The Interrupted Funeral: Conclusion of the Whale's Tale!

What started out as a fisherman's dream to get out beyond the Marina Del Rey breakwater and into the open ocean to match wits and to do battle with a few feisty fish turned into a tragic tale of Epic proportions.

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While the hippies were having a solemn memorial vigil in the backyard, Mrs Blaser and Mrs. Nargie sat tearfully with Mrs. D as she had to make the most difficult phone call of her life. It was hard enough losing two of her own children, but now feeling somewhat responsible, she had to tell Mrs, Gherhing the news that her seventh-grade-boy had died recklessly at sea in one of the Dahlin boats.

No rattlesnakes had escaped, but one of the older boys raised the "Don't Tread On Me" flag at half mast in order for the neighborhood to mourn the loss of the three boys!

The one lone corbina Karl caught, turned out to "THE DEADLIEST CATCH"

While Raul and the Coast Guard Cutter were battling the ruff seas to pick up shards of debris from the small craft that was being battered against of the cement  pylons of the Venice pier...Karl, Patrick and I were battling Moby Dick! Alright, so it wasn't the notorious Moby Dick, but it was one angry whale that had one bad attitude.

Karl and I attempted to beat the whale off with the wooden oars (as though that helped make matters any better) as Patrick hid under the bow and...well...cried...and said Sr. Edith's prayer over and over again.  The relentless whale kept coming back..over and over again - ramming us from the side - coming up under the our rickety wooden boat and flung us into the air like a popsicle stick. We were so busy fighting the leviathan that we hadn't noticed that the giant sea creature had actually pushed us northward against the current just beyond the opening of the breakwater and left just as fast as he appeared.  The wind and the southward swell pushed us right into the mouth of the Marina. The same whale that almost killed us saved us from the sure death that of being pulverized into splinters against the breakwater rocks.   Triton or Aquaman or God or something was on our side.


A three hour tour...a three hour tour.

Karl tinkered with the sickly motor for another half hour until it sputtered and coughed and barely chugged us back to the launch ramp.





After backing the boat into its spot next to the two sailboats and the green MG that were crammed under the palm tree...Karl took the whale-slapping-paddle to defend himself against the 4-inch razor-sharp talons of the crazy attack rooster as he entered the backyard. When Karl got back to the Wall Drug - hippie haven "Hooch Hut"- he sensed the heavy hearts and quietly joined the long hairs who were sharing fond memories of a friend who had apparently died at sea. Taking turns they puffed the magic dragon that medicated them in this difficult time and in turn boasted of who saw "The Fisherman" last as though each word had sacred importance which gave them bragging rights. Karl sat in awe of this heroic and legendary person they grieved, taking a hit from the refer that was being passed around from lip to lip he also shared a few memories of his own of the unknown friend. Having no idea that Karl was in their midst, his long soliloquy was followed by awed and reverent responses.
                                         "Dude..."
                                                     "Dude...Dude"
                                                               "Dude...Dude...Bro!"
To which they all bowed their heads and became quiet... until Karl asked, "Dude...don't double Dude bro...like, who are we talking about?" And when they looked up and saw who it was - they jumped on him in jubilation and a brawl broke out (all except for the guy who peed his pants).

Meanwhile Patrick and I slipped  inside the house through the side door into the kitchen, and made some sourdough toast to warm our bodies. In the other room all the ladies from the neighborhood along with some of our neighborhood chums who were gathered in then living room, except for Mrs. Lennon. One of the Priest from Saint Marks was there to guide them through the process of grief as they also shared stories of three very special people who had died. Patrick and I quietly ate our warm sourdough and listened from the other room behind closed doors. We cried along with all those in the other room about these three, poor, lost souls who had lived lives of near sainthood. Then pride - than shame struck us as we realized that we had been eavesdropping on our funeral like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. .I have to admin it felt good to listen to all the lies everyone were saying about us...I wished it went on longer and I wished I had known me better!

Patrick belched and mom slid open the huge double doors into the dining room and everyone saw us sitting there in tears eating toast when someone exclaimed "It's a miracle."
"A resurrection!" shouted Father Shelton... as moms rushed to hug us, until Ulrich and his crew thought it was a terribly and cruel joke in manipulating everyone emotions and jumped on top us and beat the crude out of us.

We obviously deserved some "Keel Hauling" and gladly received our due penance - we were just thankful to be alive!

Later, Mrs. Lennon and the Lennon Sisters told me they would have been there for my impromptu funeral service, but they were busy filming their first Kellogg's Special K commercial.

Good for you Mrs. Lennon...Good for you!

And everyone lived happily after after...

Until Good Friday!

"Thar She Blows!" With the Dahlins - Fact is stranger than Fiction!

The 'O Johnson outboard motor quit and we were doomed to a violent death. Every time one of the huge swells picked up our little boat it tossed us closer and closer to the rocks of the Marina breakwater. I think that the corbina on the end of the Karl's fishing line was so afraid that of the angry seas that it leaped right into our 16' leaky boat. Karl handed me the pole and grabbed the pull-starter rope and began pulling with the might of a Viking sea warrior!  10 times! 20 times! 30 times!  Karl pulled that rope as the motor only gave one hopeful cough to tease us with hope!    

WE WERE GOING TO DIE!


Just then we saw a Coast Guard boat head out of the Jetty!
WE were SAVED!

We yelled and screamed and waved our arms and begged for rescue. Patrick climbed out from under the front where he had strapped himself to the only two life preservers on board and joined in the frantic plea for help. Again, gravity pulled us quickly down the backside of the last swell and were swallowed from visibility in the trough as though we had totally disappeared off the face of the earth.  

CRASH went our small boat at the bottom as if being immersed in baptism.

Patrick was flung from the bow like a missile launched from Cape Canaveral and Karl reached up and snagged "Gherhing the Great" by the foot and reeled him in to safety - if that's what you can call it.

As we ascended to the top of the next swell, not only did we get closer to the hungry rocks, but we saw the backside of the Coast Guard Cutter speeding away in the direction of the Venice Pier.

By my estimation, I figured that we had two more swells until we would be crushed against the rocks - pulverized into oblivion as if a block of cheese with a cheese-grater.

King Triton must have been angry with us...or God maybe, for throwing up on a Priest at church. This might have been my fault! I didn't dare tell the other guys!

 Karl must have pulled that rope a thousand more times. NOTHING

It was time!  It was time for Sister Edith's prayer! Patrick had climbed under the hull again and resigned himself to death. I didn't have the heart to tell the poor guy that our life preservers were so old and used that by now the vinyl compartments leaked and sucked in water which turned the orange things into nothing more than lead weights - sea anchors. I was certain Pat would be the first to meet 'O Davy Jones!

Here goes..."Oh dear Lord, I love you and am sorry for my sins." This was not a prayer to Saint Anthony - the Patron Saint of "Lost Causes" - No, this was a prayer of giving up all hope and that God would spare us a little time in Purgatory!



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

 "THAR SHE BLOWS"  This next part of the story doesn't happen in real life - only in stories - so you'd think!

We mistakenly thought everything up to this point was bad - HA! But it continued to go from very, very, very, very bad to much, much worse!

You can sign up for a "whale watching" cruise from the Marina Del Rey with absolutely no guarantee what-so-ever that you'll even see a whale! And when you do, they seem so peaceful as if they enjoy sharing the ocean with other inhabitants of the world.

 "Look mom" some kid shouts "Look.. a whale" and some other stupid kid says "Thar she blows" trying to be funny and the people aboard grab their Instamatic Cameras - exclaim "ooh and ahhs" and furiously snaps pictures of the majestic peaceful creatures.

That's how it's supposed to happen, Not here... not this time. Not when King Triton is angry at you for some unknown reason.

The weather was already getting rough
the leaky boat was tossed...
all for the sake of a stupid fish
The Minnow would be lost.
The Minnow, the corbina, the Johnson, Patrick, Markie d and Karl would be lost.


Don't ask me why the dumb whale was so angry - woke up on the wrong side of the bed I guess or it was following Triton's order to kill us. When upset, those large docile animals have a force not to be reckoned with. This thing came right at us! It charge us and rammed into the side of our pathetic little craft. Karl picked up a paddle and tried to hit the thing, thinking he could scare it off - you know - like punching a shark in the nose.   Uh...Uh!

"Oh Captain, my captain!"

I got a paddle out and was thinking I could use it to keep us off of the rocks - even though I thought Patrick, with his life-preservers, might make a better a buttress against our imminent appointment with death - if I were to strap him to the side of the boat like a human-sized dock-buoy.

The massive sea creature came back again -  this time underneath the boat and flicked up into the air with its mighty tail, like we were nothing more than a toy to be played with.

Over and over again we battled - oars swinging - swatting whale blubber - and Karl cursing at the beast!
Another swell -  another ramming! The USS Minnow would be lost.



An hour later Mrs D. got the call from the Coast Guard! A small blue and white boat was found split in two and no survivors were found.

Everyone on Harding Avenue heard the news - some cried - but not all.

As for the hippies - well, they retreated to the hippy enclave in the ivy hangout behind our house known as "Wall Drug" and toked on the leaves from the "Mexican Tomato plants" in mournful remembrance of their comrade The Great and Mighty Fisherman, Karl Dahlin and also talked kindly about his peanut sized minions who had drowned at sea.