Karl Dahlin: The Eulogy I Should Have Given!

At the memorial celebration that followed the funeral service for my second oldest brother, Karl (in the Dahlin Family house), afterwards, I had many people look in my direction urging me to share a story or two.  In my mind I wrestled with all the stories that I had spinning around in my head that could adequately capture the essence of Karl. The dilemma I had was trying to come up with THE ONE BEST STORY of the hundreds of memories that flooded my thoughts at that moment.

This time together was about celebrating his life, drawing closure and neatly putting things in categories that help us deal with the passing of a loved one. I walked away with regret that my brain couldn't produce something to share in the moment.  Then I spent an entire day beating myself up for such an epic fail.  

THEN IT CAME!  Unfortunately, it came to me at 2:29am smack dab in the middle of the night, 37 hours too late. 

Let me begin by asserting my premise right up front in one small phrase; The Power of CONNECTION and Beauty of authentic messy COMMUNITY!

When I looked around at the faces in that backyard I was overwhelmed by the real sense of community that we all shared and how each person there had a story that connected them to Karl, which in turn connected us all to each other. Wow! Although I had a million Dahlin stories there also were Blaser stories, and Lennon stories, and Tripp stories, and Nargie stories, and Grant stories, and McClain stories and Daniel stories and Irvine stories and Dugan stories and Sasson stories and Koz and Charlie and Jack and John and Tom and Ray and Ian and Greg and Tuna canyon and Sycamore canyon and Dogtown and Jeff Ho and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar stories and Bob Dylan stories... 

(pictured to the left is Bob Dylan in Red Shirt - with Karl, Kurt and Bob). 

...and the crazy Rooster stories. There were stories that took place in Venice and in Marina Del Rey and at Bass lake; stories that included Bob Furhman and Pinky Parlette and our very SPECIAL TWINS - David and Lisa. 

There are stories of the “hooch-hut” out back at “Wall Drug” and pool stories and electrocution stories and boat stories and Fish Stories – that connect us all to Karl and all to each other.  

When I look at Karl’s kids – I see his love for fishing that will live on. I see his creativity and how the skill of craftsmanship had been passed down to David along with the blonde hair of his youth.  With Michael Jon, I see the sensitive heart of Karl that endured him to so many people. When I look at Karlee I see his eyes and his beautiful thick hair and the strength of character. I marveled at how if you took all three of them and squished them together into one person you would get Karl.  Together they embody who he is - his life lives through them and his legacy lives through all of us who were blessed to be a part of those stories.

OH, I HAVE STORIES! Plenty of them. 

Stories like:      Letting monkeys out of the Zoo 
                        The infamous Veloci-Raptor

                                                            Johnny the pigeon

                                                            Lazarus the cat
                                                            Poochie the "Wonder Dog" 

                                                            Halloween and the Saints 

                                                            Sawing his 57 Ford in half for a dune buggy

                                                            The Alligator

                                                            The Mexican Tomato Plants

Hollister

                                                            Fishing

                                                            Nearly being killed in a storm at sea

                                                            Grandpa the giant, chick-eating bullfrog

                                                            “Haircut Saturdays”

                                                             Being chased out of Lancaster

                                                             Kings River

                                                            The storm at Salton Sea

                                                            Pranks on poor old Edna next door. 

                                                            Stealing Avocados

                                                            Wresting in the front yard

                                                            “Templates”

                                                            Albino Camp hikes

                                                            Cross country trips and Dad's 67 Ford Squire

                                                            President Johnson and snapping turtles

                                                            Red ants 

                                                            Horticulture

                                                            Stained glass windows

                                                            Kitchen cabinets

                                                            Leaky boats

                                                            Rebellious boat motors

                                                            Softball..."Pinners" 

                                                            Shared Birthday parties

                                                            Broken bones - lots and lots of them!

                                                            Boxing matches in the living room

                                                            Listening to the Beatles and the Beach Boys

                                                            Dancing in the living room

                                                            Milk Wars

                                                            Reptiles 
                                                            Rattlesnake escapes...

…stories and stories and more stories – BUT, what I realized when I looked around was - what a great reminder that there is probably no neighborhood in America THEN or NOW where there will ever be so many people in a unique mix of bizarre, funny, flawed, adventurous, risk taking, loving community of real people who are still connected in such a beautiful and powerful demonstration of what it means to be truly human!

  

Karl, I miss you more today than I did yesterday… you will be a part of us forever…and part of an amazing story that can never be duplicated with a legacy that is etched into our hearts, forged into our memories and cherished as we continue to tell our stories (no matter how embellished) that will assure you will never be forgotten and serve to remind us to cherish the relationships we have. We had something very special on Harding Avenue and we still have that powerful connection and sense of beautiful-messiness of community.  

Thank you to all who attended, to all those offering heart felt thoughts, and for all the prayers and condolences.

Karl, you were there when I came into the world and it was my great honor to be with you when you left this one!   

With Love, your baby “Birthday” brother… Mark!

The Interrupted Funeral: Conclusion of the Whale's Tale!

What started out as a fisherman's dream to get out beyond the Marina Del Rey breakwater and into the open ocean to match wits and to do battle with a few feisty fish turned into a tragic tale of Epic proportions.

CLICK HERE TO HEAR RAUL SING!!!
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While the hippies were having a solemn memorial vigil in the backyard, Mrs Blaser and Mrs. Nargie sat tearfully with Mrs. D as she had to make the most difficult phone call of her life. It was hard enough losing two of her own children, but now feeling somewhat responsible, she had to tell Mrs, Gherhing the news that her seventh-grade-boy had died recklessly at sea in one of the Dahlin boats.

No rattlesnakes had escaped, but one of the older boys raised the "Don't Tread On Me" flag at half mast in order for the neighborhood to mourn the loss of the three boys!

The one lone corbina Karl caught, turned out to "THE DEADLIEST CATCH"

While Raul and the Coast Guard Cutter were battling the ruff seas to pick up shards of debris from the small craft that was being battered against of the cement  pylons of the Venice pier...Karl, Patrick and I were battling Moby Dick! Alright, so it wasn't the notorious Moby Dick, but it was one angry whale that had one bad attitude.

Karl and I attempted to beat the whale off with the wooden oars (as though that helped make matters any better) as Patrick hid under the bow and...well...cried...and said Sr. Edith's prayer over and over again.  The relentless whale kept coming back..over and over again - ramming us from the side - coming up under the our rickety wooden boat and flung us into the air like a popsicle stick. We were so busy fighting the leviathan that we hadn't noticed that the giant sea creature had actually pushed us northward against the current just beyond the opening of the breakwater and left just as fast as he appeared.  The wind and the southward swell pushed us right into the mouth of the Marina. The same whale that almost killed us saved us from the sure death that of being pulverized into splinters against the breakwater rocks.   Triton or Aquaman or God or something was on our side.


A three hour tour...a three hour tour.

Karl tinkered with the sickly motor for another half hour until it sputtered and coughed and barely chugged us back to the launch ramp.





After backing the boat into its spot next to the two sailboats and the green MG that were crammed under the palm tree...Karl took the whale-slapping-paddle to defend himself against the 4-inch razor-sharp talons of the crazy attack rooster as he entered the backyard. When Karl got back to the Wall Drug - hippie haven "Hooch Hut"- he sensed the heavy hearts and quietly joined the long hairs who were sharing fond memories of a friend who had apparently died at sea. Taking turns they puffed the magic dragon that medicated them in this difficult time and in turn boasted of who saw "The Fisherman" last as though each word had sacred importance which gave them bragging rights. Karl sat in awe of this heroic and legendary person they grieved, taking a hit from the refer that was being passed around from lip to lip he also shared a few memories of his own of the unknown friend. Having no idea that Karl was in their midst, his long soliloquy was followed by awed and reverent responses.
                                         "Dude..."
                                                     "Dude...Dude"
                                                               "Dude...Dude...Bro!"
To which they all bowed their heads and became quiet... until Karl asked, "Dude...don't double Dude bro...like, who are we talking about?" And when they looked up and saw who it was - they jumped on him in jubilation and a brawl broke out (all except for the guy who peed his pants).

Meanwhile Patrick and I slipped  inside the house through the side door into the kitchen, and made some sourdough toast to warm our bodies. In the other room all the ladies from the neighborhood along with some of our neighborhood chums who were gathered in then living room, except for Mrs. Lennon. One of the Priest from Saint Marks was there to guide them through the process of grief as they also shared stories of three very special people who had died. Patrick and I quietly ate our warm sourdough and listened from the other room behind closed doors. We cried along with all those in the other room about these three, poor, lost souls who had lived lives of near sainthood. Then pride - than shame struck us as we realized that we had been eavesdropping on our funeral like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. .I have to admin it felt good to listen to all the lies everyone were saying about us...I wished it went on longer and I wished I had known me better!

Patrick belched and mom slid open the huge double doors into the dining room and everyone saw us sitting there in tears eating toast when someone exclaimed "It's a miracle."
"A resurrection!" shouted Father Shelton... as moms rushed to hug us, until Ulrich and his crew thought it was a terribly and cruel joke in manipulating everyone emotions and jumped on top us and beat the crude out of us.

We obviously deserved some "Keel Hauling" and gladly received our due penance - we were just thankful to be alive!

Later, Mrs. Lennon and the Lennon Sisters told me they would have been there for my impromptu funeral service, but they were busy filming their first Kellogg's Special K commercial.

Good for you Mrs. Lennon...Good for you!

And everyone lived happily after after...

Until Good Friday!

"Thar She Blows!" With the Dahlins - Fact is stranger than Fiction!

The 'O Johnson outboard motor quit and we were doomed to a violent death. Every time one of the huge swells picked up our little boat it tossed us closer and closer to the rocks of the Marina breakwater. I think that the corbina on the end of the Karl's fishing line was so afraid that of the angry seas that it leaped right into our 16' leaky boat. Karl handed me the pole and grabbed the pull-starter rope and began pulling with the might of a Viking sea warrior!  10 times! 20 times! 30 times!  Karl pulled that rope as the motor only gave one hopeful cough to tease us with hope!    

WE WERE GOING TO DIE!


Just then we saw a Coast Guard boat head out of the Jetty!
WE were SAVED!

We yelled and screamed and waved our arms and begged for rescue. Patrick climbed out from under the front where he had strapped himself to the only two life preservers on board and joined in the frantic plea for help. Again, gravity pulled us quickly down the backside of the last swell and were swallowed from visibility in the trough as though we had totally disappeared off the face of the earth.  

CRASH went our small boat at the bottom as if being immersed in baptism.

Patrick was flung from the bow like a missile launched from Cape Canaveral and Karl reached up and snagged "Gherhing the Great" by the foot and reeled him in to safety - if that's what you can call it.

As we ascended to the top of the next swell, not only did we get closer to the hungry rocks, but we saw the backside of the Coast Guard Cutter speeding away in the direction of the Venice Pier.

By my estimation, I figured that we had two more swells until we would be crushed against the rocks - pulverized into oblivion as if a block of cheese with a cheese-grater.

King Triton must have been angry with us...or God maybe, for throwing up on a Priest at church. This might have been my fault! I didn't dare tell the other guys!

 Karl must have pulled that rope a thousand more times. NOTHING

It was time!  It was time for Sister Edith's prayer! Patrick had climbed under the hull again and resigned himself to death. I didn't have the heart to tell the poor guy that our life preservers were so old and used that by now the vinyl compartments leaked and sucked in water which turned the orange things into nothing more than lead weights - sea anchors. I was certain Pat would be the first to meet 'O Davy Jones!

Here goes..."Oh dear Lord, I love you and am sorry for my sins." This was not a prayer to Saint Anthony - the Patron Saint of "Lost Causes" - No, this was a prayer of giving up all hope and that God would spare us a little time in Purgatory!



Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale.
A tale of a fateful trip
that started from Harding Avenue
Aboard this tiny ship

Patrick fancied he was a sailin' man
The Skipper brave and sure
The three of us set sail that day
for a Three hour tour
a three hour tour...

The weather started getting rough
the leaky boat was tossed...
all for the sake of a couple fish
The Minnow would be lost.
The Minnow would be lost

 "THAR SHE BLOWS"  This next part of the story doesn't happen in real life - only in stories - so you'd think!

We mistakenly thought everything up to this point was bad - HA! But it continued to go from very, very, very, very bad to much, much worse!

You can sign up for a "whale watching" cruise from the Marina Del Rey with absolutely no guarantee what-so-ever that you'll even see a whale! And when you do, they seem so peaceful as if they enjoy sharing the ocean with other inhabitants of the world.

 "Look mom" some kid shouts "Look.. a whale" and some other stupid kid says "Thar she blows" trying to be funny and the people aboard grab their Instamatic Cameras - exclaim "ooh and ahhs" and furiously snaps pictures of the majestic peaceful creatures.

That's how it's supposed to happen, Not here... not this time. Not when King Triton is angry at you for some unknown reason.

The weather was already getting rough
the leaky boat was tossed...
all for the sake of a stupid fish
The Minnow would be lost.
The Minnow, the corbina, the Johnson, Patrick, Markie d and Karl would be lost.


Don't ask me why the dumb whale was so angry - woke up on the wrong side of the bed I guess or it was following Triton's order to kill us. When upset, those large docile animals have a force not to be reckoned with. This thing came right at us! It charge us and rammed into the side of our pathetic little craft. Karl picked up a paddle and tried to hit the thing, thinking he could scare it off - you know - like punching a shark in the nose.   Uh...Uh!

"Oh Captain, my captain!"

I got a paddle out and was thinking I could use it to keep us off of the rocks - even though I thought Patrick, with his life-preservers, might make a better a buttress against our imminent appointment with death - if I were to strap him to the side of the boat like a human-sized dock-buoy.

The massive sea creature came back again -  this time underneath the boat and flicked up into the air with its mighty tail, like we were nothing more than a toy to be played with.

Over and over again we battled - oars swinging - swatting whale blubber - and Karl cursing at the beast!
Another swell -  another ramming! The USS Minnow would be lost.



An hour later Mrs D. got the call from the Coast Guard! A small blue and white boat was found split in two and no survivors were found.

Everyone on Harding Avenue heard the news - some cried - but not all.

As for the hippies - well, they retreated to the hippy enclave in the ivy hangout behind our house known as "Wall Drug" and toked on the leaves from the "Mexican Tomato plants" in mournful remembrance of their comrade The Great and Mighty Fisherman, Karl Dahlin and also talked kindly about his peanut sized minions who had drowned at sea.

Karl Dahlin and a Whale of a Terrifying Tale

(Continued from last time)
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale.
A tale of a fateful trip
that started from Harding Avenue
Aboard this tiny ship

Patrick fancied he was a sailin' man
The Skipper brave and sure
The three of us set sail that day
for a Three hour tour
a three hour tour...

The weather started getting rough
the leaky boat was tossed...
all for the sake of a couple fish
The Minnow would be lost.
The Minnow would be lost

The swells had gotten so big that the little motor couldn't even push the boat up what seems like an uphill climb at a 45 degree angle, and I didn't know if we were moving forward or whether we were actually going backwards. Every time we crested the top of the swell we sped downhill like a skier shooting out of the gates of a slalom run at the winter Olympics. Down we sped into a 30 foot trough - assisted by gravity - motor revving into a crash course with a mass of water that begged to swallow us at the bottom.  I held on to the throttle arm of the sputtering motor as Patrick bailed while Karl was busy pressing the gooey Velveeta cheese on to his fish hook, totally oblivious to the fact that we were all going to die!


We plowed into the bottom as the nose of the boat buried itself into the dark water that crashed over the front.  Karl cast his line and told me to head towards the Venice Pier and barked out orders for Patrick to bail faster as we were ankle deep in water and things were beginning to float in the bottom of boat. Heck, I was beginning to think that a fisherman would be happy to hook a prize fish and be dragged away to a sea burial. Unable to keep up with the leaks and the water that kept crashing over the front, Patrick was beginning to get scared and I in particular did not care how many fish we caught - this was not the way I wanted to die!

The swells, the wind and the current was moving south against us and we were not making any progress. In fear of over using it, I didn't say Sister Edith's "death prayer" yet. I only prayed that the motor would continue to run and that Karl would catch something soon so that we could head back into the safety of the Marina Del Rey Harbor. The optimistic fisherman didn't seem to care about the fact that water in the bottom of the boat had been inching higher and that Patrick was crying and under the front bow screaming Sister Edith's prayer every time the USS Minnow crashed into the bottom of trough between swells. Karl fished, I furiously bailed with one hand as I held onto the throttle arm of struggling old Johnson 35.

The wind and the seas continued to blow against us until we realized that we had hadn't made any forward progress at all...only pushed back between the angry sea and the breakwater... (this is the part of the story where you hear the lady on Psycho scream in terror)... we had to keep the boat pointed directly out to the open sea, just to keep our distance from the gnashing teeth of the breakwater rocks that had eaten a boat or two.

Then it happened (this is the part in the story where you hear the Psycho sound effects of the screeching death knife) - The 'O Johnson motor just up and quit and gave up the ghost.

We were now being pushed dangerously back towards the rocks by the fury of the relentless storm.

Doom, Doom, Doom!  Why weren't we in the Blaser's boat? Why were we here in the first place?

Gherhing the Great, me and the Fisherman were all going to die. Karl had a feisty corbina on the line and he wasn't about to be distracted by something so trivial as death.  We were going to die!



Good bye Tommy, Good bye mom and dad,

Good bye Saint Mark's friends,

Good Bye Frank Nargie










Good bye Ricky Tripp...


...and Dennis Dugan and Jeffry Lennon, and Kippy and all baby brothers


 Good by Lennons - on Harding

and Lennons on Superior Ave 

Good Bye Wolf Pack -

Good bye Monster under my bed...

Good Bye Alligator
Good Bye Monkey
Good Bye foul-mouthed Mynah bird
Good Bye Snakes, lizards, Veloci-Raptor, and Iguana Del Diablo

Good bye Harding Avenue...











...And - Good bye future me...

I'll see you all at the bottom of Davy Jones Locker.

Du...du....du...Just When you think things couldn't get any worse...