Baby Jesus and the Veloci-Raptor

(Continued...from Who stold Baby Jesus? )

Footsteps pounding
Adrenalin pumping through my veins
Unbeknownst to me, my drug addiction Drug Addiction was being satisfied - thanks to my fear of the Wolf Pack heading up the stairs as if the angry mob with pitch forks and torches who were after Frankenstein.

They were coming for me: Fight or Flight!

I was trapped in my room - and I knew that if they got through my door- it would be me in a losing brawl against 12 stoned hippies that would likely end in some elaborate form of torture that could involve electricity and a pool or ropes and a straitjacket.

There was no good ending to this!

My mind rushed - knowing that this could be my last Christmas, yet I also possessed the secret knowing that I had some kind of power that gave me superhuman strength to survive whatever torture they could dish out and live through it...(I had the Joseph dream and it worked at Salton Sea).

Hair standing up on the back of my neck and goosebumps on my goosebumps... Frantically, I had to come up with a plan.

Our house had old door handles that had been equipped with ancient skeleton keys back at the turn of the century when the old Victorian was built. The keys had all been lost for like a bazillion years and none of the doors in our house had locks that worked (except my mom's door - which had eight locks installed so mom could keep herself safely locked inside away from the mayhem when we were trying to kill each other - smart mom).

I stuck a chair under the door handle...to buy some time, grabbed baby Jesus and stuffed clothes under my covers in the shape of a 13-year-old...to fake them out; if only for a minute. With the sound of furious fist pounding on the door I quietly, climbed into the sun room, over the junk and out one of the front windows. Inching my way along the bottom trim of the windows I came to the end and leaped off onto the carport roof just as the gang of vindictive hippies burst into my room...chanting my name in a monotone drone like cannibals under some hypnotic spell who were about to put their victim in a giant stew pot.  



It did take long for the brood to discovered they had been duped by the dummy under the covers when one of them spotted the open window.

Unfortunately, none of them chased me out the window - I knew I would have lost a couple of them that way. "Shucks!" Instead, they turned and hastily descended the chairs as mom yelled from her room, "Under pain of mortal sin!"    No one listened!  No one ever listens.


On top of the carport roof... I was faced with a life or death decision, "front or backyard?"  A voice said, "backyard" it might have been the plaster baby Jesus speaking?!  I don't know! None-the-less, that's the way I chose to go. Quickly, I scampered back and leaped onto a stack of decrepit cardboard boxes full of moldy stinky old National Geographics. The boxes I cursed so many times, broke my fall and I found my self face to face with the Veloci-Raptor.  I didn't have time to pull out my "Saint Francis, positive-pheromones, love-for-animals" - thing that I did. But the attack rooster softened its crazy eyes as though it pitied me and allowed me a free ticket to pass go and collect $200 (not really $200, that's in Monopoly - but you get the metaphor).



I took baby Jesus and climbed into the thickest part of the secret cannabis forest that my hippie brothers told my parents were "Mexican tomato plants."  To tell you the truth, I don't think they were tomato plants of any kind - they never did grow tomatoes and the plants smelled like skunk! Gross! I buried myself like a rat in the thick growth with my baby Jesus and watched as the Wolf Pack came out the back door as if hunting down a wounded gazelle.  Jesus and I were trapped and I tried not to breath. As the angry mob weaved past some leaning boxes of National Geographics, by the old tear-drop trailer with flat tires and by an old outboard motor they headed right in my direction as if they had smelled me.

The cunning Veloci-rooster stood directly in their path.  I looked at Jesus and shrugged. The raptor flung itself on the pack of hippies and began piercing the flesh of the long-haired hippies with its 4-inch razor sharp talons. The older boys began screaming like a bunch of junior-high girls as they stumbled over each other trying to make it back into the house where they would be safe.



Giggling from inside the marijuana plants, I winked at baby Jesus and mocked the tribe of would-be trouble-makers by mimicking the words of my eight grade homeroom teacher, Sister Schultz,  "You shouldn't have put yourself in that position." (of course that conversation was all in my head).  Feeling like I was my brother Bob who was in Vietnam and making my way through a hostile jungle, Baby Jesus and I made it to the tear-drop trailer where we spent the night.




I took the bloody rooster-attack on the herb-smoking Wolf Pack as a good sign. I know that normal kids in regular families didn't have to go through any of this crazy stuff - Not Tommy Blaser...Not Kippy Lennon... Not Ricky Tripp, but I felt lucky in a way... Weird right?  I felt blessed to be forged in the furnish of fire that would shape me for whatever destiny that lies ahead for me as if every incident of sibling torture as a milestone that help me learn about me and the crazy world in which I lived.



I looked at the plaster cast of Jesus and said, "Well, it looks like it's gonna be a good Christmas after all. And with your help Jesus, I'll make it to celebrate the 1970 New Year."


Like Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream, I had a dream and that dream will keep me going!


                          Happy New Year!  

Christmas at the Dahlins and Who stole baby Jesus?

I'm the baby in this picture... 

Erick and Mary 

Kurt  and Mom with Mary and Erick

Kurt and Karl 

Mary and (baby sister) Karin 

See! We really were adorable...at one time.  But all of that had changed.

Last time,  we left off with my brothers who had ambushed me and left me hanging by an ankle from the rope that was tied off to the top corbel of the highest most point of our roof. They plugged in the Christmas lights and quietly sneaked back to the hippy hut out back and left me dangling as night fell and people from all over Venice, Mar Vista, Culver City, and Santa Monica came to marvel at this years best Christmas light display!

Eventually, after swinging myself back and forth like a bazillion times, I gained enough momentum to thrust my body to grab the rope that was tied to my leg. Hand over hand, I used my Troop 32, Boy Scout, rope-climbing skills to make my way to the top of  the roof where I was able to catch my breath, untie the rope and also finish the job of pulling up the lights. When I got to the top, I had assumed the crowds that had gathered in the street watching my heroic performance would have applauded the intrepid accomplishment of a 13-year-old, instead they hissed and boo'd that the show was over and quickly dispersed.

Lazarus, the cat, was particularly grumpy that I had not fallen. She had waited the entire time to see if I would have landed on my feet - had the old, worn, rope broke. It was now just the two of us - me and the stupid cat. Standing on the peak of the roof, I stuck out my tongue taunting the scaly thing and shouted "there!" as if I had won and also to formally dismiss the disgusting creature that lingered - still hoping I would have fallen to my death.

By now, since I had survived all various episodes of being buried in "pits," the "arrows," the "monkeys," the "hamper of death," the "veloci-rooster," the "electrocutions," the "jalapenos," the "templates," the "alligator," the snake" and "Salton sea" I had proven to the proud cat that I indeed had more than nine lives (I WAS WINNING).  I grinned like the Cheshire Cat as Lazarus who raised it's head like a stuffy British Nobel - turned it's back on me and walked into the house.

Anyway, I had proven that I had a high threshold for pain and was pretty much unbreakable... and figured out the "Someone up there must be looking down on me."  

I went in by the manger scene we had on top of the piano in the entry and stole baby Jesus. The mynah-bird cussed as usual, and since no one was around and I was in no mood to tolerate the foul language - I slapped the cage and headed upstairs with Jesus. I had intended to have a conversation with the Baby.

We had eventually found poochie, our dog, that had been trapped in one of the cars in our fleet of non-operational piles of junk that we had pushed to the Thursday side of the street (for street cleaning) and had been trapped in there all week long.   Poochie, like me was strong. She a survivor. I think that's why we got along so well together.

Poochie.   Me.   And an antique, plaster-cast of baby Jesus.
                         The three of us were going to have a serious Christmas talk!

I barricaded myself in my room to prevent any kind of sneak attack by the notorious herbal-smoking "Wolf-Pack" and/or Ulrich and his angry little-man-crew, so I could have this serious Christmas chat without too much interruption.

I stared at the baby Jesus for a long time and then realized that if God did come down to earth - there were a whole lot better ways to do it.   But, He didn't consult me on it.  Chariots of fire.  Machine guns.  As Superman.  In a spaceship with laser beams or on fire with one foot setting down on one continent and one foot on another.

Take control. Show everyone who is the boss.

That's the way I would have written the story.  A Baby!  In a manger (an animal eating trough)? Pshaw...No way.

In a barn? Who wrote this story - God probably should have talked to me about it.

Stinky smelly animals.

Hay.
 
I don't think it was the plaster Jesus who had spoken to me, but this thought suddenly occurred to me... "vulnerability."

Like a mother and a new born child... I figured that it was only by this extreme act of ultimate vulnerability could humans be invited into this level of intimacy with the Creator of the universe.

If God came to this planet like a powerful super hero and exercised his authority all over the place as if to Lord over - who could draw close to him(or want to).  He came in vulnerable and he went out the same way. He took all of that power and surrendered it... humbling himself to die in such a disgraceful fashion on the the cross.

Hum...I looked at baby Jesus in new light and realized that he could totally identify with me... he chose to be vulnerable... he chose to be arrested... falsely accused... he chose to be the object of racism to the scorn of the proud Romans.. he chose to be mistreated... beat and crucified... This Baby came and lived in a way - not as the crazy king Herod... or Caesar Augustus... but as a human just like you and me.  

I figured this way he came and lived in a way to identity with me so that he could feel what I felt every time I was  mistreated so that I could identify with him... It was Brilliant actually...what better way to draw us into intimacy with the majestic power of the Universe.  The voice in my head said there was no better way. I smiled at baby Jesus and was glad that he didn't consult me in regards to his grand entrance into this world. Boy, would I have messed it up.

I tenderly tucked the painted, plaster-cast of baby Jesus on my pillow next to my head pondering the troubled condition of the world...floating off to sleep in deep thought...wondering if intimacy with God was something to be grasped... yet yearning for it...

...when I heard someone downstairs screaming,

"Hey, who stole baby Jesus!"  followed by the pounding of furious footsteps as an angry mob ascending the stairs - marching towards my room.

  God Jul ... Merry Christmas!  

Werewolf II: Terry, Don't mess with youngest member of the Wolf Pack!

(Continued) 


The cool kids in our seventh grade class rarely ever picked Harry for kickball. He was tall and lanky and a little slow and I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for stray dogs, for big fat Pinky (who was now living with us), and for anyone I felt was an underdog! 

Go figure! With a hundred older brothers and nine hundred of their friends who all tortured the baby brother - that's me - I thought it was my job in life to protect the "least of these" and to stand up for widows and orphans. You would think that when I dished out Terry's punishment the Nuns at Saint Marks would have been happy with my cause - especially since it had to do with justice and caring for a "slow" kid in class. 

No.  As it turned out, they weren't happy at all! 

As a matter of fact Sister Schultz, who was built like a NFL linesman and outweighed me by 200 pounds, put me in a headlock and I figured that Jesus wouldn't be happy with me if I took her down like I did Mike "Curtzy" back in the fifth grade (Post 6/29/13). I fell on the ground and pretended to pass-out hoping they would send me home.  No such luck!  I would have to go in and smell the sweaty aftermath of recess. 

Here's what happened. I could have cashed-in on the "bloody-knuckles thing" and get a higher pick for one of the kickball teams now that my approval rating was at an all time high, but I chose instead to do the ridiculous helicopter thing with Harry since he was left out again. He wasn't just picked last, he wasn't picked at all. Don't ask me how I did it, but I even managed to recruit Ralph to the silly nonsense that was making Harry so happy. 

Terry was one of the big kids and I'm sure he had hair coming in under his armpits. You could always tell when that was happening, because these guys were the ones who smelled like a garbage truck after recess. It was the same with eight grade boys too...they were plagued with this thing called puberty, but hadn't learned to take showers yet - like the high school boys had, so our end of the hall at Saint Marks always smelled like the rotting carcass of a dead cow that had been left in the sun too long. 

Terry was upset because I had stolen Ralph away from his team and Ralph could kick the ball over the church roof. Anyway, Dino had a mean kick and sailed the ball out-of-bounds over mean 'O Mr. Schneider's fence (who lived on the other side of the chain-link on Garfield), which meant that the kickball game was over.  Now Terry, was not only one of the big kids - I'd say in the top three, but was probably the brightest among the tallest and he like to let every know how smart he was.

Because he was upset that his team lost without Ralph he came over and began making fun of us twirlers. I was okay with it, it didn't bother me or Ralph that much, but when he started calling Harry hurtful names - THAT WAS IT, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.  I had been attacked by a rooster, whacked by a Nun, and totally humiliated in front of all the girls. This was not the day to sweat and stink and have hair under your arms or be too tall and pretend to be too smart and pick on the underdog -"slow Harry." 

I had to use restraint. I didn't want to just jump on his head and take him down. I had to think of a way to show how stupid he was at the same time. You know, like, cut him down a notch or two in his own eyes. 

Epiphany! The idea came to me. I asked Terry if he had ever taken the "Viking-Neck-Strength-Test?" (say that three times fast). I felt if Terry was too stupid to fall for it then he double deserved it. I told him we did this at home all the time and then proceeded to show him how to do it. I stood in front of the concrete wall and let Ralph demonstrate on me. He pretended to pull really hard and I pretended to fight back the best I could. I said the object was to see how far he could pull my head away and we would measure the distance and see who had the stronger neck muscles. The bet was on and all the boys gathered around for the Viking challenge. Since Ralph had just demonstrated on me, I "let" Terry try his strength test first. (Grin) 

You know that story in the Bible about wolf in sheep's clothing... well... I smiled on the outside as the inner werewolf went to work. I pulled Terry's head...the kids cheered.. he really thought he was something - UNTIL...

Until I had planted my feet against the wall and had his head out from the concrete wall some four inches and LET IT GO! 

"Whack" Cracked his recoiling head against the wall that sounded like a watermelon that had been dropped from the top of our three story house. 

Bam  Went Terry's limp body to the ground. 

I stood over the top of Terry in a symbolic jester of victory, foot on his chest, raised my hand and said, "Yeah! Who's smart now..Huh?" and called him one of the names he had insulted Harry with. Applause from the smelly 12 and 13-year-olds, prompted me to go into my "Wicked Witch" routine, "I'm melting...Good bye cruel world!" Laughter! 

Then  thud... I was on the ground, tackled by a 290 pound female linebacker dressed in black in white in a police choke-hold. She thought I killed Terry, but I knew he was only unconscious and would wake up momentarily seeing stars. 

I decided not to take out the Nun, because she was Jesus' wife and knew that it wouldn't have bode so well for all the Purgatory time I already had coming, but Terry? He DESERVED IT!  Poor...poor...Terry! 

Sister Schultz pinched my ear, dragged me inside and made me sit next to her desk for the rest of the day in front of the entire eight grade class to give Sister Edith a break.  "Yuck!" Those guys smelled worst than seventh graders. I sat there and stared down David Smith for the rest of the day and only managed to heave twice.  

                      It was a good day after all!  

"In a city known as Venice, there's a grand old school
Pledged to God and to our country, hail all hail to you.


Joyous days. Happy Days. Spent with in our hearts. 
Hail to you, our Alma Mater. Hail, all Hail Saint Marks!" 

P.S. Alma Mater.. means pregnant mother or something like that in Latin.        
 

The Unknown Harding Hero of the Civil Rights Movement.

Today in American we honor a Great Man - Martin Luther King Jr. 

In honor of that, I'll take a break from the fire story at the Fraternity house and pay tribute to a relatively unknown Hero of the Civil Rights Movement and celebrate the rich heritage of which I am so proud.  

           ...And the connection this hero has to Venice and Santa Monica 

(I'll come back to the fire story from the last post) and tell you about the dead body that Chewbacca found in my next post).

I have talked to you about my Aunt Mary who was a Catholic nun. In my blog I have mentioned her dedication and work in the inner city. I reported about the time my brother, Puke-Breath, had red fire ants pored down his pants and about how she and the other over-zealous nuns in the Detroit Convent were almost too enthusiastic in picking the ants off his skinny, naked - hinny (Blog post Naked Teenager 10/26/2013).  

Today on a more serious note, I would like to talk about my Aunt Mary and how her courage changed the course of History.  

This following part was Edited by Kurt Dahlin.

"The year was 1965; the place, Selma, Alabama.   For decades, local laws had all but prevented Blacks from voting.  And those who did venture to protest often faced harassment--even death.  Black Selmians, supported by Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., decided to march to the state capital of Montgomery to draw attention to their plight. On a Sunday in early spring, dozens of peaceful protesters on their way out of the city were brutally beaten back by state troopers.

 

 

The violence of "Bloody Sunday" stunned Americans, focusing nationwide attention on civil rights. A group of American nuns from St. Louis were among the first to protest the violence.  When Dr. King receives permission to march to the state capital in order to petition Governor George C. Wallace for the voting rights of the state's Negro citizens, Sister Mary Leoline (Mary Ann Sommer), a teacher at Christ the King school in Kansas City, joins two priests in a 3-member Kansas City Catholic Interracial Council delegation to Selma. 

 

 MY AUNT WAS THE ONLY SISTER WHO WAS PRESENT throughout the entire 50-mile march to Montgomery.  I circled her in red below.

Six Catholic nuns from across the country answered Martin Luther King's call to join the voting rights marches in Selma, Alabama.

Six Catholic nuns from across the country answered Martin Luther King's call to join the voting rights marches in Selma, Alabama.

 

These courageous women risked their personal safety to become powerful agents of change. On the Wednesday following “Bloody Sunday,” the sisters led a procession defying a ban by church, city, and county authorities. Though the police cut the demonstration short, the images of these women in the national and international media had tremendous impact. People were shocked. A Gallup poll showed that the majority of Americans felt sisters should remain cloistered in their convents. For Dr. Martin Luther King the presence of the visiting nuns in the Selma demonstrations “had a special significance because the public knows a nun to be a woman of great sacrifice and dedication.”

 

My Aunt Mary -  Sister Mary Leoline.

She continued to be involved with the movement and was among those arrested in Washington, during the Poor People's March of 1968.

Sister Mary Leoline (in orange jacket) helps with crowd control.

On March 28, Congressman Dickenson of Alabama brings charges of “drunkenness and immorality” against the protesters before the House of Representatives in Washington. Sister Mary Leoline and nine clergy and seminarians who completed the 50-mile march; travel to Washington to refute the charges before Congress of disorderly conduct made against the marchers by Congressman Dickenson.   They present a signed “Statement of Morality during the Selma Crisis” to Congressmen Ryan and Resnick of New York. At the request of John McCormick Speaker of the House, Ryan and Resnick introduce the Statement of Morality for debate by the members of the House and for inclusion in the Congressional Records of the House and Senate. Sister Mary Leoline's key testimony at the press conference in Washington DC led to advancements in the civil rights movement.  

At the end of the four-day march, Dr. King’s famous words rang out to the crowd of 25,000: “I know you are asking today, ‘How long will it take?’...Not long, because the arm of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” As it turned out, it took only a few months from that famous speech for the National Voting Rights Act of 1965 to become law.

Mary Ann Sommer (Sister  Mary Leoline) chose to redirect her commitment to the cause of freedom and equality as a diocesan nun in Detroit. As an involved teacher in Michigan and California, she participated in Dr. King’s Poor People’s Campaign in Washington, DC, attended the Mexican American Culture Center in San Antonio, helped Caesar Chavez set up the farm workers clinic in Salinas, California. 

This unassuming hero was raised in Santa Monica and was one of us living in the Harding 

house in Venice.  

Sister Mary continued her advocacy roll as a contemplative “free-lance nun” during her retirement in Salt Lake City.

Several of the nuns interviewed credit the Second Vatican Council with inspiring them to become involved in the civil rights movement. Sister Mary Leoline of the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary remembers how she was responding to Pope John XXIII’s encouragement to “go where the need is.”

This is a picture of my late Aunt Mary at the time she was interviewed for a documentary titled "The Sisters of Selma" (which is available on NetFlix) 

My Aunt is quoted as saying "Canon law is set up so that if people do something which proves to be the right thing to do and it proves to be the religious thing to do--then the law changes." Sister Mary Ann Sommer. 

http://home.earthlink.net/~sistersofselma/sos9.htm

www.aptv.org/as/sisters/index.asp

Martin Luther King Jr. and Mary Ann Sommer, extremist who followed the revolutionary teachings of an radical who taught his followers to "Love their enemies"  - Jesus! 

 Jesus was radical extremist for Love, Truth and Justice.

I don't know why we, as humans, choose to be unkind to each other, but like Martin Luther King Jr advocated why we can't choose to love... Markie d   

After her retirement, Aunt Mary came to live in the Harding House for 6 years... 

 

A bunch of Family gather to celebrate her