The Nuns Claimed They Had an Alibi

The Great Disaster of 1969...continued from last post!

The last time I didn't have the Nuns or the Daniels on the suspect list for the tragic fire on Harding Ave. I would venture a guess that living directly behind the "Frat-House," would automatically put both of them my long list of possible suspects. 

1) My tribe...the Wolf Pack
2) Mr. Blaser
3) Mr. D (that's my dad)
4) Mr. Lennon
5) Frank Nargie
6) Rita Nargie
7) Sea-Shell
8) Leeland
9) Weenie Tripp
10) Johnny Gillemot
11 Tommy Blaser
12) Four boys dressed as girls
13) The Nuns at Saint Marks who lived just behind the house.
14) Walter Daniels 
15) Crazy, Anti-War, Peace-loving members from a real Fraternity

 and NUMBER 16 was "The Conspiracy Theory" - not a man on the grassy knoll, but...
 16) The Owner of the property - himself.

At first when I heard the sound of explosions and saw the black smoke of car tires that had caught on Fire, I thought the Nunnery was burning (the Nunnery is the Saint Marks Convent where the Sisters lived - sort of like a Monastery). I spent the night next door at the Blaser's house in Tommy's "way groovy" two-story fort with the sleeping-loft and asphalt shingle roof.  Screaming like a firetruck - I hopped over the fence into my backyard - avoided the Veloci-Rooster and began ringing the old rusted fire bell in order to awaken the neighborhood (the same fire alarm, procured by spurious means, which had been screwed to the back porch of our home that my mom used to call the Wolf  Pack in for feeding time). 

It was in the middle of the night and I guess it was good thing I did clang that bell, because the burning house was full of motley college "want-a-be's" who were trapped inside.

Someone threw a fire bomb through the large front window of the ancient house and it went up like a dry box of matches. The fire quickly spread up the grand staircase in the entry, cutting off the only means of escape for those caught on the second story.

A week later, as the house laid waste in a pile of burnt rubble and the neighborhood still smelled of smoke...I took my detective notepad and paid the Nuns a visit! To tell you the truth, I really hoped it was one of the Catholic Sisters, because they were mean to me...and I had a secret desire that at least one of them would end up in prison.

By the time I got to the 3th grade, and the 4th grade, and the 5th grade, and the 7th grade, they already had 7 Dahlins come through their classrooms giving the nuns so much grief that they felt it was time for payback... AGAINST ME!

They especially felt justified because of my special condition, lack of focus, and what they called "hyper-activity." I had always thought it was a superpower until I heard them talking about it behind my back. That might help explain the whole "Cloak-Room thing" I did behind Sister Edith's back (See blog post 9/2/13)

I guess I really shouldn't have blamed them, and later went to confession telling Father Sheldon of my secret sin. Only after 32 "Our Father's," 63 "Hail Mary's" and a couple dozen "Confiteors" the guilt of my sin was finally absolved. I wanted a letter from the Pope, but that never came. 

But still, if it had been Sister Godzilla who lit the fire - I might have turned her in.

The Nuns probably had the greatest motive of anyone on the list: Loud partying, carousing, cursing, drinking, drugs, girls and boys living together in sin...every single night - practically right there on their backdoor steps.

A quick slip out the backdoor - and bam - one of the penguin clad nuns under the darkness of night could start the fire and slip back in practically unnoticed.

Upon investigative inquiry by interrogating the nuns... one by one they corroborated each others testimony and had an iron clad alibi. Turns out, that none of the Catholic Sisters had any knowledge of how to make an incendiary device of this kind and other than communion wine - had no access to the specific type of alcohol for the creation of a Molotov Cocktail. Sister Godzilla did tell me in private that if she knew how to make one, the "Fraternity house" would have been gone long ago (I'm sure that will take some "Our Father's and Hail Mary's"). 

 Shucks, they were my best suspects and were now off the list.

Although they lived right behind the "Frat-House," Walter and his family dropped off the list - because he liked to party there on occasion and would have done anything to, "keep it all copacetic...man"

When I told told Four-Eyes about the things the nuns said which I wrote down on my little pad...he said he thought it might make some good song lyrics. I thought he was crazy. He typed them up and sent them to a Mr. John Fogerty of some hippie group called Creedence Clearwater Revival. I told him he was stupid and those words would never make it into a song - Not Ever!

The Nuns talked about how every time they looked out their backdoor they saw strange, bizarre and weird stuff that looked like giants doing cartwheels late at night - they saw things that looked like statues wearing High Heels (I think that may have been my brothers dressed up like girls trying to get in) and of course happy creatures dancing on the lawn (that part was true).

This is what Four Eyes scripted...   
"Doo, doo, doo, Looking out my back door.
There's a giant doing cartwheels,
A statue wearing high heels.
Look at all the happy creatures dancing on the lawn... " and some other nonsensical stuff like that.

The doo-doo part was compliments of Johnny Gillemonster...

I will have to tell you that story of intrigue and dog-poop that would eventually clear his name from the list below.
 

1) My tribe...the Wolf Pack

2) Mr. Blaser

3) Mr. D (that's my dad)

4) Mr. Lennon

5) Frank Nargie

6) Rita Nargie

7) Sea-Shell

8) Leeland

9) Weenie Tripp

10) Johnny Gillemot

11 Tommy Blaser

12) Four boys dressed as girls

13) The Nuns at Saint Marks who lived just behind the house.

14) Walter Daniels 

15) Crazy, Anti-War, Peace-loving members from an opposing Fraternity

16) The Owner of the property.

In the mean time- everyone's name needs to be cleared, since I was running the investigation and I guess I'll have to tell you about the details of the gruesome 4-alarm fire...the daring rescue and how a a pair of underwear i.e. whitie-tighties help clear one suspect from the list.

Until next time...  sleep safe... say your prayers and.... vet att du är älskad

                                                                                     
Android users Lookin' out my backdoor 

The Great Fire: Who-Dunnit

The list of suspects was long: for the GREAT FIRE "WHO-DUNNIT"

1) My tribe...the Wolf Pack
2) Mr. Blaser
3) Mr. D (that's my dad)
4)Chet Young
5) Frank Nargie
6) Charles Manson
7) Sea-Shell
8) Leeland the want-to-be hot rodder
9) Weenie Tripp
10) Johnny Gillemot
11 Tommy Blaser
12) Four boys dressed as girls
13 The Nuns at Saint Marks who lived just behind the house
14) Crazy, Anti-War, Peace-loving members from an opposing Fraternity

 and NUMBER 14 was "The Consipiracy Theory" - not a man on the grassy knoll, but...
 15) The Owner of the property.

This unsolved mystery turned out to be the greatest disaster on Harding Avenue and third biggest crime in the History of Venice CA.

On our short block on Harding avenue, we had 5 large turn-of-the-century houses with the Lennon Sisters occupying one of these grand masterpieces on the opposite end of the street and us right-smack-dab in the middle.  If this was just a story and not true life, it would have been written this way to symbolically suggest that we were in the geographical center of the universe - and for all intents and purposes WE WERE!

In the picture shown here - practically every car seen was one of ours...except for the Lincoln Continental parked in the driveway next door.  This picture was taken a couple of years ago and you can see my best friend, Tommy, and my little sister, Kjersten playing out front. At this time, however, Tommy was about 9 and loved to play with matches...he loved to burn things up -  that's why he made the list.

You can see the wonderful round turret that graced the craftsman architecture of the old house. This large magnificent home on the corner was owned by a man who lived in Santa Monica that consented to rent it to an ambitious party animal against the wishes of my my dad and the other concerned Real Estate Broker, Mr. Blaser, who lived next door to us (owner of the Lincoln Continental). Making matters worse, the tenant was a friend of my brothers named, Cameroon who decided to turn the old place into a "College Fraternity House."



No one in the neighborhood liked the idea. That's why Mr. D and Mr. Blaser made it on the list of suspects. 




Since most of us are Catholics on our block and had only learned Latin for Mass, we butchered the proper pronunciation of the three Greek Letters...        
            Φ Β Χ 
 ...which Camaroon hung on the front facade that you can see playing "peek-a-boo" behind the palm tree.

Also of note in this picture is the 56' Ford Business Coop parked out in front of the "Frat-House" that is in the beginning stages of  being transformed into the legendary Rat Killer (Shhhhhh - please don't tell Ford Motor Company where their high-performance 427, V8 motor disappeared to - Blog Post 7-4-2013 click here The legendary Rat Killer of Venice ).






 
Anyway, I wasn't about to tell my mom and I certainly wasn't going share this with the priest at confession, but one things that was pretty cool about being the house in the middle of the block was the college girls who walked by our house on their way to the so-called "Frat-House."  I was 12 - not a Zombie.  Ummmmmmm...I know this is the Sixties, but I'm pretty sure that the clothes they were wearing (or should I say lack of clothing) wasn't appropriate at any college in America, unless it was Magical Mystery Tour University.

       Weird...Right? I have no idea what the Beatles were thinking!

Speaking of the ill-clad "frat-girls" I guess some of the members of my tribe - the Wolf Pack, had lost some kind of bizarre bet in the hippie-cave in our backyard while smoking those funny-looking, hand-rolled Zig Zag cigarettes. The outcome of losing the bet was that a couple of  my brothers and several of their glassy-eyed friends had to dress up like girls and try to get into the Fraternity house. A couple of the boys with long hair looked pretty cute - my dad especially loved this - because he got to add this as evidence for his "ahhh...the little girly-men" speech he would often sing-song, invoking his Swedish inflection making fun of older boys who had long hair. I'm not going to lie, however, Chewbacca, looked like the ugliest women you every saw with his pink, poka-dotted dress and beard. The boys looked ridiculous staggering down to the end of the block in their fish net tights, mini-skirts and high heals. What was really gross was that Primo wore a bikini with oranges stuff inside the top.

Two of the hippies pretending to be girls got "hit on" Ewwwww...GROSS! ...and the rest were thrown out. 

That's why four boys ended up on the suspect list - the two that made it in and two who were jealous for getting kicked out. 

Weenie made it on the list just because she lived right next door, but really - anybody in the Tripp Family had motive.With all the wild parties and cars speeding in and out of the dirt driveway, no one on our street would blame them.

No one really knows for sure what happened to "Sea-Shell."  It was one of those, "which came first things"...the chicken or the egg?  Was she always slightly crazy or did that happened to her when her big brother, Camaroom, dropped her on her head from the second story balcony of the Fraternity house after her 15th attempt to sneak in.  Because of the head accident, she definitely makes it on the list.

Four Eyes says that someday they should make a movie based on the Fraternity called Party House or Animal House or something like that - but he was always speaking nonsense - like that is ever going to happen. 

I guess I have to tell you why some of the other people on our street made in on the list and also tell you about the night the Molotov cocktail - the poor man's grenade, smashed through the large plate glass window that sent the house up in an blazing inferno.

“Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself”

                                                          Mark Twain         

                                                       Until next time...   Happy New Year!

Post Christmas Stress Disorder and the Drummer Boy

Sorry about the delay on this last one - it has been crazy around here during this busy holiday season.

As Spiderman I had to use my superpowers to save the Dahlins from themselves at another typical Harding avenue Christmas. However, I found that my good deeds were soon discovered which bore the full wrath of the Wolf Pack.

Little did I know what trickery was happening behind my back that would eventually add to the early onset of my pre-pubescent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder PTSD referred to by some as PSSD < more about that later.


Today happens to be the "Feast of the Epiphany" ...to us Catholics, this is a big deal!

Epiphany (Koine Greek: ἐπιφάνεια, epiphaneia, "manifestation", "striking appearance") or Theophany (Ancient Greek (ἡ) Θεοφάνεια, Theophaneia meaning "vision of God"), which traditionally falls on January 6, is a Christian feast day that celebrates the revelation of  God the Son as a human being in Jesus Christ.

 


The tradition we had in our family was to leave our dying two-dollar Christmas tree up, until at least January 6th every year so we could sing happy birthday to baby Jesus - believing that this was when the Wise Guys (the three dudes on camels had arrived from the orient) to present baby Jesus with kingly gifts.

 
Sometimes mom even had a present for each one of us to unwrap on that special "Holy Day of Obligation." 

It just meant more mayhem, more chaos, more wrapping paper and more stuff to get lost...and more opportunities for the Wolf Pack to turn me into a psychotic mess with their psychological warfare. 

Let me take you back two weeks to Christmas when my brothers, acting like Wolves, begun attacking the presents as if ravaging a dead caribou.




Christmas 2:00 am:  After we found Kjersten who had been buried under four feet of Christmas wrapping paper (the story of the emerging hand that scared the cheese out of Dooh-Dooh Pants and almost made Pinky suffer a heart attack who had collapsed and smashed a perfectly good recliner into smithereens blog post Dec 25, 2013) I needed to spring into action.

I felt for sorry mom's devastated plans and dad's demolished second-hand-chair and the collateral damage of our fallen "Charlie Brown Tree"and the subsequent damaged and lost presents.

The older boys had made fun of me, because I liked to help mom and dad around the house. For some reason I was embarrassed by the mountains of dirty dishes and by the hurricane of scattered debris in the wake of the uncaring peace-loving hippies who cared only about the "Mexican Tomato Plants" in the backyard. The junk, the trash, the boxes, the clutter, the car parts - though they professed love for mother earth and hugged lots of trees, none of the stuff that mattered to my parents seemed to matter to them.

I tried the best I could to help.  I really did...and I think mom and dad really appreciated it...only this made the older boys and Matilda (Queen of the World) even meaner. The Wolf Pack would call me names and say things like.."Oh, Markie you'll make someone a good wife some day." Hahahahaha they would laugh, taunting me mercilessly.  I have to admit, it was awful and it did hurt (no matter what the whole "sticks and stones" ditty tried to say about how name calling doesn't hurt). So I  pretended the best I could that none of their spiteful teasing bothered me.

In our house, Emotionless-Swedish-Stoicism ruled the day. You dare not show any signs of weakness or you would become the wounded caribou for the next terrifying feast of the blood thirsty Wolf Pack .

After the Kjersten episode - I slowly, carefully, and methodically sneaked around the crammed living room that had been carelessly piled high in shards of wrapping paper. Over the years, we had lost a little sister...thrown out a dog along with hundreds of presents and I didn't want that to happen. To throw away presents was not only like throwing away money...but it was also an insult to the gift giver. My parents were depression-era kids who didn't want to throw anything away and so this was a big deal to them.

I was determined to use my super powers to help mom and dad.  With my "Spider senses" on high alert, I moved about the room stealthy and removed one piece of  torn paper at a time.  I had cleverly placed empty Market Basket shopping bags strategically out-of-the-way around the outskirts of the living room. Bit by bit I picked up scraps and secretly shoved them into the brown grocery sacks.

Over and over and over...bit by bit...piece by piece... I threw trash away - trying not to bring attention to myself as if cleaning up after the ravages of a hurricane.  It was a daunting and endless task - yet, the mountain of discarded wrapping paper grew at a rate faster than my rate of progress.

Ulrich lifted his hand once to catch a flying present and I dropped and took cover. It seems that - making me flinch was one of his favorite things to do.  If anyone within a five foot radius of me raised a hand suddenly, I usually flinched and covered my head (that had become a pretty embarrassing habit at school). Anyway, mom had put on the Lennon Sisters new album on the Hi-Fi stereo and the added noise helped to conceal my efforts to restore order.  Over and over I picked up trash trying to liberate lost toys and presents and baby sisters and dogs, but pile never got smaller. 

Harder and harder I worked.
Higher and higher the pile grew.
 The Lennon Sisters were singing the "Ode to Billy Joe"   I don't know what the song was about, but I felt about as frustrated as O' Billy Joe McCallister.

The Lennon Sisters sang... the boys tossed presents around the room, tore off the paper and threw the wrapping in the middle of the room with the cockeyed Christmas tree and the flattened recliner-chair.

Laughter
Paper
Paper
Laughter

Over and over.

I tried to use my superpowers to please my parents, but my Spider-senses tingled and told me something was dreadfully wrong - there was a uncomfortable lull - a disturbing silence like the calm before a storm. I looked up from the formidable task at hand only to find 15 sets of eyeballs staring directly at me as though I had been a lab rat trapped in one of their cruel experiments.

Laughter
More this time...
Unbeknownst to me, they had been systematically pulling the very same trash (that I had been relentlessly stuffing in the bags) out of the bags and throwing the trash back into the middle of the room - when I wasn't looking.

Again, the runt of the litter, became the brunt of this particular Christmas Wolf-Pack torment.  I didn't understand it, but quietly slipped away and took my new "Rat-Fink" ring and placed it at the foot of the manger...believing I was there with the wise men as the drummer-boy, paying my homage to the new born KING!  

Bing Crosby and David Bowie Drummer Boy


Oh, yeah PSSD is Post Sixties Stress Disorder.  It was 1968 and I was hoping to make it out of the Sixties alive!


 Android users click here for Ode to Billy Joe

"Mama hollered out the back door "y'all remember to wipe your feet"
And then she said "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge"
"Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge"
'n' Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas
"Well Billy Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits, please"