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.

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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!