Spooks, superheroes, witches, and a menagerie of characters, recognizable and otherwise, filled the streets of Harvard’s center Sunday evening as the town’s iconic celebration of Halloween returned following a one-year pandemic-forced hiatus.
The weather was much improved following a stormy Saturday and Sunday morning. Skies were mostly cloudy, with signs of clearing to the north, and the temperature was above 60 degrees as the sun sank to the west.
When the Unitarian Church’s recorded bell tolled five times to mark the evening’s start, Harvard’s streets were already full of trick-or-treaters and their parents, some lingering by the Lions Club pavilion or the tilted stump of the oak tree uprooted by the previous week’s nor’easter, while others headed for town center homes to queue up for candy.
Earlier, police had distributed 94 totes full of variously sized bags of candy to participating residents, according to candy coordinator Trish Rouvel. As in past years, high school volunteers were on hand to help distribute treats at households that had requested their help.
Acting Police Chief James Babu, with one on-duty and two reserve officers, directed traffic in the center of town, with squad cars, their blue lights flashing, positioned strategically on Mass. Ave. and Still River Road. At the fire station, Lt. Andrew Perry and members of Harvard’s volunteer fire crew stood watch over a table of goodies, while down the hill, next to Town Hall, Harvard’s ambulance sat ready for real-time emergencies.
Town center itself seemed to be in costume, including many of the 33 participating houses on the Common and scattered along Littleton, Old Littleton, and Oak Hill roads and Fairbank Street.
The brick home of Jared Wollaston and John Cunney at the corner of Elm Street and Still River Road was surrounded by skeletons, a macabre dance of death, as Wollaston in a top hat greeted visitors. Further up Elm, Billy Salter sat dressed in white lab coat with a fake head gash, a doctor whose patient, collapsed in a folding chair behind him, was clearly terminal. “Where did he get that corpse?” someone asked. “Most likely ‘Take-It-or-Leave-It,’” said his wife, Kathy Hewitt, who was nearby snapping pictures.
Erin Sullivan is transfomed into a haunted portrait. (Photo by Lisa Aciukewicz) More Halloween photos.
A talking portrait
At the top of Littleton Road, a talking portrait with the face of Erin Ash Sullivan inside its antique frame commented on the garb of approaching trick-or-treaters, while her husband Danno handed out candy on the front porch. At the Oak Hill Road home of Press writer Carlene Phillips, a very short man in a tall hat claimed he was mayor of Harvard, as Phillips and daughter-in-law Rebecca oversaw their candy table. Further down the hill, the home of Chris and Kathryn Squire was covered in cobwebs and spiders, while its seated owners chatted with passersby and watched their two daughters and friends hand out candy. “It’s time for the kids to take over,” said Kathryn Squire.
On the front porch of the old inn on Fairbank Street, a bearded Pat and Della Jennings and Craig Kilmer of CK Bikes strummed ersatz guitars while lip synching—behind masks—the music of ZZ Top. At the home of Carl and Pat Sciple, ghoulish son-in-law Kevin Bassage pushed open the lid of an ominous coffin sitting just inside their open barn door.
‘Cruella’ comes to life
There were plenty of witches, devils, angels, and princesses among the treat-seekers, as well as a scattering of superheroes, a baseball player or two, and even a beekeeper. Many parents got into the act as well. A pajama-clad couple from Dunstable dressed as characters from the 1992 children’s TV series “Bananas in Pyjamas.” Chris and Elizabeth Horne, members of the three-generation Horne family in Harvard, came as The Joker and girlfriend Harley Quinn.
All seven members of the Maglothin family were dressed as characters in Disney’s “Cruella,” a feat of design and sewing by Hilary Maglothin. Maglothin said she would have normally begun in July or August but had completed the work in three to four weeks this fall. She herself was dressed regally as the fashionista Baroness von Hess, while daughter Clara was decked out as a young Cruella in a costume that featured a train of ribbons, smattered with random letters. A copy of the Harvard Press, folded as a fan, added a newsy flourish to the bodice of her costume. Even the two dogs that accompanied the family had been given spots to cast them as the Dalmatians that figure prominently in the Disney story.
As night fell, multicolored neon necklaces appeared, many distributed by Nate and Jennifer Finch of Codman Hill Road to keep youngsters—including their own—visible on the darkening streets. Would-be Jedi knights flicked on their light sabers, and a jellyfish floated into view, its tentacles illuminated by strings of LEDs.
At 7 p.m. the bell of the Unitarian church rang seven times to signal the end of the evening. Parents and children gathered at the Lions Club pavilion to grab a hot dog or catch the end of the Patriots vs. Los Angeles Chargers game that an enterprising volunteer had rigged to display on an adjacent screen. “That was a big hit,” Bill Johnson of the Lions told the Press.
Hot dogs and popcorn
Johnson said that Lions volunteers handed out 900 free hot dogs but had to make repeated runs to the General Store for more bread after distributing the 800 rolls brought to the event. Lions also handed out approximately 800 bags of popcorn and “gallons and gallons” of water, Johnson said. Carol Lee Tonge of White Lane said a high schooler had dropped a roll of quarters into the group’s donation jar as a thank-you for “Halloween dinner.”
Bob O’Shea of Old Littleton Road was the Lions event chair, as he has been since the organization began providing Halloween food 10 years ago. O’Shea was garbed as a monk—or a nun—depending on which face mask he wore. A total of 29 Lions helped operate the food service or set up and tear down the pavilion.
Meanwhile, the General Store remained open until 8 p.m., offering free chili and on-premises draft beer and wine to anyone who stopped by. By closing time, however, the Common had emptied and grown quiet. The dimly lit sky was streaked with black clouds, like witches’ hair or the flight of a dark spirit.
