Town Loses Its Head Over Horseman on Halloween

The dominant spirit . . . that haunts this enchanted region . . . is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head . . . and the specter is known, at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. --Washington Irving, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

Straddling the Orange and San Bernardino county lines, the community of Sleepy Hollow rests, thousands of miles from the New York town immortalized in Washington Irving’s tale. But Irving’s Sleepy Hollow and its California namesake are kindred spirits. In the secluded Southern California community for the past 21 years on All Hallow’s Eve, a Headless Horseman can be glimpsed hurtling up and down the winding roads through town.

Every Oct. 31, the small community of Sleepy Hollow re-enacts Irving’s classic story of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. The rest of the year, like Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon, Sleepy Hollow appears to be a town that time forgot. Perched above the Carbon Canyon Highway between the oil derricks of Brea and the fast-encroaching housing developments of Chino Hills, the town offers its residents the pleasures of quieter times. No sign announces where Sleepy Hollow ends or where it begins. The only business in town is Party House Liquor, a modern version of the general store. The only spot where the “Sleepy Hollow” name appears is on the side of the area’s firehouse and community building, Sleepy Hollow Firehouse, District 4, sheltered from the view of the cars zipping by on the highway.

In past years, while other Orange County and San Bernardino County cities have grown dramatically, Sleepy Hollow has remained at a sedate 300 souls. The community exudes the small-town ambiance that has been lost by other towns in the pell-mell crush of Southern California’s urban expansion.

Started in 1929, most of Sleepy Hollow falls within an unincorporated area of San Bernardino County. Originally, the area consisted of cabins used for summer vacation hideaways by Los Angeles residents. Now the community is a conglomeration of permanent residential homes and rentals, occupied by an eclectic mix of people ranging from a neurosurgeon to artists to retired couples living on Social Security.

Residents in the town commute to cities in Orange, San Bernardino and Los Angeles counties to work, choosing to live in Sleepy Hollow because of its placid, quiet atmosphere. Dee Hallock, 40, a resident of the area for 19 years, works in Chino but prefers rural life to the suburbs.

“There’s a little stream here and the hills and a lot of wildlife, like the raccoons, hawks and owls, that you don’t get in the city. During spring you can take a walk and come back with an armful of wildflowers. I’m not so far away that I can’t commute down the hill to town and then come back to my little country place.”

This pastoral atmosphere is what drew other residents, including 31-year-old Mike McCormack, to Sleepy Hollow and is why they are content to stay there. “It’s the small-town village atmosphere so close to the big city,” McCormack said. “You feel secure out here. All the neighbors watch out for each other. I lived 10 years in Downey and didn’t even know my neighbors’ name. The people here (that) we don’t know, we at least know their names and are acquainted with them.”

Crime in Sleepy Hollow is virtually nonexistent, according to residents. “At one time we had a rash of burglaries,” Hallock commented. “We sent out a little flyer telling people about the break-ins and asking everyone to watch everyone else’s place for them. As a result, the burglaries just dropped off.

“I used to live down in Orange County, and I always worried about prowlers and peeping Toms,” she added. “I feel much safer up here than I do down in town.”

Sleepy Hollow’s small-town spirit helped spawn the traditional Headless Horseman ride and has nurtured it for the past 21 years, according to Sue Briney, a mother of three. “If you live here, you’re involved with (the tradition) forevermore,” she commented, laughing.

Briney, a 21-year resident of Sleepy Hollow, was one of the first coordinators of the ride. “I started organizing the ride in 1967, a year or two after the Sleepy Hollow Women’s Club started the event. It was a fun thing everyone enjoyed, so it became a tradition.”

Originally, the local re-creation of Irving’s tale included the tall, gaunt figure of Ichabod Crane on horseback frantically racing to escape from the Headless Horseman, Briney said. “Ichabod Crane would come riding through and the kids would yell as soon as they heard the horses. Then it would be real quiet and they would hear the Headless Horseman coming after him.”

In the early days of the Headless Horseman’s ride, children piled into a pickup truck to go trick-or-treating because homes were so far apart. “Haunted trails” were another Halloween treat for Sleepy Hollow children, Briney added.

“Usually, the older children would set up some type of trail through the trees, with fake corpses and other gruesome things. Then they’d take the little kids and lead them through the trail with flashlights.”

It was several years after the event started that the Sleepy Hollow family that owned the horses used in the event moved away. Only one horse was available as a replacement. Consequently, Ichabod Crane was dropped from the night’s festivities.

Dee Hallock took on the responsibility of the ride of the Sleepy Hollow Headless Horseman in 1976, continuing the tradition for seven years until her two children, like Briney’s, became teen-agers.

Today, the haunted trails are gone, but the Headless Horseman still rides on Halloween night. The tradition’s torch has passed to 37-year-old Tupper Peterson, an enthusiastic Sleepy Hollow resident who moved from Anahein nine years ago.

“I’ve really gotten spoiled living here,” she said. “I don’t think I could live in a regular neighborhood anymore.”

With three small children of her own, Peterson is a natural for spearheading the preservation of the Sleepy Hollow tradition. Through the years, the ride has been preceded by a Halloween party with a costume contest. The party takes place early in the evening at the Sleepy Hollow community building.

To collect donations for prizes to be awarded at the costume contest, Peterson places a Halloween can in a local liquor store. With the donations, she buys prizes for first-, second- and third-place winners in three age categories.

On Halloween evening, Sleepy Hollow residents bring refreshments to the community building, where the children gather in their costumes. As the little monsters, ghosts and goblins parade around in a circle, their costumes are judged by a panel of community members.

Afterward, the prizes are awarded, along with trick-or-treat gifts for every child. “Then someone says, ‘He’s coming!’ ” Peterson said. “The children all run outside as the Headless Horseman comes riding by and throws a pumpkin.”

For the past several years, Jim Cohee and Mike McCormack have alternated in the role of the Headless Horseman. This year, for the fifth time, McCormack will charge down the hill to the community building with jack-o’-lantern in hand.

“I get a big charge out of it,” the father of two said. “For a short moment in time, I’m treated like a celebrity, even though no one can see me.”

He chuckled as he remembered his not-so-perfect debut. “The first time I did the ride the costume slipped over my eyes so I couldn’t see very well. I was fumbling with the pumpkin because I was having trouble holding on to it, and since I couldn’t see where I was going, I almost ran into the back of a van.”

This is not the only tale of a Headless Horseman gone awry, Hallock recollected. “We had some really funny experiences with novices almost falling off the horse. One year, a guy had done a great pumpkin with a candle in it so the face glowed. As he came down the hill, all you could see was the pumpkin getting closer and closer. But what he didn’t anticipate was the smoke from the candle going up in his face so that he had problems breathing.”

Now the pumpkin has a flare in it, McCormack said. “I cut the pumpkin so I can hold onto it like a handle. Then I stick a flare in a small spot so it lights up the inside, creating a smoky eeriness around me. That way, I can hold it in one hand and wave it around me.”

The Headless Horseman costume consists of a long, flowing hooded cape, McCormack said. “It has a headband set up, with a collar and shoulders just about at the top of my head.”

Making sure that McCormack charges down that hill once again this year is Jim Cohee’s registered appaloosa, McKenna Shade. “The horse really enjoys the ride,” McCormack said. “It’s about the only time he gets ridden at night. He knows exactly what to do and what the routine is. I wouldn’t like to do the ride with another horse.”

Alternating riders also adds an element of surprise to the evening, Cohee, 33, added. “I’m always down there with the kids, too, and it fools them. They think the Headless Horseman is me because he’s riding my horse, but I’m sitting right there with them.”

After the Headless Horseman rides through, the party disperses and the children go trick-or-treating. This year, 27-year-old Linda Briney, Sue Briney’s daughter, will take her son Devin trick-or-treating and, of course, for his fourth view of the Headless Horseman, an event she vividly remembers from her childhood. “I was 8 years old when I first saw it. I remember the Horseman going by and the pumpkin being smashed. It was really exciting.”

It’s because of these cross-generational traditions that Briney, a teacher in Chino, has chosen to stay in Sleepy Hollow. “I decided this is where I want to raise my child. It’s a great place to live.

“The Headless Horseman is one of the special things about this community,” she added. “I think that’s why we kept the tradition going after we grew up. Devin doesn’t understand the story yet, but he already remembers the Headless Horseman.”