Lips Ablaze and Instruments of Mass Destruction

Here is another infamous story I gathered while in southern California reminiscing with one of the older boy's favorite victims.  The Wolf Pack were generous...no, not generous  - they were lavish with terribly creative pranks. John said that every time he came over he had to prepare himself for whatever the Dahlins would throw at him.  My crazy older brothers were equal opportunity offenders and nobody was safe in our house.

I can't lie and must admit that whenever I was not the one being lowered in a suitcase, shot at, buried in a pit, or dropped over a cliff  and they were busy cleverly torturing someone other than me - I was very happy and yet also felt a tinge disappointed for not getting my adrenalin fix - (That's why I figured that I must be a little retarded)!

Here is a Picture of John telling me his story... the audio however, did not get transferred, but you can see the pained look on his face.

This story like most of our stories has a long back-story...which I'll attempt to make very short. It begins somewhere between Lennon envy and The Sound of Music.

Look at the Lennons! Look at how cute they were, and all of them sing! All of them! The Lennon sisters sing like angels, The boys sing, Mimi sings and Kippy the baby brother - even he sings!  It just wasn't fair!

When God was handing out singing voices - I think the Lennons were in line first and God ran out by the time He came to the Dahlins. None of us could sing! Not one of us could hold a tone or sing a note on key!  Look at 'em...just look at them!

Look at us! Does it look like any of us can sing? 

Well, to make matters worse a couple years ago, out comes The Sound of Music. My mom saw the movie a hundred times and wished we were like the singing Von Trapp family or the Lennons - with us, it was just lemons instead.  

So my poor mom, thought that if we couldn't sing - by golly, at least we would all play a different instrument and be a 9 person orchestra. She fantasized that other mothers from Saint Marks church would come into our house and we would line up on the entry stairs and play "So long, fair-well...auf wiedersehen ...good bye" in our symphonic nine piece orchestra."  This was her dream! 

Tony with his Clarinet

Karl with his Trombone

Kris with his Coronet

Kurt with his Trumpet

Erick with his Violin and Piano

Madeline with the Viola 

Me with a squeaky hand-me down ancient Clarinet

Karin on the Piano! 

All of us taking lessons at Saint Marks...

Dude this could have been great! Except for the part about this being the Dahlins. 

The instruments were turned into weapons of mass destruction as we used them for warfare and to beat each other up with.

Besides the foul-mouthed mynah bird that cussed, our entry also had a piano, a couple other pieces of furniture and a million of these unused and banged up instruments in their dusty, old, black cases that had been piled into what looked like siege ramp that reached the top of the grand staircase. 

As John told the story, he said he was invited in by Kurt to play his trumpet!  Now mind you, this was the very place that we had electrocuted poor John in another one of our horrible pranks(Blog 7/11/13)!  There was no reason for him to say yes! He checked to make sure no electrical wires were attached to the the thing and against his better judgement he acquiesced to Kurt's nagging, persistent, insistence - And try, John did!  ONLY...

ONLY... Kurt had smeared the mouth piece with jalapenos peppers and Tabasco hot sauce! 

Obediently, but foolishly, John put his lips on the mouth piece and blew!  He blew for about a second when he threw the trumpet and howled like a lone wolf at a full moon.  The mynah bird cussed as Kurt rushed to John's rescue with a cup of water. John took the cup and hastily threw it down his gullet only to find it had been laced with more Tabasco hot sauce!   UGHHHHHhhhhhhh

The Wolf Pack cheered!  

John howled and ran around in circles like a mad dog...So as it turned out, one of our hated instruments was finally put to good use. At least, that's what the Wolf Pack thought!

I wanted to laugh, but ducked and took cover for I was having a pre-pubescent PTSD Flash back from a incident that nearly killed me when I was just a little boy! That story next time! 

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Karl Dahlin, the FISHERMAN and his "mighty" crew

I think being a fisherman is something that is definitely one of those "Nature or Nurture" arguments. My Dad, Carl R. Dahlin, loved to fish and took us all the time.

Pictured (right is) Kurt and Karin, Karl showing off all the fish he caught limit and me-his fishing-pole caddy.

We practically grew up with a fishing pole in our hands. We went fishing at the Kings River, at Salton Sea, off of the Redondo Beach Pier, the Santa Monica Pier and the Venice pier.  We caught corbina and bonita, bass and trout, and mackerel and halibut and albacore, however, it just didn't take in my case. Don't get me wrong, I liked being with dad and the gang of brothers...but fishing just took too long and required a lot of patience. I was diagnosed with sever hyperactivity and just couldn't sit still that long (if you don't believe me, ask Sister Godzilla or Sister Edith - they'll tell you). Karl on the other hand...I think he probably came out of my momma's belly holding a fishing pole (that's why the prank on the little old lady next door was so appropriate - post 5/9/2013). He loved to fish; it was something that couldn't be nurtured in me, but was definitely part of his "nature." He was hooked (that was a pun if you didn't catch it - and so was that - I'll stop already).

Pictured left (Erick, me and Tommy)







Here we all are below in that old boat back in 1961 that I was telling you about... "Just look at it!" It was practically decrepit 8 years ago already... and now it sat in our front yard under the palm tree, collecting dates and breading mosquitoes in the green rain water that was slowly rotting the floor boards.

By this time in 1969, Karl had painted the boat, but it didn't mean that it was any more sea-worthy, just because it had a fresh coat of blue paint... Pshaw - sea worthiness never stopped a fisherman - did it? the motto was, "just get a bigger bucket for bailing!"






































Karl took that old '59 Johnson, 35 horsepower outboard motor and had it strapped inside a trashcan filled with water right at the bottom of the front stairs (outside - just in case you thought I was talking about having the motor in the living room or something - but don't put that past us either).

He wrestled with that motor for two months...as a plume of blue smoke filled Harding Avenue choking the neighbors who smelled the foul fumes of the old gas-mixture from the ancient machine that roared above everyone in the neighborhood who had to scream above the tired old motor as it revved and sputtered and coughed and shot water from the vibrating trashcan...while Gherhing the Great and I (still in our Giant uniforms) stood by soaking wet with wrenches in our hands like operating room assistants as Karl worked his magic and performed surgery on the tired old motor.

This hopeful optimism on for some time swapping pieces from older motors in the backyard, until one Saturday after operating all day on the thing at about 2:00 in the afternoon, Karl finally managed to keep the old motor running in the trashcan for an entire 32 minutes.  Success! IT's ALIVE!  (I wouldn't call 32 minutes a huge success, but the Fisherman was convinced that he had raised the motor from the dead).  We're still trying to land a man on the moon- could you image if they put fishermen in charge of the Apollo moon program - "Ah the thing leaks...who cares.. it'll make it"  "Ah, so the engines sputter and worked for a couple minutes - who gives a rip, let's send the guys up there and see what's happens!"  Sometimes optimism needs a reality check - but not with fisherman - the dream is the only thing that matters.

Nothing was going to keep Karl away from his dream - not a leaky boat nor a motor that coughed for 32 measly minutes.  Erick or Kurt must not have been around and Karl needed deck hands for the USS MINNOW and to my dismay Patrick jumped at the chance. I couldn't let Patrick show me up, so I signed up as crew for the "THREE HOUR TOUR...The three hour tour!"

True to the Gilligan Island Story (that was on TV every week), it was getting late and the sky's were getting dark.. but that did not deter, Karl our Skipper, who was brave and sure. The way I played things out  in my head was that there was no way this thing could have a good ending!

We lugged the motor over to the old boat, strapped it onto the transom and headed out to the Marina Del Rey where we "cheated the man" by putting two quarters into the gate at the launch ramp - for the car only side, and, with a running start, sped through the gate barely clearing the arm as it swung down almost clipping the motor we worked so hard to fix - worked every time!

Karl must have pulled the rope on that rebellious motor a million times... (I prayed it wouldn't start) and Patrick was already bailing as  the boat was still tied to the dock. The dark skies, the increasing wind, the leaky boat and an untrustworthy motor; nothing about what we were doing made any sense to a rational human being - unless of course, you had the "Fisherman Sickness"   Patrick was oblivious to the fact that I had cheated death already more times than Karl's cat - LAZARUS and I didn't know how many more lives I was entitled to.

It got later and unfortunately for me, the motor sputtered and coughed and came to life.  Ughhhhhhh! At this moment there was no one happier in the universe, than my brother the Fisherman! Oh yeah, Karl couldn't wait to set his hook in the mouth of some stinky-smelly bonita that I would have to clean when we got home.

Believe it or not, that little 35 horsepower motor got us past the breakwater Into a headwind that was picking up intensity and as the sun hid behind the darkening clouds.  The swells got so big that whitewater began crashing over the breakwater sea wall. Pat thought it was fun...I don't think he had a clue... No phone, no lights, no motor car - not a single luxury...

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale.
A tale of a fateful trip
that started from Harding Avenue
Aboard this tiny ship

Patrick fancied he was a sailin' man
The Skipper brave and sure
The three of us set sail that day
for a Three hour tour
a three hour tour...

The weather started getting rough
the leaky boat was tossed...
all for the sake of a couple fish
The Minnow would be lost.
The Minnow would be lost

so join me back here again my friends..
you're sure to get a smile
From a FISHERMAN and his fearful crew
here on Markie D isle

Next time... the whale... the motor... the storm and the prayer... AND IT'S ALL TRUE!

And there lay...Gherhing the Great! Beware: Gruesome Picture.

This is a reenactment shoot... of the Helms Bakery Heist of 1966...  Blog Post August 3rd 2013

That '65 Nova is actually little Johnny Gillemot 's AKA Gillamonster.

Check out this Helm's Bakery Delivery Man ...

                                                                                                               ...pretty cute. right?

Pretty gruesome... don't you think?  No wonder "Herbie the Helmsman" stopped his delivery truck.

 Look at all that blood! Just look at it!

Don't worry...no one does anything like this in today's politically correct world. Well, we did back then! But I can assure you that no animals or little people got hurt in the photography of this picture.  After we stole the donuts and eclairs, Gherhing the Great walked away unscathed.



 And so did my actor, Cody Fisher.





I guess this is just a small taste of the "Good 'O Days" 

Happy Labor Day weekend - have fun, but don't get into too much trouble!

The "Politically Correct" police might just be watching!