So today is Halloween. This is the kind of the vaguest of all holidays for Christians. For most of the world it is this fun holiday full of diabetes in a sack. We celebrate all things fun and creepy. As I grew older this holiday gave me great angst. My dad was always the ultimate killjoy. Sometimes I think he converted to Christianity to have a reason to make everyone else miserable. He converted from a guy who allowed us to enjoy the Disney movie at the theater to a guy who was in principle against everything fun. I couldn’t pop off four dozen bottle rockets at once without getting a lecture that the fireworks where made in the same town in China where the Baptist missionary Bill Wallace was martyred. I needed to read his biography so I couldn’t enjoy being a redneck kid playing with fire.
What is funny is that as I grew older I had a strange fetish for all things forbidden. As dad grew older his malice toward Halloween grew deeper. I am surprised that I am not the family with 20 Grand in blow up ghosts and goblins in the yard. The truth is I am way too lazy for the effort it would take to be a fan of Halloween.
This brings me to a point. If you would like your children to follow in your Faith, don’t ever make them feel like the greatest drag on earth is being born in a Christian home. You can of sincere conviction to abstain from all things Halloween, but let them know it delights your heart when they have fun and smile.
This kind of leads me to a soapbox topic. If you are doing Christian Halloween call it Christian Halloween. You don’t really change it by calling it Fall Festival or Trunk or Treat. The worst case is having a spook house and calling it Hell Night. You aren’t making it better by saying, “We want you to get to go to Heaven, so we will scare the Hell out of you.”
So a close third to the best Halloween was “Operation Nightmare” put on by West Park Baptist Church in Knoxville, Tennessee. They filed us by a casket brought in the church gym by some local funeral home with some anonymous dead guy. Some pastor started describing bodies in a morgue. While he was speaking the stiff got up and got out of the casket and walked around. I was younger and didn’t have incontinence problems then, so it didn’t make the mess it would have today.
The close runner up was “Scream in the Dark” put on in the grounds of a dilapidated mental hospital in Jackson Mississippi in 1975. The level of cool was that the place was so creepy that you wouldn’t want to walk through the grounds during the day. It was full of rubber masks, fake chain saws and strobe lights, but the reality is if you had to walk the trail without all the theatrics, it was terrifying. Given the ghosts of people who suffered there under pre 1960’s psychiatry it was truly an awful place.
Somewhere in the mix is our own local to Community Bible Church in Easley, SC is “The Abyss.” We would string together miles of 10 foot black plastic into tubes filled by blower fans. The trails would open into rooms inhabited by creeps. Dianne and I used to love to occupy a room. This allowed me in my fifties to act like I was in my twenties. Ponce de Leon could have never found a better fountain of youth.
Another honorable mention is falling off a hayride at Ruth School in Summit, Mississippi. At the scary moment “Ghosts” would come out and shoot fireworks at us. I reached out to snatch the sheet off of a ghost I recognized, while Robbie Stinson, a ninth grader a bit too occupied with two girls in the cab of the tractor with him gunned the tractor and left me running behind the wagon. I ended riding back to the school with the ghosts.
And then I will try to describe the “The Best Halloween Ever!” My dad would have just died if he knew what was going to happen. Before I get into the details, I need to tell you about my good friend, Martha Lewis. The year was 1972. I would have just turned eleven. This leads to something I am so passionate about. You can never underestimate the value of someone in their twenties, who stays in the church and tries to be a mentor to the youth under them. The reality is that many children hit eighteen, and never darken the door of the church again. It is really a time when it shows if all the sermons they endured at gunpoint really stick. So many kids start thinking that this Christianity thing is really not for me, and the last day I am obligated to stay will be the last time I will be there.
The impact of someone in their twenties, staying in the church and mentoring other kids is just beyond huge. I used to drive a van when I was in college and pick up little mill kids in a country town. We reconnected years later and I can see that it had that kind of level of impact on their lives. In short it helped. My mom used to mildly complain that her dates with my dad were in a car full of slum kids in Nashville he was taking to church. It became the basis of their ministry together for decades later. My son’s mentor the youth group kids to this day.
Martha Lewis, Miss Martha was just that level of cool. We had about ten Junior, Junior High, and High School kids in that little church. Miss Martha taught Sunday school. I still remember with fondness a Red Revised Standard Bible with my name in gold letters on it I received from her for memorizing the books of the Bible. She cared enough to invest her time in us. Most importantly she was fun. The rewards of writing your memoirs when you are alive are that you get a chance to say thank you for people who made you the person you are.
The stage is set for “The Best Halloween Ever!” I made my own costume that year. This is so out of character, but I went as a clown. I was a fun clown. I sewed a stocking together with a tuft of red yarn in it to make a wig. I duded up my face with cold cream and made a big greasy smile with mom’s lipstick. For the baggy pants I stole a baby blue pair of Dad’s Pajama bottoms, and some worn out Sunday shoes. Then there came this problem caused by the discrepancy between the diameter of my eleven year old waist fitting in Dad’s massive PJ’s No problem, I grabbed the red yarn and fashioned a belt which worked almost as well as fifteen Washington DC bureaucrats. So all night it was walking three steps, and picking up the pajamas hanging on my ankles.
The party was set at an abandoned house in the country occupied by the long deceased Rosa May Varnado. It was built around the turn of the century and had all the peculiarities of a house with additions to accommodate new innovations like running water, a kitchen, and yes even indoor plumbing. The house was vacant but barely habitable. The yard had overhanging live oak trees with Spanish moss. We had a bonfire, candy apples, roasted marshmallows, and everything was right in the world. Of course my pants fell to my ankles with a frequency you could set a clock too. It was good training for the years I spent doing plumbing.
Miss Martha had a partner in crime, Miss Kathy Dale Forrest. Miss Kathy went on to become an icon in her community. I saw her about a year before she died a couple of years back. She taught school for decades, and mentored a lot of us. The last time I saw her she was laughing having spent the morning wrestling calves. We kind of knew that we knew each other.
So at the apex of the evening we were summoned to the house for a Séance. I think as a warmup Miss Martha did “The Telltale Heart.” While we were still stinging from the beating of the heart she cascaded to the climax of the evening.
This probably wasn’t the best thing for a Baptist church to do. Like I say dad would have died. Then again we all knew this was staged, if not entertaining. Miss Martha led the Séance; I sat to her right side. To set the stage for this you would have to understand the Rosie Varnado house. We were in a room that was an addition. There was an interior hallway that passed by a formerly outside window that was between our room and the interior hallway.
Miss Martha, had us cross our hands and legs and sit with all our crossed hands touching each other as well as the flat of our feet touching each other. It makes more sense if you think about it. In the center was a slender white candle. Then we heard the story. It was about the late Marylyn Monroe. “I would have liked to love her, but I was just a kid.” Actually I didn’t remember her at all. Then we heard about her troubled life, and in the depths of her desperation she decided to end it all. She took an overdose of sleeping pills, and then realized that she still wanted to live. But it was too late to call out for a rescue!
“Marylyn, YOUR SPIRIT IS TROUBLED! REACH OUT TO US!!” and then Miss Kathy walks by the window outside our room and inside the house, in a blond wig and a white dress holding a slender candle. She stood in the window, paused for a minute and walked by. The room was full of whispers of “Who is that?” We knew it wasn’t a ghost, but we wondered who on this side it was. My friend Norman Wayne Travis had his back to the window and never saw the apparition. And then Martha screamed. I have never a scream like that.
Then I jumped, and my pants stayed there.
It just doesn’t get better than that!
Happy Halloween Miss Martha, and Miss Kathy Dale