Sun, Jul 05 2009
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Published October 26, 2008 10:40 pm - CARTHAGE — It’s looming large — that night when monsters and ghouls, ice princesses, CEOs, cowboys and freakish cartoon characters come to haunt us. No, I’m not talking about election night. This Friday is Halloween. I never watch any of those horror movies that are so popular with many people, especially around Halloween (there are times when real life is horrific enough). But their popularity suggests that people do think it’s fun to be scared “out of their gourd” — if they know, in actuality, they are safe. Jo Ellis: Privy tipping tops Halloween CARTHAGE — It’s looming large — that night when monsters and ghouls, ice princesses, CEOs, cowboys and freakish cartoon characters come to haunt us. No, I’m not talking about election night. This Friday is Halloween.
I never watch any of those horror movies that are so popular with many people, especially around Halloween (there are times when real life is horrific enough). But their popularity suggests that people do think it’s fun to be scared “out of their gourd” — if they know, in actuality, they are safe. I have an indelible memory of a Halloween in the 1950s. As a teenager in a very small town, I was just being allowed the freedom of getting together with other teens without parental supervision. We had no theaters, no skating rinks, no dance clubs, not even television. The only entertainment options were hot-dog roasts, hay rides and school-sponsored basketball games. We had to make our own fun. This particular Halloween, a small group of high-school friends were just hanging out — you really couldn’t “cruise” our two-block, two-street town. It was a time when outdoor-privy tipping, a ubiquitous Halloween activity in the past, was starting to be frowned upon. The squeamish girls among us didn’t think it was such a good idea either, so we had to figure out a less harmful way to release our youthful mischief. A senior boy provided the answer when he showed up in a red pickup truck full of his dad’s excess pumpkin crop. Somehow, there was a natural division of forces. Those with “wheels” drove back and forth through town, throwing those over-ripe pumpkins at us on the ground. I guess you could call us “roadies” and “townies.” The roadies took full advantage of their height, standing in the back of the truck, their readily available “ammunition” and their ability for a quick retreat. We townies scrambled to pick up the pieces of broken pumpkin to hurl back at them before they sped out of range, and turned around for a second assault and another adrenaline thrill. You can tell it was sort of a one-sided battle; while there were lots of good-natured insults yelled back and forth, no one really aimed a projectile to hurt. In actuality, we didn’t really fear the other side. It was a fun way to release a lot of energy and we cleaned up the streets afterward — sort of. I can’t remember if I admitted to my parents that I was one of those responsible for the “crime” scene. They probably didn’t need to ask if they noticed my slightly orange-tinted hands. I don’t mind admitting it now because I’m sure the statute of limitations has long passed. Today, there are even safer venues where kids can get a “fear” thrill — where they can be both “tricked” and “treated.” On Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, the Fear Factory on County Lane 121 opens at 7 p.m. Admission is $7 and there is no age limit. A covered, heated entrance makes it comfortable in all weather for those waiting in line. From the roundabout on South Garrison, go two miles east on Airport Drive. Fear Factory is on your left. Owner Jacki Dalton says, “Come see if fear is not a factor for you.” 
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