A trick-or-treat tale of trouble

May the Force be with you!

Those were the words spoken by my lifelong roommate and me, along with the Olinger brothers, as we set out to conquer the neighborhood one candy-laden doorstep at a time, all decked out in our best Star Wars Halloween costumes — Chewbacca, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia as well as Darth Vader and an Imperial Stormtrooper — bringing the galaxy far, far away to the mid-size industrial city north of Pittsburgh.

However, it took some coaxing to convince Brian Olinger — an 8-year-old third grader—to don the garb as the only female member of the cast in what would eventually become a science-fiction cult classic; but he reluctantly agreed after being promised he could wield a realistic toy lightsaber as part of her… I mean his… elaborate ensemble.

Our rebel squadron was ready to take on the imaginary Galactic Empire.

What began as an extraordinary adventure unfortunately turned into a catastrophic failure as two members of the dark side — John and me — were captured and imprisoned by a would-be Emperor Palpatine — our father— at the culmination of the annual festivities.

Earlier that same evening, this mild-mannered seventh-grader was bubbling with excitement as he and his big brother changed into authentic costumes, each of them taking on their respective character’s sinister persona with great enthusiasm.

“Commander,” I quipped after placing the iconic black helmet of the Dark Lord of the Sith over my head. “Tear this ship apart until you’ve found those Death Star plans; and bring me any and all passengers lurking about this outdated relic, because I want them brought to me alive!”

“Yes, my lord,” responded the freckle-faced athlete as he confidently tapped a make-believe laser gun to his chest which was underneath a white metallic armor covering his muscular frame.

With a long black cape flowing behind me, I quickly left our sleeping quarters and scampered down the enclosed L-shaped staircase, followed closely by the lone bucket head prior to exiting the church parsonage that proudly displayed one of the Halloween pumpkins — carved especially for the occasion — from our summer vegetable garden sitting on the front porch.

Once these symbols of diabolical treachery, jumping directly from the cinematic screen, walked to the corner of North Street and Orchard Avenue, they rendezvoused with their revolutionary counterparts to meticulously plan out the route — ensuring to hit every house with the best candy and avoid any tricks — while standing in the shadow of the colossal red-brick building, adorned with stained glass windows.

The adventure unfolded as we raced from house to house up and down the boulevard with the thrill of collecting a seemingly endless supply of confectionery delights fueling our mission.

“Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat; if you don’t, I don’t care, I’ll pull down your underwear.”

This was the chant our unholy alliance shouted out when Becky Popoff — a member of Ellwood City Assembly of God — opened her front door, which featured a giant spider web with several oversized eight-legged arachnids crawling the walls, to pass out full-size Snicker bars to all the ghosts and goblins standing about.

“How about some delicious treats,” suggested the woman with a black-haired bob when the would-be Wicked Witch of the East from The Wizard of Oz began handing out the goodies. “Since I’m not a captivating magician, I certainly don’t have a clue as to how to pull a rabbit from my witch’s hat; and I wouldn’t want to be arrested for indecent exposure if you pulled down my undergarments.”

“If Marcus Welby, M.D. promises not to cut off my head with his bloodthirsty red lightsaber, I’ll give him and his trusty sidekick — this illustrious Imperial Stormtrooper — two candy bars,” she added while looking at the adolescent preteen with kind eyes.

“How’d you know we were the ones inside these groovy costumes?” I queried, poking my face out from underneath a replica of Darth Vader’s mechanical headgear.

A little birdie told me.

Enraged by not receiving the same double treat, the supposed propagators of peace—the Olinger brothers—exacted their revenge by soaping the windows on the blue 1975 Chevrolet Monte Carlo sitting directly in front of the Popoffs’ humble abode; but try as we might, my oldest sibling and I were unable to stop them from vandalizing the two-door vehicle.

By the time we returned to the Cape Cod-style dwelling with pillowcases filled with edible treasures, the Bible scholar was patiently waiting for us as he leisurely relaxed in a recliner on the opposite side of the living room.

Would either of you like to explain why I received a telephone call from Ronnie Popoff just a little while ago?

“We didn’t even do anything wrong,” protested the eighth grader, raising his hands in surrender before attempting to explain the facts of the prickly situation. “When the Olinger boys started soaping their car, Mark and I tried to stop them because we didn’t want to get into trouble; but they were more than a little upset when we both received an extra candy bar.”

I was only trying to get as much candy as humanly possible.

“None of that matters at this point,” assured the tall clergyman with an authoritative tone once he linked us to the would-be juvenile delinquents. “Considering you boys were seen with the culprits who did the dirty work, you are guilty by association; so, maybe you should think about those ‘so-called friends’ with whom you hang out.”

It’s a good thing they called me instead of the police, or we would be having an entirely different conversation right now.

You’re both grounded for the next week.

While every other youngster within the boundaries of Ellwood City was enjoying the “fruits of their labour,” my brother and I were forced to leave the scrumptious haul with Dad, who was probably picking out the best pieces to eat, while we had to both write a letter of apology upstairs in our bedroom.