A Letter to John Paul Jones (1747–1792)
Dear John,
In October of 1776, the American colonies did not celebrate Halloween.
At least, not in the way modern Americans would recognize it.
There were no suburban children dressed as superheroes demanding candy from neighbors.
No inflatable skeletons towering over front lawns.
No pumpkin spice empires.
No haunted hayrides.
No plastic gravestones purchased beside discount fog machines in giant seasonal retail stores mysteriously appearing overnight in abandoned shopping centers.
Especially no “Spirit Halloween.”
Indeed, if a colonist from 1776 suddenly encountered one of those glowing orange pop-up stores filled with animatronic demons, fake severed limbs, twelve-foot skeletons, and rubber witches screaming near the checkout line, they would likely assume either:
- the British had invented psychological warfare, or
- America had finally become possessed.
And to be fair, modern Americans themselves are not entirely certain where Spirit Halloween stores come from…or where they vanish after November 1st.
The truth is that Halloween, as modern America knows it, had barely arrived in the colonies during the Revolutionary era.
Much of colonial America, especially New England, remained deeply shaped by strict Protestant traditions that viewed old Celtic festivals, ghost lore, masks, fortune telling, and “pagan” customs with suspicion. Puritans generally disliked anything resembling superstition, Catholic ritual, or uncontrolled revelry.
And yet traces of older traditions lingered quietly at the edges.
Irish and Scottish immigrants carried fragments of ancient Samhain customs with them across the Atlantic. Samhain, pronounced “Sow-in,” marked the ancient Celtic transition between harvest season and winter, a liminal night when people believed the boundary between the living and the dead grew dangerously thin.
Bonfires were lit.
Masks were worn.
Stories about spirits circulated in darkened homes while communities prepared for the long cold months ahead.
But in 1776, these traditions remained small, regional, and fragmented. America itself was too busy becoming a nation to invent Halloween.
The colonies were occupied with war, independence, shortages, military campaigns, and survival.
John, while you raided British ships beneath moonlit skies, few Americans were carving jack-o’-lanterns or worrying about ghosts.
And besides, many colonists already had enough real things to fear:
smallpox,
war,
harsh winters,
frontier violence,
death in childbirth,
and actual forests filled with wolves.
They hardly needed haunted decorations.
Still, autumn mischief certainly existed.
Long before “Mischief Night” became formalized, rowdy pranks and seasonal disorder appeared during harvest transitions.
Young people overturned outhouses, stole gates, soaped windows, or caused trouble under cover of darkness.
Ancient folk traditions often allowed brief moments where normal rules loosened and society flirted temporarily with chaos before winter settled in.
Human beings, it seems, have always enjoyed a little controlled disorder.
Haunt forward 250 years, and Halloween has transformed into one of America’s largest and strangest cultural celebrations.
In 2026, Halloween exists simultaneously as:
- children’s holiday,
- horror festival,
- cosplay convention,
- retail phenomenon,
- spiritual observance,
- neighborhood ritual,
- and social media spectacle.
Ancient Samhain customs still survive beneath the surface.
Modern pagans and Wiccans continue observing Samhain spiritually by honoring ancestors, lighting candles, holding silent suppers, and reflecting upon mortality and seasonal transition.
Some believe the “veil” between worlds grows thin during late October, encouraging rituals of remembrance, divination, or communion with the dead.
At the same time, mainstream America has transformed Halloween into a colossal commercial carnival.
Americans now spend billions annually on:
- candy,
- costumes,
- decorations,
- animatronics,
- haunted attractions,
- themed cocktails,
- pet costumes,
- and elaborate front-yard graveyards complete with synchronized lighting systems.
And the costumes themselves reveal how dramatically culture has changed.
In earlier centuries, masks were often worn to hide from wandering spirits. In 2026, Americans dress as movie characters, internet memes, anime heroes, political satire, nostalgic cartoons, sexy vampires, or giant inflatable dinosaurs chasing one another through parking lots.
Fear became entertainment.
And death became decorative.
Meanwhile, Mischief Night still survives in parts of America, though unevenly.
In some communities, it remains harmless adolescent chaos involving toilet papered trees or soaped windows. In places like Detroit during the late 20th century, however, “Devil’s Night” became associated with widespread arson and destruction until volunteer efforts called “Angels’ Night” helped restore community safety.
Even our mischief evolves.
And perhaps that is the deepest truth hidden beneath Halloween itself.
For one strange night each year, society collectively agrees to play with darkness safely.
Children knock on strangers’ doors demanding tribute.
Adults decorate homes with skeletons and tombstones.
Monsters become lovable.
Death becomes theatrical.
Fear becomes communal.
People laugh beside symbols that once genuinely terrified humanity.
Perhaps Halloween endures because human beings have always needed ways to approach mortality without surrendering entirely to it.
John, if you could walk through an American neighborhood on Halloween night in 2026, you would surely laugh in astonishment.
Streets glowing orange.
Giant inflatable dragons towering over lawns.
Tiny astronauts and superheroes sprinting through fallen leaves carrying plastic pumpkins overflowing with candy.
Entire neighborhoods transformed temporarily into playful kingdoms of ghosts, pirates, skeletons, and absurdity.
And beneath all the costumes and spectacle, perhaps you would recognize something ancient still flickering there in the autumn dark:
human beings gathering together against the coming cold,
laughing beside fear,
remembering the dead,
and carrying lanterns through the night.
With candlelit pumpkins and suspiciously haunted strip malls,
—The Radical Left 🎃🖤
And dear reader, maybe the deeper question after 250 years is: when shadows, stories, and masquerade transform fear into play, are we celebrating tradition – or practicing courage?
As costumes, candy, and chaos fill streets, how do we balance spectacle with reflection, fun with remembrance, and the thrill of darkness with the warmth of community?
And as pumpkins glow, skeletons grin, and monsters parade through neighborhoods, what does it truly mean to face fear together – and to carry the light of shared human creativity into every autumn night?
…Human culture is wonderfully weird.