The Nuns Claimed They Had an Alibi

The Great Disaster of 1969...continued from last post!

The last time I didn't have the Nuns or the Daniels on the suspect list for the tragic fire on Harding Ave. I would venture a guess that living directly behind the "Frat-House," would automatically put both of them my long list of possible suspects. 

1) My tribe...the Wolf Pack
2) Mr. Blaser
3) Mr. D (that's my dad)
4) Mr. Lennon
5) Frank Nargie
6) Rita Nargie
7) Sea-Shell
8) Leeland
9) Weenie Tripp
10) Johnny Gillemot
11 Tommy Blaser
12) Four boys dressed as girls
13) The Nuns at Saint Marks who lived just behind the house.
14) Walter Daniels 
15) Crazy, Anti-War, Peace-loving members from a real Fraternity

 and NUMBER 16 was "The Conspiracy Theory" - not a man on the grassy knoll, but...
 16) The Owner of the property - himself.

At first when I heard the sound of explosions and saw the black smoke of car tires that had caught on Fire, I thought the Nunnery was burning (the Nunnery is the Saint Marks Convent where the Sisters lived - sort of like a Monastery). I spent the night next door at the Blaser's house in Tommy's "way groovy" two-story fort with the sleeping-loft and asphalt shingle roof.  Screaming like a firetruck - I hopped over the fence into my backyard - avoided the Veloci-Rooster and began ringing the old rusted fire bell in order to awaken the neighborhood (the same fire alarm, procured by spurious means, which had been screwed to the back porch of our home that my mom used to call the Wolf  Pack in for feeding time). 

It was in the middle of the night and I guess it was good thing I did clang that bell, because the burning house was full of motley college "want-a-be's" who were trapped inside.

Someone threw a fire bomb through the large front window of the ancient house and it went up like a dry box of matches. The fire quickly spread up the grand staircase in the entry, cutting off the only means of escape for those caught on the second story.

A week later, as the house laid waste in a pile of burnt rubble and the neighborhood still smelled of smoke...I took my detective notepad and paid the Nuns a visit! To tell you the truth, I really hoped it was one of the Catholic Sisters, because they were mean to me...and I had a secret desire that at least one of them would end up in prison.

By the time I got to the 3th grade, and the 4th grade, and the 5th grade, and the 7th grade, they already had 7 Dahlins come through their classrooms giving the nuns so much grief that they felt it was time for payback... AGAINST ME!

They especially felt justified because of my special condition, lack of focus, and what they called "hyper-activity." I had always thought it was a superpower until I heard them talking about it behind my back. That might help explain the whole "Cloak-Room thing" I did behind Sister Edith's back (See blog post 9/2/13)

I guess I really shouldn't have blamed them, and later went to confession telling Father Sheldon of my secret sin. Only after 32 "Our Father's," 63 "Hail Mary's" and a couple dozen "Confiteors" the guilt of my sin was finally absolved. I wanted a letter from the Pope, but that never came. 

But still, if it had been Sister Godzilla who lit the fire - I might have turned her in.

The Nuns probably had the greatest motive of anyone on the list: Loud partying, carousing, cursing, drinking, drugs, girls and boys living together in sin...every single night - practically right there on their backdoor steps.

A quick slip out the backdoor - and bam - one of the penguin clad nuns under the darkness of night could start the fire and slip back in practically unnoticed.

Upon investigative inquiry by interrogating the nuns... one by one they corroborated each others testimony and had an iron clad alibi. Turns out, that none of the Catholic Sisters had any knowledge of how to make an incendiary device of this kind and other than communion wine - had no access to the specific type of alcohol for the creation of a Molotov Cocktail. Sister Godzilla did tell me in private that if she knew how to make one, the "Fraternity house" would have been gone long ago (I'm sure that will take some "Our Father's and Hail Mary's"). 

 Shucks, they were my best suspects and were now off the list.

Although they lived right behind the "Frat-House," Walter and his family dropped off the list - because he liked to party there on occasion and would have done anything to, "keep it all copacetic...man"

When I told told Four-Eyes about the things the nuns said which I wrote down on my little pad...he said he thought it might make some good song lyrics. I thought he was crazy. He typed them up and sent them to a Mr. John Fogerty of some hippie group called Creedence Clearwater Revival. I told him he was stupid and those words would never make it into a song - Not Ever!

The Nuns talked about how every time they looked out their backdoor they saw strange, bizarre and weird stuff that looked like giants doing cartwheels late at night - they saw things that looked like statues wearing High Heels (I think that may have been my brothers dressed up like girls trying to get in) and of course happy creatures dancing on the lawn (that part was true).

This is what Four Eyes scripted...   
"Doo, doo, doo, Looking out my back door.
There's a giant doing cartwheels,
A statue wearing high heels.
Look at all the happy creatures dancing on the lawn... " and some other nonsensical stuff like that.

The doo-doo part was compliments of Johnny Gillemonster...

I will have to tell you that story of intrigue and dog-poop that would eventually clear his name from the list below.
 

1) My tribe...the Wolf Pack

2) Mr. Blaser

3) Mr. D (that's my dad)

4) Mr. Lennon

5) Frank Nargie

6) Rita Nargie

7) Sea-Shell

8) Leeland

9) Weenie Tripp

10) Johnny Gillemot

11 Tommy Blaser

12) Four boys dressed as girls

13) The Nuns at Saint Marks who lived just behind the house.

14) Walter Daniels 

15) Crazy, Anti-War, Peace-loving members from an opposing Fraternity

16) The Owner of the property.

In the mean time- everyone's name needs to be cleared, since I was running the investigation and I guess I'll have to tell you about the details of the gruesome 4-alarm fire...the daring rescue and how a a pair of underwear i.e. whitie-tighties help clear one suspect from the list.

Until next time...  sleep safe... say your prayers and.... vet att du är älskad

                                                                                     
Android users Lookin' out my backdoor 

Please don't read this... Mrs. Simpson and the PEE-PEE incident!

In my Blog, I’m still talking about my first week in fifth grade where I ended up in Sr. Godzilla’s class. She did not fail to live up to the terror her Saint Marks’ grammar school nickname invoked. 

So far (if you have tuned in and read some of my stories) you realize that our family was just NOT normal.   

We lived in what many would consider a GOOD CATHOLIC neighborhood and felt that between the Dahlins and the four other Lennon families nearby - our wonderful and obedient parents did everything they could to fulfill the Dominion Mandate of Genesis chapter 1 “Multiply and fill the earth.”  Between those five homes (alone) we had something like 53 kids and could have populated a small city all by ourselves (Wait...we did have a small city all by ourselves).

My mom had a baby a year and the Lennon Family (on the corner) are in Ripley’s Believe It or Not for having 11 kids (all of whom are born in different months – statistically, that’s an anomaly).

The only problem with the Dominion Mandate in Genesis Chapter 1…( besides the command to have lots of babies) is also the command by God to “Subdue and Rule over the world.”  That was probably a good idea at one time, but then after sin entered the world that’s where everything went wrong and Vikings were invented to pillage, plunder and terrorized the civilized world i.e. "to take dominion"

While the Lennons were obediently having children and appearing on TV every Saturday night on the Lawrence Welk show, my older brothers were busy wreaking havoc - also obediently keeping the command to subdue and rule i.e "to dominate" our little corner of the world.

Being something like 7^th or 8^th or whatever number I was in birth order (the last male child), I imagine that I was left to change my own diapers and feed myself from scraps that were either thrown to me in the corner or food that had fallen off the table.

I was like Mowgli, the lost child, being raised in the jungle. Our house was literally a jungle not only with kids and strangers who lived with us… but also the four legged creatures, reptiles, and birds that we brought home. Just look at that picture above... there I am in diapers holding a piece of 2 day old toast that I probably found on the ground...yum... yum!

I don’t blame my parents one bit for checking out, but that might be one reason it allowed the Wolf-Pack to reigned holy terror at Saint Marks (as well as in our neighborhood).  This might also explain the reason why the nuns at Saint Marks School felt they had to take out revenge on me.  By the time I came along, those poor nuns had enough of the Dahlin infestation that plagued the school for at least the last ten years.

Back then I didn’t know why I felt hated even on the first day of every grade I moved up to, but have since figured that out (at least that’s a hypothesis I’m floating as a theory), which leads me to the embarrassing story that happened in the third grade at the hands of Mrs. Simpson. 

The Lennons: The best Catholic Family in the history of the world.(see Blog Post of 4-28-2013: The Best Catholics in the World ).

The Dahlins: Well, let's allow this picture to speak for itself.

If you have had a chance to follow this blog, then you're well aware that my poor parents checked out and let my brothers (the inmates of the Dahlin house) run the asylum… By this time, our family had let the monkeys out of the zoo, reeled in the old grouch next door in a horrible prank, left me behind at Salton Sea that ended in a highway patrol chase… and the Wolf pack lured me into a death chamber that used to be a diaper pail  for an extreme "twofer." It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, to see that our family was unique, creative, diabolical and totally in touch with our inner-Viking (that followed God's command to subdue, take dominion and rule the world). 

A year after the JFK assassination when the cold war with Russia was at its zenith, Miss Sims – turned Mrs. Simpson was the substitute teacher in my third grade class.  She was going to give a test! I had to go pee and should have gone when we came in from recess. I didn’t and needed to go real bad...REAL BAD!

The mean substitute, Mrs. Simpson stood on top of Sister Shawn’s desk and declared that the floor  was like water and swarmed with angry and hungry alligators that loved to eat Third Graders… especially blonde-haired boys!

Since I learned to live in my imagination as a way of escape… I actually saw the alligators swimming around my feet and snapping their sharp teeth at my Keds sneakers. Dramatically, Mrs. Simpson barked out shrill warnings as to the demands of her test requirements.

There was to be absolutely no talking, “What-so-ever!”

There was to be no cheating, “What-so-ever!”

AND nobody – not one person could, at any time during the test, -could  never, at any time, -ever-ever raise their hand “For any reason, what-so ever!”

Look  up gullible in the dictionary and this is what you will find.  Gullible [ˈgʌləb^əl]  adj Markie D i.e Easily deceived or duped.

I looked around to see if any of the other normal kids saw the ferocious alligators.  I was terrified, BUT HAD to go pee-pee really, really bad. However, Mrs. Simpson (the Sub, the one in authority) said that if I raised my hand for any reason the alligators would eat me. I was afraid and spent the entire time of the class set aside for the test contemplating as to whether her hungry alligators would eat a kid who raised their hand - if that particular kid just wanted permission to use the restroom!

Everyone was busy taking the test… I was busy watching for alligators and trying to hold back my bloated and pressurized bladder.  
      10 minutes of torture – not one answer put down on the test. 
      20 minutes of torture – not one answer put down.

I was holding my popo...and doing the pee-pee dance in my seat.  Feet wiggling, behind squirming, hand pinching! I sat for 30 minutes of torture – still contemplating whether a kid could raise their hand in order to go to the bathroom or if that meant it would upset her hungry alligators. 

40 minutes of torture and I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I eased up (just a bit -on the grip on my fire hose) and decided to relieve some of the pressure.

Pssst...Psst... went small amounts of warm yellow fluid that ran down my leg. UGHhhhhhhh! That didn’t make my bladder any happier – NO! Instead, it made matters worst and hurt even more.  Bad decision!

By the time a kid got to third grade – no kid in the history of world ever PEE’D their pants - No…that was something for Kindergarteners. Without one answer on my test I was feeling helpless and stupid like a 5 year-old.

Pssst-Pssst – went more of the yellow liquid.  “Leak over the starboard side captain!”  I shouted in my head! 

I couldn’t hold anything back anymore and let it all go!  I managed to do a controlled sinking and let everything do down the right leg and into my right shoe.

There I sat in a giant puddle of yellow pee… and luckily for me, no one noticed....so far! 

Could I get out of this alive or would Michael Boyle point it out to everyone.  Someone had to smell the sea of urine that flooded the entire area around my desk – but at least I didn’t raise my hand…I won!

Sure, I would get another F on a test, but at least I might have beat Mrs. Simpson and her third-grade-eating-alligators.

Only problem now was: could I escape this mess undetected? I decided to run home for lunch and change pants hoping that Ronnie or Pat or Rick Arredondo wouldn't spot the yellow ocean I left behind and call me out in front of everyone.

The test was over and I discretely tried to pretend that nothing had happened…I tried not to draw attention to the man on the grassy knoll… and that there was no CIA conspiracy in this episode of Markie D and the embarrassing incident of the third grade PEE-PEE.

Clop… slosh, clop…slosh, clop…slosh, went one dry Keds and the other sloshing wet shoe filled with pee-pee that left a trail down the long narrow hallway. 

I was almost all the way to the front door when a second grader slipped in my oil-spill and slid into a group of first graders like a bowling ball that knocked down a bunch bowling pins. The incident triggered an investigation to see where the spill took place… I ran home, hid my pants, checked under my bed for the rattlesnake that went missing yesterday, hid in my room and never came back that day.  

This will go down as the day that Markie D beat Mrs. Simpson and her alligators. I WON! 

If you've read this blog post share it with a friend, but please don't tell Marilyn or Theresa or Andrea...or any of my grammar school friends - because it is still embarrassing! 

Until next time...