Holy Indignation at Cockrell's "Full Moon!"

(Here is what I didn't tell you last time). While the top brass from the other troops were all on one side of the scout bus (which was stuck on the bridge) talking things over Pinky Parlette and our two scout masters, Cockrell pulled down his pants and pressed his bare-bottomed ham-cheeks against the porthole window on the other side - "mooning" the Boy Scout "cake-eaters" on the other side.

12:00 noon: This grotesque, teen-ritual took place out of sight of the fretting leaders on the other side who where trying to figure a way of getting the truck unstuck. A small percentage of the boys - clapped and cheered because they thought it was funny (as most normal adolescent kids should). The rest, cringed in holy indignation, as if this wasn't something that guys this age were supposed to do and acted as if we had broken one of the Ten Commandments of Boy Scouting or something sanctimonious like that.

Little Wiener was on the inside of the Scout Bus and was watching the "Cockrell-show" from the front side and was a little too happy about it - which creeped out Jeffery and the other kids who had lost interest in tormenting poor Ray. Everyone agreed that Little Wiener's excitement earned the little twerp a pink-belly. It had been about two weeks since his last one and he was due for another one!

3:00pm: Anyway, several of the kids from Troop 34 broke the guy code by snitching on Cockrell to their Scout Master when they returned to "camp-regular-kid."

4:00pm: Cockrell got called into a court marshal tribunal which had sanctioned him to solitary confinement inside the cabin tomorrow while the rest of us "got to" hike to "Fossil Ridge."

5:00pm: Jeffery Lennon was so upset about the whole thing that went around calling the snitches, "bottle-feeders," and incited the rest of the kids of our troop in agreeing that these mamma's boys deserved no less than the full wrath of Troop 32 (for which we were prepared in advance - hence the snakes).

8:00pm: After dinner and just before the snipe hunt, we began making plans and decided that this would be the inaugural Camp Slauson "White-Angel Raid" like we did at the National Jamboree last summer at Farragut State Park in Idaho (only this time with underwear on). Cockrell was so upset in what he felt was unjustified persecution that it had somehow earned him the right to go on the raid naked tonight and pleaded his case. Senior Patrol leader, Ray Vandenmark, had to calm him down and talk him out of going in his "birthday suit" all over again. (I'm telling you - this kid just wanted to have his pants off all the time. He had the mind of an eight-year-old in the body of a 22-year old - I'm not sure that is the best mix).

8:42pm: We gathered the ropes, the snakes and waited until after midnight, while Jeffery anxiously walked around in circles, rubbing his hands together like a kid at Christmas - doing a personal chant "down with the bottle feeders, down with the snitches."  He was so excited - he wasn't too far away from earning his own "pink-belly."

So we had crossed the bridge, crashed into a tree, crushed the front of the truck, skewered Ray, Cockrell had exposed himself and we had upset the Boy Scout cosmos. By now, Jeffery was sure that this was going to be one of the best camping trips of his life (that wasn't saying much - he never went camping with this family).  He was thrilled, but sad that his cousins Tommy Blaser or Michael or Kevin or Kippy Lennon weren't here with him to enjoy the more "Dahlin-side-of life."

9:30pm: We did the dreaded snipe hunt - and it appeared that even Jeffery liked being out late at night, in the dark, crawling around in bushes and snapping his thumbs inside a brown paper lunch sack. "A man who protest too much, gives himself away."  Apparently Jeffery had bought into the legendary snipe hunt "hook, line and sinker" by vehemently defended his claims that he had actually caught one of the fictional bird-related-rodents which had subsequently managed to escape by eating a hole in the bottom of his brown lunch bag.

I hated the insidious, late-night ritual and hated that Jeffery wasn't the least bit scared - perhaps it was because he was too excited about the raid to think about things like Albinos or Zombies or rattlesnakes that lived in the bushes. On the way back from the snipe hunt we tackled Little Wiener, wrestled him to the ground - pulled up his dirty uniform shirt and with a hundred hands patted his soft, white belly until it turned a bright shade of pink! Every "newbee" got one on their first camp out. He had already gotten his fair share, but seemed to keep earning one every time he acted like one of those namby-pambies from Mar Vista or Santa Monica.

12:33am:  16 of us kids sneaked out with nothing on, but our tight, white undies and some duck tape on our chest and back in the symbol of a cross - we looked like some bizarre tribe that was ready to participate in the crusades...only different... or a mutant group of Scots under William Wallace (we were just happy to be going into battle to defend the honor of our troop - and happier that we were near naked - and happiest about the plan).

Like a bunch of squeaky mole rats we took the rope and tied it to the front tent stakes of Troop 34's tents and wound it around from tent to tent 4 inches above the ground. We had another group doing the same thing over at the campsite of the troop from Santa Monica.  We had Little Wiener and Mosquito Bait doing the same thing at our campsite so it wouldn't be so obvious who perpetrated the crime. Lastly, we had two members stealthily sneak into a fourth camp and leave it completely untouched excepted for lots of evidence that was planted to frame them: i.e. end rolls of duck tape... pieces of rope... and other such paraphernalia.

1:02am: When everything was set... and all of our mole-rats in underwear had returned to our camp and put their clothes back on - over the duck-tape tribal markings, I turned a snake loose in one of the tents of the guys from Troop 34. At the same time, Kissel was busy loosing the other harmless garter snake in one of the tents of the guys from the Santa Monica troop.

We ran like "H   E  double toothpicks" back to our campground and waited! AGAIN...Cockrell had asked if he could be pretend to be sleeping in the tent naked, so that when the mayhem broke out he could run around like a chicken with its head cut off in full view of all the scouts at Camp Slauson. That idea was quickly squelched and the two other boys in his tent decided they would sleep outside under the stars.

1:15am: Giggling, in hushed excitement and whispers - We Waited!

And, I do have to tell you this: it worked out better than than anything we could have imagined - EXCEPT for poor Ray (the luckiest and the most unlucky person in the world).

1:37am: "The screech that was heard around the world!"



             (Pinky pictured in his Pajamas)

(p.s. no snake was harmed. Unfortunately, I can't say that about Ray and some of the boys in the other camps - hehehe).

Snakes. Ropes. Zombies and Troop 32

Continued: Last time, we had left off with Senior Patrol Leader, Ray, dangling inside the back compartment of our Scout Bus as if on a rotisserie inside of a BBQ. It was like he had been shish-kabobed by the oak branch that had crashed through the front window.

The chants of "Don't cross the bridge" morphed into "Monkey in the middle" as the toxic-fumed minions began swatting the helplessly flailing arms and feet of our new object of ridicule!  Meanwhile, the "do-gooders" of the other normal troops, grabbed their neatly packed first aid kits and rushed to the scene of the crash hoping to earn accolades and merit-badges.

We were "ill-equipped" for the attention we were suddenly flooded with! I was on top of the moving van(slash)Scout Bus singing about "Tapp crossing the bridge and the skewered Senior Patrol Leader" to the tune of "Like a Bridge over Troubled Water," but the Scout Master from Troop 34 and his flock of rescuing vermin thought my brilliant parody was inappropriate and tasteless.

"Ill-equipped" ...because we had no rocks to throw at the other regular kids (like we had at our disposal at the National Jamboree when Dego and the rest of the boys tried to kill Bill Gates)!
("at our disposal" meant that at the National Jamobree last summer we had both -  regular kids and rocks - lots and lots of normal kids who weren't from Venice and a billion river rocks!)

Behind their Scout Master's back, the pasty cake-eaters sneered and scowled at us with the expression of disdain written on their namby-pamby faces - that irked Jeffery to no end.    He was fit to tied!

FLASHBACK:  Even though we had tamed down the secret-induction "ritual" ever since the brawl of my induction malfunction - it was still very clear to Jeffery in the new "safer" ceremony - that loyalty to the new "people group" was of paramount importance and that snitches and "rats" were not tolerated.

Even though Jeffery Lennon did not start a riot at his induction like I did, he got the message loud and clear.

BACK TO OUR STORY: The kids in Troop 34 needed payback for violating the code! After we ran everybody off and took care of the mess ourselves we eventually made camp in front the best cabin at Camp Slauson. We were TROOP 32, we were from Venice and we were proud!

The planning began.  We found both of the snakes - one by accident, when it fortuitously bit the annoying "Little Wiener." We removed the snake from his arm, Kissel sucked out the pretend venom - and we praised Little Wiener for his contribution in finding the last snake, which had made its way into his backpack. Secretly, we assembled the ropes and the snakes for the midnight caper that would take place after the traditional "snipe hunt."   I hated the snipe hunts.  Supposedly, this charade is to test the resolve of the new kids and put hair on their chest. I've been on snipe hunts some 20 times, but sitting in a bush in the middle of a moonless night in complete blackness still scared the bajeebers out of me (AND I still didn't have hair on my chest).  I could not admit to my new Boy Scout tribe that I was afraid of the dark! I was afraid of being smothered....buried...suffocated...big brothers and anything that had to do with being tied up in ropes.

Oh, and Zombies!  (That's because my family had opened a Porthole to Hades that was channeled through the mysterious space in my bedroom wall).



For a new little "Pimple-Squeeze" like Jeffery - he actually had a very good plan (it was probably better planned than my payback attempt at Chewbacca - that had left me tied up by a rope and dangling from the third story window of our house IN MY UNDERWEAR on a school morning, in front of ANDREA and every other kid at Saint Marks school).

This was either going to be really good, or else, someone was going to end up in prison (I figured that I would probably have to go to confession next Saturday for not offering up a prayer for those soft kids from Mar Vista and Santa Monica).

Cockrell wanted to do the raid naked  - of course - but thankfully, we settled for duck tape and Tighty-Whities!

Next time:  "THE WHITE ANGELS"  True story!

Something between Vampires and Frankenstein

A look at the blossoming Wolf Pack. 

Welcome to dinner at my house.

(Continued from last blog post "Fish Stick Fiasco") With the "beware-lost-rattlesnake " flag flying over the house and Kleghorn clanging the old alarm on the back porch, Dad walked into the house to find the Wolf Pack in hysterics. Four eyes and the girls were screeching, the mynah bird was cussing and the rest of the Viking brood were hair pulling, standing on couches and climbing walls and up on top of each other for safety. It looked like a fight at a hockey game had broken out. A couple of the boys were hanging from the molding over the doors and a couple were clinging to the wainscoting not wanting their feet to touch the ground. It was a sight! It was a typical Friday night at the Dahlin house.

As soon as I heard my dad, I stopped shaking the baby rattle and returned to the mayhem inside. Dad stopped at the wooden double-sliding doors that separated the dining room from the living room and just shook his head in utter dismay. He watched the hysterics looking for an explanation. Ulrich...tried to explain that the fugitive rattlesnake was somewhere in the room.

"KLEGHORN!" dad yelled, as a command to quit sounding the ancient and bullet ridden firehouse alarm.

Kleghorn joined the others in the dining room who had grown silent trying to prove to dad that they had heard the deadly snake slithering around the downstairs. There wasn't a sound, not even one shake of a rattler's tail. I smiled (mostly on the inside - afraid of giving my secret away). Dad shook his head, rolled his eyes and scavenged the kitchen for any leftover fish sticks as things returned to the normal high-decibel hullabaloo.

Being thoroughly embarrassed, the big brave hippies had something to prove to their girlfriends and began hatching their plan for the "Albino Camp Hike." (I'm pretty sure this isn't politically correct now-a-days, but this was the cultural/historical setting back then).

Back then, none of us were really sure what Albinos were. In the hierarchy of things that we had to be afraid of...we thought they were somewhere between Vampires and Frankenstein, right up there with ghost - way above lost rattlesnakes.

This Albino-camp-hike-thing they did was like a snipe hunt, combined with camp-fire stories about the "one armed hatchet murderer" and "submarine races."   Back then I was too young to knew what submarine races were and still thought snipe were real.

How perfect was this for the older boys...this was like shooting fish in a barrel. They would take all their girl friends on a late night hike behind that movie star - Ronald Reagan's house up on Amalfi drive.  They would walk that old dirt road lined with eucalyptus trees with these girls who were scared spit-less holding tightly to arms of the brave Viking men and crew.    Oh boy... could it get any better for those guys! 

They sat around the living room and told the girls about how dangerous the hike would be!

One of the guys tried to explain what Albinos were to the girls and said, they were half human and drank blood.

Gustav said they had thin transparent skin like desert geckos and could only come out at night.

Bjorn said the Albinos had to be locked up in this secure facility to keep them from straying off and eating the flesh of other humans.

Knut agreed saying they had razor sharp teeth.

Ulrich said they had red laser-eyes and if you looked into them you would be disintegrated. When Ulrich said this, three of the boys swatted him on the head...for exaggerating.

Dooh-Dooh Pants talked about their boney hands and pointed fingernails.

In broken Spanish, Chewy said they made the sound of the chachalaca.

They hadn't even left the house yet and the girls were already terrified and clinging to the boys.

My dad looked across the table and winked at me as though he had his own spark of genius.

The herd of wild hair and anxious felines jumped into the black Lincoln we called the "Scuba-Mobile" and headed off for Santa Monica Canyon.

Down, down, down the long dirt road they walked terrified in the darkness of the moonless night. Fearful and on edge the silly girls practically wrapped themselves around the brave, fearless Vikings. Cautiously they forged ahead along the path, wary of Albinos that might have escaped and lie in wait for fresh human flesh. With every step, hearts pounded in rapid palpitations. Fear had even gripped the older boys, but they pretended to be brave. Approaching the gates, the eclectic congregation peered through the wrought iron bars searching for the elusive Albinos.

Ulrich saw white figures swaying in the gentle ocean breeze and let out a blood curdling scream. Panic ensued, girls cried and feet fled. The mob ran hysterically back towards the large black car...when the very worst thing imaginable happened. Albinos had managed to squeeze through the bars and indeed laid in ambush.

I'm sorry, but I'll have to finish the gory and frightening details in my next terrifying blog post...

Until then...  Vet att du är älskad