Scroll back to October 31, 1943. Halloween night. It doesn't require a Sherlock Holmes to discern that the 5-pack of Goblins crossing the Redwood Highway just west of Art Schneider's machine shop is up to no good. The Frame brothers, Harry and Bob. The Wardrip brothers, Lee and Bob. And Billy Landers. Heading to their first strike.
Harry and Lee were the same age, 15, two years older than the Bobs and me (Billy). The Frame family had recently moved to Jerome Prairie but the Frame brothers had known the Wardrip brothers from some years back when they all lived in the same community. So any friends of my friends were friends of mine. Harry in particular was a good friend to have because he was a big kid who carried a certain swagger that suggested messing with him might be your least best option.
Bob Wardrip told me at school that morning that there was a plan for the five of us to do some Halloween business that night so I met up with them after telling my parents I was going trick or treating with Bob and Lee. At the Frame home I learned Harry and Bob had no interest in treating but they showed real enthusiasm for tricking. Their first target was their uncle who lived next door to Art Schneider's machine shop. They were not fond of their uncle and the plan was to tip over his outdoor privy.
The object of our disaffection was not a single traditional outhouse. It was, insted, a toilet hole in the ground that the uncle had surrounded with large packing boxes stacked two high with an opening on the side to a jerry-rigged seat board. The raiding party looped around through the field in back of the house and approached the strange structure. Harry instructed us to surround the boxes and on his signal push everything over and in.
Like many best laid plans, this one had flaws. At Harry's signal boxes started going every which way and I felt a push to my back that sent me spiraling into the hole as a box hit me on my head driving me down. The loud banging of the structure coming down triggered a big yard light to go on and a furious uncle came out the back door of the house screaming ugly words at the fleeing raiders. The box that hit my head covered me up and I just hunkered down with my heart racing in its attempt to leave my chest. Uncle stomped around, still cursing and after awhile returned to the house. I feared he might return as I fought my way out from under the box and crawled out of the hole.
My shoes had paid the price of trespassing in troubled waters and I lit out for home where I pondered the deep conundrum, in the final accounting, who is the trickster and who is the trickee?
