This is a memoir and the names have not been changed to protect the guilty.
It was Halloween in our senior year. My twin brother and I were working that night at St. Joseph Church's bowling alley, a four alley affair in the basement of the Catholic church's school building. Bowling was very popular in Wisconsin in the wintertime and the church had bowling as one of its many ways of raising funds. There was no beer or liquor, but there was soft drinks and snacks provided for the bowlers. My brother and I set pins on semi automatic pin setting machines three nights a week either the 7 pm to 9 pm shift or the 9 pm to 11 pm shift during league bowling season. It was good money for highschoolers even though we weren't Catholic.
I don't recall we had any plans that evening. We were too old for trick-or-treating and I certainly had no desire to fool around. But our best friend John and hunting buddies Jim and Ronnie had other plans. It was a good example of how going along with the crowd can be trouble.
We always walked to the bowling alley early, it was cold that night so I was wearing my brand-new gloves. As I reached for the brass door handle, it felt squishy through the soft rabbit fur lined leather. And then, I realized that my right glove was covered with either syrup or honey. It took some time before that sticky stuff was washed from from the glove in the restroom.
Our shift went well until it was time for everyone to leave at 9 pm. The guy that ran the bowling alley soon discovered that someone had chained the door shut by running a chain and padlock through the double door handles. No one could come or leave. Fortunately, he went into the church annex and came back with bolt cutters and was able to cut the lock and allow everybody to leave.
When my brother and I left work, John, Ronnie and Jim were waiting in John's mother's car for us. Before we drove away, Jim and Ronnie got busy with cable and pieces of two by four tying them to the undersides of cars so that when the second shift bowlers would try to drive off they would find something annoying under their cars that they would have to remove or drag banging behind them.
From there, we began cruising up and down Central Avenue, the main drag in town, with a couple of cartons of eggs to throw at other cars as we passed. Eventually, we found ourselves at some road construction site where the guys moved the sawhorse barricades and oil pot warning flares so that unwary drivers would have a surprise or be blocked, I don't remember which. Hopefully, what they did not result in someone having an accident or worse.
We then proceeded to some of our classmates' houses where various tricks were played like soaping windows and throwing eggs. Finally, we ended up on the semi rural road that John and Ronnie lived on and came to the house of a girl classmate that they both had known forever. They decided to take her mailbox, a rural type on a tripod with a long pole in the back that stuck out about 10 feet as they pulled it up into the side of the car through the car window and then John drove down the road on the wrong side with that long pole hanging out for about a quarter-mile to a creek bridge where they hung the mailbox as a joke on her.
Mind you, my brother and I never had any intention of doing these rather childish and destructive activities that our so-called friends engaged in that night. We sat in the backseat watching but didn't participate. I believe I reminded them that messing with mailboxes was a federal offense. But, by merely riding along and observing them, so well-prepared to wreck havoc and mayhem, we were as culpable as they were. I believe John got us back home by midnight and I slept well. But I never had any desire to play Halloween hijinks again.
Hopefully, your friends grew up and you became more forceful in speaking out against wrongdoing. Thank goodness, those traits of growing, gaining wisdom, and being brave arrive for most people just with age. Your writing tells tales well. Gypsy
I relate. Our experiences; they make us who we are. And it certainly gives us something to write about as we age. I lived on a corn farm in Illinois for several years in my pre-teens. Mischievous little s---s were a regular part of life. I never was prankish though; I liked my weekly allowance too much. Peace...
We didn't (and don't now) live close enough to anyone to do the Trick or Treat thing, but when we did live in a city we always understood that the 'beggar' had to do a jig (trick), tell a story or sing a little song, do something for the gift or prize/reward the homeowner was giving out. At some point in the Madison Avenue rite, it became an extortion threat or other strong-arm event designed to stimulate sales before Winter set in. Your telling, Ron, adds a bit of mayhem and chaos to the thread. Maybe someone will do the research and write a history of the event.
There was a movie or crime tv show years ago, where similar
Teenage pranksters were knocking down mailboxes with a baseball bat.
Unbeknowst to them, one resident was tired of replacing his mailbox,
So, he filled it with Concrete!
I can't remember if the perp's arm was ripped off, or what,
But it was a Good Show !!!
Duh ? 👹👹👹
Sounds like you and your brother had a good Halloween(ing) night of it in spite of your two halo's. You said, "It was a good example of how going along with the crowd can be trouble." You failed to mention what kind of trouble you were in. Not trying to "pick" atcha, Ron, just wondering why you and your brother sat in the backseat and observed, rather than dirtying your hands. It was Halloween!
Tasked by his Goddess to find, relocate, and then quicken, the last three Heart Tree gem-seeds, Vanx the bard, and his motley crew of adventurers, set out to do just that.
Tasked by his Goddess to find, relocate, and then quicken, the last three Heart Tree gem-seeds, Vanx the bard, and his motley crew of adventurers, set out to do just that.
