A whale of a Halloween

LOYAL REEFERS KNOW that Halloween has long been a highlight of the year in my late wife’s family, which for more than 40 years now has been my family, too.

You long-timers make a cup of coffee or work a crossword for a moment while I fill in the newcomers.

Some 40 years ago, my sister-in-law Kathleen and brother-in-law Roly started the tradition of an annual Halloween party for friends and family, including a costume contest. Early on, Kathleen visited Goodwill and found an old bowling trophy that had been awarded to a woman named Mildred. Kathleen removed the chrome-plated bowler and, with a bit of glue and gumption, substituted a wax figure of a witch on a broomstick, like what you might find at a crafts store. Thus was born The Mildred Award for Best Costume, and the competition began. For decades, the Mildred has passed from winner to winner.

Maybe 20 years ago, sister- and brother-in-law Margaret and Tom took over hosting, at their comfortable Shoreline home. Elaborate ghoulish decorations are involved, plus a poignant Day of the Dead altar dedicated to missed loved ones (such as my Barbara and Kathleen’s Roly). This year, the party was this past Saturday.

For years, Barbara and I strove to come up with “theme costumes” featuring the two of us, often with a spooky literary theme. Some old favorites: Edgar Allan Poe and the Raven, and Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. Lots of papier-mâché and chicken wire were key components of the bird and the horse. Many other party-goers have shown equal enterprise. One year, Margaret’s daughter Sarah spent the party scooting around in a creditable replica of a Mars exploratory rover.

This year, daughter Lillian and I decided on another literary theme: the white whale and the crazily obsessed Captain Ahab from “Moby Dick.” There are plenty of spooky aspects to the story.

Lillian, whose partner, Chris, would be traveling with a band tour for a few weeks, had some time on her hands and volunteered to tackle the whale.

She outdid herself. Chicken wire, papier-mâché, clay teeth, poster paint and all.

I arrived at the party before Lillian. Clad in my foul-weather jacket, faded old captain’s hat and peg leg, with a pipe, a spyglass and other accoutrements, I gruffly quizzed other party-goers whether they’d seen the dad-blasted white whale. I had fun with it. (“I got this deckhand whose name, I’m pretty sure, is Harry, but he keeps telling people to call him ‘Ishmael,’ for some danged reason. And you know my first-mate, Starbuck? That feller can’t even make a decent cup o’ coffee.”)

But it was Lillian’s arrival, not my corny conversation, that wowed the crowd. The big, white sperm whale strapped on to her shoulders, with her face peering out over the large pink tongue inside its gaping mouth full of sharp white teeth. She’d fashioned a base of curling ocean waves and wore a gray cloak to match the color of the sea on a stormy day.

There were other great costumes, as always: An immaculately suited NASA astronaut accompanied by a ray-gun toting Martian girlfriend. A “Barbie” clad in lush pink robes à la ancient Rome (worn by sister-in-law Sarah, the Latin teacher). Docter Quinn, Medicine Woman (aka Julia Burns, R.N.), came toting a blow-up horse. My nephew who is a hard-working writer came as author Dean Koontz, a 78-year-old suspense novelist with a Justin Bieber haircut, as seen on the back of one of his novels.

But Moby Dick made a whale of an impression. We humbly took home the Mildred.

I’m back on my little island. With dinner, I plan my annual screening of “Arsenic and Old Lace.” If Galley Cat and I get any trick-or-treaters, we’ll report back. We might invite them in for a party. Happy Halloween!