The Russian River, The Manhunt, and Elephant Man!

From Last time: I figured that I was safe and that there wasn't a whole lot that could go wrong on this family adventure.

This was not just an escape from Venice...I was on a journey. This was more than just a trip to Northern California. I was determined  to find out what love is...all about. I heard about it enough.

The Beatles sang all about love.  I saw the words painted on the sides of brightly colored Volkswagen vans that read "Make Love not War."

"I can't stop now, I've traveled so far" I wanted to know what other people knew - what normal people understood about things like love.

I climbed into the back of my dad's station wagon with apprehension as if testing to see how cold the water was...testing to see how deep could it be and to see how dangerous the current...was.

I got in slowly...with the hopeful expectation that this journey was a path that would lead me to connect with my brothers in a special way that - brothers and sisters do in regular families... like I'm sure the Lennons do.  They're normal.

So off we went!

Our low-down-and-dirty caravan was an eclectic potpourri of hippies and regular people...in a percentage ratio of 92:8.  Me, my dad and my two sisters were the four normal people among the hordes of "herb-smoking" irregulars crammed into our station wagon and into "Red" Sasson's conversion van - as we took off through Santa Monica and headed up the coast route to the Russian River.

We passed the red beach-house on PCH at the foot of Tuna Canyon drive. My eye began twitching and my stomach churned thinking about the Hippie Fest and the betrayal of rope incident. It made me feel as though the Wolf Pack couldn't be trusted and that I shouldn't let my guard down. But since dad was with us, I figured they would be on their best behavior and that I would be safe!


What could possible go wrong?



You couldn't blame someone for having gas...could you?  Kurt and his Water Polo friend, Mario, had both graduated from Saint Monica's. Kurt was famous (scratch that out)... he was infamous for the lethal power of his toxic farts, but was a mere 6 on a Richter-scale compared to the seismic phenomenon of Mario. Deep within, Mario had the unbelievable capacity to blow up an entire city block―that at times measured a 10 on the Richter-scale along with unrelenting aftershocks measuring well above 8.

 (Here is the Poster for the disaster movie that came out last year - 1969)

Every fifteen minutes "Krakatoa" erupted that caused the caravan to pull over so we could exit...take cover and find fresh air.
Long-haired bodies dramatically gagging (as if on stage) stumbling out of the car―pushing―shoving―laughing!      

Point Dume - BAM! "Krakato - East of Java" Mario exploded - mayhem ensued.

Like clockwork - another aftershock - Mario clears the car!

Past Sycamore at "Sand Hill"  Bam! A Mario Explosion. Caravan pulls over giving us the time and excuse to run to the top and slide down on pieces of cardboard.
                                               
ONLY!

Only my dad was building an immunity to the stink and grew more and more impatient with the delays.

THEN!

Then he remembered the button: later to be called, "The button from Hell"

Our top-of-the-line, Ford Esquire wagon was loaded and came with door locks, power windows and all the bells and whistles... One bell and whistle was a button on the driver-side door-panel that locked all the windows.

After we got through Ventura, my hilarious father rolled up all the windows and locked them shut every time Mario exploded with flatulence in something on the scale of Mount Vesuvius that smelled like your head had been forced down the hole of an outhouse on a pig farm.

This might have been funny for most people - but this did not take into consideration my "Superpowers."

My dad thought he was being funny. He laughed as fights broke out and I heaved my guts up in an empty Folgers can that was supposed to be used as a "thunder bucket." A thunder bucket was the traveling port-a-potty all the boys were supposed to use instead of pulling over to make potty-stops - it sounded like thunder whenever anyone had to take a pee. It was gross, but that's the way it was.

Anyway, you could probably guess how much happier the boys were that I was being tortured to the point where I vomited every time Mario "pooped" his pants!

I wanna know what love is

I want you to show me

I wanna feel what love is

I know you can show me...

After the flatulence terrorism we finally - FINALLY - arrived at Roger Sasson's new property - up at the Russian River. From all the vomiting, I felt drained of life as if having gone through grand-mal seizures!   

Everyone had a great time!  

Me, however, I needed the break.  I needed to run away and hide to get my strength back!  

"In my life there's been heartache and pain

I don't know if I can face it again

Can't stop now, I've traveled so far

To change this lonely life"

Sweaty! Stinky! Sticky long-haired bodies squeezed out of the car like toothpaste from a tube under pressure...out we poured like a swarm of blonde locust!   

I rolled onto the dirt like a sailor returning from long voyage and kissed the ground. "Terra-firma!" 

I looked over my shoulder to see the Wolf Pack assembling in a secret meeting that intentionally excluded me and dad. 

There were adults here. I was safe―right? They would protect me if the boys had some sinister scheme to bury me...or to tie me to a tree...or to put me in a straight jacket and throw me over a cliff. 

This couldn't happen―not here―not when all of my physical strength had been drained from my 98-pound-body.  I was too weak to fight them off.  They must have been having a tribal council about the timing and place for them to smoke a little "herb." 

That's it! 

THEN I HEARD MY NAME! Endorphins pumped - adrenaline flowed - my heart raced... brain cells synapsed - Fight or Flight!  Like the Grinch when he held the slay of stolen toys over his head - I now had the strength of five 180-pound hippies.  

I was in danger...and I wanted dad to protect me. Hoping not to incite them (like wasp in a hive), I was careful not to draw their attention. Slowly, I walked in dad's direction.  WHEN I SAW the crowd break like a football team after a huddle and ominously move in my direction - I knew all was not right.  

THEN HEARD THEM SHOUT MY NAME! I ran!  

"Mark" screamed one of the Alpha Males. "We're going to give you a 30 second head-start, then we're coming after you."

Zealously, Erick began pumping the daisy BB gun. This was serious. They meant business. Ironically the MANHUNT included peace-loving hippies armed with BB guns and armed for war. 

     

They didn't care what my dad said... they were coming after me! Life wasn't fair, but I couldn't complain because dad had always said, "Life isn't fair."  

We were in a flat plateau in the bottom of an natural amphitheater surrounded by towering pines and all kinds of scrubby looking brush... I HAD THIRTY SECONDS! 

I ran up up a hill for my life!  The hordes soon took flight and came after me like blood thirsty ZOMBIES... 

Up I ran... "DAD!" I yelled.  Nothing! I was on my own.  

The hippie Wolf Pack - all of them - fanned out and came up hill after me. 

In my mental-sickness, I felt honored to be counted such a worthy prey. 

BUT...I was tired of the game. I was tired of pits and ropes and electrical wires and pink-bellies and the "knock-out" game. I was tired of being chased and dragged and shot at with BB guns and needle-tipped arrows... I hated that fact that bigger people found pleasure in hurting weaker members of the pack.  I hated feeling left out. I hated the betrayal that was nothing more than a funny game to them. I hated not knowing what human kindness and what love felt like... I just wanted to be included. 

There was a lot of talk about Love it two years ago at Haight-Asbury... "The Summer of Love" everyone seemed to know what it was all about - except me!  

John and Yoko knew―right? 

I ran for my life... UNTIL! 

Until, I spotted a shrub with clusters of three leaves that were turning shades of ugly red that I had recognized from Camp Slauson in Malibu. 

I been on snipe hunts a thousand times and never got poison oak. I think I was immune. I wasn't sure, but decided to take a chance anyway as the throng of blonde-haired Zombies closed in. I dove head first into a giant shrub and hid inside.  Then it dawned on me... "Hey stupid dummy" the voice in my head said... "you have three older brothers who are crazy allergic to toxicodendron diversilobum" I ripped two large twigs of the dangerously toxic plants and charged after the delirious band of brothers who took off running in the opposite direction.

What a sight. Markie D was now chasing 300 hippies down a hill!  

I didn't care if I got the horrible plague - it was a risk I was willing to take.  At the moment, all I could think about was that fact that I was winning...all 98 pounds (dripping wet) against an army of that weighed in at 4,228 pounds collectively. 

"The bigger they are. The harder they fall. One and all."  

Did I mention anything about the "Elephant Man?" Oh, I thought I did. Sorry to leave you hanging, but I'll save that for the next time in the big conclusion of who got what and how!  

   

       

Pt 2: Shocking and Vomitous Thursday: PAYBACK!

This story can stand alone, but is a continuation from the last blog post. We are still on Thursday night of Markie D's first week of Fifth grade. So far we have recounted how the Dahlins let the monkeys out of the Zoo; Markie was left behind at Salton Sea that ended up in a spectacular chase between the highway patrol and Dahlins; how his brothers and
conniving neighbor rats used a whiffle-ball and fishing line to reel in the old grouch next door; how Mark was stuffed into a hamper and jammed under the rear wheels of her precious 55 Buick; and also described the early morning ritual of pushing cars from one side of the street to the other.

In other words, the Dahlins were far from normal!  As one Markie D blog-follower put it, "Every car ride was torture...every journey an odyssey...it was always crazy... and in the end - it was fodder for a good story!"  

It was Thursday, the police hadn't showed up so far...Markie had escaped the wrath of Sister Godzilla and took precautions to avoid the ambush that was laying in wait for him behind the bushes at the big old house at the corner.                                      

It was a good day!  

Kurt was making spaghetti for the entire clan, while Tony and the older boys were plotting how to use the electrical wires that had been left hanging out of the wall to maximize their fullest diabolical potential. 

Holding on to separate wires one group wound its way through the living room while the other group took a more direct route through the hall to the front door. The next person in through the front door was about to get the shock of their lives.  News went out through the neighborhood that the Dahlins were having spaghetti with real meat, and upon hearing the news, many began showing up to see if it were true. 
 

It could have been anyone who was met with the handshake of electricity! It could had been John Gillemont, Tom Weltz, Booty, Primo, Red...Rita Nargie, Ellis Steadman, a priest, a nun... BUT IT WAS JOHN MASSON who came gallivanting up the eight wooden stairs and naively sauntered across the porch towards the large oak door. 

Our house was unusually quiet! Kids were not playing "King of the Hill" on top of the high-pitched three story roof, nobody was being dangled out of any of the windows by their legs... nobody was strapped to a tree and neither were there the typical hordes of plotting blonde hair anywhere in sight.
 
Noticing the obvious lack of male testosterone and noise, Mrs. Steadman knew something was not right in the world. From behind the safety of her blinds she screamed to Mr. Steadman. "The Wolf Pack! The Wolf Pack...must be up to something...start dialing the police."  

"No wonder lions eat their young," he said, sardonically not wanting to get involved, but looked over to make sure little Ellis was safe inside. 

Donny Blaser had triumphantly picked the short stick and won the privilege of greeting John. John came, thinking he would be entertained, little did he know, however, he was about to be the entertainment. It was like having a cannibal invite you for dinner and making the mistake of asking what he was serving for the main course.                                         HELLO? You are the main course! 

The light flickered over the kitchen table and Kurt knew the dirty deed was done. Donny grabbed a hold of John completing the circuit and SURPRISE! John screeched like a girl and his thick black hair stood up on end producing Venice's first Afro setting a trend to come. John writhed in pain as the boys refused to let him go... UNTIL...  Until, they witnessed the prerequisite wet spot on the front of his pants that sent the triumphant Wolf Pack into hysterics. 

Hidden in her room, mom called down to see what the ruckus was all about. No one answered the phone because they were too busy zapping innocent bystanders who were like mosquitoes in a bug-zapper.

After that calamity, we finally calmed down enough to sit around the Formica table with gobs and gobs of spaghetti piled high on our plates hopefully searching for the rare specks of meat. The phone rang again. All twenty of us in the room knew it was mom upstairs doing her reverse ring-thing she figured out when eavesdropping on the boys.... and we also knew what she was calling about. After about 20 rings Tony confidently picked up the phone and answered as though it were a complete stranger. "Hello, yes he is,"  he said and handed me the receiver. I rolled my eyes, because I knew he was lying - it really wasn't for me. Locked in her room like a prisoner, she was looking for someone to bring up one of her Carnation Instant Breakfast drinks she had hidden in the stinky Tupperware drawer.

No one was going to bring it up to her any way but me. So I complied by mixing a packet with some of my dad's spurious milk concoction and ran it upstairs, knocked on her door and left it there for her.

When I came downstairs I looked to make sure no one was holding on to the wires and saw that it was all copacetic. I took a bite of spaghetti and a sip of the milk stuff...that's when the room got silent and all eyes were trained on me. Mouth agape I knew something was dreadfully wrong and my stomach churned in fear. Faces went sour and Dooh-Dooh Pants said in a well rehearsed manner, "Ewwwwwwww! Tony put a booger in your cup." There I sat with a fresh milk mustache and my stomach heaved... There was nothing I could do! Knowing my superpowers they roared with laughter and as usual expected me to spring to my feet and make a mad dash for the bathroom. It was quite the game!  Churing in my belly was this morning's oatmeal, sourdough toast and three bites of spaghetti.  As usual, they anticipated my frantic jont to toilet and had also planned to trip me up on the way. 

Warm vomit filled my cheeks and another volley heaved in my gut and I just 'let her loose.' Mt. Vesuvius... Krakatoa... the volcano exploded and the warm mixture shot out 10 feet as I sprayed the stuff like a Gatling Gun, making sure that everyone in the room was as tormented as I was. The older boys grabbed the girls and used them as splash shields and the Spaghetti Fest was over!

It was a good day afterall!  I had won! Everyone will remember that this is the day... Markie D foiled the Wolf Pack!

WELCOME TO THE DAHLINS FOR DINNER!

That night I went to bed with boxing gloves on and a smile on my face. 









I don't know if the pee-pee part is true or not, but it sure makes for a good story... (a TRUE story seasoned with a bit of literary license). 

part 3 THE HAMPER OF DEATH: Blazing Saddles

Last time I left off with the old metal container being carried off by the wolf pack as though they were a cannibal tribe carrying an unwelcome guest in a giant stew pot to the sacrificial fire.  Kidnapped and squished inside the tin can of death I had no idea where the agitated hordes were taking me.

“Si se puedes!” yelled Chewy like a cheerleader. The swarm of neighborhood locust heard his chant and cheered thinking he was egging them on in his native Spanish.  Up, up, up… they excitedly lifted me precariously high over their heads in the ex-baby-diarrhea-diaper-pail, turned hamper, turned sacrificial tribal-pot-of-torture and imminent death.  Thinking about the mountain of stinky baby diapers my stomach heaved desperately wanting to release all of its contents but my brain knew that trapped inside this dark, small, airless space was a bad Idea.   I could hear angels singing. I was going to die, they were here to carry me home.

Wait!

It wasn’t angels…it was the Lennon Sisters practicing for the Lawrence Welk show. The restless brood was carrying me off in the direction of the Lennon’s house. That was all I knew at that moment!

The metal coffin crashed with a loud thud as they dropped my ceremoniously to the ground in middle of the street.  Were they going to leave me here to play chicken with traffic?   Blind and unable to move I had a serious disadvantage. Was Tony going to electrocute the container I was in…the mad scientist loved to play with electricity.

 

Mr. Steadman stood on the porch and yelled inside to Mrs. Steadman, “Lock the doors; the Wolf Pack is on the move.”  Peering out through the blinds she mumbled back… “No wonder lions eat their young.”

Thump…. Thump…. Thump… Thump…. Thump…  Several hands began tapping out a beat on my metal container like a tribal war drum.  They giggled and laughed and began to sing along with the rap-tap-tapping on my vessel of death. Then one of the boys (I think it was Dooh-Dooh Pants) began to lead them in a chant that sounded like the witch’s minions in the Wizard of Oz…

“Oh-Wee-Oh. Wee-Oh… Oh-Wee-Oh, Wee-Oh…”

On and on they droned along with the tribal rhythm being pounded out on the lid of my latched container until someone kicked it onto its side. Crash!  Then, with a great shove, one of the boys sent me - my container - the lid - the latch and all, sliding sideways across the asphalt. The metal grated against the asphalt with a horrible screech that sounded like Sister Godzilla’s fingernails against a chalkboard, only a thousand times louder!

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhh,” I screamed, thinking this is how they were going to kill me… they intended to slide me around the neighborhood until my ears bleed and my brain explodes.

IF ONLY!

If only I knew what was going to happen next… I would have wished this was the way they had conspired to kill me.  If only.

Anyway, they shot me across the asphalt like an astronaut in a cockeyed rocket launch…that went sideways. My metal container screeched until it crashed to a halt with a colossal CLUNK striking something ginormous and solid and heavy and metal.  I didn’t know just how frightened I should be...but began to get a clue when I heard all ten-thousand feet hurriedly scramble away in a million directions as if they had seen King Kong. It was like a scene in an Alfred Hitchcock horror film. 

 Even the angelic voices from the Lennon House stopped singing. It was an ominous sign that I felt deep in my bones. I had no idea just how diabolical the plan was that they had hatched for the hamper and me.

That was until!

Until, I heard the dreadful and terrifying sound of Edna’s screen door hinges screeching. 

GOOSEBUMPS!  Every single hair on my arms and back of neck stood up in the sudden realization of exactly where I was… My rusted burial sarcophagus had come to rest and was lodged under the rear differential of Edna’s behemoth precious BUICK. 

I screamed as I heard her frantic footsteps racing off her wooden porch towards me.

“Help Edna, stop!” I wanted her to know that there was a child stuck inside the putrid can that was stuck under her car.  ‘Edna, Nooooooo…if you kill me, you’re breaking the 5^th commandment” I thought a dose of Catholic guilt might save my life, until I heard her keys jiggling in the door. I WAS A GONNER!

 

They couldn't erase me at Salton Sea, so maybe this was their next chance.

Varoom roared the engine to life…Her car jerked backwards as she hastily forced the gear shift lever through reverse on the way to drive… creasing the hamper and pinning me inside my tiny metal coffin under the heavy metal housing of her behemoth Buick’s rear end.   

Tires squealing, can screeching, sparks flying and kid screaming.  The angry grouch tore down the street in her 18 ton battleship with my hamper of death heating up and shooting a forty foot rooster tail of sparks. 

Talk about blazing saddles... my stinky death container was getting red hot and my Swedish little derriere was hotter than molten lava... Krakatoa (east of java) was about to erupt.