Trick-or-treat?
The so-called dangers of poisoned Halloween candy
Jacques Marcoux, Volunteer Staff
For most university students Halloween is no longer about running from door to door collecting sweets like scavengers, but rather it is now about finding an excuse to dress up inappropriately and get liquored-up in an effort to revive that dissipated childhood innocence. Although most of us have since retired our pillow cases solely for bed duty, the spirit of the fall holiday continues to live on.
By spirit, I am referring to those stories, or more appropriately myths that manage to transcend generations. They get passed down in elementary schoolyards during recess, while sitting in front of a campfire or sometimes they are even promulgated by the media. At times, some of these urban legends almost seem to take on a life of their own. But are these myths based on factual accounts? Let’s take a more in depth look at the most popular ones of all — no, not the one about the kid you know who once filled up three garbage bags worth of candy in one night — I am referring to the infamous legend of the poisoned candy.
At one point or another, we have all been warned by our parents not to eat suspicious-looking candy. We were advised to throw out the home-made cookies from that sweet old lady down the street and that red apple from the old man (often a retired dentist) with the smelly dog. Maybe your parents even took the time to methodically dig through your pillow case full of candy to ensure that no packaging had been tampered with (and in the process Dad would steal a few O’Henry bars from your loot). In fact, the legend is so widespread that in the U.S. some hospitals even make their X-ray machines available for the general public to drop off their goodies for verification of any foreign objects, such as razor blades and needles.
It is quite remarkable how well-known the legend of the crazed-psycho-handing-out-poisoned-candy has become, especially when you consider that there is no documented evidence of this ever happening in North America. The fact of the matter is that there are only two incidents that even remotely support the killer-candy myth. First is a 1974 murder in Waco, Texas, where a man by the name of Ronald O’Bryan poisoned his son using a cyanide-laced Pixy Stick in order to collect the ensuing life insurance. The second example is based on the reports from the Vietnam War, where American soldiers deployed in the countryside were reportedly offered fruits and vegetables by local farmers with deadly object inserted into them designed to sever vital organs once ingested
The problem with these two examples is that they are both isolated incidents that are unlikely the sources for this famed urban legend. What then could adequately explain the prominence of the poisoned candy myth? Although this may not account for the legend’s origins, the writings of Christian evangelical fundamentalist Jack Chick might help explain why parents, to this day, continue to issue this warning to their children year after year. In the mid-’80s, Chick depicted Halloween as a satanic holiday in his indoctrinations, attempting to dissuade children from participating in the ghoulish festivities by recounting the story of innocent children dying of poisoned candy. Jack Chick’s writings certainly helped revive the legend, giving it new momentum for years to come
However, based on all the research done, I could not find any compelling evidence for the origin for this myth. The legend appears to have been cultivated by overly protective parents exaggerating the danger of taking candy from neighbours, which over the years has progressively been reinforced by the odd, unrelated occurrence, ultimately evolving the myth into the cautionary story we know today.
If you take a step back and observe the Halloween tradition of collecting candy from strangers with a more critical eye, from a social interaction perspective the whole concept is a behavioural anomaly. Consider that in general people view the outside world as an often dangerous, unpredictable, and untrustworthy place, as epitomized by excessive regulation, litigation, and isolationism, it is actually quite surprising that the tradition of trick-or-treating has survived. Most people will not pick up a hitchhiker on the highway or leave their car doors unlocked, yet for some inexplicable reason, once a year millions of families let their guards down and wholeheartedly accept candy from strangers, brushing aside this social paranoia in the name of tradition.
So what is to take away here? What lesson can be learned from the timeless deadly candy myth? Well, given that there is historical evidence to support that murder by Tootsie-Rolls is the absolute last concern for children, parents should shift their focus on other looming dangers. For example, according to United States Center for Disease Control and Prevention a child is approximately four times more likely to get hit by a vehicle on Halloween night than on all other days of the year — this should give parents an indication of where to focus their attention come Oct. 31.
Unfortunately for this Halloween urban legend, as it turns out the world is not such a bad place after all.
Jacques Marcoux is a fourth-year commerce student.
