Halloween Memories

It’s odd, but I can only remember going trick or treating once in my life.  My mother says I’m wrong;  I went every year.  If I did, my annual adventures in candy grovelling have escaped my memory. 

The one Halloween that I can recall was cold;  uncharacteristically cold for late October in South Texas.   An early cold front had just moved through and I remember being mad that mother made me bundle up in a car coat.   Dammit woman!    A coat almost completely obscured my costume which  defeated the purpose of even wearing one and that year,  I was so proud of mine.   I donned the colors of a one  Casper the Friendly Ghost, my favorite cartoon character.   The costume was fairly simple:  a satiny white jumpsuit with a plastic Casper mask that had the damnedest chemical smell.  God only knows what kind of compounds and dioxins I was breathing in.  

I found a photo of the costume in its original box.    

Yep, that’s how I remember it looked, but to be honest, I don’t remember it  being “Flame Retarded” as it said on the box.     

I carried an orange Jack-O-Lantern candy bucket.   It was almost as big as I was.   There was a smaller size I could have gotten, but no–I had ambitious dreams of making a big candy haul that year.   But I had one 4′ 10″ stumbling block that would foil my plan–my mother.  

She was extremely particular about the homes at which she’d allow us to Trick or Treat.    We could only go to the houses belonging to close friends and family.   Mother didn’t trust a lot of people; mainly, she didn’t trust their ability to keep a clean house.    She judged people by the dirt on their hands and was relentless in this.   I don’t know how many times I was forbidden from going over to play classmates houses–even attending their birthday parties,  because my mother just “knew” that the mothers didn’t keep a clean house.   I think it was really snobbery at work.   And I guess as skewed as they were, she had her reasons.

Not only was hygiene an issue, this was also  the mid 60′s and the horrors of Halloween were everywhere, or so she thought.   She’d seen the news reports on TV:  razor blades in apples. needles in candy bars, ground glass or poison in Pixie Sticks.    Certainly, none of the inhabitants of any of Mother’s sanctioned homes would try to kill or main her children, right?? 

So,with our Trick or Treat target destinations so limited, candy intake was limited, too.

I remember my candy haul was slim pickens at best that Halloween.  I think I got a few packages of M&M’s;  a couple of  Krackles (Hersey’s version of the Nestle Crunch Bar and frankly, not as good), a little snack-sized box of Sun Maid raisins (which I loathed and considered part of a Communist plot), Three Musketeers, a few Snickers…maybe a Milky Way or two…and these gross Sweetharts wanna be’s called “Smarties”.    They tasted like sugared chalk.  People bought huge bags of them because they were cheap.   Seeing one of those dropped into your candy bucket was a bumber. especially if you were expecting a brand name piece of candy. 

Those Smarties are and were a horrible, HORRIBLE candy, but nothing was worse than Candy Corn, especially that which was tossed haphazardly in the your candy container.  Half the time, it wasn’t even wrapped in plastic, just tossed in naked…and by the handful.   They tasted like sweetened wax.

Any homeowner that gave out Candy Corn was just a beggin’  for an eggin’.

That was the first and last Halloween I remember and the horrors at that one in particular,  seemed to alter everything.   Bad candy selections, plus limited trick or treating locations and a cold front that prevented me from looking outwardly like Casper, took the joy out of the holiday.  I was barely six yet  I was already jaded and at such  an early age, too.  

So, after the Halloween Heartache of ’65, I decided to stay home on from that point on.  I’d help my parents with candy duty.    We doled out the good stuff too.  The parents spared no expense at Halloween:  Milky Ways….Snickers….Almond Joys…Peanut M&Ms….Mars Bars….Jr. Mints…PomPoms…Milk Duds and Sugar Babies.    Word gets around on the street when a house gives out primo candy at Halloween.  Ours was known as a  ‘hot’ house.    We had the good stuff and as they say, if you offer it, they will come. And they did.  All night long, there was a steady stream of hobos, fairies, witches, ghosts, princesses, goblins, football players and vampires willing to trick us if we didn’t treat them.    Many of the revellers were  my friends who’s mothers obviously deemed our house “clean enough”, too.

But that first Halloween after I permanently hung up my costume was an educational one.   I learned something.  I saw first hand the differences in those who have and those who barely have anything and  I understood that very wide gap with amazing clarity.   What stood out were the poor Hispanic kids whose families couldn’t afford costumes.  They’d rub make-up on their faces, not in any real form or fashion;  just smudged on and that was it; that was their costume.   They also held empty bread bags for their Trick or Treat candy.   They’d walk up to our house and knock on the front door, something that the 60′s racism and class distinctions would never allow them to do at any other time of the year.  At Halloween, those lines were blurred…for a few hours, anyway. 

This hurt my heart.  I’ m being serious, it did.   I felt bad, guilty even, for having all that I did.  And I know the kids understood the differences.  They’d strain their necks while standing at the doorway in order  to see inside our house.  My mother instinctively knew they were casing the place;  I knew they simply wanted to see how we lived, by where we lived.    I had a feeling that this was the only time they had free access to candy of this caliber and to Anglo oppulence, as it were.  Both,  I felt sure were  in  short supply in their worlds.  Because of that, I felt the need to give them a little more candy than the other kids.    

Wow!!   Little did I know that during that particular Halloween, I went as a Democrat.  

Unfortunately, my parents didn’t share my soft heartedness.   They grew up in a different world at a different time.   Not an excuse, just an explanation.   To them, Halloween was politicized and socialized.   I only saw it as the one time that everyone, regardless of who or what they were, could through a mask or makeup,  be something they’re not.   A disguise guaranteed parity….of sorts.

One year, I remember my mother becoming very angry that so many teens were Trick or Treating.    She called this a blatant  “Candy Raid” during a holiday specifically for young children.    That’s when she decided that the trick or treating cut off age at Casa Kendrick was 12 and she even put a sign in the window stating that fact.   She turned teenagers away left and right that Halloween.   You’d hear them say,  ”Aasssswwwwwww, really?  It’s just candy, Lady!!!  Come on, it’s Halloween!”     I remember thinking that this evening would  not end well.  Placing a trick or treating restriction based on age was NOT my mother’s wisest move.

That Halloween evening at the hour of  eight, we closed up shop.  We  turned off the porch light and removed the electric Jack O-Lantern from the window and put it away for another year.    Invariably, some Trick or Treaters who were clueless in to the ways and means of  Trick or Treating,  didn’t understand that a darkened porch meant “NO CANDY FOR YOU!!”  and they’d ring the bell or knock anyway.   This lack of trick or treating protocol angered my father who went to the door and told the Trick or Treaters regardless of age and ethnicity,  that we were out of candy and that they should be home in bed.  I also heard him shout, “You’re too damn old to be trick or treating anyway!!”, at some of them. 

Then,  after the sound of his closing, then locking the front door,  came the tell-tell,    FAINT SOUND OF CRACKING /THUD, THUD……….FAINT CRACKING SOUND/THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD!!!!! 

Retaliation is a messy business.  It took three  days to remove the stubborn epoxy created by the dried albumin from all of those  eggs that had been hurled in anger at the front of our house and the porch.

Three whole days!!!     

 Unfortunately, we couldn’t clean up the pervasive attitude that prompted the the ova onslaught in the first place.   But eventually, enlightenment was reached and all it took was time and a better understanding  of the human race which was accomplished ONLY by a move far away from the prejudices of South Texas.

My Next Great Adventure

As  a child, I dreamed of being a journalist.   How cool it would be to grow up to be a member of the same fraternity of  those I watched growing up:  Cronkite…Severied….Huntley & Brinkley…Chancellor…even Roger Mudd,  one anchor type who’s on air popularity, I never quite understood. 

Still, how groovy  it would be–or so I thought–to have millions read my thoughts in print on the front page of a newspaper; hearing me wax comedic, political…whatever…live over a radio’s speakers; being on TV.   All those thoughts gave a little girl from a very small town in South Texas a reason to see go forth and explore all the things that might lie beyond the city limits and its many limitations.

So, I graduated from High School and moved to the big city.  Going to college was the goal.  I never considered not going.  Call it a Catholic/Protestant work ethic.    My two older sisters quit college and got married young and started procreating almost immediately.   I didn’t want to do that.  Perhaps it was because I was selfish, perhaps I was smart–maybe a little both.  All I know is that  I couldn’t go through my life without that sheepskin. 

 So I struggled through college working full time, taking as close to a  full load of classes each semester.   It wasn’t easy, but like countless others, I forged through it.     I was a typical college student; broke and exhausted. I lived in cheap hovels which the vermin adored.  I ate ramen noodles (ten packages for a dollar) and some months, finances were so compromised that I had to choose between having a phone or electricity.   I worked through every Spring  Break and many holidays.   I made a lot of sacrifices and I knew that graduating witha degree was vital, especially if I wanted to persue a gig in TV or radio and even then, I knew life wasn’t going to get any easier….certainly NOT in the beginning of my career.

You see,  in journalism, you learn early on that you have to pay your dues.  You need to earn the right to work in the major leagues.  Everyone does this and every success story on TV or radio shares this belief and had similar experiences on their way up.   They, like me graduated from college,  then went to work in small markets that paid even smaller salaries.  These were hard, thankless jobs that included horrible shifts.  These were positions below the very bottom rung of the broadcast ladder.  In many ways, it was like being in college all over again, just without the books and homework.  But somehow for me,  through all the missed holidays gatherings, family reunions, weddings–even my own birthdays–and crappy wages, I did it.  I ended up in a top ten market.  

Houston to be more specific and it’s where I’ve been for the past 21 years.

In January, I’ll celebrate 29 years in journalism and in that time, I’ve done it all;  print, TV and radio and all of these gigs possessed all the things that were the focal points of my juvenile daydreams.   Trust me, there’s no bigger ego rush.   But while there’s a thrill with being recognized in the grocery store or looking up at a billboard and seeing your likeness or hearing your voice in your car radio as you drive down the street, there’s certainly a side to broadcasting that never enters the visions of grandeur that occupy the daydreams of your future.    

There’s some glam assoicated with the life of a journalist,  but make no mistake, it can also be a very difficult one.    I’ve only dabbled in print journalism briefly and my tenure there wasn’t long enough to know the particulars of its ways and means, but I’ve known my share of hard-drinking,  hard living, angry and jaded newspaper reporters.   

But I can say that I know a helluva lot about broadcasting, though.    It’s a job that requires you to have a brassy, ballsy ego, yet by radio’s very nature, that ego is wounded constantly.   Broadcasting forces you to apply generous amounts of Teflon to your heart and soul.

In TV and radio, you live and die by ratings.   You can be the General Manager’s darling one minute; the station’s pariah the next.   And more often than not, the reasons behind the  rise and fall of your own career can’t always be traced back to anything you did, or didn’t do.   Very often,  it has a lot to do with a fickle audience.   You know, trends.  Research indicates your P1 audience,  the particular age range your targeting, would prefer a more  humor  infused newscast for one ratings period.  Okay fine.  You bring on the funny.  Then the next thing you know, you’re being told to “rein it in” and treat news and its dissemination with gut-punching seriousness.    Why?   The audience says so, that’s why.

Advertisers have influence, too.   And let’s not forget the personal bailiwicks of Program Directors and News Directors.   Young, skinny, big-boobed brunettes fresh out of college,  they believe, are far more credible than an experienced zaftig blond.   Some TV News Directors  and Radio Program  Directors often confuse credibility with on air “hotness”.   Women like this “show”  better and the show, even in the non-visual world of  radio, is sadly, what it’s all about.    

And while TV and radio can be incredibly misogynistic, more and more men are finding themselves being replaced by younger , more virile looking hard bodies.   Finally the genders have reached some parity in the Department of Disregard.    For a while there in the world of Journalism, all that mattered was having a dangling participle.  The cold hard reality these days, is that aging simply isn’t tolerated in broadcasting.   Hollywood ain’t nuts about it either, but this is a very real phenomenon in many industries.   Broadcasting especially.   

I’ve  often asked this question to my friends and colleagues in the biz— when will some TV or radio station ever get it into their head that seasoned anchors and reporters are still completely viable?       That age can be a boon, experience can be a benefit…

Well, enter Radio One. 

This Maryland-based company owns and operates 69 radio stations  in 22 cities.   Its target listeners are almost exclusively African-Americans in urban areas.  Radio One has a strategy of  acquiring stations in a given market and making sudden format changes they believe will be profitable.  Radio One tends to favor urban-based formats targeting African-American listeners, and makes format changes to target their demographic.

Until now….

Enter KROI-FM/Houston.

It’s currently a gospel station and will remain that way until November 14th.    That’s when the station will flip to  a 24-hour news and information station.    This is a first for Radio One–they’ve never done news before,  but when it comes to business, you have to take a station to where the needs are.    And Houston as been without a real and unbiased local news radio station for some time.  

Doug Abernethy is a Radio One Regional Vice President:   ”Our review of Houston’s broadcast landscape told us that those listeners interested in local news as well as national news were being poorly served, so we decided to make a commitment to delivering the news in a dependable fashion. People want to hear about news as it happens, and they shouldn’t have to wait until their radio station ‘catches up’. We’ll deliver the news as it unfolds.”

And who’ll be delivering that news to Houston and anyone from anywhere on the planet who chooses to stream will be Texas Radio Hall of Fame honorees J.P. Pritchard and Lana Hughes. Additional duties throughout the day will be handled by other local talent including Mike Barajas, Scott Braddock, Carolyn Campbell, Kevin Charles, Brent Clanton, Lanny Griffith, Laurie Kendrick, Martha Martinez, Bonnie Petrie, Matt Sampsell, Pattie Shieh, Meteorologist Dr. Joe Sobel, Craig Roberts, and Jorge Vargas.

Yes, you read that right–Laurie Kendrick.   And do you want to know what I like best about this line-up OTHER than the fact that it includes my name??    The youngest person in the on air reporter/anchor division is in his late 30′s.  Everyone else is in their 40s, 50′s and 60′s.   This is a well seasoned roster of professionals, from all walks of life, all with more than enough real world experience under their belts.   I’ve worked with many of these people before.  They’re family and I’m getting to know the others who I’ve listened to or watched over the past two decades I’ve lived in Houston.   They are rapidly becoming family.   The vibe is good at this place and so far, management seems fair and accomodating.   Finally, a broadcast entity who “gets it”.     Age CAN be a plus.    

We’ve all gathered for training over the past few weeks.   Recently, I looked around the room and saw so much experience,  literally etched on do many faces.   A wrinkle here, a double chin there.   True, we’re not the flawless specimens we used to be, but then again, like wine, we’ve aged…and we’re better.  Calmer, more dependable.    We can now dictate life (well, sort of) and we’re not as victimized by it’s capriciousness.   That’s one of the plusses of getting older.  You get to make a deal with life.  You develop a mutual understanding.  Life starts to give you more freedom and trust me, there IS freedom in no longer needing to be all the things your  youth demanded that you be.    

And what makes this new venture even better, is how Radio One is handling it.   They’re not firing anyone employed at the gospel station; employees will be absorbed within the company.   And they’re being very considerate to the fans of the soon to be former gospel station by keeping it on the air, via  a side component; a high-definition frequency at a different dial position.  To make that work for the audience, Radio One is shelling out an untold amount of money to buy high def radios that will be distributed throughout the community, absolutely gratis.    They’re also sending corporate liaisons into the community to explain why a Black gospel format has been replaced by an all news one.

I applaud my new employers for their foresight,  consideration and sensitivity.    These attributes are very,very rare in the  big, cold business of corporate radio.   Radio One is laying down the best karma possible.   This my friends, is how you flip a format.    Other radio entities–the ones who have traded profit margins for integrity and humanity–could learn a thing or two.

Hooray for Radio One.   They’re in it to make a profit, of course.    Even so, it appears that corporate greed isn’t the biggest motivating factor,  instead,  a certain degree of altruism, is.       

As for my duties at the station, I’ll be working the early morning shift, doing features and lifestyle reporting during morning drive, in my own inimitable  way.   This will include reviews of TV shows….and yes, American Horror Story will one of them.       I’ll publish the new website address and streaming ap as soon as both are up and running.   That means you can listen to me and my crones and cronies from anywhere in the world.  Ain’t technology grand???   

Again, News 92 FM will launch November 14th.

And yes, make no mistake, I’ll still be blogging, too.  I can’t give that up just yet.  It’s part of my routine and after years of unemployment, I really enjoy keeping busy.   Besides,  you can’t keep an old broadcasting war-horse down. 

Especially an employed one.