Poetry & Prose
Halloween Masks for Corporate America 2002


Halloween fell off my radar screen many years ago as a day to plan for or remember. However, last October while driving along the Boulevard in West Hartford, Connecticut I noticed the children trick or treating wearing their wonderful, expensive, store bought costumes; huddled in groups, waiting to cross Main Street and walk to the next block of homes.This scene reminded me of childhood days growing up in Boston and the homemade costumes my brothers, sister and I created each year for trick or treating. For a fleeting moment, just a nanosecond, I envied today’s children in their store bought Halloween finery.

If I celebrate Halloween this year, I will rely on those old skills from long ago to fashion a costume. Into my organized closet I will go, look way in the back where the properly tailored business suits now live; reach for the carefully labeled shoe box reading “business pumps”, and dig out the classic silk blouse, panty hose and string of pearls to create my costume of the powerful woman executive.

Once in costume, I will gather all the former and present employees of  corporations now reeling from stories of corruption, abuse, greed and fraud. Unfortunately days of childhood innocence have long since become a faint glimmer of time past as has the feel-good sentiment about Halloween and for many, corporate America. On Halloween night, huddled in groups, the employees will visit the mansions of the senior executives of these companies, ring the doorbells, and ask the executives to gaze upon costumes fashioned due to their actions.

Here – embarrassment, for all the years believing and following leaders turned criminal.

Over there – shame, about the For Sale sign on the house not lived in long enough to create a decade of memories, the recently repossessed car, and the college tuition that will not get paid.

In front – anger, for the so believable lies, words of compassion, overtures of humanness all masking self-serving greed just beneath.

Hiding – sadness, for the solid dreams and plans smashed to the ground as easily, thoughtlessly as a wrecking ball taking an old useless building to its knees.

There – fear, of the sudden terrible unknown birthed from a womb of false familiarity.

In the end – resignation, for the road that must be traveled to rebuild the dreams stolen by those wearing masks of guiltlessness wallowing in ill-gotten wealth and gain.

To these executives the employees will hold out orange, plastic jack-o-lantern buckets with painted black eyes and toothless smiles. The containers will have an opening just large enough to handle treats, sweets, salaries, benefits and pensions to sustain life times – now empty – and say “trick or treat”.


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