Daniel Rubin: Turning a page in Halloween treats
Jen Saemann's first customer Monday night was an alligator. Swaddled in toothy, green plush, 21-month-old Joseph Rayner grabbed a book titled Pooh's Summer Song from the card table Saemann had set up along East Gordon Street in Kensington, where a novel Halloween tradition unfolds.
Jen Saemann's first customer Monday night was an alligator.
Swaddled in toothy, green plush, 21-month-old Joseph Rayner grabbed a book titled Pooh's Summer Song from the card table Saemann had set up along East Gordon Street in Kensington, where a novel Halloween tradition unfolds.
Miguel Santiago, 8, in camouflage face paint, dropped his weapon and picked up a volume of Captain Underpants.
"This is a good idea," pronounced Bunnie Harris, who was chaperoning the early trick-or-treaters. "You can pick out a book, too," Saemann said, and the woman reached for E.B. White's Charlotte's Web.
Harris recognized the cover. "I always would start this book as a kid, and I never got to the end."
When Saemann - a 51-year-old painter and martial arts instructor - introduced her Trick-or-Read offerings two Halloweens ago, the locals didn't know what to make of their newish neighbor with purple, green, and blue spiked hair.
"Some took books, some just looked at them, some just looked at me," said the former Immaculata English-lit major.
Last year, people warmed up to the idea. She gave away 54 books. Monday night was something else altogether.
She had put out the call on Facebook for donations, and by 5:30 p.m., when the light was starting to fade and the streets were filling with Captain Americas and Grim Reapers, she was waiting with nearly 400 volumes, from picture books to chapter books.
Over Easter, she'd volunteered to deliver meals with Liberti Church East, which has moved into a factory across the street. She noticed that very few people had anything to read in their homes.
"This isn't a neighborhood where a lot of people spend a lot of money on books," she said.
Since moving into the neighborhood three years ago, the former Chester County resident has been remaking the place.
The dirt lot next to her rowhouse was littered with syringes and cinder blocks and junked timber. So she cultivated a garden, planting flowers in the cement blocks and turning the boards into borders. She planted sunflowers. It's now a forest of green.
The streets are still a little rough around the edges, as her friend Nelson Haakenson puts it. Three times since January, people have broken into her car.
"There's still a lot of drug traffic that goes on," she said. When she strings up Christmas lights, thieves take the bulbs. As she was setting up her display of books and lamps and Halloween-themed tablecloths Monday night, a neighbor swiped one of her helium balloons.
Once the trick-or-treating started, though, her stretch where Kensington and Fishtown meet was perfectly behaved, adults reminding children to thank the couple for the books and candy, new neighbors introducing themselves.
"Got something for the mind and the taste buds," observed a young man in a flat-brimmed Phillies cap, pushing a costumed frog in a stroller.
The books prompted some disagreements.
"I want no books," a tiny princess informed her mother. "No, I want you to start reading," the mother commanded. "Pick one." And the girl did.
Not everyone saw the "Free Books for Trick or Treat" sign that Saemann had posted at Gaul and Gordon streets, and so peals of glee were heard.
"Sweet! Candy and books," said Marni Duffy, walking by with her husband, Tray. Their girls - Fern, 3, and Sage, 5 - were dressed in matching horse costumes that Marni had hand-dyed.
"This is a total surprise, but it makes me happier than anything right now," Duffy said. "We're homeschoolers, so books are definitely our livelihood."
For four hours, Saemann's books did brisk business. By the time the last goblin or bloody ghoul walked away, she had handed out 364 titles.
"Next year," she said, "I'll be aiming for 500 or 600. I need to make sure I have enough."
