Halloween 'round Nashville

Photobomb by the ghost tour guide

Halloween notes Through our relationship, Nancy and I had never dressed up for Halloween. Since our first Halloween we carved pumpkins and handed out candy, but never dressed up. In Columbus, I usually dressed up, having a group of friends who relished in Halloween. Since I moved to Nashville, I let that tradition drop

For a long time I didn’t have anyone to dress up with, so I went without. The UC Santa Cruz Banana Slugs T-shirt I bought as a joke so many years ago was finally put into a costume. I would go as Vincent Vega after the shooting of Marvin.

Late on Saturday afternoon, I shaved off my beard for the first time in nearly six years and coated my hair in some temporary hair coloring. Nancy’s mom supplied me with a clip-on earring to emulate Vincent’s single golden hoop. My bullfrog chin could not replace Mr. Travolta’s sharp jawline and dimpled chin, but the costume came close enough.

Nancy assembled out a stylish witch costume worthy of Margaret Hamilton. The dress, hat, stockings, broom, wig and makeup all came together well.

Her witch's hat threatened to blow away in the downtown breeze. But we looked the part for a ghost tour of Nashville. If you could ignore the continuous passing of party buses, party flatbeds and pedal taverns, the ghost tour was quite informative about the spooky elements of Nashville's past and history the city now zealously replaced with new condo towers.

Our guide started at the Hermitage Hotel – the place where the richest people stay when visiting Nashville was a flop house for many decades. The room where incidents had occurred was combined with an adjoining room and was now among the Hermitage's most expensive places to sleep.

We wound through the Capitol grounds, where the wives of two Tennessee presidents – Jackson and Polk – are said to haunt the rooms. The city’s oldest Catholic church also had ghostly stories, as well as Printer's Alley and the Ryman Auditorium. Having never done a walking tour in the town where I live, I enjoyed the experience. 

The place to be is seldom a place worth visiting. Everyone wants to be there, and that usually means more people than the place to be can handle. Downtown Nashville buzzes with such places, especially on the weekend before Halloween.

 I expected a setup similar to the St. Patrick’s Day celebration on Demonbreun, with the street closed. The street stayed opened, forcing food carts onto already-narrow sidewalks crushed with people. People with bulk costumes plowed through and I hesitated to use my briefcase for a similar purpose, since its contents belong to Marcellus Wallace.

A restaurant that shall remain nameless cut off hot food after the rest of our party ordered and before we could. So we paid $30 for two beers, hummus and something else even less memorable. But we were dressed up. Were Nancy and I alone, we would have left. But we weren’t and made the most of the moment.

We lasted all of 15 minutes and one round of drinks inside the Tin Roof. The crush of people quickly grew intolerable. We retreated to the street, walking among the cars rather than the unmoving costumed mass on the sidewalk.

Still, we dressed up. We received compliments on our outfits. We went home exhausted. The black hairspray washed out of my hair in an opaque waterfall.

For handing out candy on Halloween, I went with my traditional black Southern Tier Pumpking T-shirt. Part of me wanted to flash Vincent Vega one more time. Instead I let him rest.

But there’s next year and a whole world of costumes to choose from.

We went with an owl this year.