to focus on what really mattered to us: candyŚlots of it. And for that, the key was the Map. This creased and eraser-worn piece of notebook paper was debated and fought over each year until it was nigh unto perfect: the absolutely without-a-doubt best route to collect the maximum amount of treats in the smallest amount of time. On Halloween we tweaked it again after the first complete circuit of the neighborhood. Pillowcases bursting at the seams, we would huddle beneath a streetlight, scanning the map and our flawless memory banks to decide which houses to hit a second time.
The trick-or-treat memories are endless, but one incident stands out, because while it reflected our fearlessness in those days, it also marked the height of our stupidity. Word had it that rock icon Bob Seger was living with a group of hippies on the cemetery side of Highlake. On one especially cold Halloween night, as we turned the corner from Lakeview onto Highlake with our massive haul of candy, someone got the bright idea that we should give that house a try.