The hilarious, picture-driven, true memoir of the youngest boy of the 60's "most dysfunctional family." Markie d's quest for survival and identity helps us discover and deal with the dysfunction in all of us. Funny, politically incorrect and thought provoking.
In the words of an ancient sage, "Laughter is good medicine."
'72 swim team
My New Tribe
Showing posts with label Martin Luther King jr. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Martin Luther King jr. Show all posts
I was so proud that my buttons almost burst off my shirt. A moment that sent a scream of jubilation in a movie Theater last Tuesday night.
A moment that I hope that Dahlins, Blasers, Lennons, Tripps, Nargies, McClains, Cheryl Arnold Moseley, everyone on Harding Avenue, those from Venice - Chrys Atwood and those with roots in Santa Monica will also feel proud and might join together with me in a special moment of celebration.
But first this...
I don't exactly know where I was on March 21, 1965 as a 9-year-old at Saint Mark's grammar school in Venice Ca. It could have been I was being shot by my older brothers with needle-tipped arrows, shoved in a hamper, buried in a pit in the backyard or the day I accidentally discovered the alligator in the bath tub - I don't know. I don't know if it was one of the days I was dancing with my squishy black angel from Watts. I do know it was the year I was left behind at Salton Sea by my family and even more importantly than all of that - it was the first day of the Selma March in Alabama.
Martin Luther King had put out the call to clergy to join the March from Selma to Montgomery for the rights of black Americans to exercise their constitutional right to vote. Six nuns from the Midwest responded to King's call and joined the Martin Luther King in the march. It was the first time that vowed Catholic
women had made so public a political statement, that changed the tide of public
opinion. My Aunt Mary was one of those nuns who were later referred to as Sisters of Selma featured in a PBS special documentary. I am proud to say that my Aunt, Sister Mary Leoline, (native of Santa Monica - graduate of Saint Monica High School - who, during retirement lived in Venice at the Harding House) was the only nun to walk the entire March. YES, SHE WAS THE ONLY NUN to march the entire way... THIS BRINGS ME TO THE JUBILATION SCREECH that disrupted the MOVIE THEATER... last Tuesday night!
A contingent group of my family in Southern California were watching "Selma" last Tuesday night, when at the end of the movie, a large cameo of original footage of Sister Mary Leoline -i.e. Aunt Mary - walks across the screen at the finish line of the Selma March in a single shot!
Pictured to the left is older brother, Kurt Dahlin, President and founder of Water Wells for Africa (http://waterwellsforafrica.org) bringing the gift of water and life to 200,000 people every single day in Malawi.
This same excited gasp exuded from the four of us in Northern California who went to see the film the day before on Monday (with my mother-in-law, Sharon, who walked in the James Meredith march in 1966).
The same thing happened in Carmel California when my big sister, Mary Leoline (named after Aunt Mary), was watching the movie and also again in Las Cruses, New Mexico, when my little sister, Karin, was likewise shocked by the wonderful surprise of seeing this larger than life footage of our Aunt Mary "Bearing Witness for Change."
VENICE - SANTA MONICA we have something to cheer about and can celebrate our rich heritage that made a significant impact in the world.
It was October 1968 and I laid in the old hospital bed (that had been moved upstairs to my room) recovering from the big accident at McElliots' pool that should killed me. My leg had been stitched together and looked worst than Frankenstein's face. Most of my leg was still numb felt like they had installed a metal plate inside my leg behind the 97 stitches that ran a zig-zagged path from above my knee all the way up my left thigh.
President Johnson had said that he would not seek re-election which made all of us Dahlins really sad, since we felt like we had bonded with him a couple months ago along the shore of that muddy Texas river. My dad said that the biggest laugh the President had during his time in the White House was when he pranked us with the bit about snapping turtles (Blog 9/14/13).
Everything was was going pretty good with the Apollo 7. It was still orbiting around the earth at this time, which was pretty important for the United States, because we had been so far behind the Soviet Union in the Race to Space! We need some good news from all the bad news. JFK's brother, Robert Kennedy's assassination in June and Martin Luther King Jr's assassination 2 months before that - along with Vietnam war protest, the marijuana plants hidden in our backyard, the fleas in my bedroom and the crazy-attack Rooster, "El Pollo-Loco" the boys were about to bring home. We desperately needed something positive to cheer about. I did!
In the meantime my faithful and loyal dog, Poochie, laid on my bed and chewed his butt because of all the fleas. By taking down the pool, (seen to the right) we had gotten rid of most to the "mosquito problem" that we created in California when we had traveled back east with my Dad's "Sugar Water" invention in our hair(blog post 9/21/13). But now our house had become infested with fleas instead.
Don Blaser next door had hated our mosquitoes and was even more passionately opposed to our migrating fleas that ended up on their perfectly groomed collie.
Everyone wanted to blame my mangy mutt Poochie, but my dad said he thought the fleas were from the hippie-commies that my older brothers had evolved into.
Here is a picture of them.
Oops sorry - wrong picture!
Here's a couple pictures of the evolution of my sibling wolf-pack.
from here
To here
to here
to here
to here
to This
I could be wrong, but I think they are picking fleas off each other in this picture...I wondered if that is why they launched the rockets so far away from Venice, so that none of our fleas would make it abroad the Apollo rocket-ships. Image having to live with a couple inside your space suit. "No Sir," someone in charge of NASA probably said, "lets put the launch pads in Texas or in Florida."
Anyway, at midnight they sent Syndrom and Cosmo and Ulrich over the chain-link fence at the toxi-water, drainage-ditch (near where they converted the marsh lands into what we call the Marina Del Rey) to fetch that great, big, ugly, killer rooster! And from the story, Four Eyes came back and reported to me - it sounded like the dreaded Veloci-Rooster got the best of Ulrich and his "Small-Man" crew.
I not going to lie. When he told me the story, I thought all 97 stitches were going to pop!
That crusty old bird (if you can call it that) herded all three of the boys into a corner and took flight into an all-out air-assault. He boys cowered together as the bird repeatedly struck them with it's sharp 4 inch talons. Under the influence of hippie-herbal "Mexican Tomato Plants" the Viking Tribe on the outside of the fence thought this was the funniest thing had they ever seen.
"Reefer madness!...Reefer madness!" one of them kept shouting between hearty guffaws.
"Ha..ha...can you dig it bro"
While the rooster attacked, the three trapped boys screamed like little girls that made the guys on the outside of the fence - laugh even harder. "That bird is going ape on the little spaz'es...Ha...ha..ha"
"Dude...far out... groovy"
Smoking the cannabis may have made this funny for the guys on the outside, but for the three trapped monkeys on the inside it apparently didn't do anything to numb the pain
"In your face" Ulrich screamed angrily.
"Hey...hey...hey...hey...hey―" said one of outsiders in reply...until interrupted.
"Cheese it! The Cops! The motley crew took cover until the patrol car passed and then sent a couple of guys over the fence who bagged the bird from behind, while it was distracted withdrawing blood from the angry "little-man" crew.
As Four Eyes related all the juicy details of the story... he told me about the boys conversation once they had gotten back from this latest escapade and regrouped at Wall Drug at 2:00 in the morning.
The three boys were still whimpering and whining from the 68 bloody pock-marks inflicted by the Veloci-Rooster that had been released in the Dahlin backyard.
In a sing-song voice, Primo said, "Cock-a-doodle-do, says the rooster. "
"Ow ow ow, says the little man crew..." Weltz added in perfect sync.
"Poochie goes woof" said another keeping pace with the song.
"The cat goes, meow"
"The bird goes, tweet"
"And mouse goes...squeak"
"Yeah, but what do the stupid dweebs say? ow, ow ow!" They all laughed at their cleverness
Chewbacca (who really wasn't paying attention) said, "Yeah... man... but what does a fox say?"
The hordes of hippies stopped dead in their tracks and couldn't come up with an answer.
"Idiot" Ulrich shouted in an attempt at payback.
Chewbacca swatted him in the head
Laughter... then the boys started making up stuff.
"Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!
"What does a fox say?" They mimicked Chewbacca... and they all laughed again until they were bent over in tears.
When Four Eyes told me this part of the story, I told him this was the stupidest thing I had ever heard.
He said, "Yeah... but knowing your people, it'll probably become a song some day."
"My people? What do you mean by my people ?" I hoped he was talking about hippies and not Swedes.
When he saw the intent look on my face, he stuttered (backtracking) and said.. "Oh...oh...oh...not Swedes, but probably hippies."
We both signed in relief - that I didn't have to hit him with the crutch next to my bed. Then we both laughed and said together "Yeah, like that will ever happen!"
"Jinx" I said first - which had stopped him from talking! 'Yeah,' I thought 'like anything even remotely as stupid as the drug induced "Fox Song" could ever happen!' Right?
Now that we have acquired the dreaded Veloci-Raptor, I guess I should probably tell you about the incident with the poor, poor, unsuspecting "the Chicken lady" and her two children.
Star Date: Saturday September 10, 1966. I thought saying "Star Date" was a groovy idea since the new TV show STAR TREK came out two nights ago on Thursday.
This Saturday turns out to be one of the three longest day ever recorded.
We began at 8:00 this morning with a visit from "Honking Jimmy" who had incredibly chapped lips and Vaseline smeared all over his face (Blog post "Hotel Crazy" 7-26-2013) Tommy, Jimmy and I made progress on the cool fort, which was a large hole we had dug in the backyard - thinking that if we kept digging we would end up in China!
The Wolf Pack woke up to my Staff-Sergeant dad - beating the walls with a broom so they could come down to the feeding trough of cold gruel and spoiled milk experiments (see blog post Milk Wars).
Gustav drove up in his monstrous Hot-Rod and lent his genius to the project of electrifying the crude "fire escape" pole, that dangerously perched from the tippy-top corbel of our three and a half story dilapidated old house.
Chewbacca found the loose rattlesnake, or rather, it found him by crawling up his pant leg and settling in.
Gustav and crew, electrocuted poor Chewbacca in order to extricate the venomous snake from his underwear.
Upon returning the rattlesnake to its habitat on the third floor reptile-cages, Chewy threw a garter-snake at me, which firmly sunk in its fangs attaching itself to my arm. Swinging around, the snake hit Chewy in the face who tripped on a stick that opened the Iguana cage. Not just any Iguana cage mind you, but Iguana DEL DIABLO. The demon lizard ran for its life, chased by the Wolf Pack, down all the stairs, across the entry, past the foul-mouthed Minah bird, out the door, across the street and into the Tripp's house - seeking refuge by climbing into the wall furnace. (blog post Iguana Del Diablo 8-1-2013)
We had the entire neighborhood up in arms with "Dahlin" havoc and mayhem. The Italian family was screaming, the Steadmens made sarcastic remarks, and the famous Lennons on the corner, locked themselves securely in the safety of their living room - rarely seeing the light of day.
The Gillamonster (Johnny Gillemot) stole his mothers car, hoping to show off, but dumping the clutch instead all he managed to do was break the drive shaft.
The Wolf Pack (that's my Viking brothers) used the broken down car to stage an accident by shoving my 5th grade buddy, who like to call himself Gherhing the Great, under the front fender with ketchup smeared all over his body as a diversion in order to rip off the Helm's Bakery delivery man (Blog post "Heist" 8-3-2013).
Upon discovering the foul smelling poop Jimmy left in the fort, Gherhing the Great and I condemned it and began filling it in with dirt. Sorry China, we had to abandon our efforts to dig that far.
The boys began terrorizing Jerry the weird guest of my mother. Mom had no clue that Jerry like to touch the boys who were now set on driving him looney - thus driving him away. It has worked as he chased Dooh-Dooh Pants (that's my 4th older brother who "cut the cheese" all the time!) up the stairs and into the long back abode of the boys and of snakes. Dooh-Dooh Pants flung himself out the window like a suicidal flying squirrel onto the pole... sliding and eventually falling to safety away from the sinister clutches of Jerry "TT."
Seeing all the action, Gherhing the Great decided to get in on it by running up to the third-floor with Jerry in hot pursuit. I was right behind Gherhing who was running too much too slow. Feeling like I was about to be picked off, I and made a hasty and ill-advised decision by heading for one of the rooms on the second floor instead.
ALL OF THIS had taken place and it is still only two-something in the afternoon - with a lot more to come before the day was over.
I ran down the hall through the door to my bedroom and then proceeded through another door on oppostie side of the room which lead to the sun-porch that was now being used for junk storage. It was filled to about window level of precious stuff that we had long since forgotten about (expect of course, for the buried trunk that had the fox stoles, which my mom used for my very first Halloween costume years earlier- that caused a nun at the convent to faint and my next door neighbor to call the police - that's another story).
I hurdled myself like Iguana Del Diablo across the ancient and smelly boxes of National Geographics, over stacks of newspapers, over old clothes and stuff that was supposed to "come in handy someday" and opened the window on the far east end of the room. Scurrying back across the junk like a terrified rat, I curled up into a ball smaller than my previous record - when I was was shoved into The Hamper of Death (blog post "Hamper" 6-5-2013). Under the window and next to a old forgotten desk, I burrowed into a pile of newspapers covering myself in musty old clothes. There was no way Jerry "TT" could ever find me! I had heard some of the awful rumors and didn't want to find out if they were true or not. I was safe as long as I didn't give myself away by breathing too loud.
Jerry scanned the room and saw the open window. I was hoping he thought maybe I had flung myself to my death, rather than the alternative of being apprehended by his soft icky hands. He clumsily climbed over the piles of junk and viewed out the window; seeing that my body was not lying on the cement below, he proceeded to scrutinized the sloping exterior of the second floor roof for a possible means of escape. He signed in defeated exasperation and departed from the room.
I
Had WON!
I had outwitted, out-played, and out-survived - Jerry (Hey, that might be a good idea for a TV show someday - use real people in it...and call it something like "Outwitted" or "Survivor" or something like that! Nah, it would never work!).
I waited a couple minutes and silently slipped my head up like a prairie dog and cautiously looked around. Like a deer in the meadow, I tuned my ears to the slightest sound as though I were like Bambi trying to see if "man was in the meadow." Except for the sound of the Wolf Pack below, I had assumed Jerry to be defeated and gone. Digging myself out of the hole as if pulling myself up out of quicksand I finally emerged standing on the pile of junk pumping my triumphant fist into the air. The celebration didn't last long as Jerry violently swung the door opened jolting my faint heart into shock. Jerry gave that sickening grin and it was at that point that I decided it was best to throw myself out of the window. Turning the latch, with one foot on the sill I catapulted myself aiming for the lawn - hoping only for broken legs - THAT HAD TO BE BETTER, RIGHT?
As I sprung from the window sill, a sickness came over me, realizing the horror that Jerry had me by the belt. Kicking and screaming he drug me back into the room against every fiber that fought against him.
"What big eyes you have" "What big teeth you have" "What big hands you have Jerry" I thought. Empowered by mom's "Under-Pain-of-Mortal-Sin" clause... Jerry turned me over his lap and began spanking me with too much delight and too much delay in each lingering swat.
The good news and bad news was - that while Jerry had been stalking me, Chewy had preceded to slide down the "fire escape" pole when Gustav and the Wolf Pack threw the electrical switch (after all, he was the one who let Iguana Del Diablo get away - it was his fault). Chewy was only about half way down to the second story when he let go of the electrified pole and tumbled to the azalea bush below breaking his arm in two places. Yes, it was bad for poor- Chewy... but the good news was that the timing probably saved my life from being eaten by the "Big Bad Wolf"
On behalf of my mother, Matilda, my year-older-sister, came into the room screaming for Jerry to drive her and bent arm Chewy to Saint John's emergency room.
Matilda looked at me, horrified that I was in the greasy clutches of Jerry "TT" and trying to protect me she screamed even louder for him to stop what he was doing and to rush to my mother's aid.
"Thank you Matilda...and thank you God for breaking Chewy's arm," I silently prayed, giving thanks for the Wolf Pack's diabolical scheming and for Chewy's willingness to break his arm on my behalf.
There was no such thing as 911 back then and in an emergency, you had to find the phone number of an ambulance company. Our phone books were typically buried under piles of stacked rubble and could never be found or retrieved in urgent moments of an emergency, which meant that mom had to solicit rides to the hospital from the most expedient means. At our house that meant a willing person with a working car which was least likely a Dahlin.
In this case - hallelujah- it was Jerry "TT." This reminds me of Martin Luther King Jr. speech 3 years ago as I began shouting "Free at last, Free at last."
"Yes mam" I thought, as if talking to Irene "I got wings. All God 's chillen's.. we got a wings" (Blog Post "It's Friday July 15th 2013).
Little did the Lennons (who were tucked away in the safety of their own home) know...Wait ...little did we know that later that night, one of our UFO experiments would go terribly wrong and catch their house on fire.
Here is the link to my Blog post that tells the Story of Aunt Mary. 
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