Not until it got dark!That was the trick-or-treating rule my mother set down every year. She didn't want me to embarrass her by interrupting families still having dinner.I hated the rule. Tommy Gillen and I had big plans to hit as many houses as possible before we had to come home.It was the 1970s, after all. Schools weren't yet banning Halloween treats and activities. There was no kid obesity epidemic. There weren't many modern sensitivities at all.I dressed as a hobo, a Depression-era fellow, with dirt on my face, carrying a bundle tied to a stick over my shoulder. That would surely be considered insensitive today.We didn't care about our costumes much anyhow. All we cared about was the candy, regular kids' gold -- especially because candy and junk food were hardly ever permitted in our homes the rest of the year.Thus, our Halloween mission was to pack as much of it into a pillowcase as we could.Despite urban legends about candy laced with poison or needles, parents allowed their 10-year-old kids to roam the streets unmonitored, banging on front doors miles from home.Tommy and I refined our plan every year.We'd start with the bigger houses on the other side of the tunnel, where the "rich" people handed out a panoply of full-size treats: Hershey's, Nestle Crunch, Milk Duds, Good & Plenty, Almond Joy, $100,000 Bar, Twizzlers, Snickers, Milky Way, Kit Kat, M&Ms and Peanut M&Ms, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and the granddaddy of them all, Mallow Cup.