five children grew up and left the nest, I still went to her door for those doughnuts. Her warmth and smile were the same ones that greeted me when I was that excited little girl coming to her door.
We will never forget Donna or her beautiful legacy of love to children, young and old. She finally passed away in her 90s. And of all the days, she passed away on Halloween, and heaven could experience her sweetness.
— Melody Vestuto, Elmhurst
A screaming good time
When my nephew Robbie was about 8 years old, we attended a carnival that had a “spook house,” so he wanted to go through. I went with him.
As we started through, he began screaming. A young lady behind me knew the way through, so she would tell me which way to turn him. He screamed all the way through, and when we came out, he said, “That was fun.”
— Virginia Dare McGraw, Naperville
DIY haunted houses
When we were kids, my friends and I loved building “haunted houses.” Because my family’s house had a crawlspace instead of a basement, we used my grandmother’s basement two doors down, complete with spiders my brother made with his Creepy Crawlers toy. When my best friend and her siblings made their own basement haunted house, it sparked a friendly, weekslong competition to see who could build the best one for the neighborhood kids.
— Patricia Bonk, Midlothian
Breaking with tradition
My childhood friend Thomas never met a bad idea he didn’t like. If I hesitated, he’d ask, “Why not?” And somehow I’d end up going along.
When we were 10, we were walking home from school on Halloween when Thomas announced we should beat the crowds by trick-or-treating that afternoon.
I said, “You can’t trick-or-treat in the daytime.”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
So we went home, put on our cowboy and Indian costumes, grabbed shopping bags and started knocking on doors at 4 o’clock. Most people weren’t home. The ones who were looked confused but kindly dropped candy into our bags. One woman smiled and asked, “Will you be coming back tonight?”
I got home convinced we’d committed one of the most awkward social blunders in history and vowed never to trick-or-treat before dark again.
The next afternoon, I looked out the window and saw Thomas, wearing war paint and an earring and carrying a shopping bag, making a solo round of the neighborhood.
Apparently, he’d decided the afternoon shift was his.
— Scott T. Thompson, Bloomington, Indiana
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