COMMENTARY Forget Politics For Today

Ilike Halloween, which sometimes takes determination.

I should be writing about the Arkansas Poll today. The tally brought out the most important and under-reported political trend of the 2010 elections, but my Halloween trick this year is to leave that until next week. We’ll also have election results then, although somebody may have to fly to Nebraska to get them.

I liked candy when I was a little kid. I liked horror movies on TV when I was a bigger kid. There were no VCRs or a wide selection of cable channels then. Decent horror movies showed at theaters, but that was never an option. This is the early ‘70s we’re talking about.

Guess how often my Church of Christ momma took me to see “Count Yorga, Vampire” or “Equinox”?

No, I had to sit up on Friday nights and watch whatever the weekly late night horror movie gave me at 10:30. I watched the James Whale-directed “Frankenstein” pictures, Boris Karloff’s exceptional “The Mummy,” Claude Rains’ “The Invisible Man” and then the remarkably well-made, serious-minded films by Hammer Studios in England.

Nobody could chew scenery like Peter Cushing.

Every night was Friday night when I was a kid and Halloween got close. What my dad used to call “silly movies” showed nonstop on TV.

I had an old black and white set in my room. The movies were black and white too. I’d turn the contrast way up and the brightness way down so mom wouldn’t see the TV glow out of my room when I was supposed to be asleep. Dad couldn’t sleep without his radio on, which was invaluable for masking screams.

To this day, I think those horror movies - the ones either so good or so important that they’ve stood the test of time - determine “Halloween style” for me.

I’m not a big fan of fake gore, for instance - or real gore, come to think of it.

Raising my first child, though, made me a lasting Halloween fan. It was pure joy to take her trick-ortreating. It was a lot like Christmas only a lot more proactive. She had to work for that candy. One of my most vivid memories is watching her run to the next house, although I had to stop that for safety’s sake.

Now, for the “determination” part.

After my first girl’s mom and I split up, I had the chance to do Halloween myway - not elaborate, but setting just the right mood.

I had my first good stereo system and a bunch of CDs that included “Night on Bald Mountain” and Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor, among others. My apartment was all set that first time.

It rained torrents, hanging like a gray sheet in front of my door.

I was more amused at the irony than upset, though.

After all, there’s always next year. Then, long after dark and during a short break in the downpour, I happened to get up from the scary movie I was watching and look out my front window.

Some girl in her early teens was walking up the sidewalk.

Mine was the only apartment with a light on in the whole building. As I recall, she didn’t even have an umbrella.

She came straight to my door, rang the bell and then said “trick or treat” as I opened it. She was wearing her jeans and a pink and white pullover sweater instead of a costume, probably on account of the awful weather.

I gave the girl the whole bucket-load and an extra, unopened bag of candy. To the victor goes the spoils, and victory’s the reward of persistence more often than talent.

Much later on, there was the Halloween when all our kids got sick and the car’s battery died in the same night. Then there was the year after that, when it was so cold that the kids begged to go home.

Now my kids are older.

They go to parties with friends. They can watch, within reason, any scary movie they want anytime they want.

These are good things.

But the thing I miss most about going trick-or-treating - either as a kid or with my kids - was how the ones who worked hardest had the most fun and the biggest candy haul.

Somebody’s daddy might buy his kid a better costume than yours, but what really counted is how many doorbells you rang - and people you met.

Now there’s something you can’t say about Christmas.

DOUG THOMPSON IS THE EDITORIAL PAGE EDITOR.