Allan Appel Photo
John Martinez fifth grader Shane Rodriguez, beneath the hair and glistening teeth.
Leprous witches, rabid werewolves, unknown phantoms, and massively molared T‑Rexes aimed their ghoulish caravan directly into the heart of one of the city’s most child-filled neighborhoods.
Firemen, police, and other first responders and city leaders immediately poured in — to lead the parade.
Witch Gabriela Campos, with littler scary creatures, aka as her kids Liam, Anakin, and Seamus Matteson.
The site of the festive invasion Wednesday night was Morris Cove’s annual Halloween extravaganza, a generation-spanning costumed promenade from the Pardee Sea Wall down Townsend Avenue. The annual event is now nearing its 50th year.
After weeks of fundraising and organizing by the East Shore Community Management Team, approximately 500 revelers, led by Mayor Toni Harp, Deputy Fire Chief Orlando Marcano, and other officials, made their way past tombstones, spider webs, and smoke-filled front lawns down to spookily lit Durso’s gas station by the intersection of Lighthouse Point Road.
There, under the emcee-ship of local deejay Dave Gallo, gift certificate awards were given out by grade for winning costumes, such as first prize for second grader Roko Kelly’s happy red biplane.
Princesses, gum ball machines, Star War variants, were among the costumes worn by kids as well adults. Among my favorites was Haddam third-grade teacher Kathleen Egan’s living pepperoni pizza slice.
The Independent asked participants whether the scary events of the last two weeks — pipe bombings, synagogue shootings, public executions in grocery stores, false rumor-mongering about diseased and drug-dealing columns of immigrants nearing southern borders —make the real world scarier than Halloween.
“Regular people scare me more than ghostbuster-type people,” Karen Cote said from beneath her genuinely scary wrinkled old crone mask.
Like many Covers, she has been making an after-parade party for a dozen years now, where kids escorted by their parents, spread out along the streets perpendicular to Townsend after the parade to demand treats — and almost always get them.
She prepared 925 goodie bags, each with five pieces of chocolate and two hard candies, for all comers. Why 925? Because that’s when her supplies ran out.
Crone Karen Cote and gum ball machine daughter Elis.
As the paraders formed up at the sea wall near Parker Place, Cote estimated that the crowd was a little smaller than last year’s approximately 600 revelers. “Maybe more people are doing parties at home,” she speculated.
Cote referred to a clown scare last year and said, “There are so many bad people, people are extra cautious. But down here [in Morris Cove], I feel safe.”
That positive sentiment was often repeated, even by ghoul-dressed interlocutors. Morris Cove parents and grandparents escort their kids today in the parade they participated in as kids themselves. The neighborhood has a family feel.
“Everyone watches out for each other,” said Pink Panther-dressed Anna Keeney, who accompanied her daughter Meghan. “I did this when I was [a kid] at Nathan Hale [School]. If I went to another neighborhood, I wouldn’t feel safe.”
Maresca with his children, Julian as the Unknown Phantom, and Mila as the Dead Witch.
Attorney and towering Tyrannosaurus Rex Alex Maresca took a break from terrorizing little unicorns and princesses to reflect: “The world is definitely a little scarier than Halloween. This is a beautiful oasis, but tomorrow nothing’s different in the rest of the world.”
Down at Durso’s gas station, Eric Kelly, who had helped his son build the prize-winning biplane costume, reflected that, “Yes, the world seems scarier lately.”
But maybe, he added, that’s not the case for little kids. “We have no TV and no video games” at his home. “Maybe it’s all more innocent for us.”
Nearby, Shane Rodriguez, the John Martinez School werewolf who was waiting to compete in the fifth-grade costume competition, was not quite as certain about innocence. He said he chose his costume to scare people on Halloween, but, of course, not to do so during the week. Then he added, in general, “People are just crazy.”
His dad Eric was nearby exchanging a word with Democratic gubernatorial candidate Ned Lamont. Lamont, in the company of New Haven State Rep. Al Paolillo and ward Co-Chair Lisa Bassani, spent an hour at the event, energetically shaking hands with voting ghouls, crones, pizza slices, and other paraders. He didn’t offer an opinion on whether the world is scarier on Halloween or non-Halloween days in Connecticut.
