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[at-l] more yarnin'

One Halloween

Old man Foster was the stingiest man we knew.  He was so cheap he would
send his kids to school with apples in their lunch bag.  These weren't
ordinary apples, these were apples that he'd picked off the ground.  You
know the kind I mean.  They were the kind that when you bit into them, you
were glad you didn't see "half a worm" still wiggling.  And just because
you didn't see "half a worm" normally meant that you ate the entire worm. 
Think about that when you eat a "good" apple.  He would make cider from the
ones he wouldn't give to his children.  They say he made wicked good cider.

Old man Foster would hardly eat apples, because he only had enough teeth
left to gum his food.  It's been said that he and his friends would pile
into his pick up truck and head for Nashville around the 4th of July. 
They'd get early seats at Willie Nelson's concerts, hoot and holler and be
a general nuisance.  All would be sitting, stomping their feet, clapping
their hands, and the only thing you could see was eight "good ole boys"
with Jack-O-Lantern smiles on the front row.  

When Oscar would open his lunch bag, he would see that apple, the one old
man Foster had shoved in there.  Oscar would always try to trade his apple
with one of the other students in class, but no one was that stupid.  Well,
we can't say "no one".  There was poor Sally.  Sally liked Oscar, you know,
but she didn't know how to show it.  If Oscar knew poor Sally liked him,
he'd probably get real uppity.  It wasn't that Sally was mean or
unfriendly, she was a homely girl.  Even my dog would bark at her.

Sally would always trade her best lunch bag treat for Oscar's old wormy and
bruised apple.  He'd hop away thinking he was the best trader around. 
Sally adored him in spite of his unkempt hair, torn overalls, and mean
disposition.  

Trick or Treat was an event we children always looked forward to.  We were
too old to dress up in those "cute" costumes for the little children. 
Being 10 years old we would dress for the occasion in our own way.  It
didn't take too much imagination for Harold Blaisdell, because he only had
to part his hair differently and move the dirt around on his face a little
to dress the part.  We all headed down Beech Ridge Road on chilly October
evening with our bags of "tricks".  Harold usually brought some dead mice
to put on doorsteps.  Tobey could always manage to find some smelly fish
heads to put in someone's flower garden, and most of us had the customary
slivers of soap reserved for our baths on Saturday night.  

We came to Old Man Foster's place.  Most of the house was dark, except for
a light on the side near the kitchen.  He didn't like to advertise too much
his dislike to participate in Trick or Treat.  He'd send his kids out to
get candy, and then he'd snatch their bags and take out the good stuff for
himself.  True to his character, he finally came to the door.  We held our
bags open for our treats.  "Trick or Treat," we all shouted.  He turned
around and grabbed a handful of those apples he'd send his children to
school with.  Plunk, plunk, plunk.  He dropped one in each bag.

We scurried down the driveway just out of sight.  All three of us took our
apples and flung them out in his field as we had done in previous years. 
As I look back now, Old Man Foster wasn't so dumb.  I think between the
three of us we had planted about 50 apple trees over the years.  

But this year was different.  Harold brought the wire, I had the screw eye,
and Tobey had the brains.  We scampered around the back corner of Old Man
Foster's place, near the rear kitchen window where he'd be sitting, reading
his Farmer's Almanac.  Tobey took the screw eye and started to put it into
the side of the house.  He instructed Harold to tie off the piano wire on
the screw eye.  I walked off with the free end of the wire to about 75
feet.  Then Harold and I wrapped the wire around a fallen limb.  Together
we pulled with all our might, stretching the piano wire until we thought it
would break.  Tobey picked up an old stick and started to whack on the
wire.  Boing, boing, bong!  Then he'd drag the stick across the wire. 
Geewillikers!  Old Man Foster jumped out of his seat and ran around the
kitchen.  You never heard such an evil sounding ruckus in your life!  The
noise coming from Tobey's skillful hand dragging that stick across the wire
resounded like a bull moose during rutting season. 
EEEEEEEeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwww!  
GRRRrrrrrrrooooooooooogggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh!  It was haunting, not for us
as much, but for Old Man Foster and probably for some of the neighbors.  

We never went back to Old Man Foster's for Trick or Treat after that.  In
fact, whenever we would ride by on our bikes after that, he would look up
from sharpening his ax, wave his hand file at us, and look at us real mean.
 

Oscar grew up to be one of the best antique traders in the county.  Poor
Sally never married, but opened a bakery instead.  Don't say it, you
already know what's on the menu.
  
Ern Grover © 4/25/1998

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