Monsterpaloozin' my mind: The Ghoul Goes Western Electric, pt. 4

"... they're coming to get you, Barbra."

Here's another slice of the wonder that is Monsterpalooza -- and why this past show may have been the best yet.

 'Monsterpalooza '13' sign created by Mad Miranda and Your Humble Pubkeep.

Now, you can't have been loyal S&Pbrains this long and somehow missed that your Humble Pubkeep is a fanatic for the films of George Romero, and most especially his original 1968 masterpiece, Night of the Living Dead.

I've only written about it like a zombillion times.

I believe I have coined the phrase RomZoms to distinguish Romero's creations from the rest of the films/tropes/mythologies of zombiedom.

But we'll let future scholars argue over it another day, because tonight, I have a tale to tell.

Onward...

On Friday night, the first night of the 'palooza, we all attended a very fun panel discussion called Ladies of the Living Dead, featuring original cast members Judith Ridley (Judy), Judith O'Dea (Barbra) and Kyra Schon (Karen, the body at the top of the stairs, and other stand-in parts).

Historic.

L to R: Ridley, O'Dea, and Schon.

Led by documentarian (Autopsy of the Dead) and Night of the Living Dead expert Jim Cirronella, the discussion was essentially a room full of zombie geeks asking questions I am sure these ladies have fielded a thousand times a year for decades... but it was just so much fun!

Now, I knew months before that they would be there -- it was in fact a fairly historic moment for Night fans, since the three of them had never attended a convention at the same time -- and a thought hit me that I should do something to mark the occasion.

Do you remember this t-shirt?

This shirt was given to me by my Mama in 1988. I wore it for a year straight, it seems, and on every Hallowe'en since; if I include the extra Hallowe'en I gave the neighborhood during the September 2004 taping of the HGTV Extreme Hallowe'en special (and I do!), that makes 25 Hallowe'ens I have worn this very shirt!

I brought this special shirt with me to Monsterpalooza. I thought maybe I'd have Kyra Schon sign it, since she's on the damn thing and it is so cool.

Almost as we were heading out the door to make our way to Burbank, I thought "Wait, no Sharpie or paint pen is going to write on this threadbare shirt -- the white area is too washed out now, the black is... well, too black to see any writing. A silver or gold or even white paint pen would simply soak through and never hold up. What do I do?"

And I ran down to the dungeon laboratory and opened a drawer of painty things. There, laying atop the mess as if in wait for this moment, was a bottle of bright green slick fabric paint, with the tiny pen applicator tip.

Too perfect.

Come Sunday morning, the lovely V and I were at the show early, to turn on the Raybot and make sure he was working, and get ol' Eddie Van Bone at least looking good, if not moving at all (ugh, hard drives!).

And V said, "Now. Now is the time to get her to sign the shirt, before the doors open and the lines form. She might be at the table already!"

We walked to the celebrity table section, and sure enough, Kyra, Judith and Judith were all there, just about ready to begin one last long day of monstergeekery and autographs and pictures.

Judith O'Dea looked up at us first, with her big smile and friendly eyes, and immediately began talking to us like we'd known her for years. At one point she even asked if either of us knew what was "going on with The Masters?" Apparently having to spend that entire tournament weekend at a monster convention signing table was difficult for her golf-loving heart. I brought up the news and leader board on my Galaxy tablet and she perused it for a while, and thanked us for the "update on the civilised world!", she laughed. (I kinda have a crush on her, can you tell? A truly welcoming, wonderfully funny lady).

Then Kyra said hello as we came up to her table, and I told her the story of the shirt. She laughed, and thought it was very cool that "... you mean a Lennon Sister actually bought a t-shirt with my face on it?!" She then said "Oh, you're going to need some cardboard to back it..." and reached under the table and grabbed a piece of cardboard (apparently just waiting there?!) to give me. V and I slipped/taped the shirt over it, and brought her the pen.

Well, ALL three ladies were so wonderfully warm and friendly, and fun...

 Kyra Schon couldn't have been more 'normal' and cool. 

 Judith Ridley explained, "I am only writing 'Judy,' not Judith, to save on having to write more with the paint pen!" 

She was very sweet!

Ah, Barbra! Judith O'Dea rocks!

I could go on forever about how elegant and kind these ladies were, and are. But the end result for me, beyond forever having the memory of meeting three of the most important Scream Queens in my Hallowe'en Lovin' Heart... is this:

And now, officially retired from Hallowe'en duties, it is still on that same cardboard given me by Kyra, framed and mounted under glass next to my Romero zombie shelf...

... alongside my other original Night of the Living Dead treasures.

An honor.

And another splendid addition to the wondrous decor here at the Skull & Pumpkin.

To Kyra, and Judy, and Judith, a toast... raise 'em high now:

DUMDUMSHREKPOP!

Onward...

DDSP!

Happy Wizarding Independence Day.

"You and whose army?"
 -- Neville Longbottom

Today, all Autumn People who discovered the added Hallowe'en magic of the world of Harry Potter celebrate the day -- 14 years ago now -- when the greater gathering of good destroyed a terrible network of evil. When Tom met his end, when the 'complete git' bit it.

When Voldey went mouldy.

A bittersweet, awe-inspiring night and day.

Bittersweet like the end of a good job, a long production, a particularly difficult and mind-changing, heart-learning adventure...

"No ending can be right, because it shouldn't be over at all. 

The magic is not supposed to go away."

 -- Stephen King on the end of the book series

It's alright though. 

The magic never goes away. Like Remus, and Tonks, and Fred, and even the bad guys... it never ends.

Not really.

To those who know -- Happy Wizarding Independence Day.

To those who don't -- now might be a perfect time to begin the adventure.

DDSPotter!

Old tubes, St. Valenstyle.

Who ever said love was pretty?

Yes, even our trusty old Hallowe'enith console radio knows that today -- and certainly tonight -- we celebrate that most delectable of emotions -- the all-seeing, all-devouring, all-but-can't-be-lived-without energy of LOVE, good S&Pers.

Just now, the crackling and sparking and humming has calmed, and the magic eye tuner on our beloved radio has somehow become the cute li'l lovelorn fella you see drooling and sneering above.

I am pretty darn sure that means we have some new bit of fun to listen to all night long.

First up, a delightfully twisted little tale concerning med school pranksters, an old cadaver, and a med student pursuing the love of a beautiful but mysterious young woman who seems to think she's half a century in the past.

 

Love and the Lonely One was the first episode of the awesome CBC radio horror series Nightfall, first broadcast in 1980. It's probably not for children. Or the kinds of grown-ups who wouldn't venture into the Skull & Pumpkin. 

So I know all of you will love it.

Then, to cap our romantic radio repertoire, we have a tiny little tale of terror, voiced by the master of screen horror himself, William Henry Pratt.

From the 1963 Mercury Records series Tales of the Frightened, here is Boris Karloff spinning the short-but-oh-so-satisfying The Vampire Sleeps, wherein chance brings together a young nobleman and a (yet another) beautiful and mysterious lady.

You're not one of the frightened, are you?

Anyway, we'll be toasting, talking, dancing and romancing here at the S&P all day and night. Do come by.

Good listening, good loving, good night to you all.

DUMDUMSWEETHEARTS!

Happy 203rd, Mr. Poe.

Oh yes, pubgoers, one of our most celebrated icons, most beloved literary, horrorary and Hallowe'enary icons is having a birthday!

(source)

Sure, he's not necessarily 'around' to see it, but Edgar Allan Poe's spirit is alive and well -- well, okay, gloomy and brooding -- even 203 years after his birth in 1809.

A remarkable man was Poe. He is widely acknowledged as the inventor of the detective story. He is considered America's first true regularly published (and scathing!) literary critic. He wrote books of poetry before he left grade school. His works have been in print, continuously, since 1827. Ponder that a moment.

I have always enjoyed his works, even when I was too young to grasp the language or even the concept (in some cases) of much of it when I first attempted to read him seriously. Hell, even now I have to admit he's not an easy read.

But the great, dark magic that is a Poe work is a thing of beauty.

(source)

In honor of his birthday, the Skull & Pumpkin will be celebrating all day and night with Poe goodies -- fireside readings of his works in our library, absinthe and bourbon and cognac at the bar -- and I hope you will join us in our celebration wherever you are, if you cannot get to the S&P in person.

I'd like to think we are all here in spirit.

As a treat, do this: go here, and download/print/cutout/assemble this awesome paper Edgar Allan Poe from the cool folks at Toy A Day.

 Sweet!

And then another treat: give a listen to the jukebox to the right. I've added two delightful tracks of Poe's genius recorded in the early 1960's, and sure to bring a smile to any Monster Kid who ordered things from the Captain Company in Famous Monsters magazine, and in fact any genre magazine from the '60s to at least the early '80s -- Richard Taylor reading The Tell-Tale Heart and The Masque of the Red Death!

Oh but I must comment briefly, here. You see, I don't know who Richard Taylor was, or is. I am certain (as you will be after hearing him) that he loved doing these things, and his heart is easily in the rightest of right places.  Heck, the back of the album says he's fast becoming the Crown Prince of Terror:

See?

But when you get around to actually listening to it, Taylor's narration seems less "sinister", "mystifying" and "full of suspense", and more like the kid who played Fat Sam in Bugsy Malone reading Poe over the telephone in 1960. Amazing we haven't heard from him since.

And I love it. LOVE it. It works (especially with that cool jazz guitar back), and it's fun, and it's goofy, and it's timeless to us Monster Kids who pored over magazine ads like this:

Ah!

It's the perfect stuff to listen to while making a paper Edgar Allan Poe doll.

Have a wonderful Poe Birthday, good Autumn Folk.

(source)

And happy birthday, Mr. Poe. A toast...

DUMDUMSHREKPOE!

Four Hundred.

#400.

Unreal.

This is the Skull & Pumpkin's 400TH POST.

Twice two hundred.

CD (could be CCCC as well, but that looks too Soviet-ish, and this is a politics-free zone).

In honor of this almost relevant, not quite important, nearly meaningful milestone, and in honor of Black Cat Appreciation Day, I offer our own dear Hallowe'en, or 'Hallie'...

She is very nice. Because she's a black cat and all black cats are nice.

And she's cute. Because all black cats are awfully cute.

Aw, li'l Hallie.

Still... at a Hallowe'en pub, every day is black cat appreciation day, so I don't want to linger too long on this one. Suffice to say I will always be happy she came to stay with us.

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A few posts back, I made mention of our fears and the events or images that trigger them, and asked you for some of yours -- this is a public house concerning itself with all things spooky -- and I've received a number of replies.

Some can be read in the comments of said post, but I thought I'd highlight them, and a few others who wrote via email rather than commenting.

First up, our own dear Chris, Her Majesty The Frog Queen, admits to her own fear of Lady Elaine Fairchild, the creepiest resident of the Land of Make Believe (creepier than Prince Tuesday or Bob Dog, by multiples). But then, of course, comes dear Chris's pet neurosis:

"I remember the time I leaned against a post in the barn of an old house we lived in and several baby black widow spiders came crawling down my head and all over me. Definitely the reason that I am afraid of spiders today."

Shiver!

The Frog Queen also admits, 

"Going to catholic school and seeing The Exorcist as a kid was the earliest and so far the last time I was really frightened by something that is made up."

Me too, your Highness. Me too...

Jules opened up and let us all in on some of her most memorable, lingering, illogical fears; fears with which I can readily sympathize:

"Things that were in my dreams AND in real life: Carol Channing (or does that fall into the "clowns and spiders" category?)." 

It does, but in the right way. She proceeds to mention, among other things,

"... the "bingbong" of "It's 10 o'clock, do you know where your child is?" I obviously was at home, watching that, but I shivered every time -- up too late, and what if I WAS out in the scary post-curfew timezone?"

 Oh yes.

I get it. And I remember it very well.

Best of all, she finishes,

"... but my scariest, periodically in my nightmares thing was/is a dead body made to look as if it's moving. Like propped up, dancing, like a puppet. Sometimes with the eyes opened. Not a zombie, but a delusional maniac animating a dead person (usually someone they killed) to make them "alive" again...something between Norman Bates' Mother idea, and Debbie Reynolds in What's the Matter With Helen?(SHUDDER!)"

Oh my. Total shudder, indeed. I'd nearly forgotten about this movie. Yikes!

Baron No One informs us via email that he "used to run behind his mother's rocker and hide every time the theme for The Outer Limits came on the TV! I didn't mind most of the aliens and scary stuff, it was the damn song that did it..."

 "... I still get a chill every time I hear it -- on the DVD set I watch almost every day!"

Yep! Who ever said Autumn People don't love to scare themselves silly? Keep it up Baron (and whaddayaknow, a Queen and a Baron -- the ol' S&P's attracting royalty and nobility!).

I think the most chilling admission (so far, keep 'em coming!) of an untraceable, unexplainable childhood fear that can still manage to disturb has to come from loyal S&Pbrain Kent Mason, who simply writes:

"... I used to see people coming in and out my bedroom door as I slept. They did nothing to me, just moved through as if heading elsewhere, not making a sound. All in black, like dead shadows, featureless, and the only noise they really made was a kind of squeaking whisper. By morning they were gone, but I have that dream every so often even now at 26."

Kent, I have to say I didn't even go scouring for an image to go with that. Total nightmare!

Well, there you have some of them, good S&Pers. I really enjoy reading and sharing them at the bar, passing around the stories and letting our common passions and understanding laughter calm our nerves, exorcise (sorry Chris!) a few fears, and remind us how far we've come since our childhood nights...

... but those creepy dark figures moving through the door... I'm going to lock up early tonight!

DDShadowPeople!

Short spookies, the musical.

Hello S&P'ers!

It's been a little while since our last outing, but now I'm back, hanging out here at the little boneyard behind the Skull & Pumpkin.

Yes it's chilly, but we'll have a nice bonfire soon... and some singing.

See, after our mini-ghost-story campfire in my last post, Her Majesty The Frog Queen informed me of her love of ghostly stories and ghostly music; and she mentioned two long-celebrated, nearly ancient folk songs from the ever-ghostly British Isles.

    "... Every time that I travel to the UK these two songs come to mind -- John Barleycorn (Must Die) by (Robert) Burns and The Unquiet Grave (traditional)..."

I entirely agree with her song choices and thought instead of my merely telling you about them, we'd listen to them together. They are tracks 8 and 9 on the player to your right.

Now, she mentioned her favorite recordings of these songs (by Robin Laing) but I could not locate them to post here (and I look forward to hearing them one day). The versions I have added to the ol' Hallowe'en Jukebox are versions I have enjoyed many times over the years.

The first is the (nearly) timeless John Barleycorn. The song is at least as old as the 15th century, and has been revised, revived and recorded by so many artists over the years that it would be silly to try to recount it for you (the most famous likely being Traffic's 'John Barleycorn Must Die', the title track from the 1970 album of the same name). This version predates that one and doubtless inspired it -- Mike Waterson, of The Watersons, singing a capella on the 1965 album Frost & Fire.

The song details the sufferings and spirit of the titular Barleycorn, who is merely a symbol of the grains and goodies that go into making our favorite potables, and how Barleycorn is beaten into giving up its spirits for us.
That's an oversimplification, but it's about right. An air of mystery was provided the legend by the immortal Robert Burns in 1782, who removed some of its more mundane trappings and added, with his usual flair, a more ghostly atmosphere. Waterson's voice is the sonic twin of Burns' style.

The other folk song is another old, much-revised and recorded chestnut.

The Unquiet Grave is thought to be at least as old as the late 14th century. There are literally hundreds of variations on its theme, which is that the grief of the mourner can cause the dead unrest, and make the dead return in ghostly form to quiet the mourner, often by setting them to solving riddles or performing impossible tasks; in this way, the mourner is convinced of the uselessness of over-grieving, and reminded that they will, in their turn, join the mourned soon enough.

Here, Luke Kelly of the world-famous Dubliners heads up a very pretty mid-1970s version of the tale. There are darker arrangements in minor keys, but this one feels good to me too.

Nothing like a few spooky, spirited tunes to give life to the ol' boneyard bonfire...

Enjoy the music and the warmth.

Thank you good Frog Queen for the comment, putting the idea in my head to have this little outing!

So... anyone else have any tunes or tales to share? Winter is the best time to lay in a store of good tales and tastes for we Autumn folk.

DUMDUMSHREKPLOTS!

Short spookies.

Welcome!

Come in, come in.

Good gravy it's freezing out there! No snow or ice but the wind is getting a little persistent and our bones need a bit of warmth.

Reminds me of when we'd sit around the late evening Autumn campfire...

You know, I'm not great at remembering the classic, drawn out, legendary ghost tales. I mean, I remember them, oh yes I do, and can in seconds be brought right back to my very young, impressionable, shivering self when I recall many of them...

The Golden Arm.

Johnny, Give Me Back My Liver.

Thump-Thump-Drag (ooh, that one did me in!).

But I cannot remember how to tell them just so. I do most of my spooky storytelling with imagery, puppetry, set design, music.

However, it is very easy to remember the three shortest ghost tales I have ever heard.

Gather 'round... it will only take a second.

First...

Two strangers met on the road, laughing at their chance meeting in the nighttime solitude.
"It's a good thing I don't believe in ghosts," laughed the first.
"You don't?" said the other as he vanished.

Second...

The very last person in the whole world sat alone in the dark house.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Third...

I awoke in darkness, wishing for a match. Then a match was put into my hand.


And lastly...

BOO!!!

See? I told you it would be brief.

Anyone have any good short ghostly tales to share? I'll post 'em up for all (maybe with a few embellishments and pictures, of course!) and we can roast some marshmallows, sip some cider or cocoa.

OH! What's that noise?

DDSP!

The night that changed my life.

Well, one of the many nights that changed my life.

And one of the most memorable.

Recall that picture of the L.A. Dodgers baseball-shaped AM radio?

Here's the story I promised in that post.

No, I didn't come close to death and then suddenly pull away from The Light and breathe again with a new outlook on life, a new tenderness toward my fellow man.

I was not visited by three Ghosts.

Well... sort of.

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If I may quote Sophia Petrillo:

'Picture it -- Las Vegas, October, 1975 -- and Hallowe'en was in the air!'

Mom had just finished a two week run of performances with her sisters and Andy Williams, as they did many times a year in those days.

We were packing up, getting ready to drive back home to the San Fernando Valley... and man! did my arm itch!

I kept digging at it, and by the time we were halfway to Barstow and my chest and neck were searing and itchy, my mother had officially diagnosed me:

Chicken pox. 

I was just seven years old.

Oh, it wasn't the itching that was bothering me. Not as bad as I probably made it seem, anyway.

No, what was terrible was that I had just come down with it and knew it meant at least two weeks of fevery, irritated, Calamine-soaked convalescence... and Hallowe'en was only a week away.

Yes, friends. Your humble pubkeep was going to MISS OUT ON HALLOWE'EN.

Me, the Monster Hallowe'enest Kid of the Ages, was going to be sick for Hallowe'en.

I was a seven-year-old questioning the fairness and even the existence of a God who would let such a monstrous thing come to pass. I was mad, and surly, and itchy and ill, and put out in the way only a truly bent out of shape child can be.

For the next week, things were not pretty:

Well, okay... I wasn't really like that (though it was indeed a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time). Fact is, I was honestly too sick for some few days to even notice, let alone care -- the itching was still terrible but the novelty of it had worn off in bleeding sores and it was the fever that was making me so sick. I couldn't do much more than groan and drink fluids and sleep.

So I wasn't really up to acting up.

But once the worst of it was over, the realization returned -- no Hallowe'en.

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Now, you've read the posts about my Grandmother's house, right? So you know what it meant for me to be there on the 31st, and what it meant to know I wasn't going to be. 

I was dead inside.

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Well, odd as it may seem, even in the face of The Great Disappointment I could not stay entirely miserable.

Sure, tagging along with my mom as we drove my brothers to Gramma's house was probably a lousy idea; the drive back was indeed miserable. My older sister Julie stayed with us, rather than go to Gram's, which was certainly a very kind thing to do for me but I was just baffled that she'd choose to miss out.

My baby sisters were far too little for any of it.

Still, it wasn't all bad.

For one thing, I got to dress up, sort of. Mom let me slick my hair back, and use one of my blankets as a cape, and put in some good ol' vampire teeth. You know the kind...

Mine didn't glow in the dark but this picture looked better than the others.

Another questionable move that at first seemed like a good idea was helping hand out treats (with a vampiric laugh or two) to neighborhood kids. Not that I was contagious anymore (my mom wouldn't have let me near the door); it was the ten minutes it took to realize I was just missing out on the Big Night that burned me. By the dozenth knock and shout of "Trick or treeaat!" I was a broken man.

My misery had returned, my face was hot with tears, and it was only 6:30 pm. Would the torment go on forever?

"Alright, that's it," said Mom. "You're miserable. Hot bath time."

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The last time I visited that house, I couldn't help but notice how tiny the bathtub was. Back when I was seven and itchy and despairing, it seemed enormous, cold, clinical, deep and intimidating.

But at least I was finally letting it all out. I was crying, itching, soaking, and just plain sad.

"It's not fair," I'd repeat. "I love Hallowe'en and it's just not fair!"

But my mom was... well, my mom. She had (and still has) a talent for putting certain things in perspective (to young people especially) in a way that sneaks up to make sense. While I could still hear knocks and laughs and neighborhood fun beyond the bathroom window, I listened to her, and while I may not recall all of the wording precisely, I do recall much of it -- it was one of those moments in a kid's life -- and I will never forget her message.

"You know, Mike, of all my kids you do love the monsters and the spooky things the most, I don't know why. All of you kids certainly do but you most, somehow. So I know you think you're missing out. But listen to the kids outside --"

I did.

" -- and tell me you'd rather be outside with them."

I had to think for a moment but then realized the truth. "Actually, no," I admitted, "I don't really want to be with them, I just want to be at Gram's house putting on the show."

"Exactly. You're not sad because you're not out trick-or-treating, you're sad because you think you've missed out on the part you love most -- the making of it, the dressing up and putting on the show. Well, you got to dress up at least."

Reluctantly I had to agree.

"And you kind of got to put on a show of your own. You got to do a Dracula voice."

"Well, not really. I mean they all knew it was me talking scary and everything."

"Yes but it's still your doing, right? You were making it up. Even getting over being sick couldn't keep you from getting into some kind of fun for some length of time."

I soaked, and nodded, and kept listening.

"You know, you can have Hallowe'en everyday if you want. As far as I'm concerned that's what you do anyway, with your toys and models and books and everything. You can choose to feel this all the year round. And no temporary sickness can take it away. Think about that for a minute... then rinse up and dry off and get pjs on and let's watch some specials on TV or something."

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After I got into my pjs, Mom and Dad made us all some popcorn, and with the remainder of the Hallowe'en candy, we sat down to watch a made-for-TV movie called The Night That Panicked America, a docudrama about Orson Welles' infamous War of the Worlds radiocast of 1938. I had never heard anything about this historic event, and found myself truly enthralled with the idea, the technology, the pure gas of scaring a bazillion people at once with a microphone, a sound effects table, and a good spooky tale.

I watched the entire film completely entranced, and at some point I became aware that by learning about it I was, in effect, going behind the scenes to put on the show for Hallowe'en; that I was a part of the display, part of the magic of the scare and the fun, and I was in on the knowledge of how to do it.

This was a revelation. From here on out, I was going to be in on the haunting... even if I had to build it myself.

On the TV the movie was winding down and by the time the cast had realized it was just a radio show, I was more than curious.

"Dad? You were born when?"

"Nineteen and Twenty-Four."

"And this was on the radio in 1938?"

"Yessir," he nodded, knowing exactly where I was going with it.

"So did you hear it?"

Dad smiled, put down his crossword and lit another cigarette. "Well, it wasn't on the 31st like the movie says; it was actually done the night before Hallowe'en. I was almost 14 years old and spending the night at a pal's house a few blocks from where your grandparents and I lived in Indiana..."

As he told us his own experience of this until-tonight-never-even-heard-of epic event (a tale I may recount another time), I began to realize with great pride that I was somehow connected, however tenuously, to one of the best damned Hallowe'en tricks ever pulled, and even my Dad, the master jack o'lantern carver himself, had to give it to those radio guys for pulling it off.

These were heady and powerful revelations. I was a kid but thinking like a grown up, about what was now fully solidified in my mind and heart and soul as The Most Important Night of the Year.

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There was plenty more to that night. I don't remember the order of all events but there was some hot chocolate made, another smaller pumpkin carving, coloring in one of my monster coloring books, and I recall sitting next to Dad and watching much of the original silent Nosferatu (1922) on PBS... but after such a long night of emotional downs and ups, I was tired. Dead to the bone, getting-over-an-illness, rescuing-from-disappointment tired.

My sister allowed that I could go to sleep in her room that night before everyone else came home from Gram's.

This was just cool because... well, being a younger sibling getting to hang in your older siblings' space is a big deal. I am sure some of you know what I mean.

Soon, I lay in bed buzzing with exhaustion and sugar and Hallowe'en thoughts as a southern California Autumn wind picked up outside, coaxing the fingers of dry branches to scratch and tap the windows and occasionally dance on our shingles. I drifted blissfully in and out of sleep in the orange dimness of (I think it was) a Woody Woodpecker night light, sort of like this only with glitter in the plastic and the eyes and beak weren't painted:

... and listening to the wind and the quiet raucus of mid-'70s pop on that little baseball shaped radio on the bedpost beside my ear.

Fly, Robin Fly, If You Leave Me Now, Could This Be The Magic?

And as I lay there in a perfect mid-sleep state, I realized one more thing.

Rather than miss Hallowe'en, I had actually just experienced the first truly meaningful Hallowe'en of my young life. I had faced and beaten a sadness, had met a problem and dealt with it, yes, but more than that, I had learned much about myself, and even more about Hallowe'en... foremost that I was never, ever going to let another one get by me.

Ever.

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Strange, but as I neared real sleep I could hear children running, laughing, down the street. I figured it couldn't have been real, because it was late, super late for our kid-filled neighborhood and there had been no trick-or-treating going on for some time now... yet I heard them just the same -- the smack and dance of sneakers on sidewalks, the rustling of treat bags and pillow cases filled with kid gold, the flapping of capes and skirts and masks and the laughter, the giggling whispers vanishing on the wind.

  

Maybe it was all just that balmy wind (as I like to think, a sour-sweet Grinch Night wind). I can't really say. I just know Hallowe'en was still playing itself out, all around me.

Soon, I could hear a new ruckus but this one no mystery -- the hushed-but-too-loud-voices of my brothers as they returned home, in the living room with our mom and dad, sharing tales of scaring glory, of the best makeups from Aunt Kath and Aunt Janet and the best homemade costumes and the best store-bought masks and the funniest lines from the Dr. Insano balcony show.

I couldn't help but listen with a smile. They seemed to have had a very fun time.

Sure, I could've felt jealous. But I realized they'd missed out on my amazing time at home.

And then I realized something else. 

Soon, I was going to be the happy, healthy one having all the fun.

They were all going to come down with chicken pox in another week.**

DUMDUMSHREKPOX!

** -- and yes they did!

Price & Poe.

 

Vincent Price. Edgar Allan Poe.

The two names have been inextricably linked in our pop culture consciousness since the mid-'60s, thanks to a number of films helmed by Roger Corman, and numerous Price recitations of Poe's works on the stage and television, such as this rather revered version of The Raven (I can't find an exact date for it!).

Price was just the best.

Patricia is that you over at the ol' radio? Loyal guests of the S&P, I have a longtime friend who's been a wonderful teacher and mentor, and she is a frequent patron here... Patricia? Don't you have a story related to all this?

"I used to see (Price) on New Year's Eve at Eddie Albert's parties when I worked for him (Albert). The first time we met, Eddie introduced us, and Price said" What was the last name?" And I replied "Brown.....B R O W N," spelling it out. The evening went on and he and I talked a lot about mutual friends, the NY theatre, etc. At the end of the party, he said, "It was lovely talking to you, and the name is Price.... P R I C E." I'm still laughing. What a talent he had for the macabre."

Haha! Fantastic! Thank you for sharing it with the S&P.

 Everyone, raise 'em high all around -- to Pat, Poe and Price!

DUMDUMSHREKPOP!

Again... the 'embers.

Welcome, folks. Come in, come in.

We are once again at the very crisp beginning of that part of the year my niece Livy once memorably coined 'The Embers'. 

Sure, October's an 'ober and not really an 'ember, but the spirit and the passion work so well we can ignore that little technicality.

But aahhhhh... September.

An Autumn Ozarks Vista

(source)

September. For some, a bittersweet end of Summer's party.

For others -- us -- the beginning of a season of magic and deep meaning.

Accordingly, I've removed some of the Summer staples from the jukebox, and added some new September songs.

Literally.

First up (after the obligatory, constant, and official theme song of the S&P, Vince Guaraldi's The Great Pumpkin Waltz), we have September Song, a cut from Ella Fitzgerald's remarkable 1960 album, The Intimate Ella. Paul Smith plays piano, and the frisson is just perfect.

Next, an apropos mid-'60s track from The Four Seasons -- See You In September. Sure, it's really about the beginning of Summer and not the end of it, and sure, The Tempos did it first in '59, and The Happenings in '66, and others later, but I like this one best.

Then, I couldn't resist. This ol' pub needs some funk every so often. In 1978, the legendary Earth, Wind & Fire released September, and if you don't "re-mem-bah", the problem is yours -- how can you not love this song? Besides, any song that has 'yeeeoOWww!' in it is good in my book.

For the next selection, I err on the side of short and sweet, even if it's pretty obscure. In 1984, the beautiful Karen Allen starred in a romantic little film called Until September, and the score (by the inimitable John Barry) made a very big impact on my teen mind. This motif is called 'Not Again' which might seem like a negative thing but I think it's the prettiest piece of the entire score.

And lastly, an even more obscure tune, and I hope you'll indulge and forgive me. See... if I had another 'blog, another pub dedicated solely to my musical history and passions (such a pub might be coming soon, I'll keep you posted), much of it would be about the main passion, the main creative and rewarding musical partnership of my life -- a little SoCal vocal harmony/acoustic group of two (and various thirds) called Letters Home. I won't get into all of it here, now, but I will say this song, conveniently titled September, was written/recorded in the late '80s by a teenaged me and my teenaged friend Mike Murphy, and is sung by Murf, with our friend Linda and I on harmonies. I play the guitar tracks. It's an old demo-ish recording, and I will always love it. I hope you like it too.

I've kept the David Lutesinger The Trees Weep Leaves, and as always, the jukebox closes with the official incidental music of the S&P, Pumpkintime from the Darol Anger - Barbara Higbie Quintet.

Also, while loading the jukebox, I heard some whistling, crackling static from the ol' Hallowe'enith console radio, and now I find that there's a new set of shows.

It seems in 1975, the iconic Leonard Nimoy recorded some of Ray Bradbury's short stories and one of them is really fitting for the Skull & Pumpkin, and our Hallowe'en theme for this year.

The story, originally published in the '50s, is called Usher II. In it, Bradbury lashes out at censorship, prudery, conservative brutishness, liberal cowardice, and the ease with which we can lose our most basic pleasurable freedoms when good people do nothing to stop evil people from imposing their beliefs.

It is told, appropriately enough, in terms of Poe's creations and legacy, and if I tell you any more, you won't bother to listen to the two-part (about 35 min. altogether) delight.

Just devote some time to it. It will reward you, I promise.

Thanks for reading this nearly pictureless post. I try not to do that too often.

Please enjoy!


 DDSP!

And so are your prayers.

It is nearly the second month of the new year.

It is late enough at night to consider it early, early morn.

Outside this homely house, all things sleep grumbling beneath a quilt of white crystal talcum, enrobed as Jadis in the full of her reign, shimmering and shivering under the brilliant blue-white of what the first souls to walk these hills called the Wolf Moon -- that first of the year fullness which oversees the leanest, hungriest night at the heart of Winter.

Inside this glad place, those last of you to arrive are now the last to depart, a meager but eager handful of friends allowing one last bend of the elbow, one more tip of the glass, to be the excuse for not going just yet; for staying where it's comfortable, cozy.

Safe.

The fire's burning to red but still warm, and I know we'll all be lingering long enough that adding one more log would be worthwhile.

You all look as if you need a reason to stay...

I think now's probably as good a night as any to tell you a tale once told to me in this very place, at this very slab of brass and oak upon which I now serve the last round of cheer.

Oh yes I heard it here, then saw it for myself some years later.

It's all true.

Have you ever heard of... the Grither?

Oh now, you may want to believe that this entire story was made up by some guy named Michael Bishop in a book of short tales called A Winter In Eden, and that it was eventually given a teleplay treatment by Michael McDowell to become a classic episode of the horror anthology television series Tales From The Darkside called Seasons Of Belief in 1986. You may want to believe this episode became a popular, underground-ish Christmas Special for we horror loving kids in the '80s, and that as grown-ups we still giggle at the thought of the first time we saw it, and still admonish each other to never take "his" name in vain. 

You may want to believe all of that.

Hey -- I want to believe there's really no such thing as karaoke, root canals or airline pilots' lounge placards written in Braille, but life just keeps insisting otherwise.

Yes pub goers, there is a Grither.

And do me, hell, do all of us a favor.

Don't take his name in vain.

-----------------------------------

The Grither was born on a sailing ship that got lost in the Arctic sea. Foundering among treacherous floes and encroaching ice, the hapless souls aboard drifted about aimlessly, seeing naught except water, icebergs and glaciers; some went insane, others killed their fellow passengers, most froze or drowned by flinging themselves overboard. It is said the Grither was born of the rage and suffering of those poor souls who perished in that icy nightmare so very long ago.

It is also said that the Grither now dwells in a howling ice cave far in the North, above the Arctic Circle, not very far from Santa Claus's Castle. He lives on the very same giant, frozen passenger ship which first gave him life. Most of the time, he likes nothing better than to eat his 'food' and sleep undisturbed.

The Grither has fists like basketballs, arms like boa constrictors, leafed with red and blue veins like a road map.

The rest of him cannot be truly described and there are no pictures or drawings, for no one who has seen him (and lived!) has ever seen any more than his horrifying hands and arms.

The Grither's ears are extraordinarily sensitive; he can hear his name being uttered anywhere in the world within seconds of it being uttered. The more his name is repeated by the same person or group of people, the larger his ears grow to listen, until they are big enough to start flapping...

... and then the Grither begins to fly, seeking the miscreant who dared speak his name.

The Grither hates his name being used in vain. Did I say that already?

OH no, I am not in danger for telling this story, as you aren't for merely listening, for I am not using his name in vain, you see.

I'm informing you about the Grither, and continuing the Grither's legend. That's not a vain thing. It's not like I'm being careless about it.

What does the Grither do when he finds those who do carelessly toss about his name?

He grithers 'em.

This clip from the aforementioned Tales From The Darkside 'cover-up' series will reveal all to you:

(Warning: NOT for little kids or Godsons named Will!)

Now do you see what'll happen?

The lyrics to that terrifying tune:

"Oh, I am the Grither
You cannot escape me,
For pleading is useless
And so are your prayers

The Grither is greedy,
For only one thing,
To keep you from taking
To keep you from taking
To keep you from taking
His name in vain."

Do I need to repeat it? Do not take the Grither's name in vain.

That's the tale. Believe what you will.

Still... can't imagine being grithered. The horror!

OH stop, we're not going to get grithered. As the tradition goes, I finished telling the story before the Grither arrived, so now he will not grither us. Even if the Grither nearly got here, he has to turn around and head back to the frozen derelict ship in his Arctic ice cave.

Besides, I didn't say the Grither's name that many times. I mean it's not like I just stood here shouting 'Grither, Grither, Grither, Grither, Grither!'... is it?
------------------------------------

Yes, the hour is now ridiculously, foolishly late.

But...

If you feel that this blustering, brilliant Winter holds gritherous surprises for your sorry soul, that your return trip home might not get you all the way there....

...then please stay.

Rest warmly, peacefully.

Make sure the fire doesn't go out. I hear the wind getting louder out there... wait, is that the wind? Or did I hear something else?

Oh, it can't be too terrible, whatever it is. Stories are, after all, just stories. Good pub chatter. A light punch in the shoulder.



Boy that wind is beginning to howl so...

Gather 'round, children.

... for once again, it's story time.

Among the many titles on the shelves of the Skull & Pumpkin reside numerous 'old school' works; books that shaped us, books that changed the way we looked at our world, but mostly the books we simply enjoyed as children.

Like Hallowe'en itself, some of the books we grew up reading are timeless, and continue to delight. For those of us who are Autumn People, the stories concerned with Hallowe'en are especially beloved, no matter how small...

So gather 'round, and I'll tell you the tale of Spider, and how he saved Hallowe'en...

(In case, I don't know... you thought the cover was lying?)

It was Hallowe'en Eve and, try as I might, I couldn't think of a good disguise.

No matter what costume I tried on, I still looked like me.

I went to see my good friend Ladybug, hoping she might help.

She was on the porch carving a jack o'lantern with Fly.
"I hope I'm not intruding," I said.
"You're always intruding," said Fly.
"Hush Fly," said Ladybug. "Come in Spider, you're always welcome."
"Thank you," I replied. I never felt that Fly liked me. But Ladybug liked me enough for two!

"Why aren't you wearing your costume?" asked Ladybug.
"Because my problem is that no matter what I put on I still look like me."
"That is a problem," said Fly.
"We'll solve it," said Ladybug. "Let's go inside, and Fly and I will get into our costumes. It will help us get ideas."
"Good," I said.
Fly went into the bathroom. Minutes later he came out in a beard and cap.

"Who am I?" asked Fly.
"Santa Claus," I replied.
"Wrong," said Fly. "I'm one of the seven dwarfs."

Then Ladybug excused herself and went into the bathroom to change into her costume.
Minutes later she emerged.


"Who am I?" asked Ladybug.
"A witch," I said.
"Correct," said Ladybug.

"Now for you," said Ladybug. She dressed me up in ladies' clothes.
"You still look like you," said Fly.

"Still looks like himself," said Ladybug.
"Looks even more like himself," said Fly.

A cowboy suit wasn't much better.

We all put our heads together to think of a costume that would really disguise me.
Suddenly there was a sickening SQUASH from the porch.

We all ran outside to see what it was.
Ladybug's jack o'lantern was wrecked!
Two bullies with baseball bats were hooting and running away.

Ladybug burst into tears. "Our beautiful pumpkin!" she cried.
"And it's too late to get another," moaned Fly. "Hallowe'en is ruined!"
"It's true," I said. "Hallowe'en without a pumpkin just isn't Hallowe'en."
I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started feeling sorry for my friends.

Then I got an idea. "Color me orange!" I said. They colored me orange.

While they were coloring me orange, I cut up a piece of green construction paper.
"Paste this onto my head," I said.

Fly got the paste jar. Ladybug did the pasting.

Then I took a black marker and drew lines on myself and blacked out my front teeth.

"You're a pumpkin!" they both exclaimed. "Hallowe'en isn't spoiled after all!"

"You're darn tootin'," I said. "On to trick or treat!"

We trick-or-treated all over the neighborhood, and everyone gave us lots of treats and admired our costumes... especially the walking, talking pumpkin.

At last our bags were full and we headed home -- when who should we see coming down the street but the two bullies who had smashed the jack o'lantern, They were heading our way with cans of shaving cream.

"They'll spray us with shaving cream!" cried Ladybug.
"They'll steal our trick or treats," moaned Fly.
"No they won't," I said. "They're bullies, and bullies are cowards. Quick. Hide behind this bush."

Just as the bullies passed by, I jumped out and screamed "BOO!"

The bullies dropped their shaving cream and ran away screaming, "A pumpkin ghost! A pumpkin ghost! Save us! Save us!"


We went back to Ladybug's house and counted our loot. Ladybug planted a kiss on my cheek and Fly shook my hand.
"Because you saved Hallowe'en," said Ladybug.
"I must admit you did it," said Fly. "You saved Hallowe'en."

I guess I had. And I was very happy to have saved Hallowe'en for my two dear friends, Fly and Ladybug.

-THE END-

I love the crayon and marker simplicity, except that Spider says he drew lines on himself but there are no lines -- that always irked me.

I also love that the senior bug couple who open their door to our trick-or-treating heroes look just like the bullies. They could be those bullies' grandbugs!

Robert Kraus wrote and illustrated this tale and first published it in 1973 through -- who else? -- Scholastic Books (this very copy is a first edition salvaged from my youth). I recall my mother reading it to us then.

It's still in print.... I wonder if Scholastic will ask me to remove these images.

By the way, Kraus wrote 15 other Spider tales (including tales of how Spider saved other well-known holidays). I've never seen any of them. Have any of you?

I hope you've all enjoyed story time... and how 'bout that clever, resourceful Spider, eh? Taking down mean people (well, bugs) and helping his friends at the same time. Them be some fine instincts, and a lesson for us all.


Thanks Spider!