On Halloween, some 20 years ago, after leaving the Buffalo Avenue DuPont plant and still dressed in my work clothes, I stopped at what was then the Uni-Mart store on Hyde Park Boulevard and Lafayette Avenue. Costumed kids were trick-or-treating there. When it was my turn at the counter, just for fun, I too said “Trick-or-treat.” 

The clerk, already holding a handful of candy that she had readied to drop into those bags that the kids came carrying into the store, paused, quizzically looked at me and sarcastically asked, “And what are you supposed to be?”

I glanced down at my work clothes, thought for a moment, looked back at her and then smilingly said, “I have one of the best costumes in town.” Now, as bad as it may now sound, I then said, “I am dressed like a ‘brutha’ with a job.”

A few Halloweens thereafter, having moved into a rather large house with a manicured lawn on Lafayette Avenue, after stopping at what was then the Tops Hyde Park market to buy the big candy bars for the kids that were sure to come for them, I rushed home from work with them. When we were kids, we always made a special trip from our homes around the Centre Court/states street-area to the more affluent DeVeaux neighborhood because they gave out those better treats. Because I then lived in DeVeaux, I felt it my duty to provide nothing less than what I received there as a kid.

Arriving home before any of the trick-or-treaters got there, I noticed that the front lawn could use a trim; so, still in my work clothes, I commenced mowing it. Guy Forcucci, the previous owner, had kept the house immaculate and I was committed to keeping it that way.

I was raking the cuttings when the first mother arrived with her young child. The mother was a rather attractive, statuesque black woman with hauntingly, beautifully soft eyes — eyes that melted my soul, even though they paid me absolutely no attention as I worked in the yard. The child paid me even less attention as she walked past me, up the driveway to the front door and began ringing the bell. Her mother silently remained on the sidewalk, with neither speaking a word to me. Because of their detachment, I nonchalantly continued my raking.

After ringing several times, the girl shouted, “Ma, they’re not answering.”

“Ring again.” With her mother’s shouts passing through me with indifference, the girl again turned, rang the bell and waited.

“Ma,” she soon again shouted, “they still ain’t answering.” 

At this point her mother’s eyes fell on me. I continued raking the grass. She sternly asked, “Are they home?”

“Yes,” I answered. “They’re home,” and, and I continued my raking.

“Ring the bell again,” the mother instructed. The girl turned, rang the bell again and waited.

“Ma, they ‘still’ ain’t answering!” 

The mother turned her attention back to me, as if doubting my first response, she asked, “Are you sure that they’re at home?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, “I’m sure that they’re home.”

The mother then instructed her daughter to knock on the door. The girl turned and began to bang hard upon the door, but to no apparent avail. I kept raking the lawn. 

By now, both mother and child were now completely frustrated. For the first time, the mother then looked directly into my eyes, now paying me more attention than she had in all of the time that she had stood there upon the sidewalk. In a much-stressed voice, she snarled, “Well, if they’re at home, then where are they?”

I smiled, dropped the rake, headed for the car in the driveway where the candy bars were, and then said to her, “I am right here, ma’am.” The embarrassing look on her face was priceless. I gave the little girl several large candy bars for her troubles, for which she was very appreciative.

And that’s how I met Sonya Wooten.

Shortly thereafter, I began dating a wonderful friend of hers, and Sonya and I laughed about the whole thing. Then I asked her about the thoughts that she had when she saw me raking the lawn. “Didn’t you think that a black person could have possibly lived there?”

Sonya sheepishly admitted that those were her thoughts. She did remember the Forcucci’s living there. “Plus,” she said, “You had on your work clothes, so I thought that you were the gardener.”

Though we are not there yet, our world and attitudes are somewhat changing. Since moving from DeVeaux, people of different races have lived in the house, and the place still looks great.

I guess I wasn’t so wrong about my Halloween costume some 20 years ago. While the clerk then laughed, Sonya later affirmed that I was indeed dressed like a ‘brutha’ with a job! A gardener’s job, albeit; but a job nonetheless.

For the record, even though we have been friends for quite some time, Sonya still pays me very little attention.  

Happy Halloween.

Ken Hamilton is a Niagara Falls resident. His columns run Fridays in the Gazette. He welcomes feedback at Ken Hamilton930@aol.com.