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!  

Show and Tell and the Ebola Outbreak

(continued from last time) Sunday night before the big day at the Saint Marks eight grade "Show and Tell" I pulled out a paper and began brainstorming.
  
There had to be something from the insane zoo we had at our house that I could bring that would impress the love of my life:   Alligator too dangerous (already wrestled with the hideous beast that crawled out of the primordial swap of evolution)The 12-year-old and the Alligator

Grandpa the giant frog - too management intensive, needs slimy-green, mosquito-laden water - yuck (gagging thinking about it).
 Grandpa the Mutant Bullfrog






Fat Pinky:  NO. No. No. NO! It's not right.  He would know why I brought him and would probably sit on me (my brothers tried to keep him in the house as much as possible)









The monkey was my best option - until I remembered how it liked to fondle itself, and in a moment of clarity, figured I couldn't subject the kids to that kind of graphic imagery involving boy parts.

Poochie the "The Wonder Dog" had been missing for 3 days and I was stuck! None of kids would be impressed by a brown beagle (even if I could find the missing companion) and none of our other animals were safe to go to a Catholic School. Iguana Del Diablo Escapes



I decided that I would try to get one of my 8 older hippie brothers to come with me to school tomorrow for Show and Tell.  The other kids had to love that..right?  Besides, I don't think any of them had ever seen a real hippie before...


Chewbacca was out of school and I thought maybe the other kids would like to see one "up close and personal," they could touch his hair and ask him questions about his eating and grooming habits.


YES! Brilliant...who would think of that! This would make me famous and Andrea would have to take notice of me for sure (as Chewbacca would say, "Like..it's all copacetic...man." He used "man" and "like" as if they were punctuation marks.)

I asked, Chewbacca if he would like to come to school with me and after he caught me held me down and tortured me to death by tickling - I had to tell the truth. I told him it was for Show and Tell. And when he forced me to explain that it was because he was a hippie he squeezed my forehead and gave me a "template." Chewbacca and the Template Torture

I woke up from my unconscious state with nothing on but my chonies - and freaked out when I discovered that he and Ulrich had taken off my clothes and covered my entire body in red spots with a indelible red marker.

This turned out to be a blessing in disguise - Now I had some communicable disease that would make it impossible for me to go to school - at least until after the Thanksgiving break!

I put my hand on a light bulb, faintly grabbed my mom's hand and barely managed to get out the name of my sickness - "chicken pox leprosy" and dramatically collapsed just after saying that I couldn't go to school in the morning.

She said, "You're Swedish...I don't want to hear your excuses! You're getting up and going to school in the morning"

This went from bad to very worst...I had no animal for Show and Tell... my body is covered in red spots from head to toe... AND mom is making me go to school! I THINK mom thought that I had painted myself like this and wanted me to suffer the consequences... UGGGHHHHHHhhhh!  She even quoted my eight grade teacher, Sister Schultz, "You shouldn't have put yourself in that position" double ugh!

That Monday morning I woke up early to take care of my "trash day" duties (because the lazy hippies sleep until noon) when the crazy monster from hell - the Veloci-Rooster, broke our agreement and attacked me on the way back from the alley to the house. Now I had five deep holes in my leg and was dripping with fresh blood. This was only getting better. I smeared the blood on my face and arms and tore off the leg of one of Ulrich's hand-me-down uniform pants. I looked like nothing you had ever seen before - A ZOMBIE. This was better than the "The Wolf Boy" 12 second preview of Wolf Boy 

I bandaged my head, picked up my old crutches from last year where I nearly died Markie's Death and pathetically hobbled to school with the fresh stream of blood running down from knee cap to sock- looking one of the "pagan-children" in an improvised country you gave money at church to sponsor.  I slowly passed by Sister Superior's office making sure to catch her attention... and I guessed it worked. She screamed, intercepted me, turned me around and said, "Where do you think you are going young man."

"To class" said I, in my best Tiny Tim impression..."despite this case of bleeding Ebola or fatal leprosy or whatever this is...." voice fading as though I could die at any minute - then pretended to try turn back as if I wanted to be in school.

"Over my dead body" she replied, emphatically planting her feet and hands firmly on hips - blocking my way taking a step back for fear of making physical contact with me... "Go home!" she demanded pointing out the door like I was a rabid dog.

"I can't. I need a note from my mother!" I said with puppy dog eyes as though I was always this obedient.

"Leave this instant and I'll talk to your mother!"


Thank you Chewbacca
Thank you Veloci-Rooster
Thank you Sister Superior

I got to skip school and didn't have to show up for the stupid Show and Tell... Hallelujah! Her expulsion saved me from embarrassment of being seen with red dots.

Maybe I still had a chance with Andrea.

Maybe I still had a chance to find out what this thing called love was all about.

Like the dude that was healed by Jesus in the gospels...I picked up my crutches and ran.

Love: Serious Sad Sinister and too Happy

Star date: 1969

That's me in eight grade!

A little serious
A little sad
A little sinister

Always contemplating the world around me and probably more than anything else - HAPPY!  Probably too happy - that's what Jeffery's mom, Jeanette Lennon, thought... and always asked me why?

She asked why I was smiling - like it was a bad thing and interrogated me about my incessant whistling.  I really wasn't aware of it until she brought it up and realized that I didn't have a good answer and felt like maybe she was accusing me of  hiding something... like I had buried a million dollars in the backyard or a body or something. But, as I thought about her questions, I felt the answer did not lie in a hidden treasure,  but might have been the fact that I was actually a little retarded!

It seems to me that retarded people are always happy and I didn't have a good explanation as to why I felt so confident at times like one of those young characters in a Disney movie who was homeless and penniless - you know, one of those street rats who enjoyed the difficulty of fending for himself as I moved throughout the neighborhood like the artful dodger, bouncing from house to house, trying to avoid the traps set for me by the Wolf Pack.

Anyway, my brothers (the Wolf Pack) told me that I was retarded and I began to believe them. I suspected that something must have been wrong with my brain cells.
After all I wrestled an alligator click here: Reptile Dysfunction

Lost a battle with the Dreaded Veloci-Rooster Click here Prophet of Evil or Bird
Was buried alive  Kid in a Pit and a Water Hose
Survived the Monkey Fiasco at the LA Zoo Monkey Business

          Had my leg chopped off My death and long-haired hippies



Attacked by a whale... No lie - A Whale of a Tale!
and sent to Valhalla and back in the Hamper of Death Hamper of Death: I took the bait!
Not to mention that was I LEFT BEHIND by my family at Salton Sea Abandoned and LEFT BEHIND







I don't know what was wrong with me - after being shot and buried and attacked and tied up and caged and electrocuted and suffocated - to be left out and always made to feel like I was on the outside - if anyone had any reason to feel sad or sorry for himself - it was me! But, it's like I had this glow-plug thingy inside that burned with some kind of secret knowing.  It might have been the same thing that Joseph (you know, the younger brother in the Bible who had the coat of many colors) had burning in him, despite the fact, he had lots of mean older brothers who picked on him and tricked him, and threw him in a pit and left him behind.

Anyway, I didn't want the kids at Saint Marks grammar school to know I was retarded or had some kind of mental problem, because I was in love with Andrea and wanted to see what this thing that other people had a lot to talk about was all about. Though we had a million people living in our house...no one ever used the "L" word. I never heard it in a conversation and no one had ever said it to me. I wanted to know what it felt like and what it meant to be loved and to feel as though I mattered to someone.

LOVE!
What was it?
What did it mean?
Could that little cutie, Andrea possibly like someone like me - who was damaged goods? I had superpowers that helped me survive and that made me numb to a lot of physical torture and also might have made my heart numb as well. Was it possible for me to find out what love was and wanted to know that I could be loved and was becoming more and more desperate to find out?

Today was the day!  Happy, Smiling, Whistling, Markie D - the artful dodger would dare look up from his his shoes and mismatched socks and say a word to her.  Our eight grade nun, Sister Shultz, set us free for recess and today I would make the big move. During recess I wondered off from the boys reservation to where the girls congregated like the noisy seagulls at the beach and pretended the reason for invading their sacred territory was, because I needed a drink from the water fountain.

There was a little buzz when I walked by... and I felt like maybe they were talking about me... maybe even making fun of me. I hated that feeling. Things got quiet! I hated that even more it made me feel self conscience like they were looking through me with a magnifying glass and were mocking my insecurities and fear of the dark and flaws and shortcomings - like they were seeing all the trash and junk in our backyard as though that was me... Venice Trash Towers .  I doubted myself and my plan but continuing with my ruse, I put my mouth close to the disgusting fixture and turned the chrome handle on the porcelain fountain as if this drink of water was an important reason for being in the girl's corner of the schoolyard.

I took control of the situation and turned that handle with all the vigor I could muster. I would show those girls that I wasn't afraid of them or of afraid of what they thought of me. I was in love or something like that... at least I think I was... and this was my big shot at find out if I was worthy of someone's affection.

Speaking of my big shot - the water shot out with the force of the jet spray of a rocket ship and hit me right in the eye. Michael Boyle was known to take boogers and jam them into the water spickets - just for occasions like this.

Blinded, I reeled up and thought about how one of Michael's fat, gross, boogers had embedded itself in my eye socket, which triggered my vomit sensors and I ended up ingloriously puking my guts up in front of 30 laughing girls and the one I hoped to impress the most. EPIC FAIL!

Needless to say, today didn't go as planned. Sister Shultz scolded me and said, "That I shouldn't have put myself in that position." Like it was my fault that Boyle pasted a green globule of snot in the faucet and that I shouldn't have punched him in the face.

I said to her, "Well, he shouldn't have put himself in that position" which was brilliant by the way.. only it was an hour later on my way home after detention and under my breath a dozen times - wanted to fell like I had won.  

Once again I managed to make a fool of myself and moseyed home like a defeated dog with his tail between his legs, but after a couple rounds of my pretend shouting match with the Catholic nun that looked like Sergeant Shultz (on Hogans Heros) my whistling returned as I rounded the corner by the burned down Fraternity House. I was looking forward to playing with Tommy or Jeffery or Dennis - just anything that would keep me away from alligators, from electricity, from hampers and pits and arrows and BB guns and ropes and the WOLF PACK!  I had already been through enough humiliation for one day and didn't need any more torture from my older brothers.  I wanted to be anywhere, but home and needed to avoid my family at all cost.

With a spring in my step...and a little too happy...in light of the disastrous events of the day... I gladly withdrew into my mental illness - if that's what it is - daydreamed and sang the Beatles "All my Loving" totally oblivious to the ambush that awaited me behind Frank Nargie's behemoth Plymouth.

     
all my loving

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.        
 

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! 

Android users click here for. Paul Simon Loves Me Like a Rock

 

"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.

Tribute to my big brother, Karl Dahlin! 2.0

This is my Pictorial Tribute to my big brother, Karl H. Dahlin, who passed away last Monday morning, APRIL 7th at 9:25 am.   (I make sure to say that the time was specifically 9:25 am because those digits become very significant).

Karl was born on August 13th, 1948 at Saint Johns Hospital in Santa Monica, California (the second boy of the Dahlin tribe).


Mr. and Mrs. Dahlin, had one boy... then Karl...then another boy... then another boy... then another boy...

Five boys in a row - all about a year apart... (pictured from left to right) Karl, Kurt baby Erick with mom, Kris then Tony.



1955 - THEN IT HAPPENED: THE MIRACLE a Girl!   YEAH!  "We got one! We got one!"




Pictured from Right to Left  are the boys in descending order in their John Travolta suits - wide collars (way before their time) Tony, Karl, Kris and Kurt.  Erick, Mary and Mom centered

Jan 1956 - Here is Karl seen to the right at 7-years-old, being pulled in a wagon by big brother, Tony, at the new house at 925 Harding Ave in Venice.

From Left to Right Karl...Erick...Kurt...Kris...Tony(standing).
(Not pictured is Mary 1 year old)


Little did Karl know at this time that His mother was one month pregnant with another baby... due sometime in August!





August 13, 1956 -  The blessed event happened on Karl's 8th Birthday. Mom brought home another boy and presented Karl with his birthday present...a baby brother, Mark!

Dec. 1956 - 4 months later here I am, the baby on the floor, and Karl (in the very back, LEFT) can't take his eyes off of his precious birthday present.  

Ahhhhhhhhhhh....... 

The next Christmas here we are again on year older.

from Right to Left

Kurt...KARL...Erick...Tony...Mary...Kris and Mark on the rocking horse!

Here we are in 1960ish with address on pillar of "Harding" house...925 (Pay no attention to the clothes I'm wearing in lower right hand corner), and look at handsome Dad and cute KARL, far left standing behind Mary.

Now for "All Saints Day" (same early 60's era)

 Karl as First Pope 

About the same time Karl (rear right - Tony, next to him, probably standing on tippy-toes).














Same time, entire gang in front of Harding house...Karin crawling on ground probably eating snails...(Karl looking down in concern - either for her or for the snails - not sure!).

















Another Christmas goes by... Kurt and KARL











A year or two later sporting summer tans (probably just returned from one of our infamous excursion to either Kings River or a Salton Sea.

Order of appearance LEFT to RIGHT rear... KARL...Kurt...Tony (in back, probably standing on tippy-toes) Kris.

Front - Erick..Karin...Mary...Mark (and please don't look at the see through shirt) "ughhh!"










                            Karl at 13, the best looking of the bunch














This is about the time Karl brought home Bob from Saint Mark's school and he ends up staying and becoming part of our family.

Couple years later 1964-1965  Karl (center rear)
Tony definitely standing on Tippy-toes!








July 1964 just before heading out on one of our notorious family vacations to Salton Sea or to the Kings River.


Karl just before his 16th Birthday!

Pictured Left to Right KARL...dad, ("Mr. D" Carl with a 'C"who we called "daddio" at that time)  Kris and his baby brother, Mark ahhhhhhhhhhhh!









Karl taught me how to fish...
Kurt...Karin...Karl...and Mark in sombrero


                                 













                     At Salton Sea 1965

Dad sleeping on the ground, Kris in front, Me flexing behind... Erick doing something... and who knows what KARL and Steve Smith were thinking!








The British Invasion: "The Four Mop-Tops i.e. The Beatles!




Hair starts to become an issue here is Karl on one of our infamous Saturday "Hair cutting days" not wanting his hair to be cut...It is a water shed event that paves the way for all of the long in Venice CA.














Karl single-handedly corrupts the Lennons and leads them down the path of all things, "long-hair" most notability Pat Lennon and Billy.

























1973 Picture with entire family Including Bob and David and Lisa (don't forget Poochie) -  by this time our dog is the only one with short hair!

Pictured Top row Left to Right Mr. D...Mark...Karin...Bob...Tony(definitely on Tip-toes) Erick and KARL

                       Mom with Lisa and David - Kurt with Poochie... Mary... Kris kneeling (bottom right)   

1973ish, You can see one of Karl's boats in the background parked on the front lawn of 925 Harding

(above) Karl second from right! 

Karl pictured far-left in front of old dead Christmas - tree and the Troop 32 Scout Bus

 1973 - 1974 

Karl and Tuna Canyon Crew

Mid 1970's Picture taken at Saint Mark's Hall 

Family Siblings including Bob (LEFT to RIGHT) Erick...Karin...Kurt...Mary...Bob...Tony(sitting not on Tip-toes) ...Kris...Mark..  and KARL far right!

A couple years later,  Mom with all the siblings (along with Pinky Parlett and Irma)

All ten of us with Irma

End of the 70's Karl front Left.

Late 90's (reunion) all the natural born boys in order from LEFT to RIGHT

Tony...KARL...Kris...Kurt...Erick...Mark













Four Brothers 2007 in Utah


Tony (kneeling) Mark (background) Kris... and KARL to far right!

Our family at my mother's memorial service August 2009











Karl in his element with our "Real Family" at the 2013 Harding Avenue Reunion at Donny's House:
Blasers
Dahlins
Lennons
Charlie
Rita
Koz ..etc...etc...

Karl (front bottom third from left)

A recent picture I took of Karl, this past July (at Donny Blaser's house) just before his 65th birthday.

My big brother was very special to me (of course, since I was his birthday present) Karl was extremely bright...and very talented.  He greeted me at my birth and I had the chance to be with him at his peaceful passing...interesting enough, on Monday morning at 9:25am.

He made custom built cabinets for the remodel at the kitchen for 925 Harding ave... As a craftsman he did work at Bob Dylan's house and I remember when he brought back a pair of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's shoes from the custom work he did there. He did work at Cheech Marin's house (of Cheech and Chongs).

Karl could do anything he set his mind to and taught me how to make 90 degree cuts without a T-Square - I still can't figure out how he did it.


Beside a rich fishing legacy...Karl leaves behind three children: David (Married to Malyn - two grandsons Westin and Waylin and one on the way), son Michael and Daughter Karlee...

...in addition to Janet... 5 or 6 brothers, two sisters...and a bazillion nieces and nephews.









Karl you are loved...I will miss you!  

(your birthday present) Baby Brother... Mark