Having had a tumultuous childhood and life, both of my daughters asked me to write a book about my life. Write a book? I went to Barnes & Noble and bought a book on “How to write a book.” The lesson was: Don’t write a book, just put your thoughts on paper and then let a professional editor make it come alive. Thus, this time of the year, I thought it would be timely to share with you Chapter 34 of my book in progress (Title: “Sun Rising in the West”) that deals with a 17-year-old boy from Austria, having just arrived in the U.S., being indoctrinated by his new friends and next door neighbor, John Minor, into the true meaning of “trick or treat.”

Toward the end of October 1960, people started to talk about Halloween.

Of course, I never even heard the term, nor did I know what the concept and ultimately celebration was about. I was told by my American (adoptive) Mom that this was a holiday where you go “trick-or-treating” and kids get a lot of candy. Houses were also being decorated in orange and black flags and, even more strangely, people hung skeletons and bed sheets — made to look like ghosts from trees around their houses. Some people even placed cardboard tombstones into their front yards. My conclusion was that this must be some kind of festival for the dead like in Austria “Allerheiligen” or in Mexico: “Dia de Muertos.”

I concluded that Halloween is one of the early forms of extortion, practiced by the Mafia since its inception, now taught to American children. “If you don’t give me something nice, like candy, I’ll play a trick on you!” I also learned in 1960 that as boys transitioned from adolescence into late teenagers the “tricks” were the fun part, besides you only got pimples from candy anyway, I was told.

Thus, my new friend John “educated” me that this was actually the festival where people expect that you play “tricks” on them. The repertoire of tricks appeared to be endless. I never questioned the rationale of the mischief — I just went along because, frankly, it was a ton of fun, endless laughter and a delightful immersion into a new culture. Our favorite activities at Halloween in 1960 included the following:

• The Air Raid: No one locked their houses or cars in Steubenville in 1960. It was the day before Halloween. John, Max, Vernon (John’s younger brother was permitted to tag along as his rite of initiation into the “trick” portion of Halloween), Bill (the geeky flatfooted kid who drove an Edsel) and I were looking for something to do. The Rev. Hastings was conducting an evening service at Starkdale Presbyterian Church up the street. We slithered through Ruth and Carl’s backyard up to the church armed with a half dozen branches about 2 foot long each. We then opened car doors and wedged the staves over car horns (which were, of course, in the hub of the steering wheel) with each side of the stick secured tightly underneath the edge of the steering wheel, pressing down on the horn. Remember now, this was 1960 — the possibility of a nuclear war was palpable. The end result was about a half dozen, maybe eight cars’ horns blaring. Imagine hearing this cacophonous wail inside the church. Hastings interrupted the church service and announced that an air raid was in progress and guided the entire congregation into the basement where they huddled and prayed. We were rolling down the hill to West Carlton Road laughing. Mission accomplished.

• The Blueberry Pie: A couple days before Halloween a bakery truck drove up East Carlton Road to Lovers Lane. The last 200 feet are very steep. Apparently, as I was told, the rear door of the truck was improperly latched and a couple full trays of pies slid out onto East Carlton, much to the delight of the neighborhood kids. My buddy John emphasized that this was an excellent opportunity to utilize these blueberry pies (after we’ve had our fill of them) for a Halloween prank. To be specific John, his brother Vernon and a couple of other guys went over to another neighborhood on the other side of Sunset Boulevard called Westwood. Frank and Beverly, relatives, lived there also (Beverly was Edwina’s sister) and we agreed to spare their house.

Right at the ‘Y” where Westwood splits into a loop was a house with a big picture window. I walked up to it, as instructed by John, while the rest of the gang were rolling on the ground laughing, with a large blueberry pie in hand. Inside was an overweight balding man watching his black-and-white TV with a beer can in his left hand resting on the armrest and a cigarette dangling from his lips. I knocked on the picture window — the man turned and looked. I waved with my left hand and with amazing agility squashed the blueberry pie as high as I could onto the picture window. I’ll never forget his face nor his reaction.

His lower jaw dropped in disbelief — cigarette still attached. With amazing agility, he jumped up and grabbed what appeared to be a broom and shot out of the front door, weapon raised, shouting “You sonsabitches!! … I’m gonna … “We didn’t hang around to hear the completion of the sentence but immediately ran west across another yard down into the woods descending steeply down into Alikanna and the Stanton Park. I could feel Vernon’s panicked breath in my neck. In the darkness, branches, twigs hitting our faces and bodies. All of a sudden, I was in mid-air. I just reached for the sky and was able to catch myself on a branch. Vernon ran into me and clung to me like a monkey to his mother. He started to slide down my waist, thighs, knees, finally panting: “I can’t hold on any longer,” and l felt him let go. As it turns out he was about 2 inches off the ground and I about 2 feet. With enormous relief we found our way back up to Sunset Boulevard in the dark and went home. Mission accomplished.

• The Window Drawing: Apparently another favorite Halloween prank was to take a bar of soap and draw or write on a neighbor’s biggest picture window — hopefully in the dark without getting caught — with a bar of soap. Aside from the artistic value of the endeavor, soap was very hard to get off a window. Mark, 10 years my junior, now having fallen under my Halloween spell, wanted to go tricking one night ­– never mind the treating. Mark also was fascinated with anything in outer space. Across the street lived Jim and Jill Sparr, good friends of Dick and Toodie’s. We snuck across the street in blessed darkness. Mark couldn’t reach the window, so I sat him on my shoulders and hoisted him up. He then proceeded to draw an elaborate rendition of outer space, including rockets, meteors and constellations. The next day, Mark and I were back at the Sparrs cleaning the window because the space mural could only be one artist: Mark and his accomplice: me. And, yes, soap is a bitch to get off a window.

What has happened to our country today? Kids come to my front door: “Trick or treat?” I respond, “OK what’s the trick?” Duh … whatever happened to the old days?

(Sontag, a resident of Steubenville, is founder and chief executive officer of Fast Lane Travel Inc.)