The Halloween Police Log

So today mark’s the 25th anniversary of that Halloween night I ended up in the police log.  I was an investigative reporter for the Boston Herald’s community newspapers for Swampscott and Marblehead. That meant covering school committees battling over autism budgets, challenging zoning boards for rejecting plans for a substance use treatment facility, and listening to neurologists come talk to the town about caregiving for the growing population with Parkinson’s. Tell the truth and raise hell, that was the mantra of a reporter, but on this night, Halloween 2000, I went on a cold hard search for a lighter story. Thing is, the trick-or-treaters were MIA, vanished like a Halloween candy basket. I found a posse on Arbutus Road and the kids – Mike, George and Steve if I recall – were “cleaning up,” winning more of the candy share than expected like the way a mental health treatment program takes the market by taking accountability for things going sideways. Apparently parents here were nervous about strangers and held indoor parties instead. That was it - I had my story, “the disappearance of Halloween and our trust in people, in tradition.” I remember writing my lead in my head but like my favorite columnist Alan Greenberg once said, you need more sources. I found a gaggle of Tinkerbells scurrying through Aspen Road and when I approached with my camera, steno notebook and #2 pencil, they screamed and fled.  The next morning I did my usual rounds in town and stopped by the police station to pick up the log – the always comical collection of civic disobedience – only this time, I was in it. “Cote, you’re in the log,” the Captain shouted. They had gotten a call from angry parents about a man matching my description asking questions …. I think back to that night—the ribbing I took from the police and my disappointment in the parents, somewhat in myself—and I now see that our world likes to find ways to muddy tradition and sometimes, if not too often, think the worst in people.  I just wanted to ask questions and celebrate a great day, Halloween, one that would become our oldest son’s birthday 3-years later. Those days of watching the kids venture out with a pillow case and a mission, they were more about letting the kids be independent, creative, someone other than themselves, and God help us, actually talk to a few strangers…and even though those times are in the rear view, I can still taste the Reese’s Pieces from Jack’s load…hoping on some level that he hadn’t stolen some poor kid’s candy bucket and realizing that life with him is never dull—even now at 22—and that, much like I was on that night 25 years ago, he too just has questions and a thirst to tell a good story.