Through An 'Old Timer's' Eyes
By Howard 'Mac' McDonald

Halloween is just around the corner and pumpkins are everywhere. Pumpkins can come in several different shapes but they only come in two colors, bright orange and pale straw.

Pumpkins are a lot more than jack 'o lanterns. They are rich

vitamin A and vitamin C. They're also rich in flavor.

I like pumpkin-flavored cookies and my mom used to bake pumpkin bread. When I was a kid, before there were machines to pick corn, the pumpkins were always planted with the corn. After we cut and shucked the corn, we would harvest the pumpkins.

The little ones stayed in the field until they rotted or became bird food. They were also good for throwing at people or at doors of anyone you were tricking on Halloween, and the more rotten they were, the better.

One bright moonlit night in October, a couple of my friends and I made a dummy and laid

on the road. When the driver would get out of the car to move the dummy, he would get lambasted with a rotten pumpkin. Not a nice thing to

but back in the thirties this was the epitome of the Halloween prank.

One time, though, when it was my turn to heave the little pumpkin, I didn't realize that

had been frozen and in the center was a small ball of ice. Another thing I didn't know was that the car that stopped was driven by the Chief Detective for Allegheny County.

I wound up like Dizzy Dean and threw my best fastball. Thank goodness I missed him, but it got worse. My ice-laden pumpkin took out the driver's side windshield. He pulled his gun and fired a shot in the air that sent us scattering in all directions.

My dad was the justice of the peace and the only law in that part of the county. I no sooner got in the door, shaking like a leaf, when I heard a knock. I opened the door and there stood this giant of a man, the detective.

I confessed and also ratted on my friends because our sentence was to pay for the windshield and I could not pay the $25 alone. Dad administered some corporal punishment with his belt.

I guess I was a natural prankster. My grandmother had a cousin who was a wealthy farmer. His hired hands stayed in the bunk house. The cook would ring the bell to summon the workers in from the fields to eat.

We would climb up on the roof, tie a piece of twine to the bell and stretch it out to a patch of woods next to the house. When all the lights were out and we were sure the old farmer was in dreamland, we would start ringing that bell.

We never stopped until he came out of the house with his shotgun and would shoot in all directions. No one was ever hurt but the next day the bell was gone from the bunk house roof.

We lived on a rural country road and it was plenty dark. My brother and his cohorts used to dress up in white sheets and try to scare us younger kids. They were usually pretty successful and we had to take drastic measures to put a stop to their antics.

Dark Hollow had a small bridge that crossed the creek and it was here that they would lie and wait for us to come into this spookest place in the world. Ed Bozik, Chuckie Kelly and I crept up close to their clubhouse and heard them making plans to scare anyone who passed over the bridge.

That night we were loaded for bear. We each had enough good-sized rocks to take on a small army.

We made plenty of noise as we came up the road and, sure enough, five big white ghosts rose up from behind that bridge. They were really spooky, but we kept our nerve up and launched our attack.

We knocked three

from the bridge and

the other two ran for cover. The next day there was not a word about their spook party. Score one for the little kids.

Last week's Endeavor News had a report on the meeting about forestry and deer management. The Game Commission sent a couple of their experts here to enlighten us dumb woodhicks.

They say that there are too many deer killedper square mile, and with the increase of 6,000 tags it will only average one-third more deer per square mile in Area 2G. Who are they kidding? I'd be surprised if we have even one deer per square mile.

Jack Krafft from First Fork Lodge hit the nail on the head, when he said the Game Commission has devastated the small business owner who once made his living from the money spent by the hunters.

Dennis Dusza babbled on about a 20-ounce bottle of water and told the people that the hunting for bears, turkeys and squirrels was good. What the hunters care about, Dennis, is the deer herd.

Mismanagement of our forests by clear-cutting so many trees that provide the food for the deer is what will force them to turn to other sources for food. The greedy lumbering industry is causing many of the changes.

Haven't these people ever heard of planting trees? In Louisiana, when they clear-cut an area, they come right behind and plant new trees.

I still believe our Game Commission and Forestry Bureau are managed by accountants who are qualified in forest and deer management by title only.