Category Archives: Columns

Lyrical Time at County Fair

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Have a Lyrical Time at County Fair

When you think of a county fair, a menu of things pop to mind including cotton candy and deep-fried-chocolate-covered-bacon-wrapped concoctions as well as carousel rides and Carney games and a bird’s-eye view atop a Ferris wheel.

Too, surely, you think of music.

And so, with the 141st annual Ventura County Fair’s 12 days of magic in full swing through Aug. 14, I looked up lyrics about county fairs. I was surprised not only by how many songs touch on the subject, but how many are actually titled “County Fair.”1ferriswheel

To help get you in the mood, here is a small sampling. Strum a guitar and sing along . . .

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From “County Fair” by Bruce Springsteen:

“Every year when summer comes around

“They stretch a banner ’cross the main street in town

“You can feel somethin’ happenin’ in the air

“Getting’ ready for the county fair

 

“County fair, county fair

“Everybody in town will be there

“So come on, hey, we’re goin’ down there

“Hey little girl with the long blond hair

“Come win your daddy one of them stuffed bears

“Baby down at the county fair”

 

Additional lyrics include:

“Well baby you know I just love the sound

“Of the pipe organ on the merry-go-round

“Now at the north end of the field, well they set up a stand

“And they got a little Rock ’N’ Roll band

“The people dancin’, yeah, out in the open air

“Just rockin’ down at the county fair”

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From “Walk Me Down the Middle” by The Band Perry:

“Walk me down the middle of the county fair

“Walk me down the middle like you don’t care

“Walk me by the Ferris wheel and make sure she sees

“Let the whole world know you belong to me”

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From “County Fair” by Chris Ledoux:

“I got a date with a girl, a perdy ranchers daughter,

“Green as her golden hair.

“Gonna pick her up at 8 after some soap and water.

“And we’re headin’ to the county fair.

“So I’m gonna take on the Ferris wheel.

“Way up in the sky, with the stars in her eyes,

“I’m gonna tell her just how I feel.

“Well, there’s a full moon in the western sky,

“And there’s magic in the air.

“Ain’t nothin’ I know of, can make you fall in love,

“Like a night at the county fair.”

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From “County Fair” by John Mellencamp:

“Well the County Fair left quite a mess

“In the county yard

“Kids with eyes as big as dollars

“Rode all the rides”

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From “County Fair” by Lonestar:

“Twenty bucks buys ten coupons

“Two ears of corn and one ride on

“The tilt-a-whirl with your favorite girl

“Keep on walkin’ down the midway

“Three-eyed goats and games to play

“ ‘Step right up,’ Carney says, ‘Try your luck’

“You can tell the sweet smell of summer in the air

“Whole town shuts down, everybody’s gonna be there

“Down at the county fair”

 

And:

“Judging pigs and judging pies

“Fighting for the first place prize

“There’s nothing bigger

“In small towns everywhere

“Than the county fair”

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From “I Like it, I Love It” by The 2 Live Crew:

“Spent forty-eight dollars last night at the county fair

“I threw out my shoulder but I won her that teddy bear

“She’s got me saying sugar-pie, honey, darlin’, and dear

“I ain’t seen the Braves play a game all year”

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Another teddy bear prize in “Odds and Ends” by Freda Payne:

“Odds and ends of love that used to be

“You’re gone, but the memories linger on

“An old teddy bear that’s lost its hair

“You won at the county fair”

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From “Still Think About You” by William Clark Green:

“We were something special

“Pretty big deal

“Met you at the county fair

“Kissed you on the Ferris wheel”

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You’ve still got eight days left to ride the rides, play some games, try to win a stuffed bear, listen to a rock ‘n’ roll band, and maybe sneak a kiss on the Ferris wheel at our “County Fair with Ocean Air.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

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We All Have Warrior’s Beauty Marks

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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7 Toenails in 50 Shades of Gray

“Scars are a warrior’s beauty marks,” author and philosopher Matshona Dhliwayo opined.

In a similar vein, dead toenails are the beauty marks of a marathon runner. And so, in honor of the 13th anniversary of my consecutive-day running streak (4,749 days and counting) I shared a photo of my bare feet on Facebook.

While a picture is said to be worth a thousand words, this one was worth 45,215 miles. It was not beautiful. Indeed, displaying seven toenails that are 50 shades of gray to black – and, yes, my shoes fit properly, but running nearly two trips around the earth takes a toll – was aptly described by one Facebook friend as “ugly.”1scars

Yet that was not the common comment. Rather, it was words echoing Dhliwayo’s viewpoint.

“Congrats on your 13-Year Streakiversary,” read one reply. “This is awesome. It shows how much your feet endure each and every dang mile!”

Another: “Inspirational feat and inspiration feet.”

And: “The toenails of a true runner! You wear them well!”

Sure, there were a few gentle gibes: “Your feet could get extra work on The Walking Dead; Those toes, yikes!; Great job, now go get a pedicure!”

But mostly the responses were of praise, like: “You’ve earned the right to be proud of awesome toenails!” and, “As a fellow runner, I see your toes as beautiful!”

These plaudits made me think that blemished toes should not be different from other parts of our appearance we see as somehow flawed – our nose that we might feel is crooked or too large; our hair that we feel is too curly or too gray or too sparse; or our crow’s feet and laugh lines that we think make us look too old.

There is truth in the saying that wrinkles show you have laughed, gray hair means you cared, and scars mean you lived. So why can’t more of us see real scars as beauty marks?

Why can’t we proudly embody the woman Nikki Rowe writes about with these words: “She wore her battle scars like wings, looking at her you would never know that once upon a time she forgot how to fly”?

Scars as wings, what a beautiful metaphor.

This imagery is easier, most surely, for a male since scars can be seen as manly. For example, I have near-matching 6- and 7-inch serpent-like scars on the inside of both arms near the elbow; a 3-inch scar across my Adam’s apple from disc-fusion surgery; two smaller scars at both ends of my lower lip from skin cancer excision; an indented dark scar the size of pencil eraser, between the bridge of my nose and my right eye, that I got at age 4 when I scratched open a mole that needed to be cauterized; and none have ever bothered me.

Many scars run deeper, however. I have a friend who, at age 8, was bitten on the lower lip so severely by a dog that she needed reconstructive surgery. Her parents later confessed to her that for a long while they feared the she might never marry because of the injury.

Her lip eventually healed, but an emotional scar remained. Because of the attack, the dog was put down. The boys who had owned the dog, and their friends, blamed the victim and bullied her for years afterward.

And yet her pain makes me think of this wisdom from the poet Rumi: “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” It seems to me, the Light – and a rare kindness and empathy – entered my friend in extra doses where the dog bit her.

Perhaps no greater Light have I seen than in a powerful black-and-white photographic exhibit I saw of women posing topless, proudly displaying their mastectomy scars. Their strength and courage, and beauty, was undeniable.

We would all do well to try to see our scars – and wrinkles, whitening and thinning hair, and all the other marks life leaves on us – through the poet’s eyes. To see them as our Light, as our wings, as our warrior beauty marks.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

 

Smorgasbord of Thoughts

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Smorgasbord of This, That and The Other

From the comic strip Calvin & Hobbs, panel one. Hobbs: “Do you have an idea for your story yet?” Calvin: “No, I’m waiting for inspiration.”

Panel two. Calvin: “You can’t just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.”

Panel three. Hobbs: “What is that mood?” Calvin: “Last-minute panic.”

In a deadline panic, here goes . . .

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I came across this the other day, “10 Things That Require Zero Talent”:

1. Being on time1preparequote

2. Work ethic

3. Effort

4. Body language

5. Energy

6. Attitude

7. Passion

8. Being coachable

9. Doing extra

10. Being prepared.

It is a terrific list, although it seems to me that these are all actually “talents” in themselves.

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“Every child is an artist,” Picasso said. “The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

While I am less artistic than an elephant wielding a paintbrush in its trunk, I have managed to hold onto my inner child. Evidence of this is how my daughter remembered her hotel room number – 5512 – on a recent vacation.

“It was easy, Dad,” she explained. “Fifty-five is your age and 12 is how old you act.”

I took it as a compliment, intended or not, since I’m 56 and actually usually act about 8.

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Some wisdom from another artist, Venturan Rima Muna, who offers this short list titled: “What I’ve Learned From Kindergarteners (about painting):

“1. Be generous. Use a lot of paint, use it frequently and reach for your favorite colors.

“2. Fill the page.

“3. Don’t worry about perfection. An artwork can be good and bad. There is no such thing as ‘perfect.’ ”

Near-perfect advice outside the studio as well as inside it.

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Congratulations to Andria’s Seafood Restaurant and Market at the Ventura Harbor for being named on “The Top 10 Best Fish-and-Chips in America” list by Coastal Living Magazine.

The review included: “We love the fish-and-chips, especially the halibut, which arrives as five big, moist pieces. The views show off the harbor and mountains, but the star is on the platter in front of you.”

Another star is in the bowl in front of you when you order Andria’s renowned clam chowder.

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“The price of anything,” Henry David Thoreau said, “is the amount of life you exchange for it.”

So choose wisely and passionately and, as Coach Wooden advised, make each day your masterpiece.

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File this under “ill-chosen words.” After 64 people were shot, and four killed, over the July 4th weekend in Chicago, police superintendent Eddie Johnson said of the city’s gun violence: “There is no magic bullet that’s going to solve the whole thing.”

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Thoreau again: “Write while the heat is in you.”

Wise advise not limited to writing.

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Speaking of writing and heat, Melania Trump’s speechwriting talents bring to mind a saying from my mentor and predecessor in this space, the late and great Chuck Thomas, who liked to say, “Never write a bad column when you can steal a good one.”

Of course, unlike the third Mrs. Trump and whoever helped with her speech, Chuck gave attribution to the author of the words he borrowed.

In closing, in an effort to make this column better, let me steal these heartfelt words from Chuck who was looking through the prism of being divorced:

“While a happy marriage lasts, enjoy it to the fullest. Enjoy each day, each year, each decade. In our hectic lives, it’s so easy to take this happiness for granted. We’re so busy with jobs and kids, with careers and chicken pox, so preoccupied with mortgages and car repairs, that we don’t stop to smell the most beautiful flower of all – the happiness we’re sharing with someone we love.

“Don’t wait until today’s happiness is gone to make you appreciate what you’ve lost. Enjoy life to the fullest right now because today may be as close as you’ll ever get to ‘happily ever after.’ ”

Wise advice for all of us, married or not.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Asking, Listening, Learning

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Trying to Walk Around in Another’s Skin

Many years ago, perhaps two decades, a wise mentor made an observation that has resonated with me ever since. He shared that he had just seen something that warmed his heart and gave him hope for a post-racial America – a white boy, about age 8, riding double on a bike with his black friend.

“It was wonderful,” he said.

After a pause came the wisdom: “But then I realized what will really be wonderful is when the day comes that I – and everyone else – simply see two boys riding double.”1blackwhiteboys

That day, it was tragically hammered home yet again and again and again in recent days, has not yet arrived.

What is arriving, hopefully, is some education. Personally, among the things I learned from this string of senseless civilian and police deaths, is how naïve I am in understanding even to a small degree how rampant racism is – in small ways as well as headline ways – in 2016 America.

In the important novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Atticus advises his young daughter, Scout: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

Heeding this wisdom, I reached out to a few of my black friends in an attempt to be less naïve about my understanding of their points of view. Inadequately, but sincerely, I wanted to climb into their skin and imagine walking – and driving – around in it.

To be honest, I was worried about seeming ignorant or having my words ring hollow. My trepidation proved ill-founded. My questions were appreciated. The silence from most of their white friends regarding these issues, it turns out, is more saddening than saying the wrong thing.

The friends I reached out to are very successful professionals, and so at first I asked: “Have you ever been pulled over by the police for no reason?”

I quickly became enlightened that the better question, even for a physician or professor who is a black male, is: “How many times have you been stopped for no reason?”

Also, the real question is not “if” but “how often” are you met with cold stares of objectification when you go for a morning jog in your own gentrified neighborhood? Or to your local Starbucks? Or to the library with your young son?

How often are you shadowed by an employee when you go into a store in the mall? How often this, that, so many things that I, as a white male, never experience.

Something else I have not experienced is worrying about my son if he is ever pulled over by a police officer. However, for a handful of years I have worried about Peter – my son’s dear college classmate who I have become so close with he calls me “Pops” – if he is ever pulled over.

Correction: every time he is pulled over, even for a broken taillight that magically works when he gets home, which I now less naively know is the reality.

“Pops, your concern and love is a gift,” Peter, a technology consultant and founder of a nonprofit organization helping at-risk youth, texted me a few days ago when I reminded him to be safe – as has become my habit after each headline police shooting of a black man.

“I am friends with a couple of great cops,” Peter, who lives in Dallas, continued. “I have had to deal with cops pulling me over since I moved to this country (from Ghana) and haven’t really had problems. Today, I am more worried about what the cops are thinking I may do and how that heightens their anxiety when they approach a man my size who could be deadly at 6-foot-4 & 250 lbs even without a gun.”

Back to those two boys riding double on a bike. Twenty years later, this is what they make me think: now grown, if they are together – on a bike, in a car, on foot – they will still be seen as different.

This is not wonderful.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Time Machine on Two Wheels

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Summer Time Machine on Two Wheels

Summertime is a time machine. Just as hearing an old song can transport one’s thoughts back to his or her youth, so can summertime sights (barbecues, bikinis, bursting fireworks) and smells (sunscreen, chlorine, freshly mowed grass) make the calendar pages leap backwards.

Although summer has no monopoly on it, I recently saw a time-machine sight that is far more common during summertime than the other three seasons combined: a kid learning to ride a bicycle.1bikeridekid

This milestone typically plays out on a neighborhood sidewalk, quiet cul de sac, or empty parking lot. A father, or mother, holds the bike seat from behind to provide balance – and, at first, a little propulsion – while quick-stepping alongside as the child pedals.

To describe what universally happens next, I will share a specific scene I recently watched unfold. A young girl, maybe 6 and wearing a pink bike helmet that bobbled because it was too big, was on a bike that somehow seemed too small.

The dad kept the bike upright by holding the seat with one hand while the mom watched and cheered and took video. With each attempt, the tiny bike seemed to wobble a little less; the little feet pedaled more surely; and the girl’s frown of fright turned into a growing smile of happiness and confidence.

Also with each attempt, the dad’s stride quickened slightly; his grip on the bike seat grew less vise-like; and his smile, too, widened.

There were falls, of course, but no scraped knees because the father was wiser than I had been when I was in his shoes. He was teaching his daughter on a soccer field. What a brilliant way to minimize the fear of falling than to have soft grass to tumble on.

Grass, however, is more difficult to pedal on than pavement. This hindrance was overcome by doing the rides on a very slightly downhill section – the equivalent of the Wright Brothers always heading into the wind for extra lift at Kitty Hawk.

On one of the young girl’s attempts, as magically as when Orville was airborne for the very first time, she was suddenly defying gravity on two-wheels. At first, of course, she did not know that her dad’s hand was no longer helping her stay upright. And so the dad and mom felt the magic of the moment first.

Indeed, only when the daughter noticed her dad was no longer beside her did she realize she was flying solo. Shortly thereafter, the downhill turned flat and she ran out of steam and toppled over. By then she had traveled maybe 120 feet, as Orville did on his maiden flight, but each ride thereafter went further and longer until perhaps reaching the 852 feet that Wilbur achieved on that 1903 historical day.

The time machine sight of this girl’s personal Kitty Hawk sent me back to my own 1965 historical day. My two older Woodburn Brothers combined forces to teach me. I’m not sure their motivation was kindness so much as that if I learned to ride I would then need Doug’s hand-me-down bike; Doug would inherit Jim’s; and Jim would get a new one.

They took turns running alongside holding the seat to help me balance until – like the little girl above, and like you, and like your own children – after a while everything clicked and I was soaring solo. It is remarkable how something impossible can become second nature in an instant.

My brothers cheered me on as I rode off down the street and proceeded around the block. When I came back around they were both gone – Mom had called us inside for dinner and they had not waited for me.

Unfortunately, they had neglected to teach me how to use the coaster brakes. So around the block I went a second time, and a third, and still no one came out to help me stop without falling.

Falling, of course, is how I finally stopped. I came inside with a red badge of courage on my knee from the sidewalk. Goodness, that was a masterpiece summer day.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Alcatraz Escape Buoys Spirits

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Brief ‘Escape’ from Tragic Numbness

Back and forth, forth and back I pondered: do I write about The Latest Mass Shooting In America or do I not?

After all, my words run on the Op-Ed pages. On the other hand, for the most part I try to make my column an uplifting retreat.

Back and forth. I actually began writing a column leading off with my Facebook post from Sunday morning: “Numbness on top of numbness on top of numbness. My heart weeps for the Orlando victims and for young singer Christina Grimme and for every victim of gun violence daily in America, in classrooms and in churches, in nightclubs and in movie theaters, in and in, on and on.”

My remarkable friend Nate Higgins

My remarkable friend Nate Higgins

Then I had a change of mind. I decided to write about something else that happened last Sunday morning, not at 2 a.m. on the East Coast but at 6:30 a.m. on the West Coast; with texts and a phone call not of terror, but of triumph; a brief escape from the heart-numbing sorrow via the “Escape from Alcatraz” swim in hand-numbing frigid water.

Here is a text my friend Nate sent me Saturday night: “Regardless of what happens tomorrow morning, I’m most proud of the preparation I’ve made. Anything can happen on race day.”

Later, this text: “If my stroke is good and I don’t get hypothermia, and I time the current right, I think I have a good shot. Won’t be easy though.”

I first met Nate, now 31, a few years ago at a Thanksgiving dinner table. Ever since I have been thankful my son’s grad school classmate and friend is my friend as well.

I would like to say I have become a mentor to Nate, but the greater truth is he teaches and inspires me.

Here is an example of the example Nate sets: on the dawn boat ride out to Alcatraz Island, instead of focusing on his own daunting task ahead he encouraged others facing their own challenges.

Nate knows about challenges. He certifiably had more to overcome than any other of the 2,400 Alcatraz competitors for he was the only one who arrived for the swim in a wheelchair.

Twelve years ago, at age 19, Nate had a summer job painting houses. A fall resulted in a complete spinal cord injury at T2-T4 and left him a paraplegic.

A former high school wrestler – and track and cross-country runner – Nate refused to be pinned on the mat by the tragedy. He turned his athletic energies to becoming a Paralympic swimmer and has represented the U.S at the Parapan American Games among other lofty competitions.

As fiercely as he worked in the water, Nate also did so in the classroom. After graduating from Gonzaga University, he earned an MBA at USC in 2015 as a recipient of a “Swim With Mike” full-tuition scholarship for physically challenged athletes.

While his accident took much from him, Nate dedicates himself to giving. He speaks to youth groups; serves on a philanthropic board; and with no obligation to do so has made a personal commitment to repay his $160,000 “Swim With Mike” scholarship – he is a fourth of the way to success.

Nate was nervous if he would be successful in the 1.5-mile Alcatraz swim, but those who know him were confident he would punch a shark in the nose if required. Indeed, despite fierce currents that pushed him far off course and water choppy enough to make a seal seasick, Nate persevered.

“I have never had to dig this deep in an open water swim,” Nate said, his voice on the phone buoyant. “I am really proud of the resolve I showed. This was, without a doubt, the most difficult swim I’ve ever done.

“That being said, our journey is only as good as those we have the privilege of spending it with. The success I enjoyed today was simply a byproduct of so many friends, family, and mentors that have been there through thick and thin.”

Humble and heroic. Now you know why I call him “Nate the Great.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Ali and the “Little Man”

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Great Memories of ‘The Greatest’

The moment was magical then and a full two decades later the memory remains magical still.

After spending six hours speaking about tolerance and understanding to students at a handful of inner-city schools in Los Angeles, Muhammad Ali ended the day in a private room with VIPs and media.

Finishing a chicken drumstick, Ali wiped his fingers clean and held up the napkin for all to see.

“What color is it?” he asked, all eyes now focused on him.1aliquote

“Red,” the roomful of people answered as one.

Using his left thumb, Ali carefully stuffed the napkin into his closed right fist.

“What color is it?” he asked again while playfully sprinkling invisible magic dust over his fist.

“Red” the chorus repeated. Ali smiled mischievously, his eyes dancing with delight, as he opened his right hand to reveal . . . ta-da . . . nothing!

“My handssss is sooo faaast you can’t even see ’em!” he crowed in a loud whisper, displaying both empty hands.

Ali, 54 years old on that December day in 1996, was already struggling fiercely with Parkinson’s – the disease that eventually claimed his life eight days ago at age 74. But for a few minutes he turned back the calendar pages, performing a couple more magic tricks and even throwing a few lightening punches while briefly shadow boxing.

Another Ali memory, this one from six months earlier at an autograph show in the Anaheim Convention Center. I was doing a column on Ali interacting with fans and I brought along my 6-year-old son. On the long drive there, I schooled the boy about “The Greatest.”

We sat next to Ali as he signed myriad pictures, posters, magazines and boxing gloves. Finally, I told my son it was time to leave.

“Not yet,” he balked softly. I’ve gotta say ‘Bye.’ ”

Ali heard the little boy’s protest and turned and for the very first time in an hour the man who used to “float like a butterfly” emerged from his cocoon of total silence.

“Hi, Little Man,” Ali whispered, spreading his arms wide as wings.

The 6-year-old Little Man, shy back then, instantly stepped forward and was wrapped in a clinch. Goodness it was cool.

But the real Kodak moment was yet to come.

After a standing eight count, maybe even a full ten seconds, Ali freed the Little Man and held out his right palm in the universal “give me five” position.

The boy, who at that age smacked hands hard enough to shatter metatarsals, gently slapped Ali’s palm before extending his own tiny hand for The Champ to return the gesture.

Ali took a swipe . . .

. . . and missed.

At the very last instant, the Little Man pulled his hand away like a matador’s red cape teasing a bull.

“Too slow,” the Little Man teased, his two missing front teeth causing the words to lisp. Like, “Tooooth looow.” Like Ali’s own voice that now lisped slightly.

Like two 6-year-olds, they laughed together at the tomfoolery.

Still roaring in delight, Ali once again opened his arms and the Little Man once again stepped into them, except this time the shy boy squeezed back, and tightly. Ali’s eyes caught mine and I swear to this day they twinkled.

It was a long hug. A Hollywood-ending hug. A hug from “The Greatest” that the Little Man, now a 6-foot-3 tall man, still remembers dearly and surely will until he is an old man.

As we walked hand-in-hand away after saying goodbye to Ali, my son stopped and looked up at me and here is what he said through a Christmas-morning smile in his two-missing-teeth lisp: “You know, Dad, you’re right – he really is ‘The Bestest.’ ”

One final memory. Inside that VIP room, six months later, Ali motioned for me to come over.

“You got a boy?” he asked faintly, holding out his hand, palm down, hip-high in a gesture of height.

I nodded, stunned he could possibly remember.

“Too slow,” Ali said, pulling back his hip-high hand, laughing, and then he signed an autograph: “To Greg – Love, Muhammad Ali.”

Rest in peace, “The Bestest.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

An Unstoppable Educational Journey

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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An Unstoppable Educational Journey

For a family celebration a decade past, we went to a restaurant at the Ventura Harbor and in addition to chips, salsa and albondigas soup followed by tacos, enchiladas and fajitas, our waitress served us something that wasn’t on the menu: a role model.

1frangrad

Francelia Teran on her proud graduation day

We didn’t realize this at that moment, but over time as we got to know this waitress more personally it became clear that Francelia Teran is as inspiring as any superstar you will find on a bedroom poster.

“She-roe” is the term coined by Maya Angelou to describe women like Fran.

Earning a college degree is a lofty achievement under any circumstances, but Fran’s journey to the stage at CSU Channel Islands last Saturday to receive her Bachelor’s degree in Psychology was lengthier than most. Her pomp-and-circumstance walk required overcoming arduous circumstances.

For one thing, her father died when Fran was 14. The second shoe dropped a year later when her mother walked away from the family.

“I became a hard worker at a young age,” Fran recalls of her childhood in Mexico City. “When I came to America, I learned the language and my educational journey began.”

Faced with detours, she refused to be deterred.

“I am a strong, sensitive, and productive woman,” Fran says, and proudly. “I have encountered in my life many issues, but that hasn’t stopped me with my education.”

Indeed, working the long, late hours of a waitress and then coming home to read an assignment for class, or study for a test, or write a research paper into the wee morning hours before going to bed, and then rising early to go to classes requires determination, dedication, and sleep deprivation.

On top of work and school, Fran’s full plate has also included being a wife and mother. And despite the burden of college tuition, she has continued to send financial assistance to her extended family in Mexico City.

“I believe there is only one way to accomplished a dream,” Fran explains, flashing her familiar radiant smile. “By taking the action of doing it.”

She took action and earned an Associate Science degree from Ventura College in 2009 and then a second degree at VC in Psychology in 2013 before transferring to CSUCI.

In addition to the time demands of family, work and classes, Fran faced a language challenge. While she proudly considers becoming bilingual one of her greatest accomplishments, the truth is that reading textbooks and literature assignments, and writing papers and answering exam questions, in English is a barrier for ESL (English as a Second Language) students. Time, and nuance, gets lost in translation. In this light, her success in the classroom merits bonus acclaim.

But Fran would sooner serve the wrong order than serve up an excuse.

“I don’t let life issues stop me with my education,” she says. “The journey has been long. My son now is 17 and I have the great love of my husband. We encountered many struggles economically, socially, racially, and culturally. However, we are hard-working people.

“My main goal is to serve as a role model for my son and also for many Hispanic women like me. If I can do this, anyone can do it regardless of their migratory status, economic issues, and the language barrier.”

Last Saturday evening, Fran’s family, friends and co-workers – actually, “family” seems to describe them all – filled the second-floor patio of Margarita Villa to celebrate her accomplishment. The cold sea breeze blowing in was no match for the warmth of the occasion.

“Today, I am not only celebrating my graduation from Channel Islands University,” Fran told her well-wishers. “Today, I am making a difference in my community, in my life, and in my son’s life. I am an example of breaking the barriers. I want to be a good example for my son, for my nieces and nephews, and for many women who work hard.

“I believe in dreams, but I also believe in working to obtain something,” she continued. “You can absolutely not accept ‘no’ as an answer when you have a dream.”

Inspiring advice from a Fran-tastic role model.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Don’t Like This Writer? You’re Fired!

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Don’t Like This Writer? You’re Fired!

Editors note: Woody Woodburn is taking the day off. He has asked publicist “John Miller,” who reportedly worked for Donald Trump in 1991, to fill in today.

*

The Ventura Star will be great again next Saturday because Woody Woodburn will be back with his column. Believe me, Mr. Woodburn is a great writer. Some people, many people, tell me he’s a very, very, very great writer.

Mr. Woodburn has all the best words. Long words, short words. Four-letter words and ten-letter words. You pick a number of letters, and he has a tremendous word.

Publicist "John Miller"

Publicist “John Miller”

A lot of people, smart people, people who read books, and I mean read a lot of books, thick books with many, many, pages, these really, really smart people tell me even Papa Hemingway was not as great a writer as Big Daddy Woody.

These same people, again I’m talking the smartest people, tell me Mr. Woodburn not only writes the best words, he writes unbelievable sentences and fantastic paragraphs. That’s the truth.

Think of the greatest columnists ever: Jim Murray, Red Smith, Ernie Pyle, Dear Abby. They couldn’t carry The Woodman’s laptop. Believe me.

What about the Ventura Star’s other columnists, you ask? Well, Colleen Cason, I’ve seen her type at her keyboard and she’s low-energy. Without three cups of coffee and a Red Bull she’s a total disaster.

Bill Nash’s columns are 10 percent shorter than Mr. Woodburn’s columns so obviously they are 10 percent worse.

Rhiannon Potkey and Jim Carlisle? Sports is called the newspaper toy department for a reason. That makes them Toys R Us writers.

And I’m not even going to mention Pa Ventura. But other people tell me Pa is really, really not a talented columnist. Pa-thetic. A real lightweight. Frankly, he’s a nasty guy.

Nobody, believe me nobody, has more respect for women readers than Mr. Woodburn. Women readers love him. And I’m talking beautiful women readers. Gorgeous women. Miss USA reads Mr. Woodburn’s columns, that’s the truth.

When you see the name “Woodburn” splashed above a column, you know it’s going to be classy and flashy and the best in the world. And Mr. Woodburn doesn’t just write columns – his name is on books, too.

Of all the books written in history, and I’m talking the greatest books ever, only The Good Book (The Bible) and The Great Book (“The Art of the Deal”) are better than “Wooden & Me” and “Strawberries in Wintertime.” And Mr. Woodburn’s next book, whatever it is, will be amazing. Believe me, absolutely amazing!

When you talk about writers, not just newspaper writers but writers of books, Mr. Woodburn is Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway and J.K. Rowling rolled into one. Mr. Woodburn is huuuge like Shakespeare.

Speaking of huuuge, Mr. Woodburn’s Fitbit numbers make an Olympic marathoner envious. He also surfs the biggest waves, skis the tallest mountains and is more interesting than The Most Interesting Man in the World.

But back to writing. Mr. Woodburn leads all the Amazon.com polls. He has huuuge numbers, believe me. Any best-seller’s list that doesn’t rank Mr. Woodburn’s books at the very top is rigged. Totally corrupt.

Let’s be honest, a lot of writers are really not very smart people. But Mr. Woodburn’s IQ is high, SpaceX rocket-ship high, high like Einstein’s IQ, but with words instead of math numbers. This allows Mr. Woodburn to write some of the best words and sentences ever.

Mr. Woodburn’s energy is also high. He types lightening fast, believe me. You wouldn’t believe how fast he types. He has big hands yet his fingers dance on the keyboard like Fred Astaire.

I have heard from lots of people, you really wouldn’t even believe how many people, who say reading is dead. Reading’s best times are in the past, they say. But they are as stupid as our China trade deals. The Woodster is making reading great again.

Next Saturday’s column by Mr. Woodburn is going to be amazing. Phenomenal. Amazingly phenomenal. Believe me. Check it out and you won’t believe how very, very tremendous it is.

*  *  *

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

“Get To” Slam Dunks “Have To”

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

*   *   *

“Get To” Better Perspective Than “Have To”

Abraham Lincoln put things into perspective as wonderfully as anyone, as he so often did, when he observed: “We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.”

A recent lunch companion, also making the point that proper perspective is everything, put it this way: “I felt sorry for myself because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet.”1masterpiece

His words were more than repeating a familiar maxim because he has helped people in danger of losing their feet. Specifically, he has treated Ethiopian villagers suffering from mossy foot, a disease that causes massive swelling of the feet. It is not only physically debilitating, it can cause the afflicted person to become a social outcast.

Cleft palate is another physical ailment that can turn a life upside down – and something that another of my recent luncheon companions has helped treat in Kenya.

In fact, most of the ROMEOs – Retired Old Medics Eating Out – who invited me to eat out with them at their monthly get-together have in the past made humanitarian medical trips to Africa.

Now in their 70s, 80s and 90s, these retired local physicians seem to rejoice that thorn bushes have roses.

“I am at the point in my life where I really do see each day as a masterpiece,” one told me, echoing a John Wooden maxim.

Another shared this: “I have my aches, but at least I’m still alive to ache.”

A couple hours later, the blessing of feeling aches hit home when I saw a friend who had just finished a swim workout. I asked him how the pool temperature was and he replied matter-of-factly: “I don’t know – because of my paralysis I can’t feel the water.”

Perspective refocused.

It was also refocused during my daily run recently when a nagging injury flared up. As my pace slowed and my muttering sped up, I crossed paths with a friend and stopped to say hi.

After our brief visit, I had a new perspective on my tight hamstring because my friend is battling a real foe, cancer – again – yet his smile and upbeat nature would never reveal as much.

As my Grandpa Ansel liked to say, “Most of us don’t have to look very long before we see someone who has bigger challenges than we do.”

Same run, now with a renewed bounce in my stride, I came upon a retired couple I often see walking their dog. Lucy, a border collie, has been very frail in recent months and now she was not with them.

Again I paused for a quick visit and while my worst suspicions proved true – Lucy died a couple weeks ago at age 15 – the couple was very happy to introduce me to their new adorable border collie puppy, Finley.

Once more I restarted my run with a refocused perspective.

Here is how a dear friend shifts her perspective when she feels like complaining about having to exercise, or having to cook dinner, or having to go to a work meeting she wishes she could skip.

“I change the ‘have to’ to ‘get to,’ ” she explains. “I ‘get to’ go to the gym. I ‘get to’ cook a meal I like. I ‘get to’ go to work. A lot of people have an ailment that prevents them from exercising. A lot of people are homeless and don’t have a kitchen. A lot of people want a job.”

Another friend was dreading a visit to the doctor to have blood drawn the other day. Her high anxiety was because she has tiny veins that nurses never seem to hit cleanly until the third or fourth try.

But a friend of hers provided a new perspective, an I ‘get-to’ perspective, by pointing out what a privilege it is to have access to healthcare. Think of the refugees in the Middle East, the friend said.

Or African villagers with mossy foot.

At the ROMEO lunch, I ordered a turkey sandwich with no mayonnaise. Instead, it came with extra mayo. It was delicious.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”