The King
of Rally-- Dead at 96
"He
taught us all how to live... and how to die..."
April, 2005-- His name was Andy Dall, called
by his grandkids, great-grandkids, and their friends, "Poopa,"
(pooh-paw), but to me he will always be Andy, the original King
of Rally. When I first knew him he was already in his 80s. At
one time Andy was, apparently, a very famous and successful Los
Angeles area architect, designing some of the more well known
buildings in the region. I never talked to him about his career
but one time I mentioned his name to Max, an architect friend
of mine, and he said, "wow, you know Andy Dall? We studied
his work in school."
A life-long avid boater,
Poopa had had a mooring in Avalon harbor on Santa Catalina Island
since 1954, and he was a member of the yacht club there. Having
outlived his wife Lee, and most all of his old pals, Poopa took
to hanging out with his grandkids and their friends. That is
how the Telemarktips crew came to meet him, Andy's granddaughter
is married to our friend and ski partner, Len, from Mt. Pinos.
The Catalina Yacht Club on the day of Andy's
memorial service.
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In those years we were
skiing together all winter and spring in the mountains around
our homes, so it was natural that we would get together for boat
trips with Poopa when the skiing would wind down. Of course it
was always a lot of fun being at the island, fishing and diving,
laying in the sun. It was here that I took my then 8 year-old
son Neil for his first snorkelling adventure. I'll never forget
his eyes--wide as saucers--after he jumped into the water off
the back of Andy's boat, the Storm Maker III, and saw the underwater
world for the first time. Nor will I forget roaring around on
a friend's Sea-Doo with Neil screaming and laughing on the seat
behind me. But as fun as it was, this wasn't any of this stuff
that made those trips so memorable, it was getting to hang out
with Andy, seeing his big happy smile, that faintly (and not
so faint) mischievous glint in his eye, all the while having
the privilege of experiencing Poopa's truly remarkable zest for
life.
He had already had hip
replacements, heart surgery, and God only knows what else by
this time, but Andy would always rally back hard, and there was
no holding him down, that's because he was the King of Rally.
A big part of Andy's motivation
to keep going, besides his his family, was his love of women.
Now a lot of us guys like women... oh yeah, a lot... but Andy
truly loved them. And they knew it intuitively, almost
always responding favorably. One of my favorite Poopa stories
involves a time when one did not, but it illustrates Andy's spirit
pretty well.
We were sitting in the
Marlin Club one late afternoon. The boys were playing pool and
the vibe was way too biker bar-like for Poopa's taste. "Mitch,
this place stinks, let's get out of here and go down to Luau
Larry's and get a drink," he said. I knew what he had in
mind, in the summer Luau Larry's gets going early, the patrons
donning straw hats, drinking Mai Tai's, with the girls are already
beginning to get into a dance groove. Sure enough, when we walked
in, the place was hopping. Poopa and I grabbed a table, ordered
drinks and sat back to enjoy the scene. After awhile Andy leaned
over and said in his gravelly voice, "Mitch, see that blond
over there?" I glanced up and saw him gesturing towards
a tall, shapely young thing standing by the bar. "I think
I'm going to go ask her to dance." I smiled, laughed and
said, "good idea Andy, it would be rude not to." So
Poopa gets up and hobbles over on his 90 year-old hip replacement
legs.... and she turns him down! It was truly shocking!
Poopa came back to the
table and laughed it off, both of us agreeing that it was her
loss. Now most guys would have resigned themselves to having
been rejected and given up. Not Poopa. Two rounds later he leans
back across the table and says, "I think I'll give that
blond one more chance." With that he went on over and whispered
something in her ear. I've always wondered what he said exactly,
but whatever it was it must have been a great line because the
cute blond blushed, laughed, gave him a hug and they started
to dance. We ended up having a really memorable night, one of
the best times I ever had with Poopa. As for the line he used
on that blond, it could have been a variation of one of his favorites,
one that we all heard many times, "Honey, I'm 90 years old,
I could die at any minute, come on over here and sit on my lap."
The news about Andy's passing
came to me a couple of weeks ago. The Telemarktips van was pointed
north towards Mammoth and Matt Kalin called, "Poopa's gone
doggie, a memorial service at Catalina is being planned. We've
got to be there. He taught us all how to live," said Matt.
"And how to grow old and die," I replied. "I'll
clear my calendar and be there." So that is how we all came
to be at Catalina Island last Friday, for one last pub crawl
with Poopa. We had his ashes in a small wooden box and carried
him from bar to bar for a final visit to all his favorite old
haunts. The Descanso Bay bar, the Casino, Eric's on the pier,
and of course Luau Larry's and the Marlin Club. At each stop
our large group would place the box on a table, gather 'round,
and toast his memory, telling stories and reciting our favorite
Poopa quote.
Matt Kalin: "I think
my favorite Poopa line was usually delivered when Andy would
be sitting on the stern of the Storm Maker in his deck chair
and say (getting Andy's voice just right, a little gravel and
a touch of twang) "somebody make me a screwdriver, will
ya."
Most of the night, from
Luau Larry's on (the second to the last stop on the pub crawl)
is kind of hazy, but I do remember standing in the door at Larry's
on Avalon's beachfront Crescent Avenue, and Len saying "come
on, we are going to take Poopa down to the water's edge for a
little fresh air," then following as they took the box down
to the bay-side beach, an old Neil Young song playing in my head...
It's midnight on the bay
And lights are shinin'
And the sailboats sway
And that cool ocean breeze.
Blowin' down through the keys
I think I'll call it a day
Oh, midnight on the bay.
Sure feels good to me.
I was positive it would
have felt good to Poopa as well.... who knows? Maybe it still
did. I do know this for sure: his spirit was still with us that
night.
The next thing I remember
was Matt waking me up on the floor of some place I'd never been
before and would not be able to find my way back to again for
a million dollars. It was 4:00 am when we walked back to the
place where we were staying, only to find out that neither of
us had a key. I ended up boosting Matt off the top of my wobbling
shoulders onto the balcony of the condo. Thankfully the slider
was open and he met me at the front door.
It was great!!
Just the kind of ending
to a raging night that Andy would have enjoyed!!! Mission accomplished,
we crashed hard, getting back up just a few hours later for the
memorial service at the Catalina Yacht Club. The club building
was decorated with a myriad of photos of Andy. There was Poopa
as a young man, with his smiling wife Lee, next to a big Marlin
in San Diego. Wait a minute, that black and white picture was
from 1965, Andy was already 56 years old! There were photos of
Andy with his much loved great-grandchildren, Tyler and Ashley,
and of course many photos of a much older Poopa with various
women on his lap, all with big happy smiles and beaming eyes.
Soon it was time to board
one of the many boats heading out to take Poopa on his last boat
ride in the Catalina channel. The Mt. Pinos/Telemarktips ski
crew and their wives all went together on one boat, with the
exception of Len of course, who was with the rest of the family
on the Storm Maker III. The water was flat, but a rainstorm had
been threatening all morning, yet as we motored out the clouds
began to part and the sun struggled mightily to shine down on
the happy group. People on a dozen circled boats drank a champaign
toast to Andy. At long last Poopa's ashes were committed to the
deep blue Pacific, flowers were tossed into the water, boat horns
blared and another round of bubbly poured. I don't remember anyone
on our boat crying during what was a joyous celebration of a
life well lived.
Kirk and Maureen give Poopa's ashes over to
the ocean he loved so much.
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After our boat was tied
up back at her mooring, our captain/host loaded the crew into
his Boston Whaler for the short trip back to the yacht club.
On the way the girls spontaneously started singing Amazing Grace,
the guys joined in badly, and somebody got the idea to circle
the just-moored Storm Maker and sing it again. Ed's wife Jan
cracked us up by suggesting that just the girls should sing this
time, but the guys all promised to do a better job on the bottom
end. As we took one last pass around Poopa's boat, singing that
great song and actually hitting most of the right notes for once,
the love was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Andy's
family smiling down, the Storm Maker rocking gently as if nodding
in agreement, pelicans wheeling around in the sky above, and
in the shadow of the landmark Casino, old friends remembering
a special man who had touched us all so deeply. It was a magical
moment none of us will ever be likely to forget.
I know I'll never forget
Andy Dall.
A lot of people were lucky
enough to have known him much better and for far longer than
I did, but as Matt said, he taught us all how to live, for live
is exactly what Poopa did so well. And how to grow old with style,
because he did that equally as well. Will anyone who was there
ever forget the wheelchair races around the island?
So often they say "he
grew old gracefully," and I could easily end this tribute
on a similar note. Yet truth be told, as far as I could tell,
Andy didn't do that at all. He grew old doing what he had always
done: loving life and the people with whom he shared his times.
That is true of everyone, but
especially "his girls."
I firmly believe that it
was this love that kept him alive so long, through thick and
thin, allowing him to become the one true "King of Rally."
Our crew has met many interesting people through our involvement
in this thing called telemark skiing, but none more memorable
than Andy Dall.
.~~~~~~
The celebration continues at
the Catalina Yacht Club, with a slide show put together by Poopa's
great-granddaughter, Ashley. The first 3/4 of the show were devoted,
appropriately enough, to Poopa with around a hundred or so of
"his girls."
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I wish I had some higher res
pictures of Andy, but these scans are pretty cool. When we got
to the first bar on the pub crawl we were all given a chance
to pick out one of these photos to use as a name tag. I chose
the one at the upper right because it reminded me of Andy being
totally in his element:, sitting in a chair on the back of his
boat, sipping on a screwdriver, as happy as can be. I also like
the one at the bottom right, rigged for another trip to the Island,
in a starboard-side bed, but rallying in high style.
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On the left are some of the
Mt. Pinos crew: (clockwise) Rick, Rainbow, Dee, Pam, Jan and
Big Ed. Above right is Dee with Andy's great-grandson Tyler.
When Rainbow asked Tyler what his favorite Poopa quote might
be, he thought about it for a moment then blurted out, "hell,
it's happy hour, isn't it?"
For all of us, every hour we
had with Andy can surely be counted among the happiest of our
lives. Rest in peace our friend.
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