Cappuccino Halloween Edition: The Legend of Stingy Jack

Ever wonder where the tradition of jack o' lanterns comes from? Wonder no more!

I suck at a lot of things—shopping, sewing, gift wrapping, small talk, not being witheringly sarcastic to people who deserve it—but I suck on an epic scale when it comes to making jack o’ lanterns.

A great pity I don’t have photos of some of my more spectacular failures. The crestfallen expressions on my kids’ faces is not something this mom will soon forget. What always began as a fun kitchen project usually morphed into me cutting myself and bleeding all over the counter. Or me slipping on pumpkin guts and hitting my head. Or botching the whole project so royally that what started out as a scary pumpkin face turned into a series of random holes, almost as though somebody had blasted the pumpkin with a shotgun.

Moral of the story: I really ought not to do things.

But my lack of talent is more than made up for in my enthusiasm for other people’s talent. I am a true connoisseur of a well-rendered jack o’ lantern. Take a gander at these beauties.

Why is it I can’t manage even a standard jack o’ lantern, and THIS guy, Ray Villafane, is doing things so next level, I don’t have words to describe them? Be sure to follow that link; he’s got some exceptional faces.

#Mood

3-D pumpkin carving wasn’t even a thing in my day, which was right around the time we invented fire and the wheel.

And yet, I do have a good story for you, and it may be one you’ve never heard before. Welcome to the legend of Stingy Jack. Like most good legends, it comes from Ireland, and it “explains” where the tradition of our modern-day jack o’ lanterns comes from.

So, in the true spirit of Irish storytelling, prepare to have your blarneys blarned.

As you might expect, the Halloween tradition Samhain (pronounced “sow-win,” by the way, with “sow” like the word for female swine, not the verb for cultivating dirt), is over a thousand years old and Celtic in origin. Irish immigrants brought it with them when they came to the United States, but the idea of hollowing out a gourd and prancing around in costumes and masks already had a deep tap root in Irish culture. And it all started with Stingy Jack.

According to folklore, Stingy Jack was a drunk and a trickster (all cultures have at least one: Hermes in Greek mythology, Loki in Norse mythology, Wisakedjak to the Navajo, and Anansi, the Spider God of Mischief, in Africa). One evening at the local pub, Satan overheard Jack bragging about his own deviousness and decided he must have this fellow’s soul. Jack was cunning enough to offer no resistance, but talked Satan into allowing him one final drink before being dragged off to hell. Satan, who is uncharacteristically gullible in this legend, agreed.

They sat at the bar and quaffed a foamy beverage, after which Jack patted his empty pockets and admitted he didn’t have enough money to pay. “You’re the Master of Disguise,” he told Satan. “Why don’t you turn yourself into a coin, and then when the tavernkeeper isn’t looking, turn yourself back again?” Satan thought this was a good plan, but the minute he turned himself into a coin, Jack grabbed him up and shoved him into his pocket alongside a crucifix. Satan was now trapped and helpless.

Only by begging and pleading did Satan finally persuade Jack to release him. The agreement was that he had to leave Jack alone for ten years. Satan didn’t want to do it, but it was mighty uncomfortable in that pocket with the crucifix, so he conceded.

Exactly ten years later, rubbing his cloven hoofs together in anticipatory glee, Satan found Jack stumbling home from the pub. Once again, Jack offered no protest when Satan told him they were going to hell, but he did ask if Satan would climb a nearby apple tree to get him a final snack. Ever the simpleton, Satan climbed the tree. The minute he did, Jack carved a cross into the trunk, trapping him. No matter how much Satan growled and threatened, Jack refused to release him until he promised to never take Jack’s soul to hell. Grumpily, Satan promised.

Many years later, Stingy Jack breathed his last. But upon his ascension to heaven, St. Peter refused to let him inside the Pearly Gates because of his evil drunken ways. Jack then went to hell, but Satan couldn’t admit him because of his promise. He did, however, give Jack a parting gift: a glowing ember of hellfire, which Jack stuck inside a hollowed-out turnip to light his way.

To this day, he roams the earth, trapped inside the slipstream between Good and Evil. Every time you see a jack o’ lantern, it may just be the hellfire glow from Jack’s turnip gleaming back you through the dark.

A super creepy traditional Irish turnip Jack-o'-lantern from the early 20th century

Now that you know the legend of Stingy Jack, you would be wise to raise a toast to him—or disguise yourself in costume. There’s nothing better than a pagan holiday to help us remember the restless hungry ghosts that are never sated.

Happy Samhain!

Copyright © 2022 Stacey Eskelin

You know I love it when you share your thoughts here on Cappuccino. Click inside the thought-bubble (if you’re on your phone) or the comments section below.