From the NY Time Magazine
For anyone who grew up near Circleville, Ohio, the possibilities of
pumpkin are a measure of one's maturity, one's level of sophistication,
the depth of one's world view. There, in a town that would otherwise be
unknown, is the Circleville Pumpkin Show -- four days of unabashed
Americana that, since 1903, have featured seven parades each year and a
range of pumpkin contests to rival the Olympics. The medium is accorded
such respect that the farmer who produces the largest pumpkin is
considered agriculture's own Einstein. The premier pumpkin carver is
accorded an awe worthy of Michelangelo.
And Miss Pumpkin. Well, the real mystery about Marilyn Monroe is how she became an American icon without ever being crowned with pumpkin vines and riding astride the float that looks like Cinderella's carriage, far above the rest of us. There we were: hundreds of June and Ward Cleaver couples, holding the hands of little boys who harbored ideas of planting firecrackers inside jack-o'-lanterns and little girls like me, who were worried about slipping knee socks and the possible consequence of a brisk fall wind under our pleated skirts. We all cheered Miss Pumpkin.
In Philadelphia there is an apartment complex on the Benjamin Franklin
Parkway called Park Towne Place. It is a cluster of four high rises –
cleverly called East, West, North and South. I had three friends who
lived there – Laura, Adam and Erik – and most years I spent Halloween
night with them, riding the elevators in our costumes and tearing
through the hallways, ringing every bell we could get our little hands
on in an effort to collect maximum quantities of candy. 
Are you ready for Halloween? Do you have your costume? Do you have enough candy to hand out to the little goblins in your neighborhood? Do you have whiskey? No, not for kids, for you.
Jack Benny (who was famously cheap and made fun of himself for it) gave out silver dollars on Halloween. 
Growing up I was generally a very agreeable child. I did what I was told and rarely pushed the envelope. So why did I go against my father’s better judgment and watch PSYCHO, even though he told me I’d regret it when I woke up with nightmares?