Category Archives: Columns

Column: No More Mr. Nice Guy

by Woody

 Mr. Nice Guy? He Just Clocked Out

 

If you were expecting 700 words of nice this morning, phone your grandma. I’m still in an I’m Tired From Springing Forward And Losing One Hour Of Sleep kind of mood.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I love Daylight Saving Time – I just get annoyed we keep turning the clocks back each fall.frownface

 

I get annoyed when I buy a new “anything” and three weeks later a better version comes out – often costing less.

 

I get annoyed when the updated model of my favorite running shoes now only comes in a color scheme that would make a clown blush.

 

I get annoyed when autocorrect makes me look like a stop sign cool – er, stupid fool.

 

I get annoyed when I read the news crawl across the bottom of the TV screen and then lose track of what the news anchor is saying.

 

I get annoyed when the Santa Ana winds make a mess the day after I did yard work.

 

I get annoyed when I’m watching a sporting event on TV and the sideline reporter interviews a celebrity in the stands, and the producer insists on showing the celebrity full-screen while the game action is shrunk into a tiny insert frame where I can’t see a darn thing. Vice versa please!

 

I get annoyed by knuckleheads – yo-yo-heads my daughter calls them.

 

I get annoyed when yo-yo-head politicians open their mouths.

 

I get annoyed when Paul McCartney closes his mouth after the final encore.

 

I get annoyed when my yo-yo-head picks basically eliminate me from the NCAA Basketball Tournament bracket pool by the end of the first weekend.

 

I get annoyed that school children see a need to send military care packages filled with requested items like sun block, ChapStick, socks, underwear, flip-flops, Pringles, powdered Crystal Light, Oreos, trail mix, jerky, granola bars and gum. If our troops want these items, the military should be providing them! Let kids send letters, cards and handmade items.

 

I get annoyed when my dental insurance won’t pay if I schedule a cleaning even one day less than a full six months apart.

 

I get angry when instead of a “12 Angry Men”-like verdict of justice I feel a trial has been decided by 12 Dopey Men And Women.

 

            I get annoyed when I see litter anywhere – most especially cigarette butts on our beaches.

 

            Closing on an upbeat, a recent post titled “10 Customer Service Stories That Will Restore Your Faith In Humanity” on blog.bufferapp.com did not annoy me.

 

            My favorite of the 10 happened after a young boy named Luka Apps spent his Christmas gift money on a Lego Ninjago named Jay XZ, only to lose the toy ninja when he brought it along on errands against his dad’s advice.

 

            Devastated, Luka wrote to Lego and explained his mistake while promising to be much more careful in the future if they would replace it.

 

            A customer support rep named Richard responded like an action figure hero brought to life, telling the boy he had talked to Sensei Wu (a Ninjago character) and further writing: “He told me to tell you, ‘Luka, your father seems like a very wise man. You must always protect your Ninjago minifigures like the dragons protect the Weapons of Spinjitzu!’

 

“Sensei Wu also told me it was okay if I sent you a new Jay and told me it would be okay if I included something extra for you because anyone that saves their Christmas money to buy the Ultrasonic Raider must be a really big Ninjago fan.

 

“So, I hope you enjoy your Jay minifigure with all his weapons. You will actually have the only Jay minifigure that combines 3 different Jays into one! I am also going to send you a bad guy for him to fight!

 

“Just remember, what Sensei Wu said: keep your minifigures protected like the Weapons of Spinjitzu! And of course, always listen to your dad.”

 

I’m annoyed I didn’t think to write to Hasbro when I was Luka’s age after I broke a leg off my G.I. Joe scuba diver only days after buying it with my saved allowance money.

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

Check 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”

 

 

Column: Small Appreciations

by Woody

Rain, Snow and the Art of Appreciation

 

As you were drifting off to sleep during the recent storms, did you hear the nighttime raindrops dancing on your rooftop?

 

I mean really hear nature’s symphony? To these ears, a Mozart piano concerto was never lovelier.

 

            SnowMountains.png AMAnd after the clouds cleared did you see the Monet-like brushstrokes left behind on our mountains? To be honest, I missed them until a friend shared an encounter she had during her daily morning walk.

 

            Standing smack-dab in the middle of the street in her neighborhood was a man she had never before seen. Her first thought was, “What is he doing?” And a second: “I hope he doesn’t get run over.”

 

            As she passed, the man said, “I was just taking a moment before work to appreciate the snow on the mountains. We just moved here.”

 

            With that he climbed into his truck and drove off, his day off to a grander start than had he been in a hurried rush.

 

            As my friend noted afterwards: “We hear all the time about gratitude; appreciation for little things; things we take for granted. Find them – just don’t get hit by a car!”

 

Sometimes we all need reminders of our blind spots, our deaf spots, of things – both little and large – we take for granted. We need fresh counsel on an old maxim by Walter Hagen: “Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. You’re only here for a short visit. So don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.”

 

Also, stop and look at the snow on the mountains.

 

            “The journey is better than the inn,” is how Cervantes poetically put this Zen-like ideal in the 17 th century.

 

            Much more recently in “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values,” first published in 1974, Robert M. Pirsig wrote about climbing a mountain and how too many people focus only on reaching its summit:

 

“When you’re no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn’t just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. THIS leaf has jagged edges. THIS rock looks loose. These are things you should notice. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It’s the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top. Here’s where things grow.”

 

Here’s where things grow, indeed, and life’s sustaining pleasures happen.

 

Here’s where mountains are frosted with snow.

 

Here’s where children laugh on a merry-go-round and smile as melting ice cream drips down their chins and scream with delight when a rogue wave crashes into a sandcastle.

 

Here’s firefly-like sparks rising above a glowing campfire.

 

Here’s a child’s kite and a Monarch butterfly both dancing on a shared breeze.

 

Here’s where the shade beneath the canopy of a magnificent oak is perfect for reading or napping or daydreaming.

 

Here’s a seagull gracefully suspended without even flapping its wings.

 

Here’s a father running alongside as his young daughter learns to ride a two-wheeler, the girl unaware her dad is no longer holding the seat to provide balance.

 

Here’s a speedy mother pushing a jogging stroller, both faces joyous.

 

Here’s noticing the new beauty in a loved one’s face you have stared at a million times before.

 

Here’s a friend’s smile and a dog’s tail wag.

 

Here’s the Ventura Pier, in its own way as majestic as the Eiffel Tower.

 

Here’s the Channel Islands, as beautiful as Yosemite’s Half Dome.

 

Here’s a boy tracking mud inside and a Zen-like mother wise enough to know she will too soon miss his messes.

 

2-TreesHere’s wildflowers blossoming in springtime and stars doing likewise at nighttime.

 

Here’s a balletic surfer using the face of a wave as her canvas.

 

Here’s a painting, as imaginative and wonderful as anything by Picasso, held by magnets on a refrigerator door.

 

Here’s Two Trees standing sentinel in evening silhouette.

 

Here’s “young love” walking hand-in-hand along the beach – and old lovers doing so, too.

 

Here’s the arrival gate at the airport.

 

Here’s an inspiring sunrise and a clear sunset, and also here’s thunderclouds and a rainbow afterwards.

 

Here’s where memories grow.

 

Here’s a reminder to take time to look at the snow-capped mountains – and at all of the “roses” along life’s journey.

 

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

Check 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”

 

 

 

 

Column: Two Special Hoosiers

by Woody

 

Wooden & Tavis: Two Hoosiers Cut From Same Rare Cloth

 

            Twenty-seven years ago this month, half my lifetime ago, I received the most wonderful of invitations when John Wooden asked me to join him for a four-mile morning walk.

 

            This week I received another heady invite – to be a guest on “The Tavis Smiley Show” (Listen Here) to reminisce about Coach Wooden.

Tavis Smiley is a Wooden-esque role model.

Tavis Smiley is a Wooden-esque role model.

 

Airing on Public Radio International, the show reaches more than 700 affiliates nationwide. For an author, it is a momentous opportunity. But to be honest, it would have mattered little to me if the mic had failed to record the interview.

 

No, the thrill among thrills was getting to meet Smiley, whom I have long admired for his gifts as TV and radio host, publisher and best-selling author – and above all for his life-changing philanthropic work. At age 49, Smiley has accomplished enough for three lifetimes. He must get by on two hours sleep.

 

Though four years my junior, Smiley has been a hero I look up to.

 

The risk with meeting heroes in person is they rarely measure up to the ideals in your mind. Smiley, however, did not disappoint. Rather, he exceeded all expectations. In this manner and more, Tavis Smiley reminds me greatly of John Wooden, my all-time idol.

 

The similarities begin with both having grown up in Indiana and working their way through college: Wooden at Purdue and Smiley at rival Indiana University after arriving on campus with $50 in his pocket.

 

It comes as no surprise that Smiley says the two Hoosiers hit it off swimmingly from their first hello when they met for an interview.

 

Why wouldn’t they? Smiley epitomizes all 15 blocks in Wooden’s famous “Pyramid of Success” – Industriousness, Friendship, Loyalty, Cooperation, Enthusiasm, Self-Control, Alertness, Initiative, Intentness, Condition, Skill, Team Spirit, Poise, Confidence, and Competitive Greatness.

 

As a specific example, consider “Intentness” which Wooden defined thusly: “Stay the course. When thwarted try again; harder; smarter. Persevere relentlessly.”

 

As a college junior, Smiley wrote a letter each week, month after month after month, to Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley seeking a summer internship.

 

Thwarted, Smiley bought an airline ticket he could ill afford and flew to L.A. – without an appointment – to try to achieve his goal through a personal appeal.

 

Again told there were no internships available, Smiley persevered. He sent a handwritten letter “from the heart” to Bradley and finally received a coveted position.

 

Smiley has used this same Competitive Greatness to win his own Wooden-like collection of NCAA basketball titles, so to speak, including being named one of “The World’s 100 Most Influential People” by TIME magazine; receiving the prestigious Du Bois Medal from Harvard University; and, next month, being honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

 

Another similarity: Smiley’s signature “Keep the faith” TV sign-off always makes me think of the Wooden because the top block of the Pyramid of Success is held in place by a special mortar comprised of two ingredients: Faith and Patience.

 

To be sure, these two devout Hoosiers are cut of the same rare cloth.

 

TavisWoodenBookWeb

Signed copies are available here at WoodyWoodburn.com
Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook at Amazon.com

 

Another “Wooden-ism” embodied by Smiley: “You can’t live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you.” He does so through numerous philanthropic donations and deeds, including his nonprofit foundation that has provided “Youth to Leaders” training workshops and conferences to more than 6,000 youngsters.

 

            Indeed, Smiley shares Wooden’s belief that “young people need fewer critics and more models.”

 

            This is actually true for people of all ages.

 

            Before I left the Sheryl Flowers Radio Studios in Los Angeles, Smiley was expressing his admiration for Coach Wooden and Muhammad Ali, among other heroes of his, and opined: “We don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

 

            “Sure we do,” I countered. “Look in the mirror.”

 

            Tavis Smiley smiled modestly, said thanks sincerely, but disagreed humbly.

 

            It is exactly how John Wooden used to respond to superlative praise, no matter how rightly deserved.

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

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

 

Column: 1 Sour Tale, 2 Sweet Ones

by Woody

Sour Story And 2 Sweet Tales

 

            Three small boys. Crayons, a toy truck, ice cream. A good-morning hug, a morning smile, tears.

 

            First the ice cream and tears.

 

            Dan Pearce’s “Single Dad Laughing” blog is so hugely popular his most recent post has received 10,730 comments – about 10,730 of them angry.BadDad

 

            Not at Pearce, but at what he witnessed in a Costco and wrote about in an essay that is no laughing matter. Headlined “You Just Broke Your Child. Congratulations” the 2,000-word piece begins: “Dads. Stop breaking your children. Please.”

 

Pearce continues: “As Noah and I stood in line to make a return, I watched as a little boy (he couldn’t have been older than six) looked up at his dad and asked very timidly if they could buy some ice cream when they were done. The father glared him down, and through clenched teeth, growled at the boy to ‘leave him alone and be quiet.’ The boy quickly cowered to the wall where he stood motionless and hurt for some time.

 

“The line slowly progressed and the child eventually shuffled back to his father as he quietly hummed a childish tune, seemingly having forgotten the anger his father had just shown. The father again turned and scolded the boy for making too much noise. The boy again shrunk back and cowered against the wall, wilted.

 

“I was agitated. I was confused. How could this man not see what a beautiful spirit stood in his shadow? How could this man be so quick to stub out all happiness in his own boy? How could this man not cherish the only time he’ll ever have to be everything to this boy? To be the person that matters most to this boy?

 

“We were three from the front now, and the boy started to come towards his dad yet again. His dad immediately stepped out of the line, jammed his fingers into his son’s collarbones until he winced in pain, and threatened him: ‘If you so much as make a sound or come off of that wall again, I promise you’re going to get it when we get home.’

 

“The boy again cowered against the wall. This time, he didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound. His beautiful face pointed down, locked to the floor and expressionless. He had been broken.”

 

Pearce goes on to powerfully, and poetically, describe at length what a “gift” it is to be a dad and concludes: “Dads. Every child has the innate right to ask for ice cream without being belittled and broken. . . . Every child deserves a superhero dad.”

 

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Manuel Sanchez is a superhero to someone else’s child.

 

Sanchez drives a sanitation truck in Ojai and his route takes him past 5-year-old Daniel Mulligan’s home. Daniel is autistic and loves garbage trucks. Every Monday morning he waits out front to wave at Sanchez and excitedly watch as the truck’s mechanical claw reaches out to nosily grab and empty the trash cans.

 

Last Monday, Sanchez did more than wave back and smile – he parked and gave Daniel a new toy garbage truck. Daniel’s mother captured the magical moment on video. Titled simply “The Gift” it has gone viral on Facebook and YouTube.

Enjoying a laugh, and a hug, with my Little Guy now grown up.

Enjoying a laugh, and a hug, with my Little Guy now grown up.

 

You cannot watch “The Gift” without smiling – and also sadly wishing the boy in Costco had a dad like Sanchez.

 

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Or like Drew Daywalt.

 

I met Daywalt a few weeks past at Mrs. Fig’s Bookworm in Camarillo when he was signing “The Day The Crayons Quit” which is No. 1 on The New York Times Best Seller List for Children’s Picture Books. As fellow dads and writers, and native Ohioans, we hit it off like old friends.

 

            The day I read Single Dad Laughing’s heartbreaking essay, Drew shared this heartwarming post with his Facebook friends:

 

“I hugged Reese when we woke up this morning. And I told him he was beautiful. He said, ‘Boys aren’t beautiful. They’re handsome,’ and I said, ‘I dunno man. . . You are really beautiful in my eyes.’ He hugged me and smiled.”

 

In my book, that’s the picture of a superhero dad.

 

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

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

 

 

Column: Super Bowl “Tin Man”

by Woody

Homeless ‘Tin Man’ has company

 

I think about Willie from time to time, which is saying something when you consider I met him only briefly 22 Januarys past.

 

I do not remember much from that Super Bowl XXVII in Pasadena I covered, but I haven’t forgotten Willie.TinMan

 

In truth, I see Willie still. I see him in town and downtown and at our beaches. I see him in parks and parking lots and lots of other places.

 

Willie was homeless.

 

I have long forgotten any down-and-out pass patterns run by Dallas Cowboys or Buffalo Bills receivers that distant Super Bowl Sunday, but the image of down-and-out Willie remains stored on my mental hard drive.

 

Troy Aikman was the game MVP and thus celebrated the Cowboys’ one-sided victory by going to Disneyland; Willie probably celebrated by going to a soup kitchen. To be sure, a restaurant meal was a Fantasyland for him.

 

I met Willie outside the Rose Bowl stadium a few hours before kickoff when he asked if he could have the soda can I was still drinking from. After I took a final gulp, Willie crushed it with a smooth foot stomp before flipping it into a grocery cart nearly brimming with other flattened cans and empty bottles.

 

We got to talking and I learned Willie’s nickname was “Tin Man.” While it would have been more accurate, L. Frank Baum never wrote about and the band America never sang about “ALUMINUM Man.”

 

Certainly “Tin Man” looked as weathered as a rusty can and walked like his knees could use a few squirts from an oilcan.

 

The Super Bowl is America’s tailgate biggest party, but for Willie it was a workday. The growing litter on the Rose Bowl grounds came into his focus like a field of blooming poppies outside Oz. Indeed, instead of earning the $10 or so he did on a typical day of scavenging, “Tin Man” figured he’d collect a bounty of recyclables worth close to $100.

 

If he had ever been on it, “Tin Man” veered off the Yellow Brick Road years earlier. The cause might have been a lost job or catastrophic medical bills, alcoholism or drug addiction, mental illness or perhaps a combination of the aforementioned – I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell.

 

Just as Willie’s shopping cart was overflowing with empty cans, our world is filled with too many Tin Men and Tin Women, Tin Teens and Tin Children.

 

Even the great Oz would have been powerless in solving homelessness, but that is not preventing Harbor Community Church in midtown Ventura from trying to make a dent. For the past five years its Operation Embrace program’s mission has been to “reach the least of these among us.”

 

Recently, however, the Ventura Planning Commission denied the church the right to run its homeless ministry on account it is in a residential neighborhood. Upon appeal, the Ventura City Council is now weighing in on whether to grant a conditional-use permit.

 

            Few argue the church’s work is less than worthy. Rather, as is so often the case – and often understandable – the contention against is Not In My Back Yard. And fewer people still want the homeless element it in their schoolyard – an elementary school is next-door Harbor. Furthermore, residents in the area claim crime has increased since Harbor began embracing the homeless.

 

            The obvious compromise is to move Operation Embrace. The reality is feeding 4,000 with two fish and five loaves of bread might be less a miracle than finding a new location. NIMBY, after all. Everyplace is someone’s backyard and neighborhood.

 

I don’t know the answer, but have one question: Would an increased police patrol be the healing salve?

 

            I know this: there but for the grace of God any one of us could go, needing a caring (Operation) Embrace.

 

Leaving the press tent after filing that long-ago Super Bowl column, I saw “Tin Man” still toiling. I went back inside and got him a couple hot dogs and a soda.

 

“Thanks, man,” Willie said, his one-tooth-missing smile flashing warmly on a chilly winter night. “You’re all right.”

 

Truth is, it wasn’t much at all but doing nothing is all wrong.

 

*

 

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME is available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com and Amazon.com.

 

Column: No More Mr. Nice Guy

by Woody

No More Mr. Nice Guy Today

 

If you were expecting 700 words of nice this morning, read no further because I’m in a Stuck-In-Gridlock-On-The-George-Washington-Bridge kind of mood and I don’t care who is responsible for the closed lanes or why. Honk! Honkkkk!

 

You want nice? Watch an old Tom Hanks movie. Speaking of which, I’m steamed that Hanks was not nominated for an Oscar for either his lead role in “Captain Phillips” or his supporting performance in “Saving Mr. Banks.”Beiber

 

It has now been 13 years since “Cast Away” when Hanks – a back-to-back Academy Award winner in 1994 and 1995 for “Philadelphia” and “Forrest Gump” – was last nominated for the gold statue.

 

Suddenly Hollywood’s Nice Guy seems like an Oscar castoff.

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            You want nice? Curl up with a warm chocolate chip cookie. I’m as steamed as a chef who has just cracked a rotten egg into the soufflé batter.

 

            Speaking of rotten eggs, do we really need to spend valuable Los Angeles County sheriff resources sending deputies with a felony search warrant to raid Bieber’s mansion and seize his cell phone and home security camera system looking for clues about who egged the next-door house (albeit causing an estimated $20,000 in damage)?

 

            How about this for quick justice: let the neighbor throw eggs until his arm grows tired at Bieber’s home.

 

            And speaking of swift justice and throwing, how about if a judge finally throws the book at Bieber after Miami police charged the 19-year-old foul-mouthed pop star with drunken driving, resisting arrest and driving without a valid license at 4 a.m. Thursday morning?

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            You want nice? Put on a Bieber love song. I’m in a Bieber-cursing-out-the-police kind of rage.

 

            The L.A. Dodgers just signed pitcher Clayton Kershaw to a $215 million, seven-year contract, which works out to $30.7 million per season or roughly $1 million per game he pitches (if he remains healthy); or about $1.5 million per victory in a 20-win season; or $1.9 million if he wins 16 games as he did last season.

 

             But what has me Dodger Blue-in-the-face mad is that on top of an annual salary of about 90 teachers combined, Kershaw will receive a $1 million bonus for winning the Cy Young Award and $500,000 for any second- or third-place finish.

 

            For $30 million annually, shouldn’t he have to GIVE BACK $1 million if he doesn’t win the Cy Young Award?

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            Speaking of wasted money, I am HOT under the collar about the Ventura County Transportation Commission recently approving the expenditure of $111,000 to hire a consultant to do a feasibility study for adding 31 miles of HOT – High Occupancy Toll – lanes in both directions on Highway 101 from the Los Angeles County line to Highway 33 in Ventura.

 

            Kudos, and good rush-hour karma, to Linda Parks who was the only commissioner to see the value in putting $111,000 to better use.

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            You want nice? Go watch a Southern California sunset.

 

            Which is another thing I am ticked off about – locals posting photographs of our spectacular Gold Coast beach sunsets on Facebook and Instagram for everyone in the country suffering through the Arctic vortex to see and get jealous and angry at us about.

 

            Heck, Monet would have gazed at our recent evening skies and set down his paintbrush in resignation, knowing full well he could not do the scene justice.

 

            I am reminded of a winter trip we took with my wife’s family to a beautiful resort in Mexico. Each evening at Happy Hour everyone would sit on the beach and marvel as the sun gently dipped into the ocean’s horizon.

 

            “Ooooh!” and “aaaah!” the others said, while my much-better-half and I had a reaction of “ho-hum.” There were no clouds to become ablaze; no distant islands to frame the vision.

 

            We felt like Norma Desmond, the faded silent movie star in “Sunset Boulevard” who dreams of making a triumphant return to the screen, when she says: “We didn’t need dialogue. We had faces. There just aren’t any faces like that anymore.”

 

            There just aren’t sunsets anywhere like here. Suddenly, I’m in a nice mood again.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME is available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com and Amazon.com.

 

Column: Let Service Ring

by Woody | 1 Comment

Let Service Ring on MLK Day

 

            A number of years ago, a wise newspaperman – no, that is too limiting; a wise man – shared with me a recent scene that had made him smile and feel more hopeful about the world.

 

            What he saw was this: a young white boy and his African-American friend riding double on a bike.

 

            MLKWhat he said next was this: “It was wonderful, but then I realized what would be even more wonderful was if I had simply seen two boys riding double.”

 

            Those words come to my mind each year on Martin Luther King Jr. Day –

 

which is this Monday – because they so vividly echo this line from Dr. King’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech: “I have a dream that one day little black boys and girls will be holding hands with little white boys and girls.”

 

MLK Day is unique among federal holidays because in 1994 Congress designated it a national day of service – “a day on, not a day off” – when Americans are encouraged to participate in volunteer projects. (To find local MLK Day of Service events go to http://mlkday.gov/serve/find.php)

 

Congress gets so many things wrong, but honoring Dr. King with a day of service seems right on. As King said: “Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?’ ”

 

            In this same light, he noted: “Everybody can be great, because anybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.”
            And this: “Not everybody can be famous but everybody can be great, because greatness is determined by service.”

 

            As a service in giving me the rest of the day off, I will let Dr. King’s words finish this column.

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“Faith is taking the first step even when you can’t see the whole staircase.”

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“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”

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“I have decided to stick to love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.”

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“The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: ‘If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?’ But the good Samaritan reversed the question: ‘If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’ ”

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“The time is always right to do the right thing.”

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“Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude.”

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“Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness.”

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“We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like fishes, but have yet to learn the simple act of walking the earth like brothers.”

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“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

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“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

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“If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all.”

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 “Intelligence plus character – that is the goal of true education.”

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“No work is insignificant. All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.”

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“If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.”

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“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’ ”

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“It is cheerful to God when you rejoice or laugh from the bottom of your heart.”

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“Those who are not looking for happiness are the most likely to find it, because those who are searching forget that the surest way to be happy is to seek happiness for others.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME is available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com and Amazon.com.

 

 

Column: Board Game Fun has Risk

by Woody

Board game fun comes with a Risk!

 

            In the back of my son’s bedroom closet is a family heirloom of sorts that has not been removed from its tattered cardboard box in decades. It is kept on the top shelf, out of reach of young hands, for safety’s sake.1Risk

 

            Inside the rectangular flat box is a very early edition (circa 1963 according to the faded Rules For Play booklet within) of Risk, the Parker Brothers board game of world domination – and sibling warfare. I can tell you firsthand that Risk! can turn brothers into Cain and Abel.

 

            Screeds have been written about the evils of video games so I will mention just one statistic here: according to the website education.com “a nationally representative study found that the average American 8-to-18 years old plays video games for 13.2 hours per week.”

 

            In other words, about the same amount of time it takes to complete one game of Risk! or two playings of Monopoly.

 

            I imagine one of the positive things about the arctic blast that has swept across the United States like troops of Risk armies across colored continents is that bored snowbound families have dusted off board games and enjoyed some spirited battery-free fun.

 

            Instead of arctic air, the storm that put The Big Chill on my family’s winter break was my son celebrating his 24th birthday with the unwanted gift of mononucleosis hepatitis. Too tired to read, and never much of a TV watcher, he pulled out the old board games.

 

            Who knew a time machine came in a long, flat box? With a roll of the dice, my son and 26-year-old daughter became 8 and 10 again. So did my wife (I’m too wise to share her pre-time machine age) and I.

 

            I vetoed us playing Risk due to lingering PTSD from battles with my two older brothers. While our boyhood Monopoly wars were fierce and usually included accusations of cheating, and counter accusations – some true – it was a marathon Risk showdown (God probably could not complete a game of Risk in six days) that saw our Cold War go nuclear.

 

Risk “battles” are decided by dice, and a hot streak by one brother would inevitably result in a demand by the opposing brother to switch dice. If this change of dice did not change the losing warrior’s luck, he would often throw a tantrum – and the dice. It’s remarkable no one lost an eye.

 

            Still, this was mild compared to what happened during one especially contentious game in the late 1960s that see-sawed on the caprice of the dice snowy day after snowy day.

 

The specifics of what transpired next depend on whom you ask. Jim and I contend under oath to this day that Doug ran into a record-breaking streak of bad luck with the dice at the same time Jim and I each got hotter than James Bond at a craps table. The result was Doug crapped out: his stockpiled armies were decimated by both Jim’s and my own smaller forces.

 

            Doug cried foul, claiming that Jim and I forged an illegal alliance that defied the United Nations, Geneva Convention and Risk’s official Rules of Play. There is no way, Doug still insists four decades later, that we could not have possibly anticipated his genius strategy that was more remarkable than the D-Day invasion and the battle of Gettysburg combined.

 

            As an exclamation mark to his accusation of our cheating, General Doug launched the entire Risk playing board across the family room as small red and black and green and blue and yellow wooden armies shot airborne like a rainbow of shrapnel from a hand grenade.

 

            And that is how The Last Game of Risk We Ever Played ended.

 

            By these standards, my family’s recent Sorry! battle was mild despite spousal attacks followed by sarcastic “I’m soooo Sorrrrry!” apologies and various alliances that proved more fickle than the social status of teenage girls in middle school.

 

In the end, The Kid With Mono snuck from dead-last to first.

 

He celebrated with a victory nap.

 

*

 

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME is available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com and Amazon.com.

 

Column: 2014 Crystal Ball

by Woody

A Crystal (Ball) Clear Look at 2014

 

            With apologies to the Ventura County Star’s resident sports seer, Loren “The Lock” Ledin, the only psychics I have ever known who could predict the future with eerie accuracy were Jim “Swami” Parker and Derry “Swami II” aka “The Deuce” Eads.CrysstalBall

 

Unfortunately, Swami and Deuce have retired their Mattel Magic 8 Crystal Balls, leaving the prediction science open to mystic charlatans and wannabes such as the Denver Psychic Development group that predicts 2014 will see Earthquakes in the Midwest that cause the Mississippi River to change course; an earthquake registering almost 8 on the Richter Scale hitting Northern California between May 12 and May 16; and NASA revealing that its data shows there is currently life on Mars.

 

Meanwhile, psychic Sydney Friedman’s predictions include: Edward Snowden will return to the United States and will NOT face trial; snow falls in Southern Florida; and strange, eerie rumbling sounds are heard in the Midwest –

 

perhaps around 8 p.m. Thanksgiving?

 

And from Nikki, Psychic to the Stars, comes this dark handful: The pyramids in Egypt will sink; a worldwide power blackout; the Empire State Building will tip, and a shark will kill somebody at Coney Island.

 

Well, I have a few predictions of my own, as well as some wishes, for the coming year.

 

Prediction: Nikki will be wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

 

Wish: That Nikki is about as accurate as my NCAA Basketball Tournament pool picks.

 

Prediction: The telemarketing industry finally realizes it makes zero sales at the dinner hour and stops calling everyone then.

 

Wish: The Do Not Call Registry worked.

 

Prediction: A CHP officer pulls over Justin Bieber on suspicion the pop star’s car is stolen because it is not being driven recklessly.

 

Wish: Instead of hounding the rich and famous, the paparazzi would flat-out ignore them until they suffered Spotlight Withdrawal Syndrome and begged for the chance to pose for magazine and tabloid photos.

 

Prediction: NBC restructures Monday Night Football analyst Cris Collinsworth’s multi-million-dollar contract with a disincentive clause deducting $1,000 per word he says on air.

 

Wish: The “Silence is Golden” clause becomes the industry norm – except for Vin Scully’s contract which shall award a bonus per word spoken.

 

Prediction: The First Family of Tennis – Wayne, Kathy, Mike and Bob Bryan – will be inducted into the Ventura County Sports Hall of Fame.

 

Wish: Same as above.

 

Prediction: UCLA hires Fox News personality Megyn Kelly as a professor in Afro-American Studies.

 

Wish: Fox & Friends hires a UCLA Afro-American Studies professor.

 

Prediction: The Cleveland Browns get truly serious about raising breast cancer awareness by changing their team name to the Pinks and wearing uniforms to match all season, not just in October.

 

Wish: The American Cancer Society’s Relays For Life had no reason to exist.

 

Prediction: The U.S. Supreme Court will rule in Humpty Dumpty v. Alice which centers on this argument: “When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.” . . . “The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.” In a rare 9-0 decision, the High Court rules it can make the Constitution mean so many different things.

 

Wish: That 5-4 decisions were not so common.

 

Prediction: An American 10-year-old boy wins the gold medal in the luge while sledding on a store-bought Flexible Flyer at the Sochi Winter Olympic Games.

 

Wish: Every athlete who makes it to the medals podium in Sochi bows his or her head while raising a fist of protest – a la Tommie Smith and John Carlos in the 1968 Summer Olympics – inside a rainbow-colored mitten.

 

Prediction: Tina Fey wins an Emmy, Oscar, Tony, and Golden Globe in 2014 while hosting each awards show.

 

Wish: Tina Fey finally breaks through Hollywood’s glass ceiling.

 

Prediction: A great white shark, launched airborne by a giant tsunami caused by an 8.0 earthquake, will land on the Ventura Pier and eat a tourist’s fish taco.

 

Wish: A fish taco right now.

*

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME is available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com and Amazon.com.

 

 

 

Column: List For Santa

by Woody

Last-Minute List for Santa

 

            Okay Mr. Ho Ho Ho, it’s almost go-go-go time. Before you finish checking your list twice and taking off on your Amazing Race around the world, here are a few last-minute gifts to pack in your sleigh.

 

            Give anyone who is upset about Ventura’s new ban on plastic shopping bags a couple reusable ones or a roll of dimes to pay the fees for paper bags.

 

Give small local businesses more of our business.

 

Give the world another Nelson Mandela – or as close a facsimile as possible.

 

Give a lump of coal to bullies – and a deadly computer virus to cyber bullies.

 

Give the NSA 40,000 copies of George Orwell’s “1984” for all its employees – or, more simply, just play one audiobook version over a cell phone and the NSA will take it from there.

 

Give Vin Scully a few more years behind the mic.

 

Give Dodgers fans the same as above.

 

Give Russia some enlightenment on homosexuality.

 

Give many Americans the same as above.

 

Give the 2014 Boston Marathon the most glorious Patriot’s Day imaginable.

 

Give all CEOs the mindset of Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard who helped create the “1% For The Planet” program and since 1985 has donated 1% of company sales ($46 million) to the preservation and restoration of the natural environment.

 

Give each and every member of Congress a pink slip.

 

Give America some sensible gun-control laws.

 

Give teachers extra school supplies so they don’t have to use their own money to buy them for their students.

 

Give every child spending the holidays in a hospital cancer ward a complete cure.

 

Give all adults battling cancer the same as above.

 

Give Rhiannon Potkey, who daily displays far more determination and courage than the athletes she covers, a cure for Fibromyalgia.

 

Give Mike and Bob Bryan each an extra trophy case – they’ll take care of filling it.

 

Give the Star’s Julius Gius Bellringer campaign a record total.

 

Give my humble Holiday Ball Drive, as it nears 100 new sports balls donated this year, a few more assists like these already dished out by, to name just a handful: Howard Reich, nine basketballs; Tom and Karyne Roweton, one football and one soccer ball; Sally and Tom Reeder, one volleyball, one soccer ball and one basketball; Glen Sittel, one football, one soccer ball, one basketball; and Alan Hammerand also one football, basketball and soccer ball, noting: “I chose the Boys and Girls Club because I saw the valuable services they provided to our youth during my career in probation. Quality after-school programs are a critical component in steering kids away from delinquency.”

 

Meanwhile, Linda and Jerry Mendelsohn donated 10 basketballs and 10 soccer balls to the Westpark Community Center, but the recipient children aren’t the only winners. As Jerry shared: “I took my grandson Garrick, now 3 ½, to purchase the balls with me, explaining to him how some kids are not as fortunate as he with toys, sports equipment, etc., and doing this will make them happy as well as us for helping out.”

 

And Jim Cowan helped out with his annual gift of 10 NBA basketballs, explaining: “These are in honor of the many people in my life that assisted me in developing enough skill at basketball that I was able to receive a college education! Among these folks was my dad, John Cowan. He nailed a coffee can to the garage door when I was a little boy, gave me a tennis ball to shoot with, and that was my start.

 

“Also my many coaches, including Cal Houston, Ventura Junior High School (now Cabrillo) who just turned 95 on Dec. 7; Bob Tuttle, Ventura High School; Elmer McCall, Ventura Junior College; and Aubrey Bonham, Whittier College. They not only taught me about basketball, but many life lessons as well. They were models I tried to emulate when I went into the field of education.”

 

Who can you honor by dropping off a new ball at a local youth group, fire station or other worthy charity in the next couple days? (If you do, email word of your donation to woodywriter@gmail.com).

 

Lastly, Santa, give anyone who reads this far a happy holidays and healthy 2014.

*

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME is available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com and Amazon.com.