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 GREAT Escape, Well, not exactly?

Where were we after Bob Dylan tried to get in on the act... I have to admit it was nice of him to be taken in by the Markie D thing... Thanks Bob for putting me on track 3! (Oh, last post - if you want to hear it).

Anyway, by now it's close to 4:00pm Saturday September 10th 1966, Mom and JERRY took off in a blur - rushing Chewy to the emergency room at Saint John's Hospital in Santa Monica (thank you guardian angel for looking out for me - that broken arm sure came at the right time - see blog-post "Flying Leap 8-12-2013).  

So far today: You've met Honking-Slurping-Pooping Jimmy, witnessed Chewbacca and the rattlesnake electric therapy, saw me get attacked by a garter snake and Chewy loose Iguana Del Dialbo with the subsequent choas at poor Mrs. Tripp's house. Then there was 'O cool-Johnny Gillemot being a teenage under-aged driver wreaking his mom's car...the staged accident with Gherhing the Great, the Helms Bakery heist, the awful discovery of Jimmy's "fort-warming" present, hopeful Jerry "TT" chasing the boys up the third story only to have them escape out the window...me trapped in the second floor sun-room and trying to leap to death...only to be caught by Jerry and saved in the nick of time when the Wolf Pack had electrocuted Chewy (who was on his way down the "fire-escape" pole) only to break his arm in two places and was now being rushed to the hospital by my mom in Jerry's car.

Jerry was gone! That was all that mattered!  Can I get an AMEN?

Gherhing the Great was intrigued by Gustav's legendary  RAT KILLER!   If the name doesn't make sense to you, it's probably because you don't know that a big-block Chevy motor (427's and 454's) were affectionately called "Rat" motors.

Well, Gustav was a Ford guy (sorry all you Chevy guys)! And like Dr. Frankenstein he stole..oops... he acquired a Ford high-performance 427 and made a monster of a Chevy destroying beast out of 56 Ford business coup (MUST SEE BLOG POST "Hair, Hippies, and Hot Rods" July 4th).  Gustav was a genius with an exceptionally high IQ and put Ford parts together in a way that baffled even the Ford engineers in Dearborn i.e. his Ford was a Chevy "Rat" killer!  (Rather a "RAT" Annihilator)!

                   It's alive!

Rumor had it that it was a Holman and Moody built motor... but this was his own creation that beat everything he came up against. He was a legend at Lions Race Car Track and on Van Nuys Boulevard where the silly valley-boys who purchased brand new 409s and went cruising on Wednesday nights to impress the ladies.  

Here is some home video of Lions Drag Strip from 1966.  ANYWAY, O' Gherhing the Great couldn't keep his paws off the Rat Killer as he climbed underneath and checked out every inch of it, while the Wolf Pack was in the house laughing about runnin' off 'O Jerry and about Chewy's broken arm. Gherhing discovered that the sheet-metal indentation in the trunk where the spare tire usually sat, was cut away and only had a piece of fabric glued in its place. Guess what "Gherhing-the-not-so-great" did? He talked me into climbing into the trunk of my brother's race car!  How many times can I say, Bad Idea!

BAD IDEA!
BAD IDEA!
BAD IDEA!


Yeah, we crawled in! Of course Gherhing began monkeying around with his racing harness and floor shifter and other junk until we heard Dr. Frankenstein (That's Gustav) come walking back in the direction of infamous RAT KILLER! We knew we were in trouble and climbed back into the trunk area and hid as quietly as we could in the stripped down, bare-metal, grease-smeared compartment.  I gulped as though it were a Déjà vu...the tin Hamper of Death, only this didn't smell like diapers - it smelled like gear oil which was nearly as bad to my super-sniffer and was bound to be a hundred times faster. I socked Gherhing in the stomach just as Gustav fired up the monster.   

In retrospect, I'm pretty sure Gustav knew we were in there, but had pretended not to notice us. Slowly, he moseyed on down Harding Avenue not to draw the ire of good 'O Mr. Lennon and turned onto Venice Boulevard heading east. We were tossed back and forth as the motor rocked the car from side to side as he sat at the light at Lincoln Boulevard at idle. Then, just as if he was at Lion's drag-strip...he revved up his "stall-torque converter" to 4,000 RPM and as the light turned green he punched the pedal to the metal with the Tachometer needle pegging the red-line at 8,000.  With his wrinkle-wall tires that had been screwed to the rims the front lifted off the street and we shot off like a rocket launch. ONLY!

Only, Gherhing and I were like astronauts on a horizontal takeoff that had not been strapped into the rocket! Gustav's car was a true 10 second 1/4 mile hot rod. In order to achieve that, you had to reach something like 157 miles-an-hour in that short distance. Oh Yeah! I think Gustav knew, we were in there...and when he hit the throttle, Gherhing and I shot back into the rear of the trunk and were pinned against one another and to the metal, held in place by 11-year-old, bone-crushing, lung-suffocating, lips-folding-back, tear-producing, pee-pee-making amounts of G-forces and heavy metal thunder! 

You know that ride at POP (Pacific Ocean Park) where it spins and the floor drops out and you stick to the walls - well, this was like that - only 10 times more. Gherhing was stuck to me and I was stuck to the back and I could feel his warm pee-pee seeping into my pants and my lips felt like they were going to peel all the way back over my head like a zipper. Yeah, Gustav got us good... but then it got worst!
 


Sirens!   The Venice Police Department Tried to catch the Rat Killer!   Good luck with that one!

Gherhing and I got flung to one side, (squealing tires) then the other...(burning rubber) then the other... then upside down... then twisted... then another turn down Glyndon and my face was in Gherhing's wet pants...WET PANTS? PEE! Hello! I vomited and it sprayed the entire trunk space of the Rat Killer...Gherhing and I kept getting thrown around in it like we were pieces of chicken being coated up on the outside by throw-up! Gherhing - threw up! What took him so long?  It was GROSS! I threw up again just after Gustav made a screeching right turn and my warm vomit of oatmeal and spoiled milk went directly in Gherhing's face. Gross and double gross!

Gustav spun the car around one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees slamming on the brakes perfectly parallel parking between two cars on Vienna Ave. He jumped out through passenger window of the car and just walked away - whistling like nothing had ever happened. By then, four Cop cars came careening around the corner and sped on past as Gustave just waved nonchalantly. Gustav was already a couple blocks away when one of the police cars came back.  An officer looked inside as Gherhing and I were peeling ourselves off of the froth and begged him to arrest us.

He wasn't too happy and stood with his arms indignantly folded waiting for us to emerge from the hole we had previously climbed into. I held my hands out to him expecting him to hand-cuff us...but when he took one look at us...or was it... when he took one whiff of us...he gagged - ran for his car and told us to get home. There was no way he was taking us back to the Venice Police station. I was hoping for a good meal! We walked over to the Tikker's house and sprayed each other off with the water hose. We hooked our little fingers and I made a promise not to tell anyone about how he pee'd his pants!  I still think it was a bad idea, but Gherhing the Great thought this was THE BEST DAY EVER! 

We walked back to Harding just in time to get in on the Wolf Pack's awful prank on the little old lady next door! 

Poor Edna... and even worst - poor, poor, poor Hutch! (As Steppenwolf would later say) The Wolf Pack "...was born to be wild"     

 Oh and also we got back in time to watch as the Wolf Pack nearly burned down the Lennon house!