The weather had finally turned cold as Halloween 1962 approached. Frost was dusting the rooftops and the leaves were scattered on front lawns and piling up in the street in Vancouver, British Columbia. Halloween was less than a week away. The chance for this 7 year old to dress up as Popeye and load up on candy followed by fireworks in the alley ( a tradition on Canadian Halloween nights) was almost too much for me. I was bugging my Mom and she ordered myself and my eight year old brother out of the house. We got together with a couple of friends from the neighborhood and tried to find something to occupy our time. As we walked down the alley behind our house kicking rocks and being bored, my eyes travelled to a very well kept pumpkin patch in the back yard of one of the neighbors. We hadn't got a pumpkin yet and there were so many in the patch. They wouldn't miss a couple would they?

We climbed over the fence and picked out four of the smaller gourds and pulled them free of the vine. I wondered how we would explain the pumpkins to my Mom when one of our friends said how lucky it was that we found these pumpkins laying in the street. That sounded good to me and we climbed back over the fence and carried our treasures home. Not noticed in the excitement was the neighborhood crank, Mrs. Gandolph, who stood on her porch watching our departure with what I'm sure was a scowl of distaste mixed with pure evil on her face.

We arrived home flushed and excited at our discoveries. Mom was overly interested in exactly where we had found the pumpkins and were they definitely in the alley and not the backyard. We acknowledged that the pumpkins were indeed in the alley. Mom again asked us if we were sure. We looked at each other and said certainly. Mom sent both of us to our rooms to wait for Dad to get home. Like a dope, I got out my Quik Draw McGraw coloring book and went to work on the Hannah Barbera cartoons and waited for dinner. My brother, having a keener sense of reality, stole out of his room, admitted the theft and blamed me for the idea.

Dad arrived home from work tired and cranky and was met by Mom who explained how Mrs. Gandolph had called her and told her of our adventure in the neighbor's yard. She said that Darryl had admitted the theft, but that I was adamant in my denial. I had to endure the sound of my brother's punishment next door at the end of a wooden spoon as I realized for the first time that the gig was up. Tears formed in my eyes and I had developed a full blown sobfest by the time Dad finished with my brother. He asked me where we got the pumpkins and I tearfully and shakily told him the truth. He told me that coming clean was the right thing to do, that he was proud of me and that I should drop my pants and turn over on the bed. The stinging blows hurt, but not near as much as missing the "trick-or-treating" that Halloween. We were forced to march with the pumpkins back to the neighbor's house that night and admit our folley and arrange to rake leaves for the neighbor and Mrs. Gandolph. The owner of the patch was a nice lady who told us to keep the pumpkins and next time just ask her if we wanted one. We begged her to keep them knowing our fate if we returned home with the pumpkins.

Mrs. Gandolph sat in her front window watching us as we raked leaves the next day and she must have been cleaning the house, because I swear she was sitting on a broom.