My brother was a master of terror, but all in the name of fun (to him). For example, there was one moonlight night in January in the 1950's. You must understand first though that as a child I was afraid of my own shadow. Anyway, I had received a pair of skis for Christmas. On this evening that I am telling you about it was one of those bright full moonlight nights and a friend of mine were sharing my skis. We each had one ski and one pole. The skis were made of birch with red tips and the poles were a long wooden dowels with a 4" wooden disk as the webbing. Ok - that sets the mood. Now - I happened to notice this figure coming toward us hunched over and walking funny. From this monster came a voice which said "Where is Harold Crowell"? Well sir that was all I needed to hear and I lit off like a scalded hog for our house just a short distance away (and probably as much squealing). During the process of scrambling for home, the ski that I wore came loose from my foot but was still attached firmly to my ankle by it's leather strapping. This of course caused me to trip and fall. Wailing like a banshee I continued my struggle for home only to be trapped by the ski which found its way cross way in the gate opening leading to our yard. All the while the "Monster" was getting closer. With one last, huge and desperate pull, I managed to free the ski (still attached to me) and I think I pulled so hard that I doubled the ski enough to clear the two gate posts. Stumbling, tripping falling I finally made it to the back door. Now the ski had found its way back onto my foot, and to my dismay, I could not reach the doorknob to open the door. But - I had a secret weapon - the ski pole which like I told you had a 4" wooden disk at the bottom. With one violent swing I whacked the old hardwood door denting it deeply with the disk. Now that whack along with the commotion of my frantic cries brought Mom to the door and it began to open. The first crack of light was all I needed to see and was my cue to dive into the house between Mom's legs. This course of action upset her in a heap, but I was safe. She was closely followed by dad who of course took Art to task on his after hours activities. The whole thing was, he was merely trying to play Santa Claus...Thanks brother for this incident (and I never thought I would ever say that) foe without your "pranks of terror" I would not have had the pleasure of telling this story