The Venice Invasion part II: The Scoop on the No Poop Troop!

(continued) Star-Date: July 8th 1969

All of us crazy Boy Scouts who had dizzy-heads and bloated-stomachs in the back of the converted Boy Scout Troop 32 "truck" (suffering brain and nervous system disorders from carbon-monoxide poisoning) were singing the words to new Fifth Dimension song at the top of our voices - mostly out of tune and completely out of rhythm. No matter how bad we sounded, no one either really seemed to care... or possessed the right mind to discern just how bad the cacophony really was. We were high on fumes and jacked up about the thought of the Apollo 9 moon launch...eight days from now.

When the moon is in the Seventh House

And Jupiter aligns with Mars

Then peace will guide the planets

And love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius

Age of Aquarius

Aquarius! Aquarius!

At the part of song where we bellowed the words "Aquarius," for some unknown reason Ricky ripped off his shirt as if mankind had reach the pinnacle of evolution that had inspired Cockerel to pull down his pants and "moon" the travel-coach full of the "regular" boy scouts who were passing us on the way to the National Jamboree.

 

(Here is a picture of the Boy Scout "truck" in our front yard - just behind the motley crew to the right)



"Those poor suckers" we thought about the other kids who had to travel in the confines of solemn order, stuck in a seat, on air-conditioned bus -heavily scrutinized by those in authority. Sure, we may have had headaches and stomachaches, "but, boy did we have it good!"

  We were from Venice and we were proud! 

To reiterate where we were last time, I mentioned the diabolical plan by our scoutmasters to solve the problem of mass constipation. The problem ingloriously came to light in the paste-pasta dinner-rebellion and subsequently by the fact that we had almost lost David Cockerel.

We were camped by a small lake just outside Rock Springs Wyoming on the extended detour we had planned on the way to Farragut State Park in Idaho.  Last night for dinner we had spaghetti again. AND AGAIN the noodles were not rinsed and the stuff was like gloppy paste which no one could swallow one more bite of it (except Cockerel).

Steve took his plate and pushed it down on top of Ronny's plate, sticking the two plates together. In solidarity, Philip and Chronister and James and Ricky and I all followed suit and did the same thing. I'm pretty sure this had to be a Guinness World record, and if not, a Ripley's Believe It or Not  FOR REAL!  NO LIE!

TRUTH...We stuck seven plates of spaghetti together and turned the whole shooting-match upside down. Kissel, held it from the bottom plate, which was now on top and shook it up and down and ALL SEVEN PLATES STUCK TOGETHER!

To invent something with this much tensile-glue-strength required a million-dollar laboratory and advance degrees in chemistry... and THIS STUFF WAS IN OUR INTESTINES and it wasn't about to come outany time soon! We were plugged up and bloated and not one of us had taken a poop since we left Venice.  Anyway, we affectionately called Cockerel, who was 2-years-older than me and about 5 times my size, our "human garbage disposal." This dude scraped the remains of everyone's plates. It just seemed like he could never get enough food. The "glue-factor" didn't seem to deter his appetite at all! After we were done marveling at the sticking power of this gloppy-pasta, he stopped us in the middle of our rebellion from throwing the stuff away and ate about 15 pounds of the leftover goop that should have been incinerated.

The next day, the poor fella swam about 200 yards away from the dock, out into the middle of this murky lake, laden with fresh water algae - all by himself.  No one knew what he was doing out there.

I think he swam out all by himself, so he could try to liberate a "floating log fish"...i.e take a poop!

Cockerel just couldn't manage to deliver the package, short of a "Caesarean Section" and got so tired of pushing that he didn't have the strength to make it back and started freaking out. Unfortunately, I happened to be on the dock and since my Eagle Scout older brother was a water polo legend and swimmer at Saint Monica's High school he had taught me how to swim and some basic life guard skills. I didn't want to go, but no one else was close enough, besides Chronister, and he was completely hopeless. I pulled everything off, down to my skivvies and went out for the 15-year-old who was flailing and splashing and desperately crying out for help. He had gone down twice already and I knew I had to get there quick, thinking he would be a goner by his third time underwater.

I managed to grab him under one arm and around the neck and proceeded to drag him back, face-up, to the shore where the entire troop was now standing watching the spectacle. When I got within about 4 feet of the shoreline, a couple of the Senior Patrol Leaders grabbed Cockerel from me and dragged him up onto the beach.  Never mind the fact that his trunks were down around his ankles, he looked like one of those whales that was dying and had tried to beach itself.

             IT WAS NOT A PRETTY PICTURE BY ANY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION.  

I had already touched his naked body and didn't want anything to do with him, but the older scouts didn't seem to know what to do - so I put my foot under his back and rolled him on his side - just in case he had any water in his lungs.  He coughed! Water came out! He lived! Yeah me...maybe I'd get some kind of merit badge for this?

Anyway, the Scout Masters interrogated him about violating the "buddy system" and wanted to know why he was in the middle of the lake with his shorts off all by himself.  This is when they found out that he was trying to take a poop, but couldn't squeeze it out.

Later that evening was the top-secret tribunal.

The two Scout Masters sat at a table with a sheet of paper and a pen while the the Senior Patrol Leaders had us sequestered in a single file line on the other side of the Scout truck.  After each interrogation, the Scout Masters shouted, "Next!" and a Senior Patrol Leaders walked around the truck and to the foldout card table that was like appearing before a judge at court.

They had a paper in front of them with a line drawn down the middle. On top of one column were the capital letters "BM" and on the other side was written "No BM" with names written on both sides. In hushed voices they quietly asked, if I had taken a BM. I didn't know if a BM was a good thing or a bad thing. It was all so serious. I didn't know whether it was admitting to stealing something like Building Materials or Bacon. My Aunt was a Catholic Nun that had something to do with BVM. That's all I know, and I wasn't about to admit to anything that I didn't do!  I didn't take a thing! I passed the secret test and they wrote my name down on the "No BM" side of the paper.  "NEXT!" They yelled as I was collared the higher ranking boy scout and shuffled into the group that had been through the line so far.



Kissel asked, "Well?"
"Well, what?" I replied.
"Well, what did you say?"
"I said no, of course... I didn't take anything.. besides I don't even know what a BM is.
"Neither, did I, but Chronister said it had to do something with taking a poop"
"Well, why didn't they just say so?"
"I think that's how they say it, if your from Mar Vista or if you're one of those kids on those real buses."
"OHHHHHHHHHHHH...." I said, struck with fresh revelation "Why can't they just be normal like us and say poop like everyone else in the world?" I asked rhetorically and got a lot of shoulder shrugs.



In the morning, the Scout Masters had a big surprise planned for Cockerel and for all of the kids whose names were listed on the " No BM" side of the paper.

Do I need to mention Venice was coming to a town near you? Do I need to mention anything about Mount Vesuvius? Do I even need to say that this is where things got even worse?  But let me tell you this...this is how we earned our police escort out of Yellowstone National Park.

"Harmony and understanding

Sympathy and trust abounding

No more falsehoods or derisions

Golden living dreams of visions...."

         "Uh.... Not so much!" 

For Android users Fifth Dimension Aquarius  

Silent Night - Geeze-Louise! Who Came Up with That?

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Savior is born
                                                        Christ, the Savior is born... SCREeeeeeeeeeeeEEECH! 

 

WAIT A MINUTE..pull the needle off the record player... "Silent night?"...Who came up with that? Yeah, everything could have been bright, but calm? Come on, I know I'm only 12, but I'm not stupid enough to buy that!  

 

About 6 months ago, Tommy and I were around the corner and this hippie couple were having a baby at home. Let me tell you - (after that experience - I don't recommend it), there was nothing silent night or calm about it.  The lady was screaming and the long-haired-hippie husband ran around like he was being attacked by our Veloci-Rooster.  He was shouting out for us to boil hot water and was frantically getting newspaper and towels and she was laying on the ground holding on to a door handle - grunting and pushing with her face turning red.  He was hysterical and ironically begging her (in hippie speak) to be calm...!  

 

"Like, mellow out, man."  "Don't be sweating it, you know...it's all right." "Think of flowers and peace and love...man"  and other stupid stuff like "far out and out of sight"

 

This really bugged me. Firstm he calling his wife "man." Second, he's telling her not to sweat it and all his psychedelic-groovy talk didn't help much - (this was no easy thing and she was sweating it big time). 

 

The baby started coming out and she began freaking out and then screaming and then he tried to calm her more and then she turned on him and said that this was all his fault - and then took one hand off the door handle - and them swung and knocked the hippie dude to the floor, and then she began yelling at him for being on the floor and then said she needed him. 

 

Then the big sissy began crying because he was watching a  miracle unfold before his eyes... I don't know if he was smoking that hippie herbal stuff - like my brothers grow in the backyard...but, like the dude was totally out of it and me and my 9-year-old friend practically delivered the baby ourselves. 

YUCK...there was water and some blood and like this gross extension cord thing and it was wrapped around the babies neck. The baby was blue and the mom was scared and I had to get the dead-beat hippie-dad to do something. Finally, after I knocked some sense into him, he unwound that cord thingy and the baby turned pink and then he spanked the baby in the bottom like we see doctors do on TV and the baby started crying... and everyone was happy and started crying again.

"Sheeze-Louise," there was nothing silent about this thing and there was nothing calm about this baby's birth...either. Everyone was nervous and on edge. It was messy and it was loud!

 

As I sit here and look at my Nativity set,  I can only imagine what it might have been like a couple thousand years ago in a barn...with cows mooing... and angels making a raucous overhead and shepherds and sheep... and all the other pieces that gathered on that blessed occasion that are part of our family's nativity set.

Now listen, I'm not saying it wasn't a "holy and glorious night" but it probably was not like the romantic notion of a "hallmark" moment in the song  "Silent Night."

 

I only have 50 cents to my name for mowing Frank Nargie's lawn, but if I had to bet... I would bet it all! Yep, I would bet all 50 cents that it was anything other than a quiet peaceful night when two frightened parents...real people were having a real baby in the worse circumstances possible.   

I know there was this whole "God-thing" going on...but these were real people having a real baby.  I'm sure they were concern about germs and about that cord thingy.. don't tell my Catholic friends, but Mary was likely going through a lot of pain like every other mother... and Joseph was probably concerned like every other "Father-type" person.  After a long journey...weary from traveling while pregnant and exhausted, she might not has had the resolve NOT to scream at Joseph - most likely she was acutely in-touch with her pain and emotions as any real lady having a baby would be.  There was no family, no help, the nervous dad-to-be was probably freaked out.  The baby probably came with a lot of pain and Joseph probably spanked the new born Jesus (just like hey do in the Western movies on TV) and thankfully baby Jesus started crying.

"No crying he makes"  Who came up with that nonsense?  Of course he cried, and the parents wanted him to. Add to that - cows...mooing... and angels singing... and shepherds visiting... then along comes a drummer boy playing his drum and the "Wise guys" who are on the way... this certainly doesn't add up to quiet night at all - bet my 50 cents.

It was real! God came in human flesh...wholly and fully human in every way. This is what makes the story so Amazing! God become human... with human feelings and human desires...having to feel pain and temptation just like us. It is the humanity part of who He that gave him the capacity to wholly identifies with us and it is the humanity part of His God-appearing in human form that gives credence to His perfect obedience. As God we would expect nothing - but perfect obedience...DUH! Hello? But, as fully man...He had to struggle with pain and food and hunger and sleep and prejudice and temptation and mistreatment and false accusations...and not give in to hate and pride and payback and His own selfish desires. 

In His humanity, he didn't want to go to the cross! Sister Edith (you know the Nun with the "head-tones"), told us the part of the Bible where Jesus prayed and said something like 'Father, I don't want to do it... is there anyway that I don't have to go and suffer on the cross - I don't look forward to having to suffer that much pain...and endure that much humiliation...but Father I will trust you instead...and be obedient to your will!" Wow... that was some pretty heavy stuff.  Can't say that I get it all, but let's not take away His humanity (or Mary's of Joseph's) from the Story - That's what makes it so great!

Noisy night, holy night
craziness, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and loud 

Please won't you sleep
Please won't you sleep

Noisy night, scarey night
Mary screams, Joseph freaks
Two real people, trying to figure it out
afraid until they see His face
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth "

Noisy night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ,a real baby is born 

Christ, the Savior is born. 

There! I fixed the song... this is more like it - bet my 50 cents!

Meanwhile the Wise Men are on the way, which we'll celebrate in a couple days on January 6th - in what we call the "Feast of the Epiphany."  In the mean time I might have to share with you the wrapping paper debacle that continued from this Christmas morning for many more years to come, which added to my PTSD.


Oh, and here are my neighbors (the Lennon Sisters) singing "Silent Night"  (I told them, that although I had delivered a baby, that it was okay for them to sing it this way) and so they did!

The origin of the Christmas carol we know as Silent Night was a poem that was written in 1816 by an Austrian priest called Joseph Mohr. On Christmas Eve in 1818 in the small alpine village called Oberndorf it is reputed that the organ at St. Nicholas Church had broken. Joseph Mohr gave the poem of Silent Night (Stille Nacht) to his friend Franz Xavier Gruber and the melody for Silent Night was composed with this in mind. The music to Silent Night was therefore intended for a guitar and the simple score was finished in time for Midnight Mass. Silent Night is the most famous Christmas carol of all time!

Act 2 This Was No BEE-utiful Day!

To refresh your memory...

We flashed-back in time where dad had taken us on a celebratory trip to the Kings River.

After paddling around and splashing in the tame water of the shallow tributary where we had been camping for several days, we decided to head for a day trip on the big river below the dam.





  Here is our infamous "Dam Picture"


There we are to the left - unpacking - posing and melting in the sun anticipating fishing and splashing around in the swifter currents of the water just below the Pine Flats Dam.

Puke breath is in his full length cast from the accident at Saint Marks that was later billed as:

          The Dahlins verses The School Yard Fence.

                         The final decision: A Tie

We managed to bring the entire fence down, but the fence inflicted as much damage as possible in breaking poor Puke-Breaths leg in 8 places.

Previously, Dooh-Dooh Pants got caught in the strong current in the middle of the Kings and was carried downstream to a deadly waterfall on the paddle board, which was too big for him to handle.

Dad rushed... we followed...Puke Breath hobbled... Dad lowered a rope...over Dooh-Dooh Pants head it went... around his neck it ended...Dooh-Dooh Pants freaked out...paddle board spun... rope wrapped about board and Dooh-Dooh Pants...trapping him under water...
                                                 ... we had killed him before he even reached the bloody cow carcass that was being stripped of it leathery hide in flesh-shredding waterfall.

The board turned perpendicular to the shore and caught in some bushes just before the deadly falls... Dooh-Dooh Pants revived... and that was ACT 1... It could have been something right out of a Three Stooges movie - only the 10 Stooges!

We had almost lost one boy, now it was time for ACT 2:

Two of my dumb-courageous older brothers approach a trashcan swarming with Killer Bees from Africa; not really bees from Africa (they hadn't arrived yet in the United States) Meat Bees...AKA "yellowjackets" sometimes called "WASPS!"

I'm not talking about White Anglo Saxon Protestants - we were Catholic! 

These little critters are nasty because unlike bees... they craved meat to eat...and have been known to tear at the flesh of the inside of your eye. SO THEY CAN BITE AND THEY CAN STING! They are social and travel in colonies of up to 1500 bees.  I guess they like to travel in a social pack like my older brothers.

Anyway, the boys won the first round by approaching the trashcan and trapping a bunch of those yellow and black flying terrors in an old Styrofoam worm container.  I don't think the boys had a "Plan B" in mind yet. Had they, then this next part is premeditated.

Joining the rest of the crew, who were busy fishing, the boys opened the container and pretended as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

HOW RUDE for those yellowjacket/wasps/flesh-eating-bees to be angry!  Well they were - imaging that.

We smelled like fish guts and the wasps began an aerial attack. Dad ordered all of us into the water.  Pushing, Pulling, Screaming, Yelling, (just about the same way we get into the van every time) we dove in and began splashing in hopes of  defending ourselves against the enemy air-force.

Most of us survived...we forgot one thing, however, "One Legged Limp Along" (that's what my dad called Puke Breath) had a full leg cast and couldn't join us in the water.

Gustav took a hit. One of the meat bees got a hold of the skin under this armpit. He freaked out and began running like a mad man!

THE DAHLINS HAD SHOWED UP. We had already put on a spectacular performance for everyone who had planned on spending a nice leisurely day by the river and now they were getting a glorious "TWO-FER"     It was like having two movies on one ticket, a veritable Three Stooges marathon.

Gustav deserved it...divine payback, a prank that finally stung him in the____________ !  Well anyway, he ran out of the water and on the beach he headed for low lying branch so he could swan-dive into the river and put an end to his nemesis.  Only...

ONLY, as he ran up the branch the bee fell off and straight down into the top of Puke-Breath's cast! (There really are no scientific explanations for these kinds of phenomenon - like hangers that tangle in the night -  socks that go missing in the dryer and the Lennons, 200 miles away sitting in the safety of their family room).

Up to this point, Puke Breath had done a decent job of defending himself by swinging his crutches at the aerial  onslaught.
 
But now, the universe had tilted against him and the angriest meat-bee/yellowjacket/wasp was caught in the cavernous darkness of this white thigh meat and pretty upset about it.

Throwing his crutches he leapt like that lame man who had gotten healed by Jesus.  He groaned and hobbled on his cast running back and forth on the shore as unintelligible language spewed from his lips - which needed translation if it were to be Biblical. He spun and threw himself back on the ground like the demonic in Mark's gospel!  

He wriggled and writhed on the ground, inserting a thin twig into his cast as he frantically tried to poke the demon bee.

It was no use, the pain was so great that he decided to give and die! Dad knew of only one thing. THE WATER.

In he went, cast and all!  The bee died!  The cast disintegrated over the course of the day... which ended up being a good thing... not just so mom could put pink calamine lotion on his bites and wasp sting...

BUT BECAUSE... it was only then, we discovered that the twig he had inserted into his cast was POISON OAK!

His leg swelled up with red and puss - three times it's natural size and "Quasimodo" the "Elephant-man" 
spent another week, quarantined, in that 'O hospital bed he had been so familiar with.

Since I'm still waiting to drop the "HALLOWEEN" video on you - which is in the works now...  Next time, I'll tell you about our 1963 cross country trip the following year - that ended up with naked Swedish bun-buns in a Detroit Convent full of Nuns.

REMEMBER

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."

~ Richard Bach