Around ten years ago, there was scandal in our town involving the Superintendent of Schools. He was stopped under suspicion of DUI and when he stepped out of his car, he was dressed in women’s clothing. The local newspaper had a field day describing his outfit: a gold lamé blouse, ripped pantyhose, a tight black skirt, blue eyeshadow, smeared red lipstick, and a string of fake pearls. His mug shot in this outfit was released and circulated. The initial shock was swiftly followed by angry calls for him to step down from his post. At first, he didn’t want to leave, but the sentiment against him was so strong that he finally agreed on the condition he could still receive his pension and a cash settlement, citing alcoholism as a disability. Needless to say, this created an uproar in town.

          The story unfolded over October and by October 31^st had climaxed into a homemade costume bonanza. Sam and I went to a Halloween party that year with over a dozen guys from the neighborhood in gold lamé blouses, blue eyeshadow, and pearls. We all thought this was marvelously clever; nasty and amusing all at once. If one could overlook how tortured this man was, and ignore his humiliation and despair, it was easy to cast him as a pathetic pariah, deserving of our collective scorn and ridicule. He was a man we trusted with our kids’ welfare, and our tax dollars! He had a wife and children of his own. What was he thinking?

          It was a few years later, after he had died of health problems related to his alcoholism, that I started thinking back on that Halloween, and realized that the dark side of Halloween isn’t about goblins and witches. The dark side is what lurks beneath the callousness that inspires us to take a tormented soul and turn him into a costume party joke. He was a man, with a wife and children of his own. What were we thinking?