Candy Land (and in the Air)

Happy Halloween!

I don't know whether any barbarians will be at the gate. But since the occasion has fallen on a Saturday this year, I'm expecting the usual complement of witches, ghosts and goblins at the front door.

As I type this, it's just about noon --- apparently too early for the witching hour as I await the first of the costumed characters making the rounds for loot.

With My Wonderful Wife Peg at work, I've got Halloween duty, which, admittedly, is easier and a lot more fun than any other household chore I can think of among the few that fall to me.

So, I've checked the supply -- an enormous bowl filled with various candies -- and I've manned the station, ready for the onslaught yet to come.

Originally, I wanted to know how much candy we have on hand -- hoping it will be enough -- but in checking it out, I started my own assessment of what we have to offer.

Will we pass muster? If we get rated on some Halloween grapevine, will it be as "HTH" (House To Hit) or "DEB" (Don't Even Bother)?

I believe that when it comes to observing a tradition, some things don't really change, only the methods. Sharing intelligence information was a key part of the Halloween shakedown when I was a kid in Elmhurst, NY and I've got to figure that the only thing that's different now is how the word gets around.

Thanks to modern technology, instead of getting the thumbs-down as one trick-or-treater passes another on the sidewalk, which would require a lot of interaction to have much impact, a single tweet on Twitter can get you shunned by the world.

So, the candy selection is crucial. What do we have? Well, as I inspect the sweet stuff, I see some old friends -- Tootsie Pops and miniatures of the Baby Ruth and Butterfinger bars -- and the ever-popular Kit Kats, smaller sized but sure to please.

Turning those over, I've spotted a sprinkling of Crunch bars; packages of Sour Tarts; Laffy Taffy in multiple flavors (could it possibly be anything like good old Bonomo's Turkish Taffy?); and the timeless classic, Tootsie Rolls.

I'm feeling less anxious now --- relieved, almost confident in our certainty of winning approval, as the assessment continues. As always, My Wonderful Wife Peg has seen to what's really important around here.

There are miniature boxes, too. Junior Mints and Dots, the ammunition of my youth. Those were the ones that many of us bought at the candy counter of the Elmwood Theatre, loading up before taking our seats -- position was everything -- for the Saturday matinee. Some opted for Whoppers, the malted milk balls, or Goobers, the chocolate-covered peanuts, which were the hard stuff.

In truth, there were two kinds of movie theater candy: what you ate and what you threw. An experienced moviegoer knew the ones that served a dual purpose.

In those days, at the Elmwood or the even more raucous Maspeth, you didn't want to be sitting too close to the screen, for reasons that had nothing to do with risking a stiff neck or not being able to fully appreciate the beauty of Cinemascope.

Soon after those lights went out, the firing from the rear commenced, first with the carefully spaced rounds discharged by snipers, possibly acting on their own.

But before long, the hostile activity began in earnest, triggering some combined fire in coordinated attacks. Thus, a single hit was merely a prelude to the repeated volleys by packs of enemy forces. With the launching of mint missiles and gummy grenades being tossed seemingly from every side, a dead-center seat was a far more perilous place than a spot in the first few rows.

By sitting in the front, you put yourself at a disadvantage to return fire. But at least you had the hope, desperate though it might be, of being out of range. Remember, position was everything.

Just for the record, my favorite candy to munch on was the Powerhouse bar, which disappeared maybe 20 years ago. But when it counted most, I packed Jujubes --- the ideal ammo for a spray shooter in the dark.

Now please excuse me while I slip on my Jason Voorhees hockey mask and go answer the door. Junior Mints, anyone?