PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

I’m not sure what time it was, but it was late -- well after midnight.

It was a windy night, restless, unusually cold for Halloween. The

occasional branch would scratch against a window, rapping, tapping,

gentle but persistent.

That’s exactly what I thought it was when I first heard it. The wind

and a branch, I thought, nothing more. But this time, there was no

mistaking the sound. Someone, or something, was rattling the knob on the

front door.

I made my way downstairs, reached for the light switch, then thought

better of it. I pressed my eye to the peephole. The outdoor light cast an

eerie, amber glow on the walkway. Not a soul in sight. It was just the

wind, and nothing more.

I moved to the living room window and stood motionless in the dark,

staring at the deserted street. I’m not sure what I expected to see as I

gazed into the darkness. But I liked the sound of the wind and the

clutches of leaves tumbling down the street. Beyond the street light, I

could just make out the roof line of the Estancia Adobe.

That’s when I thought I saw someone in the distance, at the top of the

steep incline that is our street. But it was nothing. The shadow of a

swaying branch perhaps, nothing more. Then I heard it again, louder this

time -- the doorknob, turning slowly, one way, then the other. I walked

to the door as softly as I could and forced myself to put one eye against

the peephole. I could hear my heart pounding and the blood rushing in my

ears.

This time, the walkway wasn’t empty. And nothing could have prepared

me for what was peering back from the other side. I pleaded with my legs

to move, but it was useless. I was frozen in place. I heard a soft click

as the doorknob gave way . . .

OK, so what do you think?

Spooky enough? I wanted to do a hair-raising tale for Halloween, but

then I thought, why blow it all on one year? I figure we can do this like

a soap opera.

Next year, whatever’s at the door can force its way inside while I

hide beneath the stairs. The year after that, it can close the door

behind it and actually start up the stairs. If we play this right, I’ll

have about four years before I have to decide what this thing is.

Wait -- why not make it interactive? You can send me alternate

endings. One year, it’s a zombie thing -- “the living dead” staggering up

Placentia Avenue from the far reaches of Fairview Park. The next year, it

turns out to be a really tall sixth-grader in a mask who’s lost and

scared to go home because it’s so late, turning the whole thing into a

sappy, feel-good story.

And that’s exactly why Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. It’s

a goofy, meaningless celebration for celebration’s sake. It goes in the

folder with Ground Hog Day (another favorite) and Founder’s Day --

special days we set aside to recognize things no one remembers, for

reasons no one understands.

Quick: Will there be six more weeks of winter if the groundhog does

see his shadow, or doesn’t? Who knows? More importantly, who cares? I

just love the same, silly story every year, with the chubby groundhog and

the guys in the top hats.

Founders Day? Meaning? Anyone? Didn’t think so.

Real holidays have a high potential for guilt. On Thanksgiving Day,

you worry about being grateful enough or on Christmas Day, too

materialistic. But on Halloween, what’s to worry? If you’re a kid, having

the most fun and consuming mass quantities of candy is your biggest

worry. If you’re a non-kid, you’re either oblivious to Halloween, or your

biggest worry is finding the right costume. The rest of the year should

be this stressful.

Is it commercial? Of course it is. What major holiday isn’t? When I

was a kid, Halloween meant a few rows of remarkably cheesy costumes in

the Five & Dime, and cardboard renderings of skeletons, pumpkins, witches

and black cats. You’d be hard-pressed to spend more than $5 on a costume

and enough cardboard pumpkins and witches to decorate an airport.

Today, it’s mind-boggling. There are 10,000 masks, most as lifelike as

anything Hollywood can conjure, plus indoor and outdoor Halloween

decorations, from lighted pumpkins to flying bats to who knows what. And

it’s not just for kids anymore. There are Halloween parties and dinners

and costume contests at every turn, from neighborhood get-togethers to

elegant affairs. This is the Golden Age of the Orange Holiday, and I have

no idea why.

I do have the best memories of it, though. I never covered the seven

blocks between school and home faster than on Halloween afternoon. I’d

patch together some ridiculous outfit that no one with a brain would call

a costume, grab the biggest shopping bag I could find and hit the

streets. We would move down the street like a swarm of locusts, scrubbing

every house and apartment clean of anything with a high sugar content,

discarding apples and anything else suspected of being healthy in the

nearest trash can.

It was impressive. I remember moving fast, very fast, from door to

door -- an organized, relentless, candy detection and collection center.

Because I invested all of three minutes in my “costume,” people would

constantly ask me, “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m supposed to be home in 30 minutes,” I’d snap back. “Where’s the

candy?”

But those were simpler, gentler times. So have fun, be careful, watch

the kids like a hawk, but make sure they have the maximum fun allowable

under the law. This strange autumn ritual doesn’t mean anything, but

they’ll remember it for a long, long time.

Boo.

I gotta go.

PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Fridays. He

can be reached via e-mail at [email protected].