The Caddywampus Returns

As I mentioned in a previous blog, I grew up hearing terrifying tales of a gruesome creature known as the Caddywampus. My most vivid memory of this monster involved the captivating tale my father told and the subsequent nightmare that surfaced after he pretended to see it. However, that story is not my only tale involving the Caddywampus. My father saw fit to mention this horror more than once; interestingly enough, each story involved a slightly different version of the fearful monster. In the typical story, the Caddywampus was akin more to a slightly frightening version of Oscar the Grouch; it lived in a hole in the ground and was known to pull unsuspecting victims into its lair if they committed the unforgivable sin of not smiling. In that case, the Caddywampus was more Boogeyman than anything; a story told to inspire good behavior in children.

Well, in case you haven't noticed, I enjoy nothing more than a good, scary yarn. I am fascinated by mere mention of ghosts, goblins, and the like. In this I'm rather a contradiction in terms; I do not claim to have ever seen a ghost, nor do I believe that the average "ghost" tale involves the supernatural. In fact, I take great delight in debunking these stories, since the majority of scary tales involve perfectly explainable phenomena. But I digress. I'll save the haunting lecture for another post. Back to my story.

I was teaching first grade at Smokey Mountain Elementary School when the Halloween season rolled around. I decided that my students needed to hear a good, scary story. And of course, what better subject than the legendary Caddywampus?

I prefaced my story with a serious discussion. I explained, quite matter-of-factly, that the Caddywampus resided in any hole more than a few inches deep. There the unsavory creature lurked, biding its time until an unsuspecting victim happened to wander past. Then, with lightning quick speed, the monster would snatch the hapless passerby by the ankles and drag him or her to an untimely demise below ground. I ended the story by cautioning my students to avoid holes at all costs.

Now, my classroom had a wonderful, wall-to-wall picture window that offered a tremendous view of the beautiful surrounding mountainside. Everyday we would exit the classroom via a door in the wall window and head out to the playground. Coincidentally enough, there happened to be a fairly good-sized hole right outside the window, running along the base of the wall. I'm not sure what caused the hole, although I suspect it most likely involved either a settling foundation or enterprising skunk (the school was located in the mountains and often visited by various wildlife, including bobcats, snakes, and bears). My students had been fascinated by this hole, and always tried to see if they could step in it without getting caught. I tried to discourage this behavior, fearing a student might accidentally fall and get hurt. While telling my latest version of the Caddywampus story, I decided this would be a perfect opportunity to give my students a little incentive to keep out of the hole. Can you see where this is going?

In the roundabout way teachers have, I brought the discussion back to the topic of the hole in question. I mentioned it was the perfect size for the devious Caddywampus and urged the students to be extra careful when walking past. This did not comfort them. Scared, they began to pester me with questions, asking if I had ever seen the monster coming from that hole. I glanced around the room and saw exactly what I had aimed for: a roomful of twenty-four wide-eyed six year olds nervously contemplating the inherent danger involved in going to recess. It was now time to drive my point home.

In a quiet voice, I explained that I would find out if the hole did indeed harbor the Caddywampus. I cautioned the students to remain in the classroom while I went out, alone, to inspect the hole. I even assigned one student the job of fetching help from a nearby teacher should the unthinkable occur and I disappear from sight. Each student solemnly promised to stay in the room while I ventured forth. My designated rescuer took up his post near the classroom door, ready to run for help should the need arise. Satisfied, I stepped outside of the classroom and proceeded to walk sloooowwwwwlllllly past the window.

Nearing the hole, I peeked through the window at my students. Twenty-three terrified faces peered back at me. I gave them an encouraging smile and took another step towards the hole.

Then I screamed at the top of my lungs and jerked my body below the window.

All I will say is it took almost an hour to calm my students down. For weeks they refused to leave the room through the window-door. Two months later, I found myself explaining to bewildered parents just what a Caddywampus was and why their child refused to go near the slightest indention in the ground.

I didn't get fired (thank God). And, if the truth must be told, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Happy Halloween!