As the weather chills from mid-80s to mid-70s, it’s clear to everyone at Columbia University that autumn—and Halloween—is upon us. While the undergraduates are busy ordering corsets made with child labor and stocking up on Fireball, some other (mature) students on campus are choosing to spend the spooky season in a more refined manner: trick-or-treating.
The Fed shadowed Herman Sherman, a 4th-year PhD student in the sociology department, on his Hallow’s Eve. “Halloween has always been a really special holiday for me,” Sherman told me over his morning pumpkin spice latte. “It’s an amazing sociological feat, seeing how Americans put aside their differences and public health concerns for one night to hand out candy to the community’s poor. It’s one of the closest things we have to communism in this country. Plus, I have a sweet tooth, so I’m always on the hunt for candy!”
At around 5:43pm, Sherman and I boarded the M4 bus. Thirty minutes later, we were on the east side of Central Park, and Sherman practically floated out the back door. “We’re gonna look a little out of place here,” he said as a gaggle of costumed children rushed past us, “so you have to follow my lead, alright?”
Sherman led me to a beautiful brownstone decorated with pumpkins, cobwebs, and fake bats. He ushered me to the back of a line of children waiting for candy. When it was our turn at the front, Sherman whispered, “Follow my lead.”
“And what are you supposed to be?” asked a silver-haired woman wearing a jewelry set worth more than Sherman’s rent for the semester. Sherman eyed the bucket of candy in her arms, filled to the brim with full-sized Hershey’s bars, and Mrs. Moneybags frowned, “You’re quite tall for a trick-or-treater.”
“I’m a gwad student with no empwoyment pwospects!” he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. I recoiled, suddenly regretting every decision that had landed me the role as an investigative reporter on The Fed. “I’m tall because I had a gwowth spuwt!”
Mrs. Moneybags smiled and pinched his cheek, handing him a chocolate bar. “What a creative costume!” she mused. “Your parents must be so proud. Here, have an extra one.” Sherman stuffed the two candy bars into his messenger bag and thanked the woman with a childish squeal. He then looked at me expectantly.
What I did next is unspeakable. All I can speak on is that Sherman and I had quite the haul of candy by the end of our excursion. “Tell your readers this,” Sherman told me on our bus ride back to the west side. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done. But I’m not ashamed either. You know why?” I shook my head, savoring the melting chocolate on my tongue. “Because nothing tastes sweeter than a big candy bar.”
