Hillary's Bra, and Other Halloween Scares

 Halloween is the scary holiday, timed perfectly to arrive just before the two scariest spots on the calendar: winter, and elections.

It's hardly surprising, then, that one popular Halloween mask is that of the politician. One year I dressed up as Hillary Clinton, stopped all the other trick-or-treaters, and collected 28% of their candy. The bra was kind of binding, though. The problem is, half the people don't recognize political figures, and the other half get too scared.

"What costumes? We just finished some barbecue ribs."

 

My main criteria for choosing a Halloween costume was always warmth. In northern Indiana, it's not unheard of for Halloween decorations to be under a layer of snow by the end of October. Any Hoosier parent will tell you the main challenge in designing a costume is incorporating a winter coat and snow boots. Dressing as an astronaut is very popular.

As for me, I stopped going out on Halloween when I got old enough to buy candy at the store, turn off the porch light, and sack out on the couch in a diabetic coma. Preferably while watching a really awful Godzilla movie.

The last time I dressed up for the holiday Emily and I went to a Zombie Walk, costumed as ... well, you know. On a whim I walked into a grocery store and asked if they had any bran. The clerk said, "Last year you were way scarier as Dick Cheney".

"Brains--huh. Nothing there."

 

We always tried to do costumes on the cheap because, well--I'm cheap. So we scrounged around the house, looking for something that could be worn over insulated long underwear. For instance, my adopted brother Martin once gave me a bag of hand-me-down clothes. We don't have the same fashion sense, what with me being a white small town boy and him a black guy from Fort Wayne, which is a big city by my standards.

Most of the clothes did class me up, a little. But I also found a uniquely loud puffy shirt, and a pair of oversized parachute pants that button all the way down the side. No, I never saw him wear them in public--I suspect he was messing with me.

That gave me two choices: Go to Halloween as a stereotypical 70s disco black guy, or a clown. I'll never be politically correct, but you can guess which one I did NOT go as.

A rare photo of me outside in November.

 

Another choice was something my mother bought for me years ago, back when she (correctly) assumed I needed to get more fit. It's this silver foil costume designed to hold in body heat, like a personal portable sauna. I used it once on the treadmill and lost twelve pounds in thirty minutes. I could have gone as a zombie without needing makeup, if I could walk in a straight line, which I couldn't. Still, a little silver makeup, an aluminum foil hat, and: tah-dah! I'm a space alien.

If I ever trick-or-treat again I'll choose that outfit. Any candy I eat will sweat out of me by the time I make it home. Besides, I'm bound to stay warm no matter how cold it gets outside. Since my one and only goal from October through March is to stay warm, I could celebrate Halloween for months to come, even as political campaigning leaves me cold.

And if that doesn't work, I still have Hillary's bra.

 

Remember: When you don't read our books, the Wicked Witch melts. You don't want to clean that up.

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Michigan Sunset Photos

 We were only up in Michigan for two nights on our summer vacation, but I was looking forward to seeing the sunset over Lake Bellaire. The second night it was okay. The first night? Well, I left these photos un-retouched, so you can see for yourself. (Click on them to make them bigger, I hope.)

At first it didn't look like the sunset would be all that special, but I was able to sit in a chair while the grand-twins made hot dogs and s'mores over the fire, so who was I to complain?

 

Then the sun broke out and started shining on the underside of a cloud layer.

It turned out to be one of the greatest sunsets I've ever had the good fortune to witness.

No, that's not a funnel--I suspect it's virga, rain that evaporates before it hits the ground. There were thunderstorms far off and to the right in these images.

I've mentioned before that many of the scenes from my novel Radio Red take place near, by, or on this lake. I don't remember if I described the sunsets, but words can't really do them justice, anyway.

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My Fractured History Of Firefighting

 

As we close out the 100^th anniversary of Nation Fire Prevention Week, I thought I’d take a quick look at the history of firefighting.

You might want to brace yourself, we’ll be moving fast.

Fire was discovered by Adam, who was kicked out of the Garden of Edan because of an apple—making it the first core-pral punishment. It gets darned cold in the real world, but Adam could only find one stick, so he made a fire by rubbing it against a Cain. This led to emotional problems with Cain later on; he tried to cope, but wasn’t Abel.

Ancient Egyptians experienced fire problems when a column of fire led the Jews out of bondage. The Jews were followed by the Pharaoh and his army, who were sore about being plagued. Pharaoh then took his army to the Red Sea, figuring it would water down the flame.

The soldiers drowned, much to the sorrow of their mummies. The Pharaoh himself was unusually tall, and waded back to shore: To this day, when someone measures the intensity of fire, they speak of degrees in Pharaoh Height.

The Roman Empire invented the first fire extinguisher, which looked like a big syringe. Their first firefighters were slaves, and when the syringe wasn’t effective they were just thrown on the flames until the fire was smothered. Everyone was satisfied with this arrangement. Except the slaves.

Benjamin Franklin helped found the earliest organized fire force in the New World. He also flew kites in thunderstorms, thumbed his nose at the most powerful empire in the world, and had indiscriminate sex with dozens of women. And so, to this day, firefighters are assumed to be crazy.

(It turns out Franklin was literally a founding father.)

Albion's hose reel worked better when it had hose on it.

Fast forward (a lot) to Albion in 1887. When a major fire burned down an entire block, townspeople were disturbed to learn they couldn’t find a decent cup of coffee: All the restaurants had cooked. After a week without java the townspeople voted to fund either a fire department, or a coffee house. If the vote had gone the other way, we’d be forming coffee cup brigades.

The Albion Fire Department consisted of a chief, an assistant chief, three foremen, a designated Coffee Rescue Team (they just couldn’t get over the infamous “Week Without a Cup”)—and the entire population. It took a dozen people to pump the water by hand, and another dozen to make the coffee. In an emergency the coffee would be pumped onto the fire, if they felt they had the grounds.

When volunteers ran (literally) to their first call they found they had no hose, which watered down their effectiveness. Luckily, it was only the courthouse burning, not the coffee house. Just the same, they added a hose cart to go with the pumper. Today’s fire trucks carry pumps and hose together, along with modern marvels such as instant coffee.

The third original AFD apparatus, a hook & ladder, carried hooks .., and ladders. The hooks could be used to pull down flaming roofs, walls, and Pharaohs. The ladders were used to rescue sacks of coffee. (No Pharaoh was harmed in the writing of this article.)

The AFD became motorized in 1929, and still owns that very first truck. We’re that cheap.

The '29 still pumps! Just in case.

On spotting a fire citizens would say something descriptive, like “fire!” and, being firefighters, the firefighters faithfully fought the fire’s fury. Rural homes were on their own, being out of shouting range. But firefighters hate to see fire without putting water on it; families have been torn apart at cookouts, after someone starts the grill, and a firefighter relative throws all the beer on it. So the AFD bought a water tanker, allowing them to haul their own supply. Of water, not beer.

Other changes came quickly. With four wheel drive trucks, firefighters didn’t have to wait for a wildland fire to come to them, especially since it sometimes didn’t want to. Besides, while they were waiting some other moron with a match … ahem … another wildland fire might break out.

Air packs were developed so firefighters can go into toxic atmospheres and keep their lungs healthy, so they didn’t have to give up smoking.

And then: I was born.

This is the most flattering photo I could find of myself on the fireground.

This is not a date ordinarily observed at our firehouse. No, I don’t know why.

Back then we didn’t wear our protective clothing much. In fact, when I responded to my first house fire I’d been issued: boots. Just boots.

Well, I wore jeans and a t-shirt, let’s not get silly.

            Today we’re covered head to toe in materials developed for really dangerous professions, like astronauts and talk show hosts. The air tanks are so light, we sometimes forget to take them off. Imagine the strange looks we get in the grocery store checkout lane.

Who knows what’s in store for the future? Maybe we’ll have cameras that can see through smoke, lightweight air tanks, computers, and portable radios we can just clip on our belts. Oh, wait … we have those.

But we’ll keep the old ’29 engine. Just in case.

 Find our books at:

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

And check out the Albion Fire Department's history in Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With the Albion Fire Department.