In honor of Halloween’s upcoming 45th anniversary, I—a famous and world-renowned historian—embarked on a quest to uncover the holiday’s true origins. After scouring primary sources, secondary sources, tertiary sources—truly all of the sources—I unearthed an astonishing tale. What I found was truly mind-blowing. As we don our spooky garb, I suggest we also take time to honor the wunderkind who started it all. The story begins in the City, on a gloomy day, 45 years ago.
It was 1980. A young boy of Irish descent by the name of James “Jack” O’Lantern conceived the idea of Halloween out of a simple wish. O’Lantern, born and raised in the City, had always dreamed of the beautiful pumpkin farms way out west. One day, his mama, in her thick Irish brogue, leaned down next to him and said, “Oh little lad, what would you like to be when you grow up?” O’Lantern proclaimed, with light flickering in his eyes, “A pumpkin, Mama. That’s all I wanna be.” The punks at school, glimpsing his sketches of pumpkins with eyes and mouths in the margins of his homework, ruthlessly bullied the little lad.
“You’ll never be a pumpkin. You’re just a boy,” they said, pelting him with eggs. With each egg to the face, little Jack’s spirit began to crack. Ha.
“Hey punk,” called a voice from the distance—like an angel, like a prophet. “Get a load of this!”
And boom, a football exploded from behind the corner at the speed of light, wiping out each punk in a line of dominoes. The football’s owner revealed himself from behind the wall, reaching out his hand to a bewildered O’Lantern.
“The name’s Charles, Charles Brown. But you, young lad, you can call me Charlie.”
The two boys became fast friends, united by their lofty dreams. Jack, to be a pumpkin, of course, and Charlie, who dreamt of becoming a movie star, but was insecure of his single strand of hair. One day, as they took Charlie’s dog, Snoop, for a walk, Jack suggested they merge their two dreams. Imagine this: an autumnal movie about a pumpkin with a face on it. Charlie could be the star. Everything could come up roses.
“But everyone will make fun of you for being a pumpkin, Jack,” said a pessimistic Charlie.
“We’ll convince them all to dress up, so I’m not the only one in costume. It’ll be perfect. Everything will come up roses,” Jack continued.
“Good grief. This will never work,” insisted Charlie. “We need a slogan.”
Jack nodded in agreement, gazing at the stores across the street—a strip club called Trick and a frozen yogurt shop by the name of Treat.
“Zoo-Wee-Mama! I’ve got an epiphany!”
The rest is history.
You may be wondering how I know this story. Well, here’s the big reveal you’ve all been waiting for. I am Jack O’Lantern’s son! Gasp! My mother is French, hence the first name, Jacques. I am not actually a historian, just a small boy of Irish and French descent.