Please Tell Me There is Still a “Mischief Night”

It’s been hard to hold on to the traditions and times of our Gen X childhoods. Case in point: Halloween. Most kids today have never even heard of “Mischief Night.”

In 1982 in Chicago’s West Rogers Park neighborhood, all twelve year-olds I knew — including me, as well as younger siblings, ran “wild” on the night before Halloween — October 30, Mischief Night. This informal holiday on Halloween Eve was basically kids and teens running around the neighborhood doing little pranks. It was harmless fun. No guns, no violence. Just shaving cream, toilet paper or eggs.

Today, about 1 in 4 Americans can’t even name this night. I don’t know if that’s because it’s fallen by the wayside, or if just certain parts of the country had or have it. I know the Chicago area knew it, and studies show New Jersey was well aware of it (in the past, some NJ towns even banned the sales of eggs that day)! It’s also been called Devil’s Night in Detroit and the Upper Midwest, and Cabbage Night in Vermont.

Where I grew up, we would gather in the parks or alleys after dark - just us kids. Parents were not there hanging out with one another, hovering, helicoptering or coordinating pick-up rides. We ran through the streets toilet papering people’s cars and houses, turning porch or yard furniture around, moving pumpkins, throwing eggs at one another and, the end-all, be-all, “shaving cream-ing” car windows. (Don’t worry — they were parked cars)!

I remember how hard it was for kids to buy shaving cream on October 29 and 30. My stepbrother, also twelve in 1982, must have gotten someone’s older brother to buy us some. I think he also stole a few cans from my stepfather’s bathroom closet. We had four cans of shaving cream and it was my chance to be “bad” — at least for a few hours.

I don’t remember all the candy or who had the best costume the next night, on Halloween, but I do remember the feeling of Mischief Night, running, as fast as we could, down those roads on a grand adventure. I was fueled by the idea that anything could happen (in a good way). Did we even have a destination? It might have been the old Continental belonging to the dad of a school mate, or the coach’s car from the rival Pop Warner football team.

When was the last time you felt that way? Racing without a real destination, full of energy, fueled by the excitement of something that, maybe, wasn’t even real?

I’ve thought a lot about that Mischief Night of 1982 as I’ve grown older, and I’ve often wondered how to get that feeling back again. Perhaps it was just being 12, when something as small as a can of shaving cream held so much promise, a time when it was easy to feel part of a kind of mystical celebration, even if it was just sneaking around in the shadows, with my stepbrother by my side.

Here’s more about the history of Mischief Night.