Skip to main content

Misfits at Halloween

In this episode - Misfits at Halloween . . .

It’s autumn, and Halloween is approaching - how do you capture the experience, the smells, the rustling sounds of multicolored falling leaves, the quiet, peaceful feeling, the solitude of life in a small town? News flash, I’m here to tell you it’s not always as tranquil as sentimental storytellers like to depict it.

Admittedly, like all agrarian communities, Cuba had its pranksters. Thankfully, though, in our small, rural farming community of the late 1960s and early 70s, I’m happy to report there was no teen violence, no gang shootings, and no serious vandalism.

Well, ok, we did torment the local policeman, who we dubbed Barney Fife (I don’t remember his name). In the fall, most families would have harvested their gardens by Halloween, but inevitably, there would be leftovers.

A group of us would hide behind Jim Welch’s garden fence on Main Street and hurl the leftover, soft, rotten tomatoes at Barney’s squad car as he patrolled the town.

For those of you who grew up or now live in a metropolitan area, patrolling our town meant cruising up and down Main Street at about 15 MPH, a remarkable distance of 0.6 of a mile.

Anyway, we were cunning. After dark, we would fill paper bags with rotten tomatoes and shower Barney’s car as he patrolled Main Street.

There were three of us, Perry, Nathan, and me.

Immediately after a tomato clobbering, we would high-tail it over fences, through backyards, to Nathan’s house, casually resting on his front porch as Barney drove up in front of the house.

With trepidation, Barney would roll his window down and ask, “What are you boys up to tonight?”

“Nothin’, Just hangin’ out.”

As soon as he pulled away, in a flash, we were back behind that fence on Main Street. And yet again, he would get pounded with rotten tomatoes.

We were stealth masters and projectile launch angle experts. Barney never caught us or even figured out it was us. The blame always went to the local high school boys who raced around town standing in the back of an old pickup truck. They were loud, obnoxious jerks. They deserved it.

Ah, yes, Halloween memories. I can’t imagine kids doing anything as docile as that today. On second thought, maybe you have a dramatic story to share?

This is Patrick Ball. Thanks for listening, see you in the next episode.

Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
I remember one Halloween when 3 of us...I won't give names since our classmates might read this...set out to soap the windows on a certain house. That house belonged to Mrs. Neff. Cuba High people know who Mrs. Neff was...a substitute teacher who most of us hated. So on a Friday night we 3 went to the football game. We told our parents that anyway. Instead we went Mrs. Neff's house in darkness and soaped the windows on one side if the house. We were almost done when *BAM* the door swung open and Mr.Neff was running at us! We ran like hell and went to the football game. We were standing together talking when I saw Mr. Neff and a cop coming our way. Turns out his son in law was a State Trouper. Mr. Neff told us to give him our names. Which we did. Our parents found out about it from the Neffs who were going to turn us in to the State's Attorney! Instead our parents made us clean the Neff's windows and they let us go with a warning to never do it again. I'm sure it was embarrassing for two of our parents who had businesses. Needless to say...we never went near Neff's house again! :)
October 7, 2020 at 8:59 AM
Randy said…
I remember Perry telling me that.. LOL!
October 12, 2020 at 10:47 AM
Patrick Ball said…
Yes or no, Anonymous is Marty? I'm sure there are many more stories that have been forgotten.
October 13, 2020 at 5:24 AM
Anonymous said…
The only clue I can give you is...who did you sit by in Mr. Coleman's Algebra..or was it Geometry class? :) In other words...you guessed it. :)
October 16, 2020 at 1:34 PM
Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄  Preview of this week's  On the Fly  blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...
2 comments
Read more

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...
1 comment
Read more

A Holiday Reflection–Mother's Love

In this episode,  How a Mother’s Love Built My Memories– A Holiday Reflection As this holiday season approaches and the world buzzes with shopping, planning, and busy schedules, I find myself embracing something wonderfully simple: taking a moment to pause. Not to check off a list or recharge devices, but to breathe deeply, remember fondly, and honor the person and place that have shaped my sense of home long before I had the words for it. This year, after regaining my strength from a lingering post-travel fog, my mind didn’t wander to exotic destinations or future adventures. It drifted backward—across oceans and time—to Cuba, Illinois, in the early 1960s, and to the woman whose love built the foundation of my world: Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom . We came to Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition so dramatic I only appreciate its enormity now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped off that plane and into the Midwest with a courage that s...
1 comment
Read more

Believing Is Seeing

🎄 In this episode, Believing Is Seeing . . . It's December, we bustle, we wrap, and we dash. We sort life into boxes— myths  here,  to-dos  in a stash. We whisper of Santa (adult code: “Not Real”), but hold on one minute—let’s rethink this whole deal. For the stories we cherish, the movies we stream, hold more truth in their sparkle than we grown-ups may deem. So hop in this sleigh and hold on real tight— We’re chasing down Santa by the glow of his light! Scott Calvin once landed in the North Pole’s cold air, with elves, cocoa, and snow everywhere. He squinted and frowned—“This just  cannot  be so!” (Like thinking tangled lights will detangle if we  blow .) Then Judy the Elf gave a cocoa so steaming,  and said something simple . . . yet surprisingly gleaming: Seeing’s not believing—no, that’s not the key. "Believing is seeing!"   Just trust, and  you’ll  see!” Kids don’t need a map or a satellite screen to know Santa’s workshop is her...
1 comment
Read more