INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
- THE SPOTLIGHT/MEMOIR: Treats and Tricks of Autumn by Lorraine Kaul
- CARPOOL WITH LLC: Sargent, Whistler & Venetian Glass: American Artists and the Magic of Murano Special Exhibit at Mystic Seaport Museum on Friday, December 2
- MEMOIR: Elevators by Joe Petteruti
THE SPOTLIGHT
Memoir – a slice of life, a story from your life.
Treats and Tricks of Autumn
by Lorraine Kaul
Autumn was my favorite time of the year when I was a child. I was especially in awe of the many colors that filled the air, like miniature fireworks lighting up an already sun-lit sky. In the Fall, the weather was usually just cool enough to play hopscotch, jump rope, four-square, and all my favorite summer games without sweat.
On my two-mile walks home from school, I had plenty of time to marvel, skip, and run as I zigzagged from one side of the road to another, chasing the wind-blown leaves, those twisting tricksters as they whooshed and whirled around me in a calm and chaotic array. They would sometimes taunt, tantalize and then glide away, just out of my reach. Their alluring performance made the long walk both fast and fun!
I loved stomping on the dried, crisp, and rustling leaves lying on the ground. They curled and snapped like fried pig skin chips, my favorite snack.
Consumed with crushing every dried and curled-up leaf in my view, I pulverized them into tiny dust crumbles! I liked the crunch they made while being transmuted by my fierce trampling feet! It was an appeasing feeling, possibly a stress relief, although I don’t recall feeling much stress then. I was more energized and invigorated. The world was mine and opened to all fun and adventure that my imagination could conjure!
Although I genuinely enjoyed the grandeur and brilliance of the falling leaves and the pacifying crunch of the dried ones either lying or frolicking on the ground, what I liked best about Fall was Halloween.
Halloween is a time of gimmicks and greed! I probably spent the month of October fantasizing about how much candy I would amass on Trick-or-Treat or Beggar’s Night. When that night came, I was ready! As with every Trick or Treat night, I went out “begging," as we called it, with a group of my friends and my mom. My mom chaperoned from a distance so I could have independent fun with my friends but still have an adult nearby.
We carried pillow sacks to hold our hoard. A paper bag wouldn't do. We started in our Hollow, a tiny community resting snuggly between two mountains in southern West Virginia. Homeowners would stand at the door and drop one piece of penny candy in each child's sack. It was a poor neighborhood, and families could not afford to buy much candy. Some made popcorn balls, and some gave apples from their tree. Most had their porch lit up, indicating they were participating in the giving.
Some kids did not do their “trick or treat begging” in our Hollow. They wanted to get out fast and into wealthier communities, where the treats were better. Many kids were chaperoned by adults and expected to visit all of the neighbor’s lit-up houses first. It was considered respect for those adults waiting to see the excited children in their various Halloween costumes. The artistry of carved pumpkins and the ingenuity of the carefully crafted scarecrows were on display, especially for us.
Once our group left the Hollow and crossed the tracks into the wealthier community, not only did people give more than one piece of candy, some gave the large five-cent candy bars! When you hit a house with giant candy bars, chips, homemade fudge, and sometimes a small toy, that was considered the jackpot! Everyone who hit it told the other trick-or-treaters to run to that house before their stash ran out. I cleverly prepared for jackpot houses.
My pillow sack not only collected my candy but also carried an extra full-size sheet with holes cut for eyes to convert into a ghost costume. It also had another sizeable full-bodied piece of black cloth with a hole cut out for the head, a half mask, and a Witch's hat. I could hit a jackpot house two additional times! How cool was that? I would go behind a car or the side of a home, and like magic, I'd put the sheet over my head, go back as a ghost, then beg at a couple more houses, and go back to the jackpot house again as a Witch.
I always knew that I would never fill my pillow case with candy, but by using the additional space to hold my alternate costumes, I could get more of the best treats. I'm unsure if my mother knew of my extra costumes because she usually followed our group about a block away. If she did know, she did not let on. After all, I tricked for treats, and that's what the night is all about. Right?
A note of caution to modern-day trick-or-treaters; don’t try my method today. I guarantee you will be captured by someone’s camera, show-cased on their watch or cell phone, then sent directly to the web. Most importantly, you don't want to pee in their backyard, no matter how bad you need to go!
Special Exhibit at Mystic Seaport Museum
Sargent, Whistler & Venetian Glass: American Artists and the Magic of Murano
Carpool with LLC
Friday, December 2, 2022
SCHEDULE
9 AM – leave Providence
10 AM – noon – self-guided visit in the Museum
12:30 PM – lunch (Dutch Treat) The Breakwater, Stonington, CT
3:30 PM – back in Providence
MUSEUM ADMISSION
$19/person; pay at the door
RSVP
LLC members only
Email Barbara Barnes ([email protected]) your name and phone number. Please do not sign up guests. Each member must email Barbara separately.
RSVP by Thursday, November 10
20 – 25 reservations can be accepted
Memoir
Do you have a particular phobia? Joe Petteruti shared this story with the LLC Memoir Class.
Elevators
I have been riding elevators since I visited Santa at the Outlet Department Store in the 1950’s. We would board. There was an older gentleman sitting inside the elevator on a little round stool. He would close the outside door. Then he slid the inside gate shut. “The fifth floor” my mother would announce. Soon there was a whirring sound and a jump and off we would go to Santa’s workshop. Was I afraid of the elevator? No. I was more afraid of the fake Santa.
When I was ten, my parents took me and my sister Paula to New York City for a three-day vacation. We went to the UN, visited Radio City Music Hall and yes, we visited the Empire State Building. Built in the 1930’s, it was magnificent. In 1958, it was almost a modern building. “We are going to the 102nd floor” I insisted. We had to take two elevators. There were two banks of elevators to the 86th floor. We exited there to view the entire island of Manhattan. I thought about Superman and the Daily Planet. The elevator leading to the 102nd story was small. It led to a tiny room only reachable by climbing a steep, circular staircase. I honestly don’t remember much about the Empire State elevator rides except that there was some swaying when the larger cars moved at a very high speed. Was I afraid? Nope. What’s a little sway when you are on your way to the top of the world.
When I started my career in banking, I worked in a high rise building at 20 Pine Street in NYC. It was in the financial district. I would love to say that I worked on Wall Street. Pine was only one street over. The building was about thirty stories high. It looked a little like the Superman building in Providence. It was probably built in the 1930’s. The elevators were officially old when I arrived in the early 1970’s. They creaked, swayed and rattled. I never thought much about it. I do remember that we had to get off one elevator and on to another as the building narrowed at the upper floors. These elevators left an imprint on my psyche, as they became the subject of a recurring dream. More on that later. In the early 1990’s I worked at One State Street in Boston. It was a modern building and 33 stories high. There were two banks of elevators. One set was for floors 1-15 and the other set was for floors 16-33. It was a straight shot to the top where I worked on the 30th floor. Did I mind the journey to the top? No. I had no inkling of any phobia or concern. The elevators always operated perfectly. I felt a swoosh as the elevator brought me to my office. It had a stunning view of Boston Harbor, the Southeast Expressway, and the western suburbs.
Toward the end of my banking career, I found myself back in Providence, my hometown. Bank of America had signed a ten-year lease of the entire building at 111 Westminster Street. It was indeed the real Superman Building in all its 1928 elegance. There was only one bank of elevators. The doors were bronze and had delicate art deco details. The elevators looked really old, but they were operational.
I remember meeting Joan during the second or third week at my new workplace. Every time that she entered the elevator, she had a companion. They stared at each other. Joan would sweat. She looked terrified. I wondered what Joan’s issue was. I asked another co-worker. “Why does Joan look so scared on the elevator” I asked. “Oh” the woman said, “she’s afraid of riding in elevators.”
I did not think much of it until one day, one of the elevators was closed. No big deal. The maintenance crew was working on an elevator. About two months later only four of the eight elevators were operating. Hmm, I thought. These elevators break down often. About a year later, I arrived at work one morning. I found firemen in the lobby. I asked what was going on. They said that an elevator was stuck between floors. They were fishing people out of the elevator between the 14th and 15th floors. “Damn” I said. “I work on the 15th floor. I wonder if some of my co-workers are caught in the elevator.” I took another elevator to the fifteenth floor.
Sure enough there were a dozen or so fireman helping people climb out of an elevator that was stuck between floors. I immediately thought about Joan. She was not on the elevator. I had a new understanding of the lady’s phobia. This incident shook me. Until my last day of work at the Superman building, I always wondered if I would be a victim of an elevator mishap. It never happened, but I have a recurring nightmare. I will get on that elevator at 20 Pine Street in New York. The elevator starts to move up. It goes faster and faster. Suddenly I am going sideways and moving through space. The elevator does not crash. I always wake up.
There is a ride in Disney World called Space Mountain. It’s a roller coaster in the dark. Don’t take it.
Joe Petteruti was born in Providence and is an author. His book, A Night She’d Remember, is about his Irish grandmother’s experience onboard the RMS Titanic. It is available in local books stores and at Amazon.com.
OCTOBER’S PARTY
October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came –
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet.
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing
Professor Wind the band.
George Cooper