I disremember if it was the Halloween I was 8 years old, or 9 years old, but it was the Halloween I went trick-or-treating dressed up as Henry R. Luce.
I was not into "scary" costumes; I wanted to look like a real person.
I had recently become fascinated with the publisher of Time magazine, and so it was an easy matter for my mother to color my hair grey, and I already possessed a lilliputian three-piece grey pin-striped suit. But in case anyone missed the point, the trick-or-treat bag, a paper grocery bag with handles, was covered with pasted-on covers from Time magazine.
As then was the custom in the small town alongside the Platte River of Nebraska, children went trick-or-treating in groups, an older sibling of any one of us being the chaperone who stood far back on the sidewalk as we opened our bags at the door.
In those days, Halloween was strictly a children's "fun" holiday; nobody over the age of 12 years would be caught dead dressing up and asking for candy. How unlike today, where we have all these 50-something, 60-something primitives, decrepit balding old hippies and elephant-thighed hippiettes desperately trying to be children.
This being a small town (population 3,000), all parts of town were safe, and generally all houses were visited. But there were a few exceptions, one of them being the home of Old Lady Gemmersmick, whose hair then was falling out in patches, and who was alleged to be a dangerous crazy woman.
It always confused me that no one feared going to Grandma Glubberscheit's home; Grandma Glubberscheit was old and fat and wore a grease-stained Mother Hubbard apron and leather shoes over white socks. Grandma Glubberscheit's home was in considerable disrepair, shingles absent from the roof, some of the window-shutters hanging (if at all) by a single nail, and grass and weeds knee-high on the lawn.
But while everybody always went to Grandma Glubberscheit's house for treats, nobody went to Old Lady Gemmersmick's house, which seemed not nearly so scary.
When our group was just about done canvassing the neighborhood (and further afield), I indicated there was one more place I had to go, to get a treat from Old Lady Gemmersmick. My peers were appalled at the idea, and our chaperone expressed the observation that Old Lady Gemmersmick kept a bloodied axe in her kitchen.
Never mind, I insisted; fair was fair, and one was supposed to go to 100% of the houses in the area, not just 99% of them. I had been born of an inclusive nature, and thought trick-or-treating was supposed to include all, not just some.
Everybody else stood across the street as I approached Old Lady Gemmersmick's door.
She answered; she was a tall, thin, angular woman. For the first time, I noticed Old Lady Gemmersmick had one eye that never moved, paralyzed in place.
She seemed greatly surprised to see me, but invited me indoors.
Old Lady Gemmersmick carefully explained to me that she had not been expecting anyone and hence had no treats, but that she would make one for me.
The crowd across the street gasped in horror as I walked inside the door.
The living room looked as if something I had seen elsewhere many times before; overstuffed upholstered furniture, lamp-shades with tassels, antimacassars on the backs of the chairs and sofa, plate-glass covering the flat surfaces of tables and cabinets, and doilies under each lamp and trinket.
Old Lady Gemmersmick took me to the kitchen, where she indicated she would make me a grilled-cheese sandwich.
I was okay with that; I didn't care much for paper-wrapped candy anyway.
She instructed me to sit down on a chair near the stove; noticing the stove was run by natural gas, I recoiled in horror and insisted, no, I preferred to sit at another chair clear over at the other edge of the kitchen, far away from this potential explosive.
Old Lady Gemmersmick opened her refrigerator--there was a gun on top of it, some sort of revolver, but as it didn't seem to have blood on it, it bothered me not at all--and took out the bread, butter, and cheese.
Home-baked bread was a phenomenon rare, but not unknown to me. Old Lady Gemmersmick withdrew an enormous butcher-knife from a drawer, and cut two slices.
I noticed, with approval, that she used real butter and real cheese.
While the grilled-cheese sandwich cooked on a cast-iron griddle, Old Lady Gemmersmick chatted away incessantly. Myself being deaf, I had no idea what she was talking about, and to this day I regret that very much, as I have no doubt she was telling me things of Great Importance; observations, counsel, advice, that probably would have assisted me in living a better life since then.
When the sandwich was done, Old Lady Gemmersmick cut it in half, diagonally, and carefully placed it on a china plate for me. But before putting the plate down, she laid a linen napkin as a place-mat for the dish. And then she poured a large glass of milk.
As I sat there dining on this fine cuisine, she continued to rattle on.
After a while, apparently there was a loud rap on the door, and Old Lady Gemmersmick went out to the living room to answer it. It was our chaperone, a 13-year-old older sister of a friend, who had knocked and then run backwards to halfway across the front lawn, out of reach.
"What'd you do with him? What'd you do with him? We're going to call the cops!"
Old Lady Gemmersmick expressed startlement, and produced me at the door, whole and intact and unbloodied, still dining on the sandwich.
I thanked her, and rejoined my group. The next day, being a courteous lad, I wrote her a three-sentence note of gratitude, which my mother mailed for me.
My father, upon hearing of the experience, decreed that thereafter, all children would trick-or-treat at Old Lady Gemmersmick's house--and sing Christmas carols to her, mail Valentines to her, and leave May-baskets at her door--and as my father was the leading personage of the neighborhood, the edict was scrupulously obeyed.
For some reason, Old Lady Gemmersmick was prepared the next Halloween; hoping for, and expecting, a grilled-cheese sandwich, I was greatly disappointed to receive just another piece of candy, which was a commodity one got everywhere.
