Thursday is Halloween, the day of the year Americans set aside for mild extortion. But was it always thus in Washington?
Andy Moursund isn’t so sure. In the 1950s his family lived in Cleveland Park. “We always went trick or treating on what was called ‘Beggar’s Night,’ which was on Oct. 30, not the 31st,” he wrote.
As an adult in the 1970s and 1980s, Andy lived in an apartment building that saw few trick-or-treaters. But after he and his wife bought a house in Kensington in 1991, they noticed trick-or-treating had become confined to Halloween night itself.
Wrote Andy: “At what point did trick or treating move back to the 31st? Did it happen gradually, or was there some sort of official decree that mandated the change?”
I wish I had a specific answer. Perhaps readers will share their memories. What I did find when I consulted old newspapers is a gradual evolution of the holiday and a slow erosion of the term Beggar’s Night.
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A story in the Evening Star on Oct. 31, 1945, felt the need to explain what was going on: “Many youngsters here and in nearby areas were active last night — ‘beggar’s night’ to pranksters. A ring of the doorbell is followed by the warning of ‘trick or treat.’ The idea is that they must be given some kind of edible treat, else they will return tonight for devilment.”
Stories in the 1940s included admonitions from police against anything other than “mild” vandalism. The Bureau of Standards even released a statement on how to clean soap off windshields.
In 1998, The Post printed a letter from Mary Page Cobb of Fairfax, who noted that when she was young — she was born in 1929 — Beggar’s Night was for treats.
“If we did not receive one, on the next night, Halloween, we would ‘trick’ that household,” she wrote. “All very innocent — moving lawn furniture a block down the street, soaping windows, leaving stink bombs on porches (homemade, nonchemical, nonexplosive types) and moving outhouses.”
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Beggar’s Night seemed to be a regional thing, a fixture in Washington and such cities as Des Moines. At some point, the days merged into one. The pranks subsided while the candy-acquisition grew.
What hasn’t changed is the irritation some adults feel about Halloween. As far back as the 1940s there were lively arguments in newspapers’ letters sections about the suitability of Beggar’s Night/Halloween.
“I don’t like the threat involved in the youngsters’ begging,” wrote Mrs. B.W. of Kensington to the Evening Star in 1948.
As late as 1967, a writer to the Star — Mrs. C.C.B. — was saying that before moving to Washington she’d never heard of trick-or-treating, adding, “Does anyone else feel as I do that we are encouraging our children to expect something for nothing out of life?”
Mrs. F.G.L. of Lanham wrote to say she, too, deplored Halloween: “My husband and I have never allowed our children to go out begging, but we try to make it a special night in the home.” That included donning costumes and carving jack o’ lanterns.
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I bet the kids were thrilled.
Not everyone was down on Halloween. A reader who signed herself “Grandmother” wrote: “Dear Mrs. C.C.B. — What’s an old witch like you doing at home on Halloween? You should be out on your broom making a clean sweep of the neighborhood.”
A pumpkin prank
In 2015 I wrote about a Washington Suburban Sanitary Commission water tower near Georgia Avenue just inside the Beltway. It was big, round and painted in orange primer. On Oct. 29, 1969, the words “THE GREAT PUMPKIN” mysteriously appeared on its side. Even after it was repainted light blue, the letters were visible — and still are today, if you look closely.
Who did it? Well, the other day I heard from Wayne Powell, executive director of the National Fire Heritage Center in Emmitsburg, Md., and a historian of firefighting in Silver Spring. He reminded me that Station 19 is a block from the water tower. He didn’t need to remind me that since buildings spend most of their time not on fire, firefighters have a lot of down time.
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Wayne said that one night, Preston Wheeler, the station’s captain, directed the firemen to cut three-foot-high letters out of black construction paper. Then they boarded their American LaFrance truck — with its 100-foot ladder — and headed to the water tank.
“Rather than doing an evening drill, they decided to make that the drill,” Wayne said. “It was used basically as a training exercise.”
The prank made the news. WSSC peeled off the letters when it put its final coat on the tank, but the glue continues to make the words legible.
Now if someone would just cop to painting “Surrender Dorothy” on the nearby CSX bridge.
Artistic license
In my Wednesday column, two names were left off the list of artists who helped create the new D.C. women’s history call boxes. Colby Johnson and Sanjaya Wilson contributed to the project.
Twitter: @johnkelly
For previous columns, visit washingtonpost.com/john-kelly.
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