Mischief Night: A History of Halloween Eve

By J. Gelband, 10-29-07

As kids growing up in Connecticut, we celebrated Mischief Night the eve of Halloween. Some called it Arson Night or Prank Night but it was mostly known as Mischief Night and it was as widely celebrated as Halloween itself.

It was a night dedicated to the fine art of toilet papering lawns, egging neighbors’ homes, lighting bags of leaves on fire, putting bologna slices on cars, and other generally benign prankery. (Except bolognaing cars, which will eat away car paint in perfect circles if the luncheon meat is left on overnight.)

Neighbors would open their front doors to quite a fright on Halloween morning, but it was so common an occurrence that they would laugh, sigh, shake their head and shout a congratulatory, “Top drawer, my friends!” as they pulled TP from their bushes.

No, they never really congratulated the child vandals; it was a thorough nuisance but it wasn’t BAD bad and no one ever did anything to hinder it, not even police on patrol. 

But they don’t do Mischief Night in Boise. In fact, no one born and raised in Boise seems to have even heard of the holiday let alone celebrated it.

Mischief, sadly, seems to be lost these days. But then again, Halloween itself seems to be losing ground.

Though some schools have no Halloween festivities, many schools have harvest festivals instead because the roots of Halloween offend some people and because of new regulations like No Child Left Behind, which make it difficult or impossible to devote school days to off-subject activities.

And even at the harvest festivals that a lot of Boise schools now host after school or at night, kids can’t wear masks or face paint or carry weapons. No pitchfork for a devil, no sickle for the grim reaper, and of course no water gun for Annie Oakley.

All of it is understandable and justifiable, really – school is for learning and it is supposed to be safe and free of oppression – but there is also something sad about a year without Halloween and a Halloween without a Mischief Night.

As an adult (though it wasn’t so long ago I was mischiefing in CT), I’m not so bummed about the unlikelihood of an eggy raid on my front stoop. But on Tuesday night, I’ll be peering out my window just in case word of Mischief Night has spread westward.

And if I get any hooligans roughing up my yard, I’m going to run out and scream at them, but I’m not going to stop them. I’ll just replenish their stock of eggs and maybe suggest they throw toward my neighbor’s house instead.