The Veloci-Rooster and What Does the Fox Say?

It was October 1968 and I laid in the old hospital bed (that had been moved upstairs to my room) recovering from the big accident at McElliots' pool that should killed me.  My leg had been stitched together and looked worst than Frankenstein's face. Most of my leg was still numb felt like they had installed a metal plate inside my leg behind the 97 stitches that ran a zig-zagged path from above my knee all the way up my left thigh.

President Johnson had said that he would not seek re-election which made all of us Dahlins really sad, since we felt like we had bonded with him a couple months ago along the shore of that muddy Texas river. My dad said that the biggest laugh the President had during his time in the White House was when he pranked us with the bit about snapping turtles (Blog 9/14/13).

Everything was was going pretty good with the Apollo 7. It was still orbiting around the earth at this time, which was pretty important for the United States, because we had been so far behind the Soviet Union in the Race to Space!  We need some good news from all the bad news. JFK's brother, Robert Kennedy's assassination in June and Martin Luther King Jr's assassination 2 months before that - along with Vietnam war protest, the marijuana plants hidden in our backyard, the fleas in my bedroom and the crazy-attack Rooster, "El Pollo-Loco" the boys were about to bring home.  We desperately needed something positive to cheer about.   I did!

In the meantime my faithful and loyal dog, Poochie, laid on my bed and chewed his butt because of all the fleas. By taking down the pool, (seen to the right) we had gotten rid of most to the "mosquito problem" that we created in California when we had traveled back east with my Dad's "Sugar Water" invention in our hair(blog post 9/21/13). But now our house had become infested with fleas instead. 

Don Blaser next door had hated our mosquitoes and was even more passionately opposed to our migrating fleas that ended up on their perfectly groomed collie. 



Everyone wanted to blame my mangy mutt Poochie, but my dad said he thought the fleas were from the hippie-commies that my older brothers had evolved into.      

Here is a picture of them.

Oops sorry - wrong picture! 







Here's a couple pictures of the evolution of my sibling wolf-pack.
 

 



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                                                                   to This

I could be wrong, but I think they are picking fleas off each other in this picture...I wondered if that is why they launched the rockets so far away from Venice, so that none of our fleas would make it abroad the Apollo rocket-ships. Image having to live with a couple inside your space suit.  "No Sir," someone in charge of NASA probably said, "lets put the launch pads in Texas or in Florida."  
 
Anyway, at midnight they sent Syndrom and Cosmo and Ulrich over the chain-link fence at the toxi-water, drainage-ditch (near where they converted the marsh lands into what we call the Marina Del Rey) to fetch that great, big, ugly, killer rooster!  And from the story, Four Eyes came back and reported to me - it sounded like the dreaded Veloci-Rooster got the best of Ulrich and his "Small-Man" crew.

I not going to lie. When he told me the story, I thought all 97 stitches were going to pop!

That crusty old bird (if you can call it that) herded all three of the boys into a corner and took flight into an all-out air-assault.  He boys cowered together as the bird repeatedly struck them with it's sharp 4 inch talons.  Under the influence of hippie-herbal "Mexican Tomato Plants" the Viking Tribe on the outside of the fence thought this was the funniest thing had they ever seen.

"Reefer madness!...Reefer madness!" one of them kept shouting between hearty guffaws.
"Ha..ha...can you dig it bro"

 While the rooster attacked, the three trapped boys screamed like little girls that made the guys on the outside of the fence -  laugh even harder. "That bird is going ape on the little spaz'es...Ha...ha..ha"

"Dude...far out... groovy"

Smoking the cannabis may have made this funny for the guys on the outside, but for the three trapped monkeys on the inside it apparently didn't do anything to numb the pain

"In your face" Ulrich screamed angrily.

"Hey...hey...hey...hey...hey―" said one of outsiders in reply...until interrupted.

"Cheese it! The Cops!  The motley crew took cover until the patrol car passed and then sent a couple of guys over the fence who bagged the bird from behind, while it was distracted withdrawing blood from the angry "little-man" crew.

As Four Eyes related all the juicy details of the story... he told me about the boys conversation once they had gotten back from this latest escapade and regrouped at Wall Drug at 2:00 in the morning.

The three boys were still whimpering and whining from the 68 bloody pock-marks inflicted by the Veloci-Rooster that had been released in the Dahlin backyard.

In a sing-song voice, Primo said, "Cock-a-doodle-do, says the rooster. "
"Ow ow ow, says the little man crew..." Weltz added in perfect sync.

"Poochie goes woof" said another keeping pace with the song.
"The cat goes, meow"
"The bird goes, tweet"
"And mouse goes...squeak"

"Yeah, but what do the stupid dweebs say? ow, ow ow!" They all laughed at their cleverness

Chewbacca (who really wasn't paying attention) said, "Yeah... man... but what does a fox say?"

The hordes of hippies stopped dead in their tracks and couldn't come up with an answer. 
"Idiot" Ulrich shouted in an attempt at payback.
Chewbacca swatted him in the head

Laughter... then the boys started making up stuff.
"Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!

Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!
Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!"

"Hatee-hatee-hatee-ho!
Hatee-hatee-hatee-ho!
Hatee-hatee-hatee-ho!"

"Joff-tchoff-tchoffo-tchoffo-tchoff!
Tchoff-tchoff-tchoffo-tchoffo-tchoff!
Joff-tchoff-tchoffo-tchoffo-tchoff!"

"What does a fox say?"  They mimicked Chewbacca... and they all laughed again until they were bent over in tears.

When Four Eyes told me this part of the story, I told him this was the stupidest thing I had ever heard.
He said, "Yeah... but knowing your people, it'll probably become a song some day."
"My people? What do you mean by my people ?"  I hoped he was talking about hippies and not Swedes.
When he saw the intent look on my face, he stuttered (backtracking) and said.. "Oh...oh...oh...not Swedes, but probably hippies."

We both signed in relief - that I didn't have to hit him with the crutch next to my bed. Then we both laughed and said together "Yeah, like that will ever happen!"

"Jinx" I said first - which had stopped him from talking!  'Yeah,'  I thought 'like anything even remotely as stupid as the drug induced "Fox Song" could ever happen!' Right?

Now that we have acquired the dreaded Veloci-Raptor,  I guess I should probably tell you about the incident with the poor, poor, unsuspecting "the Chicken lady" and her two children.

What Does a Fox Say?

"Long-Hair Hippy Commies" and Markie's Death

11:21 AM

The phone rang like 20 times before one of the hippies finally decided to answer it.  Normally, no one in our family would answer the phone – that was Joan’s job.   Joan was my mom.

Our living room and dining room were filled with the delirious Wolf Pack that had been back in the hidden ivy hangout we called "Wall Drug" communing with the herbs they secretly grew under the code name of “Mexican tomato plants” 

So our house was filled with the likes of this group...(including "Pinky" pictured far left).

 and this motely crew...

And this bunch...

along with this heterogeneous collection...

...all except for Bob of course.  He was in Vietnam! 

             And I'm not talking about a vacation. 

You see, my older brothers (that's all my brothers- by the way, if you haven't caught on by now), no longer used the affectionate and intimate designation of “mom” and “dad.” Instead, they called our parents by their first names or with titles, like - Joan and Mr. D.  I think mom and dad had come to terms with these labels that expressed a distance in relationship. This remote detachment was safe for the unfeeling Wolf-Pack because it was a declaration that there were no demands on their relationship other than existing under the same roof as hostile roommates. 

 

I don’t think my parents minded that too much because it represented a separation of values. Although we were all born democrats, my parents were conservative “Kennedy Democrats”  - you know - a strong America… less government… programs that care for people… but not giving away our future by putting the yoke of debt around the necks of generations not yet born – through wasteful government spending.  Though the world had changed a lot in the last five years since Kennedy’s assassination, their political views remained unchanged and they considered the motley – long-haired, draft-card-burning crew as “dope-smoking commies.” 

 

I think a couple of the Lennon boys were present –  and if I had to guess, they probably still called their parents "mom" and "dad."

Anyway, Chewbacca finally answered the phone and couldn’t make out what Kjersten was saying through all the blubbering sobs and stupid stuff about a leg being cut off and someone dead by the side of the pool. This phone called was just a nuisance to him so he kicked Flea-Bait in the butt and told him to tell Joan she had a phone call – half thinking she might have already been eavesdropping with her little suction-cup-bugging-device she used for wiretapping every conversation the boys had with their girlfriends.

In our house, no one ran up the stairs anymore to tell someone when they were wanted on the phone.  It was viewed as a frivolous waste of energy.  Our communication system was standing at the foot of the stairs and screaming as loud as you can – making sure to use derogatory nicknames that the Wolf-Pack invented –so the Steadmans and the Tripps across the street could hear.

“Hey Puke Breath, phone’s for you!” Or  “Lardo…Pick up the phone!” or “Dooh-Dooh Pants…” they would scream at the top of their lungs while hitting the wall with a broom like dad does on street-cleaning day, and then they would top that off with something really nice like, “You stupid idiot you got a phone call.”  

  

Kindness was not generally found among the list of adjectives used to describe our family.

“Joan”Flea-Bait yelled, hoping to please the older boys.

"... pick up the phone!”

Flea-Bait felt his job was done and Chewbacca had set the receiver down, forgetting about who was on the other end and the urgency of the call altogether. 

Like most typical Saturdays (ever since the zoo incident), Mom had locked herself in her room. Trying to drown out the noise from the raucous below, she turned up the volume on a rerun of Gun Smoke.

11:30 am

When the episode was over, she picked up the phone to call Ida Nargie, who lived across the street, for gossip only to discover the sobbing and the tearful pleas of Kjersten still begging on the other end of the line  hoping someone would eventually walk by and pick up the abandoned receiver.  

“Please!” cried the desperate 9-year-old.  “Someone help us. I think he’s dead!” were the first words mom heard. 

“What Kjersten?” she panicked ―freaking out.  “What’s going on?”

“Mom” Kjersten said almost undecipherable through huge sobs that interrupted her words. Mom could hear the frightful crying in the background from the other kids at the pool.

Choking back the word she dreaded to say. in a battle between lips and brain, her brain finally won as she spit out the foulest tasting words a 9-year-old might ever have to experience. “Mom” she bellowed, “he’s dead.” More crying!  More tears!

Shock! “Kjersten, who’s dead?”  Mom asked, screaming through the receiver in order to get Kjersten's full attention.

 “Markie!” she answered as the flood gates of words began spilling.  It’s Markie… there was a booger and vomit and Ulrich and then there was cold water... and then a pushing match and…and…and…and Ralph went one way and Markie went the other―”

“Kjersten, slow down and just tell me what happened.” 

Kjersten began bawling again. “And…and…and…Markie flew through the glass wall… and his leg is cut off… and he’s lying in a pool of blood…and we think he’s dead...and we didn’t know who to call. Help…Mom!” she resorted to, desperately pleading in incomplete thoughts and tears.

Joan jumped from her bed, unlocked the five latches on her bedroom door and frantically leaped into action. She raced downstairs parting the red sea of long-hair commies partying below, hysterically soliciting help and trying to find the keys to a car that had more than a bucks worth of gas and that didn’t have to be push started.

  

11:03 am - 30 minutes earlier

Markie wanted to show Ralph who was boss and slipped out of his grip again. Just as Markied had planned, Ralph shot backwards like a rocket ship right into the pool. What Markie failed to calculate into his equation was the 12 foot stationary wall of glass 2 feet directly behind him.

 “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”

Markie shot like the Apollo 7 launched a few days ago and flew backwards crashing through the glass wall. Up to this point, the 12-year-old had proven to be pretty indestructible (he had bested pits, and arrows, and ropes and hampers and lived through Salton Sea, but this time he was no match for the tremendous force of this fatal impact. The plate glass shattered spraying shards and fragments throughout the entire recreation room adjacent to the pool. 

Laying bent over the couch, which was just inside the room behind the glass panel– Markie straddled the galls wall - half in and half out of the room. Thankfully, shock had immediately set in and Markie felt no pain, but neither was his brain capable of  processing the severity of the accident! It wasn’t until he tried to stand up by hoisting himself off the couch that he saw the pointed top of glass, which had been protruding through his left thigh.  

Pushing up off the couch, he staggered to his feet as the glass ripped open his entire leg. 

Blood 

Bone

Blood

Muscle

Blood

Looking down into the middle of his leg, Markie laid down on the cold deck where blood mixed with water and tried to hold his dangling appendage together. He told the other kids a joke to ease their pain and to help Ralph with his guilt. Slipping into unconsciousness he told Kjersten to call home… “EXbrook 8 - 0466” he told his baby sister not sure whether she knew the number.  Closing his eyes, he quietly slipped away  whispering the "dying" prayer Sister Edith Mary taught his 7th grade class.

Crying and hysterical, Kjersten made the call and waited for what seemed like an hour after Chewbacca put down the receiver and had kicked Flea Bait in the butt.   

Feeling helpless, Tommy Blaser and Annie Lennon cried, having absolutely no idea what to do. Things like this just didn't happen at the Lennon or the Blaser house, so this was new for them.

Meanwhile, Ralph was useless. He just walked around in circles crying and talking to himself as if he testifying about his innocence in a court of law.  Either that or he figured that if his excuse was good enough, he could buy some time out of  purgatory, not to mention the guilt he was feeling - having had something to do with the murder of his best friend. 

 "Be nice to each other, while you have the chance. You might not get another one."    Markie D   5th grade