I still cringe at the sound of candy wrappers.
It has nothing to do with calories or sugar content or even my loathing of that ridiculous waste of confection called candy corn.
No, I’m petrified each Halloween because I’m one of only three people who have witnessed the wrath of Phineas T. Bottomthrottle.
Oh, you laugh at the name, but you’ll be swallowing your guffaws very soon.
Phineas was a Union hero of the Civil War. The folks in the Illinois prairie town where I spent my youth erected a statue in his honor.
But the war had unexpectedly changed Phineas from a pleasant gentleman to a brooding malcontent.
Phineas practiced dentistry after the war, and from all accounts did it very poorly. He hated candy and even tried to get the town council to ban it.
Consequently, every kid hated him. Of course, being a war hero, the adults put up with Phineas’ tantrums.
Despite his demeanor, it was obvious that Phineas loved his statue, which stood prominently in the center of Woodlawn Cemetery near the railroad depot.
When Phineas finally kicked the bucket in 1928 at the age of 90, the lifelong bachelor left behind no children. He was buried beneath the statue. The local weekly newspaper said preparations took several days. Four people showed up at the ceremony, which lasted all of six minutes.
In his will, Phineas dictated that the value of his estate be used to maintain the statue in perpetuity.
He also wrote an eerie note at the end:
“Beware ye who to my grave come,
And soil it with wrappers from chocolate or gum;
On Halloween night, I’ll unleash my power
And turn ye vandals from sweet into sour.
Legend had it that anyone caught in Woodlawn Cemetery at midnight on Halloween would see Phineas’ statue come to life. Supposedly, you knew he was about to step down off of his pedestal when you heard the sound of candy wrappers being crinkled.
In the 45 years since Phineas’ death, several kids claimed to have seen the statue move, but no one had documented it.
On Halloween 1973, my fellow 10-year-old friends Jimmy and Jeff convinced me that the three of us could find proof if we camped out behind the trees near the statue.
All it would take, Jimmy said, was for each of us to have a camera. That way, if one of us missed Phineas coming back from the grave, one of the others could get a shot.
As it turned out, the only camera Jimmy could find belonged to his older brother, Josh. Jimmy had been forced to tell Josh why he wanted the Polaroid, and like an idiot, Jimmy told him the truth,
We decided it would be smart for the three of us to visit the statue in the daytime as a kind of trial run. I couldn’t believe all of the people who had tempted fate by drawing graffiti on it.
“Jerry loves Judy.”
“Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? Lenore, Lenore, take off some more.”
“Here I sit, away from the fun, strained too much and got the runs.”
It was the kind of stuff that was typical, but there also were a couple of artists in the anonymous group. One drew a picture of Old Abe Lincoln and signed it with an uncanny resemblance to the president’s own John Hancock.
“Oh, these people are in trouble,” Jimmy said menacingly.
“Ooo-oooo-oooo,” Jeff said in a spooky voice.
“Cut in out, you guys,” I said.
“Oh, little Brently is scared,” Jimmy mockingly joked.
“Let’s call him Brenda because he’s such a girl,” Jeff laughed.
“Up yours,” I responded.
I had other friends, of course, but Jimmy and Jeff were my closest because we lived on the same block. And like all good friends, we took great delight in insulting each other.
Jimmy had brought a pocket ruler and measured the distance from the edge of the statue to Phineas’ boot, making sure to mark down the distance so we could compare it with the measurement on Halloween night.
We agreed to sneak out of our houses Oct. 31 and meet up at the cemetery.
With the sugar rush from trick or treating, I managed to stay awake and got to the trees by the statue at 11:20.
I took my dad’s tape measure out of my coat pocket and made sure that Phineas hadn’t moved an inch or two. He hadn’t.
I then sat down and waited for my buddies. I waited, and waited and waited. I checked my watch every five minutes and ate SweeTarts like I owned stock in Nestle. I was getting colder by the minute and, though frightened, I had to look at the statue. There still was no apparent movement.
Just as I was about to leave, I heard the sound of crinkling candy wrappers. I slowly peeked from my spot behind the tree. No movement.
“You’re hearing things,” I said to myself.
Suddenly, there was a deep rumble.
“Hey, little boy, I’m going to eat the sweet right out of your guts,” came a powerful voice from behind a tree on the east side of the statue.
“You’re going to have brownie stains in your shorts by the time I’m through with you,” came another strong voice from behind a tree on the west side of the statue.
“Phineas,” I thought at first.
“Give me your candy,” said one voice,.
“Give me your money,” said the other.
Hold on. I peeked out again and could make out faint shapes beside the other trees.
“All right, limp brains, I see you,” I yelled.
Jimmy and Jeff emerged laughing. They had used rolled up newspapers with cotton stuffed inside to disguise their voices.
“We knew you’d be terrified,” Jimmy said.
“Yeah, did you wet yourself, Brenda?” Jeff asked as he dropped his pants and relieved himself on Phineas’ statue.
“Go ahead, laugh it up,” I said. “I’ll get you back.”
“Yeah, but it won’t be as good as this,” Jeff said, zipping up his pants.
“Yeah, it took us a whole month to come up with this one,” Jimmy admitted.
Before I could swear at him, it happened.
“What’s that?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t know,” Jeff responded warily.
“C’mon, you jerks, I’m not falling for that crap again.”
“Shhhh! I’m serious,” Jimmy said. “It sounds like candy wrappers being wrinkled up.”
“No way,” Jeff said. “That’s just a bunch of baloney.”
We turned in unison toward the statue.
I pulled out my tape measure and checked.
“Oh, crap,” I said.
“What?” Jimmy asked in a high-pitched voice.
“It’s moved,” I said.
“No way,” Jeff said.
Suddenly, a booming voice called out in the night. It sounded like a cross between a ghost from Scooby Doo and Jimmy’s older brother.
“Who defies my statue?” the voice boomed. “I’ll get you, my uglies. I’ll fill your cavities with road apples.”
Jimmy, Jeff and I didn’t need any more convincing. We booked out of there like our clothes were on fire.
To this day, I don’t know if Jimmy’s brother was the voice of Phineas or if it was the old dentist himself.
Jimmy swore that he checked when he snuck back in his house and found Josh asleep. Of course, none of us got a photo because we were running away.
All I know for sure is that the statue of Phineas T. Bottomthrottle moved on Halloween Night 1973.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. That is, as long as the wrapper gets thrown away properly.
And if you don’t believe me, I’m dropping by your house and leaving some SweetTarts. Trust me, I have plenty.
