Trick Or Turnip

By Gordon Hopkins Attempting to find material for a Halloween-themed column, I resorted to that vast repository of all human knowledge (some of which is actually true), the internet. Typing “Halloween Facts” into a search engine, I mostly got trivia about the movie, “Halloween,” rather than the holiday. (Did you know John Carpenter was once considered to direct “Top Gun?” I can't even imagine what that would have looked like.)Still, I did find an answer (possibly even true) to one question I have had for a long time. What's the deal with the pumpkin, anyway?It seems the origin of the Jack-O-Lantern comes from an Irish legend. Not too surprising, when you consider it revolves around a vegetable. (Yes, I know pumpkins are, botanically speaking, considered a fruit and not a vegetable. Just keep reading.)This tale happened centuries ago, like pretty much everything else that has ever happened in Ireland. No one in Ireland will ever tell you a tale that took place last week.It is the story of a drunk known as Stingy Jack. He was, by all accounts, not a very nice guy, as you could probably guess based on the adjective preceding his name. Some drunks become legendarily loose with their cash when they drink. Not Stingy Jack. He was devious and duplicitous and always ready to cheat someone out of a drink or a coin.One dark night (Why do these stories never take place on a sunny afternoon?), Jack came across a body. Said body's gruesome visage held a horrifying leer. This was not a dead body at all, but the Devil, himself, come to collect Jack's misbegotten soul after a lifetime of misdeeds.Jack asked ole' Beelzebub for one last request. Satan agreed. Why, I do not know. Is this a thing Satan does, granting last wishes? Are there any rules, like a genie? Can I wish not to die?Jack did not wish not to die. As a drunk, his last request was, naturally, a drink. So, ole' Bub took Jack to a nearby pub. One would expect Satan to know where all the really good dive bars are located.After downing a tankard of ale (At least, I assume that's what Jack drank. I don't imagine, in a pub in ancient Ireland, he ordered a Cosmopolitan.), the time came to pay the tab. Only, Jack didn't want to pay. Given that he was about to go to hell, perhaps he wanted to hang on to what pocket change he had on him. After all, there is that toll for crossing the River Styx to consider.So, Jack expected Satan to pay for his last drink. Only, it seems Satan didn't carry cash on him. (Makes sense, I suppose. I've seen a lot of those red devil costumes and never saw one with pockets.) Being not only stingy but devious, Jack had a plan. He convinced Satan to turn himself into a coin.Satan agreed. I really would have thought ole' Bub was smarter than this. Only, Jack didn't use the coin to pay for his drink. Instead, he placed the coin in his pocket, next to a silver cross. Proximity to the cross prevented Satan from changing back to his original form, because Satan is like a vampire, I guess?With the upper hand, Jack made a deal with the Devil. No story with the words, “made a deal with the Devil” ever ends well. Jack would release Satan only if he promised not to take him to hell.With little choice, Satan agreed.Satan gets a bad rap in the media but Satan kept his word and did not collect Jack's diabolical soul and take it to hell.Unfortunately for Jack, heaven had no interest in admitting such an unscrupulous scalawag through those Pearly Gates, either. Heaven has a reputation to maintain, after all, serving only the most upscale clientele.Denied respite in heaven or hell, Jack was forced to wander the Earth forever. His way was lit with a single burning coal, which he placed in a carved-out turnip.A turnip? See, a vegetable. That doesn't seem like a particularly practical lantern, which I suppose explains why it was eventually replaced with a pumpkin. Can you imagine trying to carve a face on a turnip?Now, every year around Halloween, millions of pumpkins are carved into bizarre countenances, with leering grins and grimaces, glowing from the candles within.And that, my friends, is the true, tragic irony of this tale. Had he only copyrighted the Jack-O-Lantern, the penny-pinching Stingy Jack would be the richest lost soul ever to wander the Earth.

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