The McAuliffe clan had owned that house for three generations, and their great-grandfather built both their house and the White’s. They were one of the original families that homesteaded when Lagunitas was subdivided at the turn of the century. They felt strongly entitled to have their dam, which was technically illegal, and the subject of significant environmental controversy. If anyone deserved an exemption it would be them, but the Department of Fish and Game considered the dam to be an impediment to a rare natural phenomenon. Marty learned in school that Papermill Creek was one of the last major salmon migratory streams on the California coast. Driven by some unknown instinct, breeding pairs of salmon and steelhead would make their way into the narrow mouth of Tomales Bay and swim 15 miles down its throat to where the creek flowed in, right next to the town of Pt. Reyes Station. Then they’d struggle another 10 miles upstream – some as far as Woodacre if they could get past the Inkwells and the dam – to deposit their eggs in the gravel beds. Marty had heard that story many times in Mr. Inuktut’s class, and his teacher’s love of local biology was an inspiration to him.
They brought a baking dish of Marge’s famous tuna casserole, and a bottle of cheap wine to the party. Marty also brought a book, because he thought it would be boring like the parties his parents used to take them to in suburbia, where he would just sit in a corner and read. It turned out to be more like going to a Mardi Gras. The empty house he and Susie had seen before was now alive with sounds, smells, and a kaleidoscope of characters: over a hundred diverse partygoers were drinking, dancing, smoking, cajoling, swimming, eating, singing, and drinking some more. He left the book in his pocket.
Susie’s new friend ran up to greet them. She was bigger than Marty’s little sister, which wasn’t remarkable because Susie was usually the smallest in her class. What made Tillie stand out from the crowd was her unbelievable hyperkinetic energy. (That wasn’t easy, because the revelers were a very animated throng.) She talked like an LP played at 78 speed, and moved her hands around constantly, as if trying to catch small animals inside her clothes. Her hair was sandy blonde and cut straight across, giving her the appearance of a little Celtic girl on speed. She bounced the new kids over to meet her parents, Billy and Millie, while dancing a crazy jig out of pure excitement.
Her dad was sitting on his throne on the porch, overseeing the scene like a king at a festival. He had to shout above the Journey album being played so loudly that Marty could feel it in his teeth. “Hi, I’m Big Billy.” He was actually very short, and by way of explanation he patted his huge pot belly and boomed, “That’s Little Billy over there, burning the chicken as a sacrifice to the barbecue gods. He’s my oldest.” Little Billy was wildly slapping a wet towel on the smoking conflagration in an effort to exert some degree of culinary control, surrounded by laughing long-haired guys with beers in their hands, mocking him and not trying to help at all.
“I’m Marge, and this is Julie, Marty, and Susie.” Anyone could see right away that she was quite smitten with Big Billy, as she was wiggling and flirting with him already. Julie rolled her eyes and put her hand on one hip. Marge waved off her progeny dismissively. “You guys go have fun.” She practically threw the children off the porch.
“C’mon Marge, let’s get you a drink!” They walked in the door to the house arm in arm, as if they had known each other for years.
Tillie led her new neighbors through the dancing crowd to see the dam, jerking and flailing her arms as if she were having a spasm. The dam itself hadn’t been raised yet – that would be the signature moment of the party after everyone was sufficiently lubricated. There was a gaggle of giggling cherubs jumping off the dam into a modest pool about four feet deep. In they jumped, out they climbed, in they jumped… it was like a revival meeting on endless loop. A rope swing had been hung from the bridge in such a way that the silly little lads would jump off the back side holding the rope, and fling forward into the water. This was done without a hint of grace or skill, and many humorous wipeouts followed one after the other, like a blooper reel of ducks who didn’t know how to land on water. Marty saw three large, very drunk men trying to get into a canoe. That was not going to turn out well at all, and he kept checking on them expectantly while he surveyed the whole riotous scene. Paula’s deck had a balcony overlooking the creek, where several overdressed women were leaning over the rail, laughing bawdily and waving to the men in the canoe… wait a minute, those weren’t women! They were dressed like women going out on a Saturday night, but their body shapes betrayed them. The burly men in the canoe were pushing off from shore and trying to find the paddles. The water came clear up to the gunwales.
A short young man approached and asked if they were the new neighbors. He had long blonde hair, a muscular build, and projected a friendly Southern California surfer vibe. Oddly, he was wearing a neoprene diver’s suit, the purpose of which would become evident later. Julie was transformed instantly by the presence of this hunky plastic man who introduced himself as Gilly, the younger McAuliffe brother. It was nauseating to watch how Julie imitated their mom, flirting and fawning over the surfer dude immediately, shooing away her siblings and letting Gilly show her the sailboat in the backyard. That left Marty and Susie alone to deal with whatever came their way, as usual. Tillie arrived with three Pepsis, and they all sat on the concrete part of the dam, which was a walkway three feet thick. There was about an 8 foot gap in the middle where the water flowed through, and he could see where boards could be fitted in to plug it up.
“C’mon, jump in! Swim with us!” The wet little kids were hyperventilating with glee, but Marty was too cool to act like a child, and besides, he hadn’t brought his swim suit. As if by way of compromise, Tillie and Susie rolled up their pants to dangle their feet in the water. Tillie was thrashing her legs as if trying to fight off a shark. She just couldn’t sit still for one second!
Marty decided to check out the scene from different angles, and study the extremely interesting party. He began his research by going up the back stairs to the kitchen (because he was hungry), and was startled by a strong-looking young woman, who burst out the back door with a bucket of ice cold beer in each hand. “Who are you? I don’t know you!” She confronted him in a direct but not unfriendly way. She looked like a bigger version of Tillie, and had the same straight, sandy hair, except her boobs were enormous, and her hips were very wide.
“I’m Marty from next door,” he blurted, unconsciously pressing himself against the side of the house and pointing downstream. “We just moved in.”
Her face brightened instantly. “Oh, hey, welcome to the Lagunitas Triangle! I’m Hillie. I’d give you a big hug, but there are thirsty men down there who would be jealous.” She thrust her chin to point at the tipsy guys in the canoe, who were capsizing in a slow-motion tangle of flannel shirts, paddles, and curses, much to the amusement of the faux ladies on the balcony. “See you later, and eat all you want – there’s tons of food.” She bounded down the back stairs two at a time and plunged into the crowd like a running back, where eager hands quickly lightened her load. Marty suddenly realized that all the first names of the McAuliffe clan rhymed, and he paused for a moment of cartoon contemplation. It was impossible to remain still in such a gay atmosphere for very long, and he opened the door.
Inside the crowded kitchen he found his mom with a bottle of scotch in one hand, and Big Billy holding her other arm trying to steady her. That was fast, even for her! She had a very poor tolerance for hard liquor, and usually stuck with light beer, Marty recollected. They hadn’t been there an hour yet, and she was already wasted. Or maybe she was faking it so Big Billy would have to help her… he wasn’t sure. The babble of people trying to talk over one another in the tiny room was deafening. Suddenly, a small owlish woman with big round glasses bustled right up to his face and yelled, “Who are you?” He could see the question was posed in good humor, but she had an unnerving way of looking directly at you, as if she could see all the secrets in your soul. Her greatly magnified eyes blinked constantly behind the thick lenses. Her question was all that mattered to her, and she was not going to let him pass until he answered it.
“That’s Marge’s son,” said Big Billy in his loud voice, “Marty, meet Millie – my better half.”
“There’ll be only half of you left if you don’t keep your hands off the women!” Millie took Marge’s arm and put it around her shoulders, steering her towards the bathroom.
Big Billy shrugged expansively in the universal male sign language for “What are ya gonna do?” He redirected his attention to a huge platter of burnt chicken, and tried to find an edible piece. Marty grabbed a paper plate and covered it with a little bit of everything (except the tuna casserole they brought, of which he’d already eaten too much back home). People were coming and going through the miniature kitchen, which was about the size of a camper. The hit record by Journey was making the window panes rattle, and somebody screamed in laughter from the other room. This was one hell of a “dam” party already, and it was just the opening act!
“The wheel in the sky keeps on turning,
I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow…”
The hit from the bong made Marty higher than he’d ever been before, at least in his very brief experience smoking pot. The party took on a whole new energy, and all the people were so cool. He floated down the stairs and drifted through the dancing crowd like a wraith. The energetic boys on the bridge were still performing their continuous rope swing antics to an audience of giggling girls who admired them from the railing. Alex was talking animatedly near Paula’s little toy car with several people of indiscriminate gender who wore tight clothes. They were all very muscular, and one of them was wearing a rhinestone thong with a codpiece. There was more cartoon material than one brain could catalog and store properly! Millie came hurrying across the bridge from Paula’s house with the alacrity of the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, muttering, “It’s late! Where is that man?”
Driven by curiosity, Marty wandered too far into Paula’s world. The drag queens still reigned on the balcony, and their sharp eyes were alert for any possible victim who entered their territory. They started cat-calling and blowing kisses at the new kid in town, imploring him with open arms to join them. “We saved you a seat, honey,” one of them yelled. That came from a tall black guy dressed as a lady in a purple sequined dress, with long silver hair and enormous half circles of silver eye shadow. He (she?) beckoned to him urgently with elbow length white gloves, while waving a scarlet scarf. Marty lifted his hand in polite decline and stiffly smiled, then deliberately turned back towards the bridge. Their high-pitched laughter peppered his retreating back good-naturedly, “Don’t be a party pooper!”
On the way he could hear the faint barking of Rommel and Gertrude, who were chained in the horse shed up the road so they wouldn’t eat anybody. Their protests at being excluded from the party were mixed with a very incongruous wheedling noise that sounded like bagpipes. The drunken revelers were cheering about something Marty couldn’t see, and the loud music was abruptly cut. Now he could hear it plainly – it really was bagpipes, coming from the porch of the main house! Suddenly the crowd parted and formed a path, and down the stairs came Big Billy, transformed into a Scottish chieftain. He wore a green felt hat at a jaunty angle, with a tartan sash across his chest, and a kilt! He was the one playing the bagpipes, by God, and he marched down to the dam, followed by Little Billy and other strong men ceremoniously bearing two great, dark slabs of redwood on their shoulders as if they were parts of Stonehenge. They appeared to be very heavy, as it took four of them to carry each slab. Gilly and Julie appeared from the back of the house and joined them – the latter following the former with big puppy eyes. Alex held sheets of plywood high over his head, helped by some of the guys who had fallen out of the canoe earlier. Tillie, Susie and Millie watched from the small landing at the top of the stairs outside the kitchen door. “Marge” was nowhere to be seen, and Marty figured she was passed out in the house. She had strong Scottish blood, and would have enjoyed this tremendously. Anyway, he had a terrific spot in the middle of the bridge from which to enjoy the climax of the festivities.
Big Billy came to a parade stop on top of the dam, and finished playing his tune. One of his kilt socks had fallen down, and his hat nearly covered his red, bearded face. He gave a short speech that was heavily slurred and hard to understand, and a loud cheer rose from the spectators when it ended. Then he gave the signal. Alex and his buddies shoved the plywood down in the water to form a barrier just before the spillway, which temporarily blocked most of the flow. Little Billy and Gilly jumped into the water, which came up to their chests, and guided the huge slabs as they were lowered by the strong men on top of the dam into the vertical slots of the opening. As the slabs were shoved in place, everyone cheered again while the men scrambled out and the plywood was removed and carried away. Suddenly there was a drum rat-a-tat-tatting from the flagpole and everyone fell silent. Hillie was there with a traditional Scottish snare drum over her shoulder, and Tillie was raising a blue flag. There was no wind, but Marty learned later it had the crest of their clan on it. When it reached the top, the crowd went wild, and the extravaganza that had paused briefly for a word from its sponsor roared back to life with renewed energy. All the guys on the dam except Big Billy jumped back into the creek and splashed with rowdy exuberance like little boys.
Marty stood on the bridge, surveying the raucous mob, and contrasting the commotion with the towering peace and serene stewardship of the redwoods crowding around the stage. He felt the grandeur of being in a gigantic opera house with a high, living ceiling of soft redwood boughs, watching a rowdy scene from The Bartered Bride. He walked down and became reacquainted with the bottle-green bong, and that’s pretty much the last thing he remembered about that “dam” party. The aftereffects of the monumental event lasted all summer long. The creek downstream next to their house disappeared for a day, then filled back up as the flow normalized when it finally rose over the dam. The enlarged pool it created behind the dam was nearly 8 feet deep in places, which made it possible to dive from the bridge or a 12-foot high stump next to Paula’s house. Once again Marty reflected: who needs cable? Their new neighbors were much more entertaining than the old biddies back at the country club!