In 835 A.D., upon insistence from Pope Gregory III, Louis the Pious, King of the Franks, established November 1st as a day to honor saints. On Hallowtide (as the night before All Saints Day was known then) folks gathered around bonfires wearing costumes to ward off ghosts. Some stopped at homes to offer prayers in exchange for food or beer. Although ghosts along with pixies, pirates or Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head might be found knocking on doors tonight, sweet treats will be far more prevalent than beer.

During junior high, my mother claimed I was too old to go trick-or-treating. Disappointed, I found some alternative Halloween fun. I relocated elements from a component stereo system behind a shrub outside our front door. Speakers placed in two other bushes close by and a string of extension cords from the garage completed preparations to surprise goblins that evening. Besides that night being fun less than anticipated, it also fell well short of the story my father, Dean Sommers, told me about his 1937 Halloween night.

Dad and his cousin, LeRoy, grew up in the small farming community of Wells, Kansas, 30 miles north of Salina. Also as teenagers too old for costumes, they hatched an alternative plan. LeRoy met up with three of Dad’s and his high school buddies Halloween afternoon and suggested they have some fun. My Grandfather, Frank Sommers, was perceived as a rather cranky fellow. All agreed he was deserving of LeRoy’s idea to tip over old man Frank’s outhouse. “What about Dean?” one of the friends asked.

“He went to Salina with relatives this weekend. It’ll just be us four,” LeRoy pitched.

By light of the moon later, the foursome crept slowly toward the outhouse until LeRoy stopped them. “Hold it!” he whispered. “Let’s wait here a while, just to be sure Frank or someone isn’t in there.” The four squatted down and lingered fifteen minutes before deciding the coast was clear. “Ok, let’s go,” LeRoy finally ordered.

They noticed light coming from windows in the Sommers house a short distance away and knew it wouldn’t be long before they would lay hidden in the cornfield nearby to watch Frank blow his top when he figured out what the commotion was all about. “The old man is going to be madder than a hornet!” one classmate chuckled.

The four continued toward the outhouse, crouched over to avoid being seen. Once there, LeRoy motioned for two of his co-conspirators to take the north side of the privy while he and the other took the south. They started shoving the structure from side to side until it started rocking. Suddenly there was a deafening ‘ka-BOOM!’ An explosion from a shotgun rang out inside the latrine as fire and shingles flew skyward from the roof. ‘Blowing his top off’ suddenly had new meaning.

“Let’s get outta here!” one hollered. They sprinted onto the dirt street and toward the grain elevator a half block away. ‘Ka-BOOM’ came another shotgun blast over their heads. LeRoy, the fastest runner on the Wells/Minneapolis High School track team, lagged behind for some reason while a figure clad in overalls and Frank’s signature fedora hat chased after them. They made it to the railroad tracks before another ka-BOOM rang out. All but LeRoy dove over the tracks to the other side and rolled into a stand of thorn bushes. Hearing LeRoy and Dean’s laughter coming from across the tracks, the three extricated themselves from the brush, thorns protruding from their britches.

I still have my Grandfather Frank’s ten-gauge shotgun used that night. LeRoy once told me he always wanted to shoot it but knew it would kick. When he and Dad snuck it out of the house once, LeRoy laid down and pointed it straight up in the air, then pulled both triggers. “It nearly tore my shoulder off,” he told me. I’ve never shot it. Like it accomplished on Halloween 1937, it might almost frighten me half to death.