Published on Saturday, October 31, 2009
By Telegraph Staff
We had cowboy outfits, Lone Ranger masks, Indian headdresses and tomahawks, tattered hobo duds, Army uniforms and the obligatory ghosts, vampires and princesses, but the one thing we neither had nor wanted on trick-or-treat night was a pair of sunglasses.
Granted, Nashua, like most of American suburbia, was a different place back in the comparatively simple, uncluttered 1950s and '60s. Still, I can only imagine the uproar if Mario Vagge or Denny Sullivan or Paul Tracy came out with the edict: From now on, trick-or-treating in Nashua will be on a Sunday afternoon.
Sundays are for getting dragged to church, reading the funnies, and patiently warming up the ol' Admiral for some Giants football in living black-and-white.
It's the one day a week you sat up straight, trotted out your manners and ate dinner at lunchtime. It's the day you and Pop dragged rakes out back, promptly dropped them and picked up the pigskin and blamed darkness for hampering your well-intentioned chores
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