University of Virginia Library

Walter Bardenwerper

Don't They Like Candy?

Halloween has changed a little.
It seems like the post 'trick or treat'
set looks forward to it a lot more
than the young diablos themselves.

I live in a fashionable
Charlottesville suburb (an
apartment complex) where children
abound. Or at least they seem to.
Every day an Albemarle County
School Bus disengorges a standing
room only crowd of little angels
and hooligans who, within,
minutes, have taken the driveways
and sidewalks on mobile patrol of
bicycles, tricycles, and wagons.
Footballs and other missiles
virtually paralyze all other traffic.

With such fun going on all the
time, the students and other
civilians looked forward to a festive
evening of Halloween nostalgia. It
was really going to be fun to be a
giver after so many years as a
getter. We bought a pumpkin (A&P
Special at $1.09) and created as
mean a visage as possible (kids
love to be scared).

Everyone in the neighborhood
did the same. Decorations of
commercial terror haunted every
door and window. The graduate
business students next door even
did amplified ghost sounds and
howls of horror. The night was
dismal, the stage was set.

Static Anticipation

Our large bowl of candy sat near
the door in static anticipation of its
dispersal as we pretended to watch
TV while waiting anxiously for the
first wild beast of deathly ogre. The
guys next door kept howling and
groaning, so we expected the show
to be imminent.

We waited. And waited.

By 8 o'clock we began to
suspect that the town fathers or the
local real estate chieftain had
cancelled or postponed the holiday.
People were on their porches,
gazing at the horizon, hoping to see
something at least resembling a
witch (not necessarily the resident
manager).

Suddenly, we heard a knock.
After all jumping at once, we pulled
ourselves together and mastered a
facade of claim that easily fooled
the perceptive kids. There were
four girls—about 13 or
14—disguised as bums (remember
what a good disguise that once
was who laughingly went through
the "Trick or Treat" ritual. Marvin
gave them a handful of candy,
offered them more, and off they
went.

Then, in rapid succession 3
more groups showed up. Exhausted
as this was making us, we kept
poised with baited breath as they
arrived. The neighbors sounded like
they were in their well-amplified
death throes. Out of the nine or ten
kids in those groups were about 5
costumes, 3 pseudo-costumes, and a
pseudo-chaperone.

Unstinting Generosity

The demands for more and the
queries of "Is that all?" were met
with unstinting generosity. One girl,
apparently not too excited by the
thought of chewing Tootsie Rolls
and Candy Bars, asked us, "Do you
maybe have any dope?" Of course
we didn't, and wouldn't have given
it away if we did. But the question
was mock-sincere, and genuinely
amazing.

As they went, so went
Halloween for another year. Our
bowl of candy is still sickeningly
full, and the neighbors are all
disappointed. What kind of
gratitude did those kids have for all
the preparations everyone made?
Where the hell were all the kids?
Don't they have enough respect to
entertain us poor, bored students?
Don't they like candy anymore?

'Popcorn Theater'

Turning back on the television, I
was treated to our usual Sunday
night fare, "Popcorn Theater." I
was in the perfect mood to agree
with W.C. Fields immortal decree:
"Sure, I like kids...if they're cooked
properly."