We did not know, nor was it disclosed, when we bought our house that Lewis Avenue was a Halloween destination, literally a trick-a-treat stop for thousands.
Perhaps only a few thousand, but still.
Enough that the city police barricades the street from traffic. Enough that the city installs Port-o-Johnnies at the 6th Street end. Enough that the fire department drops by two enormous bags of candy the night before, meaning we are subsidized by the city. Enough that friends take pity and donate bags of candy to your supply.
(City Council a couple years ago debated and voted to move Halloween to a weekend date rather than let it fall naturally on a Monday. The citizenry revolted, and the council had to rescind its overreach.)
How Lewis Avenue became the trick-a-treat street, I do not know. But everyone knows it is. Busloads of Batmen and Power Rangers and Transformers and Princesses will roll from nearby Wilmington and Whitemarch islands and as far as way as Savannah.
They will be greeted on the short street of 70 homes with blowup ghosts, ghouls, goblins and black cats the size of a small house; graveyards and pirate ships of the dead sailing across lawns; and, residents dressed for the show.
We invite friends over for a cook out and spread the table in the front yard so we have an up close and personal view of the parade that starts just before sundown.
I’ve somehow roped myself into playing a crazy pirate and handing out the candy. I over acted (me?) and hammed it up to the point where friends actually enjoyed seeing me act a fool. Last year, when I bowed out, I apparently upset some people, primarily she-who-must-be-obeyed.
So, this year, I’ll be back with my bandana on my head, eye patch blurring my vision and a glow-in-the-dark cutlass in hand as I guard (hand out) the candy.
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