About a week ago, an unexpected visitor made his appearance in the front yard of our next-door neighbor. Larger than life, the pumpkin-headed, straw-stuffed apparition commanded the lawn, holding in one hand a pitchfork and above his head, an Armless Boy. Limbs scattered the grass; blood streaked the frock of the scarecrow’s oversized shirt. And at night, a red spotlight threw ghoulish shadows against the house. The author of this masterpiece, Pete, is a good-natured, friendly, wholesome man. He has two boys, six and 10 years old. He built a swing set by hand for them in the backyard, and he is working on constructing a pizza oven as well. He diligently trained their golden retriever, Dolores, from puppyish mischief to obedient loyalty. He was the head of his sons’ Cub Scout troop. He mows the lawn every week. Pete is a biologist and works for Fish and Wildlife.

Earlier this week, Pete’s creation came under brutal attack from a neighborhood listserv. One member complained that she couldn’t even bring her children walking by his house, and that Halloween wasn’t meant to scare kids. Other subscribers to the listserv assaulted Pete, who had previously defended himself, asserting that Halloween surely should scare children, and that he himself was a pacifist. One neighbor bluntly responded, “No, you are not a pacifist.” (See below for Pete’s beautifully eloquent defense of his creation.) Ironically, we didn’t even know the people attacking Pete. Pete’s story is a charming “small town” occurrence. Most of the families in our neighborhood have children aged four to 12 and are fairly protective of their kids. The conservative reaction to Pete’s supernatural guest was unwarranted, but understandable.

This raises a somewhat unexpected question, which I had never thought to ask myself before: Should Halloween really be spooky? What is the point of this mismatched and rather bizarre holiday? From what I have gathered, Halloween is a hybrid between a harvest festival (hence the pumpkins and straw scarecrows) and a holiday celebrating the resurrection of ghosts from their graves. But it has positive connotations for children: parties, costumes and lots of sugar. Since the time I was about three years old (I dressed up as a Grandfather Clock that year), Halloween has been a yearly point of anticipation; my mother and I would create elaborate costumes, pieces of art, and I would parade the streets with my friends, filling a bag with candy (although, inevitably, returning home with significantly less than I had collected). Halloween has served both as a source of artistic inspiration, as in Pete’s case, and as a major selling time for cheap plastic toys and brand-name sweets.

The circumstances surrounding the critics of Mr. Scarecrow bring to realization an unexpected fact of community and communication. As Pete himself mentioned when I spoke with him on Saturday, stirring up a listserv “is like throwing a ham bone to a pit of piranhas.” Anyone can voice his opinion instantly, anonymously, and without any direct consequences. Before the advent of Internet newsletters, criticism along these lines would have taken place through the “letters to the editor” section of a newspaper. But the Internet is unmoderated, uncensored and uncontrolled. It is simultaneously private and public, preserving the privacy of the attackers, but making their criticisms public to anyone. We knew only the first names of some of the assailants. We may as well have read the responses of complete strangers. My family and I probably see these people every day as we walk the dog, or drive to and from school.

The flurry of emails has offered a great deal of entertainment to my family and me as we approach the 31st. I look forward to seeing the reaction of heedless trick-or-treaters on All Hallows’ Eve, suddenly confronted by the gaze of Pete’s creation.

PETE'S RESPONSE: No Apologies for Armless Boy and Scarecrow

So regrettable is the fate of many works of great genius and artistic expression, where the value placed on such items is, shall we say, a matter of taste. Yes, it is I who birthed that beautiful disaster in my front yard. And I must say that I am quite surprised that my incomparable “labor of love” is receiving such poor fanfare on the Five Points listserv. Can one not appreciate the crazy arrangement of wood blocks and shims that compose the frame of my scarecrow, making his first step toward a murderous, disco-like rumpus appear absolutely effortless? Elegant some have said! All this emotion, all this passion contained in size 2X, cream-colored pants! I know, I know, it is the armless boy mannequin that some seem to take issue with—and to a lesser extent, I’m sure, the collection of severed limbs littering the ground. Well, I will tell you that the armless boy was not some sinister plan to distress the masses but merely a matter of serendipitous fortitude—not just for me, but for Armless Boy as well. Yes, I saw poor, forlorn, Armless Boy in the antique shop for an embarrassingly low $20.

It was his cold, yet understanding gaze that immediately intertwined our destinies. I daresay it could very well have been divine providence itself that drew us together. (He is a perfect boy’s size 5, by the way.) Armless Boy: he was abandoned there in that dusty shop! No one but me wanted poor Armless Boy! No one but me saw Armless Boy’s true potential. Such as it is, I seem to have offended some folks, although the majority of comments I have personally heard have been of joyful amusement. Many people stop and take pictures with my creation; others make a special trip down Carlton Terrace to see Armless Boy and his scarecrow friend.

Yes, it is a matter of taste and perhaps humor. I must say, though, that I have reached a point in my life where I feel absolutely no need to offer any apologies. No one feels the need to apologize to me when I see a grown man wearing golf attire. Myself, I have suffered—just on this listserv—political rants, endless streams of lost cats and, yes, do I need to mention? Holiday haikus.

For planning purposes, those who find my display disturbing, please intend to modify your route to avoid Carlton Terrace each Halloween, as Armless Boy and Scarecrow shall be seasonal residents. I feel that nothing about my display condones violence towards children. I am quite a gentle fellow, me, a pacifist, father of two well adjusted little boys; I am as serene as a snowflake noiselessly falling on a winter’s first snowfall. However, my Scarecrow is not going anywhere, except to tap-dance through your subconscious while you are sleeping. HoooooHoooooHaaaaa!

Pete Pattavina