Protective Custody; Fire; the Fight with the Mad-Man!

Sept 1, 1969  (continued)

At the Lennon house things got crazy that night. Gunshots had been fired...so the Secret Service detail - frantically scrambled into action calling all the Lennons to take cover downstairs in the add-on that was now a family room.  The gunshots they heard (or what they thought were gunshots) were not far from the Lennon house and posed an imminent threat.

BAM... BAM... BAM... BAM... the loose windows at our house rattled from the series of gunshots or explosions or from whatever was going on across the street.

The noise woke up everyone on Harding, on Grandview, on Naples, on Coeur d'Alene, on Angelus Pl and even those on Crestmore... One giant explosion followed by other loud pops that sounded like gun shots.

AGAIN, this was in the wake of the Charles Manson murder spree and right after the murder of Bill Lennon.

A detail of Agents were stationed in the Lennon house for their protection from the murderer who was still at large and considered extremely dangerous. In high alert they drew their weapons and called for backup. These trained Officers were not about to take any chances and locked-down all 22 of the Lennons who had been staying in the Harding House under protective custody.

Meanwhile, black ugly smoke had begun to billow and blow in a slow ominous crawl from the Fraternity House that was now a  blazing inferno eastward on the slight ocean breeze across the Tripps and the Nargies - over the Saint Mark's nunnery (the convent) - over the Daniels - over Bob and Jeanette Lennons house that soon engulfed the Lennon Sister's house on the way to the Smiths, Saint Marks Rectory that moved slowly east across Lincoln Blvd.



Was this a ploy? Was this Chet Young or followers of Charles Manson trying to create a diversion to "smoke-out" the Lennon clan on the corner.  One of the officers on duty at the Lennon house, went outside to investigate only to be ambushed on the front lawn of the Tripps (which was directly next door the the grand turn-of-the-century house that was now ablaze in flames). The officer who had been tackled was now engaged in a life-and-death hand to hand combat on the lawn directly next to something that looked and sounded just like something you'd expect to see at the war zone in "Vietnam."

In the violent altercation, there was a tussle for the officer's gun, - the poor policeman looked like he was outmatched by the crazy guy who had attack him and wrestled him to the ground.

My dad, who had served in World War II, and I had both jumped up in a flash - he because of his service in the War and me because of  the PTSD from my service as baby boy to the Dahlin-hippie-Wolf-Pack.




I threw off my boxing gloves...(that's another story),climbed out my window, onto the carport roof and beat all of my other brothers outside. They thought the gun-shot-noise was my Staff-Sergeant dad beating the ceiling with a boom handle because it was street cleaning day and buried their heads...(Blog Post - 7/1/2013  street cleaning circus PS this is the true story for all you Venetians who want to know the real history of why they began street cleaning in Venice)

Who was the mad man on the Tripp front lawn?  Manson and his murderous cronies had still not been arrested yet and Chet Young was still on the loose!




Find out next time... One thing for sure - Harding Avenue was definitely not Mayberry and there was always something crazy going on... only this time there was a fight on the lawn between an officer and a crazy dude, people trapped upstairs in the burning inferno and now things had gotten really scary that Don Blaser had run outside in tightie-whities.

What's going to happen with the Lennons?
Does Don Blaser know he has no clothes on?
Will the hippies trapped in the "Fraternity House" get out alive?
Will my brothers sleep through all this excitement?
Will Leland or Tommy Blaser be blamed for this?

I'll Never Forget You Mr. Lennon: The Day that Rocked Venice

Star Date August 13th 1969

The bummer about my birthday being the middle of summer is that every time we took a family vacation it qualified, both - as my birthday party and as my birthday present. We would be grinding the volcanic pumice between our teeth that had blown into a piece of toast soaked in bacon-grease and someone would break out into a horrific rendition of happy birthday that sounded more like cats fighting in an alley.

  "...happy birthday dear Karl and Mark. Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuu."

The Dahlins were definitely not Lennons and nobody in my family could carry a tune nor cared to.

I was born on my second oldest brother's birthday.

 Being 6 and 7 and 8 and 9 and 10, I always complained. I wanted to have a "real" birthday party like all of the other "normal" kids at Saint Marks. But we were always gone to Kings River or Salton Sea at that time of year for our family vacation and my parents would say, "This trip is your birthday party" even though we were going to be there any way. It just didn't seem fair. Nothing was worst than the time they left me behind me behind at Salton Sea on my 11th birthday - you talk about a surprise party...boy was that unexpected birthday present(post 5/13/130. From then on, I figured I was lucky if they brought me back home to Venice with them - presents or no presents.  

Well this year, since I went on the Boy Scout Jamboree, our vacations for the summer was over and it looked like I would get a chance to be at home for once on my birthday and was anticipating a regular, good-old-fashioned birthday party.  I figured that I would get to have my friends over after Mass on Sunday and like my other brothers and sisters and like "regular people" do, we would have ice cream and cake and I would get to open some presents. To me, this was just as monumental as the astronauts landing on the moon a few weeks back.          
                                      "Markie D was going to have a real live birthday party.
                                       Markie D was going to have a real live birthday party.
                                       Markie D was going to have a real live birthday party."

I sang this in my head as I danced up and down the street on Saturday morning in anticipation of having a "real" birthday. Jeanette Lennon looked out her window and thought I was a little crazy, but it was all I could think about. I had arrived: Real friends. Real presents. Real cake.

But when that Sunday morning came the front pages of the Los Angeles Herald Examiner and the Santa Monica Evening Outlook were plastered with the tragic news of Mr. Lennon's murder yesterday at the Venice Golf Course. My little sister Karin, was over at the Lennon house yesterday playing with Annie in their backyard at the time the bad news had reached them.  Joey came outside to break the news and solemnly told her the second greatest understatement in history "Karin, I think you should probably go." The first greatest understatement being, "Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, did you enjoy the show?"

Our neighborhood was shocked! I know this wasn't global news. I know this wasn't as scandalous as Chappaquiddick or as sensational as the moon landing - three weeks ago, but this news was just as shocking to us and felt just as bad to our little, close knit neighborhood as JFK's assassination did 6 years ago.  

Sister Edith told us 7th graders, that if we missed Mass, it was a mortal sin and yet none of us felt very much like going this morning and I don't think the Pope was too upset that most of us on Harding Avenue didn't show up for church this morning.

Saturday night dozens of police cars began to show up and by Sunday morning we had cop cars parked up and down our street, along with reporters and a number of other mysterious vehicles.

The murderer had gotten away, but the Lennons knew who the prime suspect was right away. It was that deranged fan, Chet Young, from whom they had been receiving letters from for years. Actress Sharon Tate had been murdered less than a week ago and some of the newspaper people thought this murder was connected to the Charles Manson murders.

Chet Young had made death threats against President Johnson (back while he was still in office) believing that the President should have made Mr. Lennon allow Chet to marry Peggy, one of the four famous singing Sisters.


Since there were so many conflicting reports and since this involved the past President of the United states and possibly involved Charles Manson and might have been part of his serial, killing-spree of famous people the secret service sent a detail to our neighborhood to protect the entire Lennon family.

All of this to say... that I didn't get a birthday party BUT this time it was OKAY!  I was too young and too stupid to know what to say to my friends: Joey and Annie and Kippy. All I knew was that I felt sad for them and for their family. I had really liked Mr. Lennon. At 53 he was way too young to leave us. I remember him and the training he would do with his kids down Naples. I remember him driving down the street in his station wagon and seeing if any of us kids wanted to jump in and go see something that had caught on fire. I remember the time he took us down to the SLIDES at Venice Beach and we climbed under the fence and slid for free!  I remember the cherry bombs and the tin cups he would blow up out of the water in the backyard. I remember him threatening Leland to stop "hot-rodding" down our street. I remember how intense he was and also his sense of humor. I'll always remember some of his shenanigans during the big 4th of July shin-digs in their backyard.  

This was a bad day for Harding Avenue: Sorry friends, I'm going to miss your dad too!  

This was definitely not the "best birthday ever," but one I'll always remember - and one I'm glad I didn't have!  

...I guess we'll never get that race between Danny and Tony, but seeing how tony had broken the land speed record when he chased down that gator (last post) there really was no reason for the "match up of the century."

The Epic Race: Dahlins verses the Lennons

Star Date: August 11th 1969.

I got back from the "diarrhea-trip to Valhalla" (otherwise known as the 1969 Boy Scout Jamboree in Idaho) to find that things were awfully weird on Harding Ave.
Wait!
Wait!
Wait...that didn't come out right...everything was always kind of weird on my street, because we lived there of course.


 "Weird" is not the right word, maybe I should have said "unusual." Not that things had gotten normal all of a sudden, but that there was this ominous vibe in the air. I think the adults could explain it better, but as a kid it's something that you could feel by the silence.

Mr. Lennon was very athletic and always had his kids running time-trials up and down Naples avenue with a stop watch in his hand. I don't know if the times he recorded should have counted because the 50 and 100 dash-marks he painted in the street next to their house ran down hill towards Saint Marks church. Anyway, I think Danny and Mimi were his two fastest runners. Mr. Lennon was always trying to get us to race his kids, but I saw Mimi run a couple of times and knew that she could beat the pants off of me by a mile. Danny was playing football at Loyola University up on the hill with the big letter L that you could see from our house. Mr. Lennon's big challenge was his oldest boy, Danny, race against my oldest brother, Tony...
                            .                  ...i.e. the Lennons verses the Dahlins.

It was the anticipated event of the summer!  But when I got back home to Venice from this Boy Scout trip with Troop 32, there was no visible activity going on anywhere on Harding avenue.

 No diabolical plans of reeling in the old grouch next door (post 5/9/13).
 No launching of flaming UFO's (post 8/24/13).
 No bags of dooh-dooh on Edna's front porch.
 No hamper torture (post 6/5/13)
 No electrocutions (post 4/26/13 & 7/8/13).
 No screeching down the streets in Hot Rods.
 No Helm's Bakery Truck ambushes (post 8/3/13).

Tommy couldn't come out and play, the Blasers had to stay inside for some reason

Jeffry couldn't come out and play, Bob and Jeanette Lennon's family had to stay inside.

None of the Superior ave Lennons were around (and they were always around).

No touch football was taking place in the street. No kick-the-can and none of the Dahlins were shooting each other with B.B. guns nor we they hunting me with needle-tipped arrows.


I couldn't put my finger on it, but something wasn't right.

The hippies were in the back, quietly minding their own business, doing whatever it is they do in that back-ivy-cave with those "Mexican tomato plants" of theirs. I was beginning to get suspicious of those plants because they never seemed to grow any tomatoes  - even after all the attention my brothers gave them.

One of hippies was making his way from the ivy enclave (the dark ivy cave that the older boys called "Wall Drug") when the Veloci-Rooster attacked and scared the "long-hairs" spit-less who then screamed like a little girl and fell onto the thin, tin walls of the old, pool-turned reptile-habitat. Stretched out across the side of the fallen tin wall, the freaked-out screeches of the long-hair turned to a muffle as the dude landed face down into the billion gallons of sand that we had stolen from Venice Beach. When the cocky attack rooster caught a glimpse of what was slowly making a predatory approach in the direction of the downed hippie, it wisely backed up and gave way.    

The insidious yellow eyes of the creature blinked slowly as if assessing what to do with its victim. Exposing its dagger-shaped teeth the Caiman alligator appeared to have weighed it options and decided for escape rather than attack.  

Let me tell you, "That was one lucky hippie!"

The "gator" creature took off across the stoned victim and began running in a frenzied circle around the backyard looking for the easiest means of exit.

Chickens flew! Feathers were everywhere! Rabbits and chuckwallas and guinea pigs and even the desert tortoises took cover. Things flung, rusty bikes buckled into a heap and old BBQs standing on three legs fell over as stacks of decaying National Geographics swayed as if under the influence of the latest earthquake.

The chicken squawking, the awful screaming, the animal caterwaul, and the clamorous racket of the symphony of dissonance alerted all of us in the house that something terrible was "afoot" (Sherlock Holmes would say), in the backyard.  Tony and I looked out the window in time to see the gator making his way into the front yard.  The prehistoric reptile ran to the soft tar street and couldn't decide which way to turn. I hoped the Tripps wouldn't open their front door after what had happened to them last time (post 8/1/13 Iguana Del Diablo) and thought how nice it would be if Edna's brother, Hutch, was makings one of his notorious visits to Harding Ave instead and had a close encounter of the worst kind with the savage reptilian gargoyle.

(Ricky Tripp pictured to the left).

Without any fear at all, Tony took off his shoes and bolted after the flesh eating monster. The sharped-toothed beast raised it's body on all fours and took off towards the Lennon house. Forget Tony verses Danny Lennon, this was Tony verses the lightning fast cold-blooded carnivore that had escaped from the Dahlin swamp.

Billy Lennon decided he would break the top security curfew and had lurking outside in front where he watched the whole thing.

Down the street, came the gator ablaze with the inspiration of freedom, followed by the barefooted Dahlin whose feet were moving so fast that you couldn't even see them.


Taking a right at the corner of the Lennon's house Tony bolted after the high-strung vertebrate and made a record 50-yard-dash, grabbing the tail of the raptor so that it could not run into the wide open doors of Saint Mark's Church!

Tony flung the thing around a couple times to scatter its feeble brain, heaved it over his shoulder and returned the ravenous beast to it home.

Billy knew!  He saw the whole thing.

Billy knew that his oldest brother, Danny didn't stand a chance against my oldest brother! He sneaked back inside the safety of the compound and whispered accounts of the events of the epic race that took place right out in front of his house.

(I just put in the picture to the Right, for fun of course. The Lennon Sisters weren't really out in front during this latest episode...they were being diligently protected by the watchful eye of their Dad because of the rising intensity of the lunatic threats that the crazed fan, Chet Young, had made against Bill Lennon).

My birthday was in two days. I would finally become a teenager...13!  But in two days that didn't seem to matter anymore.. because everything was about to change the very next day on our beloved street!

                 Venice as I knew it, was about to change forever!

Oh and if any one sees Keith Bjelajac, thank him for letting me borrow his Saint Mark's sweater.

                  Next Time: The Tagic News!



 

Why...Chewbacca...Why?

I really don't understand a lot of stuff... i.e. here we are in the middle of a terrible fire that is consuming a grand old home with the daring rescue effort by my hippie brothers and a neighbor in underwear and two of the most bizarre things happen.  Let me set the stage:  Not only were there firemen and policemen that you would normally expect to find at a typical 3 alarm fire, but this particular event also drew the special interest of these mystery Men In Black - members of the President's Secret Service detail who had been staying in the Lennon house for their protection. These Men in Black began sniffing around like bloodhounds for information and asking questions about Chet Young and were concerned that this Molotov Cocktail bombing might have had something to do with Charles Manson.  The crazy-man, Chet Young, had made assassination threats against the President and Charles Manson was plastered on the front page of every newspaper in America for the gruesome Tate and La Bianca murders.


With the ensuing chaos of fire and smoke and firemen, and police, and paramedics, and anxious Secret Service, and my hippie brothers, and my dad and my near-naked neighbor rescuing half-clad college drop-outs - who were now homeless and walking around like dazed Zombies - it was totally crazy right! Picture - cars blowing up - people screaming, smoke hovering and flaming ashes falling... imagine if you will -  Night of the Living Dead, conspiracy - threats and big things to worry about - which in light of that brings me to the two things that I don't get:

Number 1) At a time like this, in the middle of all of this chaos with everything that is at stake - why would my second oldest brother, affectionately known as, Chewbacca, feel compelled, at this moment to make some type of emotional connection to a dead feral-cat that nobody in the neighborhood cared for anyway.                  

                           WHY?                   Weird?  Right!

He had lots of hair and the charred cat had lots of hair at one time I suppose - was that it?  Was it some strange hippie thing that I didn't know about? Did it have to do with some form of Arrested Development? Did it have something to do with those funny cigarettes and those hidden "Mexican Tomato Plants" the older boys were meticulously taking care of in our backyard.







I understand that I'm only 12 and in seventh grade, so I guess I have a lot to  figure out...but I just didn't get it.


Okay, now with all that said, why this next part?  Take your stupid dead cat that the cosmos has directed you to fall in love with and leave me out of this.    This leads me to number 2).

Number 2). Why on earth did Chewbacca feel he had to bring that char-broiled cat which had stunk like burnt hair and that had looked like some 4000-year-old thing buried in a pyramid in Egypt alongside of Tutankhamen...AND SHOVE IT IN MY FACE?  

Why Chewbacca?   Why?   What did I ever do to you? What did I do to deserve the 732 titty-twisters, a year of being squeezed to unconsciousness(blog post 6/26/13), 532 wedges, 321 monkey bumps to the leg...and now a dead, stinky, burnt corpse of a despised cat shoved in my face?  

CAN ANYONE TELL ME?   He could have taken that cat to the backyard and happily had some kind of hippie ritual for all I care, but why did he feel it was necessary to torment me on the way?  I was watching the show minding my own business and out of nowhere he shoved that disgusting thing in my face and you know what happened!   That's right - my superpowers kicked in - I bent over gagging and heaving and threw up 13 times on the Blaser's front lawn... and before everyone could clear the blast zone - Tommy, Ricky and even one of the escaping Lennon brothers had puke all over them.

There I stood despised by everyone - making matters worst, I was in my hand me down shirt, my holey jeans, my miss-matched socks - looking like a complete moron...besides all that, I knew that Mr. Blaser was sure to be mad at me in the morning - as if this was all my fault.

Later the next day, Mr. Blaser made me wash the puke off of his lawn and it was there that I determined to find out who started this whole thing. That's why I felt like I had to take investigative matters into my own hands and find out who started this thing in the first place - and why I figured that the Secret Service and the Fire Marshal needed my help is solving this terrible arson case.  

It turns out that it was neither Charles or Chet, which meant that my list of suspects was dwindling.

To my shame, I am not happy to report the next incident, which turned out to be an unbelievable miracle of epic proportions and the beginning of a new saga at the Harding House!