The Halloween Event that Changed Venice.

The Halloween Event      
that Changed the Face of Venice forever                  (according to me―of course). 

If you are from Venice, or grew up in Santa Monica, Mar Vista, Culver City and parts nearby there is a great likely-hood that you’re pretty familiar with the famous Halloween haunted house tradition on Harding Avenue. Odds are: you might have been among the thousands of people who packed our street on one of those spooky Halloween nights to watch the shows put on by the Lennon family.

 *

It was a haunting portrayal that included Frankenstein, Dracula, a damsel in distress, along with eerie organ music played by a monster on the front balcony, drapes that blew from howling wind, flashes of lightening and peels of thunder.   Were you there?  Do you remember?

The Lennons were competitive, so I'm going to tell you the true story of how their famous Venice haunted house really began ―the single event that started it all. 

This was way back (early 60’s) before the long hair, before the Veloci-Rooster, before the alligator, before the Mexican tomato plants, before the Vietnam War protest and before landing on the moon and before painting Venice yellow.

Before all this... before the Ooze ... before the Ouija Board

...THERE was a time when good Catholics were not allowed to celebrate the Devil’s high holy-day of Halloween. It was our duty to avoid anything that smacked of demons and goblins, witches and ghost. Good Catholic parents celebrated All Saints Day instead. Kids dressed as saints and angels―sometimes even went begging for candy the day after Halloween.  It was awkward for everyone. This, however, is the true story of the watershed event that changed everything.

We lived across the street from the Lennons. The four oldest girls appeared on TV every week on the Lawrence Welk Show. 

How could our mom hope to compare to that?!
  
Her only hope was to hold fast to the long held tradition of sending her darling children out trick or treating as angels and saints. 

Year after year our mother, Joan Dahlin, held out as the last bastion of Catholic hope in the world―not giving in to the Devil's holiday by fighting back against the forces of darkness.

Year after year she spent endless nights sewing elaborate costumes that not even the Lennons could match (that's hard to image, but true)!  

Good for you Mrs. Dahlin -- We better than the Lennons.  

She sewed one costume for Tony (He was Saint Anthony - the patron saint of lost causes)

Then another costume for Karl (The first Pope-pictured to left) 

Then another  (Saint Christopher)             

And another   (Saint George the dragon slayer)

Then another. Year after year: satin embellishments, vestment undergarments, sewing… planning…dreaming and creating magnificent costumes with a special accessory for each one.

8 years of costumes ―8 years of sewing ―8 years of creative imagination―then a girl. Finally a girl. Ahhhhhhh―since she was the angel of the family, mom transformed her into an the cutest little angel you ever saw!

        Mary as a baby angel 

4 years later, she was old enough to be the Blessed Virgin Mary

9 years of costume making... then 10 years… then 11 years… and 12…and 13…and 14 years and now it was finally my turn.  I was 5 and was licking my chops in excited expectation of my elaborate Christian costume. This was a rite of passage―I would join the rest of the saints in trick and treating and be included in this special family tradition for the very first time.  

ME! Yes, me, I would join the saints. 

Then it happened 

Before I came along, mom invested a lot of time into sewing, a lot of energy, and years of careful planning of those costumes. And now it was my turn, but was nervous that I didn’t see the usually buzz of activity. The bright light of my saintly mother's energetic buzz had dimmed.  

It was October 31 and I eagerly tugged on mom’s skirt-hem. Because there was an obvious lack of enterprise I nervously asked about my costume. Maybe she had spent many nights creating me something special while I was sleeping―I hoped against hope.

Calmly leading me down a hall to a room that had been piled full of stuff, she pointed to the corner of a room and told me to climb toward an old, musty-smelling steamer-trunk that had been buried.

JOY! A treasure hunt, this was even more exciting. Opening it, she instructed me to pull out the old mink stoles that had been placed there years before. 

These smelly mink stoles still had the little paws and heads with tiny glass eyes that ominously stared at you. Don’t ask me why but ladies had considered these dead animals very elegant in their day for some reason. 

ANYWAY…My mother placed the hideous thing over my shoulders and said, “There.”

I didn’t get it “There… what?”  I said stuttering in disbelief, asking what saint I was supposed to be.

She said, “This will make you Saint John the Baptist, of course.”

I was confused by the furs, knowing that John the Baptist wore camel skins. Biting my lip. I held back my initial disappointment holding out whatever glimmer of hope for the really cool accessory like all the other kids had―at least. 

 With pleading eyes, I asked, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well…am I…am I going to get a cool thing to hold like all the other guys?”

“Follow me downstairs” she said without skipping a beat.

Taking a paper plate, she stuck a toothpick through the center of it and then perched the head from one of my sister’s dolls on top of the toothpick. 

To top it off she glopped ketchup around the beheaded doll’s neck.

 

More confused than with the furs, I had no idea how holding a paper plate with a decapitated doll-head made me John the Baptist.

Being "Swedish Strong" I fought back tears and asked her to explain.

“Because, he had his head cut off!” She said lifting an eyebrow as though that explained everything to a confused five-year-old.

That was the end of our conversation. Instead of looking like a saint, I walked outside in bare feet with two dead animals over my shoulders, holding a paper plate with a bloody head. The shocked neighbors thought I was a child werewolf from some horror movie.  Wolf-Boy!

The grouch nextdoor called the police. The nuns around the corner fainted. My oldest brother was jealous that I got to Trick or Treat as the spawn of Charles Manson while he, at 14, had to be Saint Anthony.        

As it turns out―I won! 

The older boys wanted to have costumes as scary as mine next year. They wanted to be goblins and ghost, and if possible, make the nuns faint!

(Pictured: Getting pinched from behind - look at the excitement in the older boy's faces).

This was the watershed event. I think (as least the way I imagineer the story), that when I went by the Lennon house, Mr. Lennon was waiting on the porch to scare the kids and I think I scared him. 

When the the rest of the family saw my inglorious costume―the bloody son of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre it was right there-and-then that they decided that someday they would put on a haunted mansion show to the thrill spectators for the next 20 years–on every all-hallows-eve  (a tradition that began in 1970). 

Actually Video Footage of transforming the house on Halloween 

Whenever I tell this story―my mother shall be immortalized as the one who changed Venice by inspiring those resourceful and imaginative Lennons (at least this is the way I tell the story).

Thank you Mrs. D

P.S. Did I say that I won? YES!

(Picture of Lennons on the gridiron: by Donny Blaser). 

(*Picture of makeup at Lennon house by Kathy Daris Facebook). 
(opening and closing pictures credit: Joey Lennon) 

If you want to hear me tell the story click here.  

Three kids and The Demon Possessed Paint

(continued) Three stupid kids and a 5 gallon bucket of yellow paint.


We knew this was going to be dangerous, but never anticipated the scope of the blast zone.








Tonight Tony was going to celebrate his job promotion from Wright Brother's Ford in Venice (on Lincoln Blvd next to the Carroll Shelby racing facility) to becoming the Service Writer at A and B Chevy in West LA by inviting the hippies to his property on Palms Blvd.

(Above - picture of celebration dinner in front of the Palms garage)

(Right - picture of Shelby Cobras rolling out of the Shelby's factory in Venice directly behind Wright Brother's Ford)*



Assembling our tools, fighting over rollers and pulling the lid off of the big 'O bucket of paint―Tommy, Jeffery and I started off with the best of intentions. Looking back we realize now that the fact that any paint at all actually went on the house―was a miracle in itself.

Tommy bored quickly and was the first to succumb to the small wicked voice coming from inside bucket. The insidious paint told him to lightly brush Jeffery's elbow with his paint-dipped roller and had also tempted him to lie by saying it was an accident.

Jeffery sensed that his cousin had no real remorse and of course, had to―HAD TO paint Tommy's forearm in retaliation. Ughhhhhh! It was almost impossible for a 14-year-old like me to manage a couple immature 11-year-olds. These guys went back and forth, tit-for-tat and were practically worthless, but I tried.  I TRIED!


I really did until Tommy missed Jeffery and got the front of my shirt―accident or under the spell of the evil spirit, I couldn't tell.

All I knew was that the paint in the rolling pan TOLD ME to stay cool and to pretend like it didn't bother me. The haunted paint actually talked to me by name. "Markie D, you're the oldest―you're the boss―they can't treat you like this and get away with it." Everything the demon said made sense. "You've got to show them who's boss. Calmly put your roller into the pan and soak up as much paint as you can. Do it."

I mean a voice from the paint was talking to me. "Something evil this way comes" Who was I to argue.

"Hey Markie D the juggler vain on the side of your neck is bulging and a dead give away―GET IT UNDER CONTROL"  The ominous paint yelled. But it was right.

Trying to calm myself down I breathed like a lady doing la maze at child birth. As if under a spell, I obediently plunged my roller into the paint and pretended to go back to the patch of wood siding I was working on and screamed, "ATTACK!"

I had to show the two little kids that I was older and that I would win at all cost.

The DEVIL TOLD ME THAT I HAD TO WIN.

Screaming "attack" I lunged and ran that roller up the front of Tommy's shirt all the way to his nostrils.

The paint.
The paint.
It was the paint, I tell you! Just like the demon possessed rototiller that had dragged El Heffe around the front yard. This bright yellow paint incited a war and just like in those occasions where more baby food gets on the outside of the baby than inside the baby―there was more yellow paint on the torn up lawn, on  the stack of lumber, on the ladders, on the neighbor's wall, on the sidewalk and on the three of us than on the house itself.

  

 @

It was a canary yellow disaster of epic proportions. By the time Tony arrived back the three of us dripped from head to toe like zombies ONLY instead of blood it was bright yellow paint. This gave new meaning to painting the town red only in this case it was yellow demon paint―nearly half of of Venice was lemon colored. 

It wasn't like we could hurt the prices of Real Estate on this side of Lincoln Blvd, like anything over here would ever be worth more than twenty five thousand dollars.

The three of us stood there dripping and in unison said, "The devil made us do it." knowing full well that we would have to go to confession before we could ever take communion again.




BEST DAY EVER. That is until we found out that it was oil-based paint.

Tony called the Heffe, woke him up from his nap and told him to bring gasoline so we could scrub patches of the haunted yellow goo off of our extremities and out of our orifices.











The party went on as planned, only we were no longer invited. Our moms weren't too happy but the good news is we went trick or treating as three radioactive alien-brothers from Superman's neighboring planet―Plankton!

At least we thought our Halloween costume idea was funny.






Until next time!  














* Shelby Cobra picture posted by Enis Yeneriz on You know you’re from Santa Monica Facebook group

@  Picture telegraph.co.uk/news/newsvideo/viral-video/11643553/Russian-driver-crashes-lorry-and-covers-himself-in-yellow-paint.html

Halloween and the Ouija Board pt 2

(Continued from last post) Seeing that it is Halloween and that we had unleashed the evil forces of the dark spiritual world upon Venice... it is only reasonable that I tell of that spooky and TRUE - Yes...True Story of the infamously creepy event of the Ouija Board of 1965.

It was as if dark tar or slow creeping molasses had begun to flow from portal we had opened earlier with the séances that we had carelessly dabbled with back in 1962. The evil substance was like a sticky sludge that stuck to the bottom the shoes of whoever happened to step in the thick wicked slim. It was infectious and I could smell when it began to take over someone's body like an odoriferous cancer.

Adults could neither see the the gooey slim or smell the rotten stench.   But, it was here and it was in our house.

I think it was one of the reasons that I threw up so much...evil deeds seemed to have the stench of rotting flesh that I become very sensitive to.

Being buried in pits  (Click here) Pit of Despair
Given templates   Chewbacca and the template of doom
or stuck in the hamper of death...  Hamper to Valhalla it all smelled!      "Mean" things, smelled.

Our house...like the fraternity house at the corner, the McClain's house and the Lennon Sister's house on the other end of the street were all originally two story homes built at the turn of the last century with giant attics.  Our house at 925 Harding had an attic on top of the attic and in order to make the most use for all of the kids - those attics were converted into third story bedrooms...we had 4 bedrooms on our third floor.















The older boys had returned from "trick or trick"... no I didn't get that wrong... I did not mean to say "Trick or Treat" with my brothers and that cancerous slim that had attached itself to their skin made them torment, prank or trick regardless if given candy or not -  you know the "flaming dooh-dooh bag" and stuff like that.

Well after coming back with the plunder of tormenting all of Venice, they decided to pull out the Ouija Board - after all they reasoned, it the Devil's birthday.

Turning off lights and making the house as scary as possible they begged the oft-used board to reveal to them a hidden secret. I could smell the beast and they did not let me near the board, because I kept gagging and heaving my guts up... after getting thumped on the head a couple times, I stood out of arms reach and watched from a safe distance.

The creepy board had the 5 older boys crammed around it and the pointer-thingy-ma-bobby... slid violently in the direction of the dining room from where we began in the Living room.

Chaos broke out among the boys - accusing each other of pushing the pointer-thing and a small fist fight ensued and eventually order was restored to the normal state of controlled chaos.  Again Wolf Pack lightly placed finger tips on the triangle-shaped-thingy-ma-gigger and this time it jerked to the right - towards the brown stairs just past the 50 pound sack of powered milk. Powered Milk Wars

Again, blaming broke out that turned into a wrestling match with the corresponding protest of innocence as fear settled the boys with the awful realization that just maybe - this thing was really in charge.  Goosebumps!

Up they went! One flight of stairs... yells and accusations and blaming and angry denials and wham went the pointy-thing... up another set of stairs to the third floor they went and I followed. It took them in a 360 turn and pointed to the junk-filled room that overlooked Edna's house (the grouch who lived directly next door).

I'll bet Tommy Blaser was not at home throwing up because he had smelled the stench of death and that Jeffery Lennon had not had to experience the spin-tingling sensation of being in the presence of evil and certainly Joey or Kippy Lennon did not have to live with the oozing tar like evil - You see, they were normal and were probably at home with the lights on counting up the sweet plunder of "trick or treating" and swapping candy with siblings like regular people do.  If I had to guess, I'd say the Lennons were gathered in the family room strumming a guitar and singing "Kumbaya my Lord"    

That's my guess!



But not us... We were at home fighting and under the spell of this contraption that led all of us to a third floor bedroom that was full of junk.

It was dark and it was scary and I did not let the older boys know that I had tears in my eyes and I think one of them had wet their pants again...But no fighting this time - they were too scared!

Everyone had goosebumps and no one dared set foot in the uninviting blackness until the the bravest one pushed Kurt into the room. THIS IS WHEN THINGS GOT CRAZY! We heard a crack... and frantic cries for help as Kurt disappeared and then muffled screams as if he had fallen into an abyss.  He had been eaten by the room. The older boys screamed and jumped up and down and swung wildly in the air as if defending themselves from an invisible attacker.

Kurt was gone. They would have to explain to mom and dad how they had either murdered their brother or try to explain how the house had swallowed him.

Then the faint cry. Kurt had indeed been swallowed, like Jonah who been trapped in the belly of a great fish. Sharp teeth tore his shirt and clawed the sides of his body as he was helplessly wedged in the black darkness of the secret hole stuck between walls a floor below.

This was the Devil's portal that the Ouija Board had led us to and Kurt was now stuck in it.

I ran down a flight of stairs and threw up in the toilet while the boys fought over whether to rescue him or let him die and discussed how they could cover up the evidence.

The ooze was creeping and I could smell the stench of death.

(Sorry - but kids are knocking on my door asking for candy so I'll have to finish this dark TRUE Story of the The Black Abyss of Death next time...)

If you don't believe me - Find someone in my family as ask!

Stay safe!

The Dark Secret of the Ouija Board.

1969: The Ouija Board and Dark Portal of Harding Ave.

Last time I left off with - not only my pride bruised from the epic "love-fail" in the Saint Mark's schoolyard in front of all the girls, but also with a couple choice bruises on various body parts at the hands of a bully big brother and his gang of angry little men.  Now I am in my room talking to my dog and worried about what is going to happen after dark.  You see, not only do I try to avoid the flippant hippies downstairs who think I'm a throw toy and the schemes of the unfeeling Wolf Pack upstairs on the third floor, but spend nights frightened to death of something even more dark and sinister that began years ago.









My family was responsible for opening a portal to the dark underbelly of the demonic realm by dabbling in the dark arts by staging séances in our living room. I was young and remember the time the table lifted off of the floor and how one of my older brothers pee'd his pants - two cried because they were scared to death (teenagers crying - could have been the best day ever EXCEPT...

...Except the fact that at that very moment it was the precise instance that we unleashed something insidious that dwelt in the dark places of our house and we had lots of dark places.  Being young, I had a special sensitivity to the boogie man and monsters under the bed, Zombies, demons and things that go bump in the night.

Me? I saw it - they didn't! They were dull and clueless to what they had  unleashed into the house and into the neighborhood and probably worst yet - didn't care.

And here I sat in my room with my trusty dog - in the room nobody wanted. The reason I had a room to myself in a house with something like 532 people (that would be my brothers) crammed together in the limited number of bedrooms ... was because this room had a dark secret.

The hole that I slept in was discovered by the Ouija Board.  

                              THIS IS ALL TRUE!

Here is a picture of me (later in about '72  with a broken leg - and a hippy older brother clickhere Hotel Crazy and the Harding History of Broken Bones) and the loft bed in the background.   I liked the loft bed because it gave me an advantage over the Wolf Pack that had protection on three sides and offered high ground.

It made it easier for me to defend myself against night raids and suffocation but was the portal of the ghost that lived in the basement.

Since this it is just a couple days to Halloween I think I will tell you the story of that day with the Ouija Board that changed everything.            


 If you don't believe me ask my brothers!


What my house looked like...

What I thought it felt like....  

Next time the conclusion to the Ouija curse. 

 

The WOLF-BOY Halloween - VIDEO

 SAINTS AND THE WOLF BOY

Some time ago I promised that I would post a video regarding the greatest horror story of all time.

This 1962 event was supposed to be Markie D's first hallowed "All Saint's Day" outing. Mrs. Dahlin meant well, but the innocuous and innocent plan quickly turned into a debacle of epic horror proportions. Worst than the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the police had to be called to restore order to the once peaceful and quite neighborhood that was rocked by sightings said to be the Spawn of Charles Manson. 







Please watch responsibly!


                             (this link is for Android users   http://youtu.be/XS1V9SGBd9o

I tell this story as though it conjured some emotional baggage that I have to carry around from my childhood. But in reality - when you think about emotional baggage...think about this: My older teenage brothers (IN HIGH SCHOOL) were dressed up like Saints on Halloween (Embarrassing)!  I had it good! I scared people with my costume and my poor older brothers were dress up like Saints well into the season in their male existence where they were trying to impress the ladies.  They are the ones that had it bad!  I think they are still struggling with the emotional scar tissue and if it wasn't for me - they'd still be 'Trick or Treating" in Saint costumes!    Every October 31st they should be sending me money instead of candy.

After this incident the saint costumes were retired and the boys got to be vampires and goblins and Frankenstein like other normal kids in the world.  Meanwhile the Famous Lennons were inspired to begin decorating their home for Halloween into a haunted mansion that grew quite notorious over the years.  

        Nothing on Earth is so beautiful as the final haul on Halloween night.  Steve Almond