Note: We really don't recommend a little trespassing combined with clear violation of building usages and the throwing of objects from high up in buildings. Better not do it, dammit.

There's something about a round gourd that just says "please, eviscerate me and spread my innards all over the place." Perhaps it is only communicated down the Y-chromosome. For years, hooligan teens have preyed upon hapless jack-o-lanterns, attacking in wee hours of Halloween.

The whole Halloween thing is very odd indeed, and probably pretty alien to most of the world. Sure, plenty of cultures have similar rituals, but dressing kids up like the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers to make idle threats ("Trick-or-treat") upon their friendly neighbors while carved pumpkins look idly on is pretty strange.

Perhaps something gets triggered in adolescence that makes one distrust the smiling orange gourds. They have seen too much. They know what we were like before. They must be sacrificed to the harvest moon with Dionysian abandon--one orange sphere for another. Evil is frightened off another year: if they'd do that to an innocent gourd, what would they do if really riled.

Whatever howl-at-the-moon instinct the pumpkins bring to the surface, they were certainly bringing it out in Henry and myself in the days immediately after Halloween 1992. Henry and I decided that what we needed to do was commando our way upon one of Sacramento State University's highest points and toss our offering to the gods in a hope that they might lift the pumpkin aloft. Originally our plan involved the Psychology building's roof: at six stories, the highest available point on campus. The psych building housed CSUS's observatory, and we thought that we might be able to garner access onto the roof from the observatory access.

For some reason now past recall, we didn't end up trying the plan very far. I think that we managed to get there only to find all accesses well secured against yahoos of our caliber. The next tallest building on campus at the time was the Science building. We'd both had classes there and were thinking that the fire escape breezeways would make excellent launch points.

Fortunately for us, the building proved unlocked and inviting: light up, many exits, and no apparent witnesses. We rode up to the fifth floor, our precious cargo hidden in a large backpack. We cased the fifth floor for any signs of life before proceeding to the fire escapes. We had to contemplated each side of the building for witnesses, passing traffic and possibility that some poor schmuck would have the unmitigated bad luck to walk right under a five-pound gourd that would be traveling at somewhere around 60ft/sec (or 20 meters/sec for you metric-heads).

We made our way out onto our chosen ledge on the northern side of the building. The fire escape looked over a small courtyard that was seldom traveled at the hour that we were about. We stepped gingerly over the crotch-level railing onto the three-foot ledge beyond. The building really looks like it has been designed to engender suicides. I suppose everybody who wants to off themselves tries the more imposing Psych building, finds it locked, and decides to go home and have a beer instead.

Standing up there with pumpkin in hand was a bit heady. A slight November breeze blew the tree's remaining leaves and swirled those accumulated on the ground adding to the vertigo. Giving the pumpkin a goodly shove, Henry and I looked down at the pumpkin accelerating away from us.

I don't think either of us were quite ready for the noise or the mess the pumpkin made. Sure, we'd all seen smashed pumpkins, but we'd never seen one impacting at 40 MPH! The pumpkin split like a gunshot, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings giving it a nice full reverberated "crakkk", not altogether unlike a rifle shot. The pumpkin itself had all but vanished, and we decided that we had better do likewise.

Henry and I took off in different directions, running down staircases, switching staircases in mid-run before reaching bottom to minimize anyone looking for us getting us both. Upon reaching the bottom we looked around to see if we had been spotted. Apparently, all was well. Nobody seems to notice loud cracking sounds mid-week at 11pm on the Sac State Campus.

The damage done to the pumpkin was pretty impressive. A few tidbits of pumpkin remained at the impact site, some forty or so feet away from the side of the building; our launch point. Most of the shell had skittered off in all directions before hitting lawn or plant beds, skidding to a stop. The pumpkin guts were simply everywhere, covering an area roughly describing an arc of about 50 degrees and about thirty linear feet. I hadn't realized how slippery the stuff was.

Damage done, I realized that I should have brought a camera. The mess remained there until the first good rain a few days later. Henry and I scoured the dorms for additional pumpkins, launching them off the Guy West bridge and onto a drainage canal below, but the angle of the canal and the somewhat softening nature of the gourds made the experience less than climactic.