Just saw an ad for the new horror movie opening tomorrow, “The Curse of La Llorona”. Reminded me of two of Phyl’s most common pre-counsels;”You’re gonna get in trouble.” and post-counsels: “How could you be so stupid.” (The latter was never a question).

I seldom had behavior problems because drama, dance, parties, and stories were some of the more (let’s say) unique educational experiences I provided, as class rewards. And class peer pressure (“Don’t!!! Or he’s not gonna let us….”) is a bitch. One of these areas of reward Phyl and I both shared (though mine was a bit over the line of good taste) is we loved to scare the crap out of the kids, and they loved having the crap scared out of them. Just, as always, Phyllis did it with classics, while I was more déclassé. Former students, even in their fifties (Alma, Carrie, Maria, et al; sorry) always best remember two things; our plays and my Grim Reaper story. I caused many a nightmare. (One reason for Phyl’s counsel.)
Phyl’s means was literature of course, and, as such, were quite acceptable activities. Her go-to’s were Shirley Jackson and Edgar Allen Poe. My go to’s were movie scenes and made-up stories. less palatable to the curriculum folks, but more intriguing to the kids. In fact, the only thing we ever did together was our middle school Halloween show at Henry in Granada Hills. .
Phyl’s favorite readings were “The Lottery”, “The Raven”, and “The Telltale Heart.”
My favorites were the stuff of Phyllis’ constant warning and derision; like the opening scene of “Night of the Living Dead”, “Tales from the Darkside”, and a pirated copy of “Thriller”.
(Some day I”ll explain that long complicated story that included Phyl’s doing, but started when my fifth graders actually corresponded with and were phone-called by Michael Jackson, pre-Neverland, in 1982, when “Thriller” had just come out. Really.)
My advanced storytelling began in Huntington Park, in 1974, when, as a reward. unbeknownst to my students, I put an older kid in my classroom closet, covered with cold, cooked linguine, turned the lights off, made up a story about “The Spaghetti Monster”, had the kid run out at the crucial time, and scared the bejeezus out of my class. I did not foresee my post-wired students throwing the spaghetti all over the room. (Though over half-century ago, if any of that class is reading this, I am sure you remember. Maybe Mary and Marlene too?) In fact, if you go to room 31 at Middleton in Huntington Park today, I’ll bet there’s still dried linguine on the ceiling. I swear this is all true.
Of course, neither Phyllis (“We wah just married, and now yah gonna lose yah job!!!”) nor the principal were pleased.
So I switched to common scary legends that I could embroider on the fly: The Grim Reaper, The Bogeyman, and for school diversity, a Mexican legend most of my kids at Sunny Brae in Canoga Park (again, I hadn’t foreseen, not just the older kids) knew. La Llarona, was a woman/ghost/witch who kidnapped and drowned her own children, then spent eternal nights, wailing and looking for them amidst living children.
So I tell the scary story, we talk about the legend, and my class goes to lunch. Next thing I know there’s screaming on the yard, kids running everywhere, little kids shrieking, crying, and either cringing against the buildings or desperate to get back in their classrooms.
My fifth grade girls had told a few first graders that La Llorona was in the girls restroom. Parents came to the school. Some took their kids home. Some students wouldn’t come the next day. The principal (a wonderful, wonderful lady who went way too easy on me, and so very unfortunately just passed. Way too soon) took the brunt of it and had to send a District-approved letter home explaining it all.
And, as seemingly always, Phyllis had been right.