Category Archives: Uncategorized

Oh Brother(s)! A Couple Book Tales

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

*

In honor of National Reading Month, which was designated in honor of Theodor Seuss Geisel, more famously known as Dr. Suess, who was born on March 2 in 1904, let me share a couple of personal book tales.

The other day, in a major bookstore on a prime shelf and displayed front-facing like a bestseller, I spotted my debut novel “The Butterfly Tree.”

“And what happened, then?” you might ask, reciting from a Dr. Suess book which continues: “Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day”—similarly, I confess, did my head grow-grow-grow.

Shortly thereafter, however, a sharp needle popped my overinflated ego when I came upon another book of mine—my memoir “Wooden & Me” about my longtime friendship with Coach John Wooden – in a secondhand bookshop, in the rear of the labyrinth of stacks on a high shelf, only its spine visible sandwiched between two other orphaned books.

Out of curiously I looked inside to see how much it was selling for and despite being “signed by the author,” as noted in light pencil in the top right corner of the title page, it was marked at less than half the cover price new.

Adding a bruise, the author—me—had personalized the inscription “For Lorraine” and suddenly I did not like her even though I have no idea who she is.

It was all a good reminder of this cautionary maxim from Coach Wooden: “Talent is God given, be humble; fame is man-given, be thankful; conceit is self-given, be careful.”

Frankly, the surest anecdote for conceit is to grow up with two older brothers, or so I believe from boyhood experience. If I had a great youth basketball game and bragged about how many points I scored, Jimmy and Doug, five and three years my elders, would see to it I did not score a single basket the next time we played hoops in the driveway.

Similarly, when I won a tennis tournament and proudly put my first-ever trophy on display on the fireplace mantle in the family room, by day’s end it had it magically moved into my bedroom. When I later repeated the transgression, my brothers put much bigger football trophies on either side of my suddenly puny-looking one.

Lesson learned.

A number of years ago, when I was writing sports for a newspaper in Torrance, the advertising department ran a billboard campaign with me juggling a variety of balls, two golf clubs, a tennis racket and hockey stick, with the proclamation: “Columnist Woody Woodburn: He Writes. He Scores. South Bay’s Best.”

Because I was commuting from Ventura, no one in my family saw the billboards. Until, that is, the managing editor mailed me a framed photo of one. My wife and two kids were mildly upset I had not told them about the ads.

“You never asked me if I was on a billboard,” I joked in reply.

In truth, the thought of coming home and announcing, “Guess what? I’m on a couple of giant billboards!” never crossed my mind. Oh brother(s), no! That impulse was wrested from me at age ten.

Had these billboards been in Ventura, Jim and Doug, to make sure my head in real life did not grow three sizes, would have been tempted to climb up in the dark of night and paint a mustache on me or change “He Scores” to “He Stinks!”

And so, instead of being hurt by faceless Lorraine, I am just happy the signed book hadn’t originally belonged to Jimmy or Doug.

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

First Day of School Goodbye Tears

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

From Woody’s column archives, August of 2012, the sentiments resurfacing recently while dropping his daughter Dallas off at the airport following a solo visit home from the Bay Area where she now lives.

*

When it comes to saying hello to a new school year, the words of 19th Century French novelist Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr seem perfectly apropos: “Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.”

The more things change, the more they remain the same.

On her very first “first” day of school—at Ventura’s TLC Preschool—my daughter cried when I dropped her off in the classroom. It was a good 10 minutes before she was finally able to release me from her tight sobbing hug.

While the morning goodbyes slowly grew from tearful to cheerful as that school year progressed, the first day of TLC the following year was once again a messy runny-nosed red-eyed event.

Her first day of kindergarten at Poinsettia Elementary School was barely easier; fighting to hold back her tears with all her might, she failed.

Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.

Her first day of first grade was tearless, but certainly not fearless. Second grade was a little smoother still; her first day at Cabrillo Middle School better yet; and the first day of her senior year at Ventura High was a dancing cakewalk, but on her first day of college, or rather Move-In Day, my then-18-year-old daughter once again became a tearful 3-year-old preschooler. Instead of emblazoned with “USC” her sweatshirt could have read “TLC.”

My wife’s salty floodgates opened in turn, but I managed to maintain my composure as we walked away down the hall. My mistake was pausing to look back, hoping to see an empty doorway and thus my daughter inside her room having happily begun her college life. Instead, she was still in the hallway waving at me, her face sad and wet, her eyes red and puffy, her nose runny—and never have I seen her look more beautiful, unless it was on the first day of a school year when she was 3 or 4 or 5.

Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.

Do not be mistaken by her homesick hugs. My daughter is strong and confident and accomplished and embraces adventure. She has traveled extensively and thrice studied abroad. She loves arriving at new places—it is just she also hates leaving familiar old ones.

Yes, she has always been great at hellos and lousy at goodbyes and this is a lovely quality. Her tight hugs of greeting make one feel deeply loved; her wet envelopments upon parting somehow even more so.

Things change. Instead of a school bus, my daughter took an airplane this year on her way to her last first day of school, at Purdue, where she enters her final year of its M.F.A. creative writing program.

Things stay the same. At the Rubicon for passengers to continue on into the long security line at the airport it was a good five minutes until my daughter released me from her sobbing embrace. Over the years we have tried pulling-the-Band-Aid-off-quickly, but such hurried goodbyes causes more tears, not fewer. And so we linger, aging father and Daddy’s Little Girl Still.

After we eventually parted and I walked away a short distance down the terminal hallway, I did what I always do: I turned around for one final glimpse at her. I can never resist. Usually, she is well into the security line by then and can only smile and wave.

This time, however, she was not yet trapped. A grandmotherly woman watching the scene unfold said aloud, but not unkindly: “Rookie mistake. Never look back.”

I disagree. I was rewarded with seeing my 25-year-old daughter age 3 again as she rushed over to give me one last wet-and-wonderful first-day-of-school hug goodbye.

Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Some days glow with ‘Moonlight’

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

*

In one of the all-time great movies, “Field of Dreams,” one of the all-time great cinematic characters, Dr. Archibald “Moonlight” Graham, recalling the one and only game he appeared in in the Major Leagues, a game that ended with him on deck without getting his first big-league at bat, makes an all-time wise observation:

“We just don’t recognize life’s most significant moments while they’re happening. Back then I thought, ‘Well, there’ll be other days.’ I didn’t realize that that was the only day.”

Yes, hindsight often affords the clarity to see that a seemingly common day was an “only day” that sparkled like midnight moonlight on a mirror-smooth pond.

Indeed, seven months after my eldest brother passed away, with the thick fog of mourning slowly burning away by the sunshine of warm memories, I realize the bright rays that are dearest to me are not the big moments – not graduation days or birthdays or weddings, even when I was his best man.

“Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously,” Ralph Waldo Emerson wisely wrote. “Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year and this time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.”

The best moments, the most significant memories with Jimmy, were summer days swimming in a rural pond and nights catching fireflies; him teaching me to ride a two-wheeler and drive a stick shift; playing Euchre and laughing, playing board games and laughing, playing pranks on Mom and laughing; shooting pool and throwing darts and racing slot cars and HO trains, all in our basement; and so on, the ordinary coming into focus across time as special; halcyon day after day being an “only day.”

With this in mind, I recently wrote the following day in my heart, an ordinary day that even down the road I cannot imagine looking back at as being a day of significance, yet thanks to an Emerson-ian frame of mind it was a “very good one.”

The day started with a banana that was, to my taste, perfectly in the ripeness sweet spot – not a little too green and firm and slightly bitter as the day before; not a tad too brown and soft as would be the case tomorrow.

Next, at the keyboard, words flowed from my mind to my fingertips to the screen as effortlessly as water down a swift stream. Later, on my afternoon run, the miles flowed as easily as the typed words had and running an errand soon thereafter my car flowed through traffic like a flying magic carpet.

After initially just missing a left-turn green arrow, I altered my route home and went straight ahead when the red light turned green…

… and proceeded to make every single traffic signal, 17 greens in all, in a row, impossibly. (I counted the lights the next time I drove the route, faring much worse.)

Admittedly, twice I gamed the situation a wee bit by tilting the pinball machine, so to speak, slowing down noticeably so as to still be rolling along when a red light in the distance turned green by the time I reached it. All the same, it was remarkable and put a smile in my heart.

The rest of my day was similar, not because of big things worth recounting here, but rather, I suspect, simply because I was in the frame of mind to appreciate the moonlight shining upon small things.

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

This Rom-Com Stands Test of Time

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

For Valentine’s Day today, here is a love story from Woody’s column archives from four years ago…

*

Upon meeting a married couple, from newlyweds to having celebrated their diamond anniversary, I love to ask how they met. Blind date or meet cute or online app match, they always light up in the retelling – as do I in the listening.

In the hopes that you feel likewise, let me share a synopsis of my in-progress screenplay with the working title, “When Woody Met Lisa.” Instead of starring dark-haired Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan with sunshine curls, the leading characters will be played by shaggy ginger-blond Owen Wilson and Rachel McAdams as a brunette.

Our very first date at UCSB…

The movie opens on the campus of UC Santa Barbara, in a dining hall, at dinnertime. There are three hot-food lines and Woody intentionally chooses the longest one. When he finally reaches the front we see why: the server, even with cascading locks tucked up in a hair net, is the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

“Lasagna and tater tots, please,” the freshman boy says, swallowing any attempt to flirt because the sophomore beauty is out of his league. A short montage follows showing him going through her line the entire school year without even learning her name.

Fast-forward two years to a Christmas party at the off-campus apartment of two of Woody’s wild-and-crazy former freshman dorm mates. Across the crowded room, Woody notices a girl who makes his heart play a faster drumbeat. She is wearing a light-blue sweater, and no hair net, but no sooner does he finally try to strike up a conversation than the keg runs dry and the party breaks up and everyone decides to go to another friend’s bash.

Everyone, that is, except Lisa, who has promised a different friend she would drop by her party and heads off alone in the opposite direction.

…and still feel like were dating all these years later!

“Wait up. I’ll walk you there,” Woody quickly, and wisely, blurts out and the Nora Ephron-like fun begins. At one point, Woody gets Lisa a beer while she goes to the restroom – when she reappears he has cleverly positioned himself underneath a hanging sprig of mistletoe. Lisa accepts the red Solo Cup with one hand and with the other leads Woody onto the dance floor, thwarting his kissing bandit gambit.

All is not lost, however, as Woody steals a kiss later that night – with no assist from mistletoe – and the two go on a dinner date the following evening and promptly fall in love.

As in all good rom-coms, just when things are going perfectly a break-up strikes like a lightning bolt. Both start dating others and at this low point, with Woody KO’d by the flu, Lisa brings him an Easter basket filled with a chocolate bunny and other candy, his favorite fresh bagels and cream cheese, and an array of cold and cough medicines. Woody’s fever instantly soars even higher with lovesickness and to this day he counts his lucky stars he fell ill.

Also to this day, by the way, Lisa insists she never noticed the mistletoe the night of their meet cute.

Flash forward four decades, to upcoming September 4th, when the two lovebirds will celebrate their 43rd wedding anniversary: Woody raises a glass and offers a toast at dinner, quoting a line in a novel by one of his favorite authors, Brian Doyle, where the narrator, recalling his first kiss with his future wife many, many years earlier, says: “How can you not stay in love with the girl who was with you the very moment you were introduced to true happiness.”

Our movie ends, naturally, with a kiss beneath a sprig of mistletoe.

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

New Home For Cherished Old Photo

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

*

The current Southern California wildfires have me remembering seven winters past when satanic Santa Ana winds blew the Thomas Fire closer and closer towards my home with frightening swiftness.

Among the keepsake photographs I hurriedly filled a box with for evacuation was an eight-by-ten black-and-white glossy print, half a century old, in a nothing-special silver-painted wooden frame, of tennis legend Arthur Ashe stroking a backhand. A heavy black facsimile of his signature is in the right-hand bottom corner, but above that is a larger authentic autograph in thin ballpoint blue ink.

Its provenance dates to 1971 when Ashe was ranked No. 2 in the world and I was an 11-year-old tennis player with big dreams and a few small trophies in my bedroom bookcase in Columbus, Ohio. That summer, the day before a pro tournament began, Ashe gave a clinic for kids.

As good luck would have it, I was invited to participate. Better luck was to be dropped off an hour early and the only other person already at the courts was Ashe. My even greater fortune was to have him ask me if I wanted to rally – I imagine I nodded “yes” because I was surely speechless – and we proceeded to do so, just the two of us, for 10 or 15 magical minutes.

Afterwards, Ashe gave me a compliment on my game and also gave me the glossy souvenir photo, which he signed courtside.

Even before this masterpiece afternoon, Ashe was already my favorite player – tied with Stan Smith, actually, who a year earlier gave me a racket he broke on an overhead smash when I was a ball boy for one of his matches.

Ashe’s status as my co-hero was likewise secured in 1970 when he played an exhibition with fellow Davis Cup teammate Clark Graebner at a country club in Columbus. Again, I was a ball boy. I still vividly remember one of Graebner’s lightning serves getting stuck deep in the webbing of the net just below the top tape. As I struggled to pry it free, without success, the crowd laughed louder and louder until Ashe strode forward from the baseline to help me.

But here is my most unforgettable memory from that day, albeit sadly so. Beforehand, Graebner and Ashe had not been allowed to change into their tennis whites in the stately golf clubhouse. Instead, because there was no tennis locker room, they had to get dressed in the small green shed that served as the courts sign-up desk and racket stringing pro shop.

The excuse given for the snubbing was that all tennis players were barred from the golfers-only locker room, but that was a lie: Graebner had been welcomed inside the previous year before a match. The ugly truth was this time Graebner was with Ashe – and Ashe was Black.

When the Thomas Fire razed my teen-years home, where my nonagenarian father still lived, the lesson in the ashes was this: people, not possession, matter. And so I did not return the Arthur Ashe photograph to its nail on the wall in my study. Realizing I will always be able to see it in my mind’s eye no matter where it is, I carefully packed it in bubble wrap and mailed it to a dear friend.

More precisely, I gave it to his then-8-year-old son, Ashe – yes, named in Arthur’s honor. To know the old photo has a new home on a boyhood bedroom wall, cherished anew as dearly as my 11-year-old self long ago did, feels as wonderful as rallying with my boyhood hero.

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Belated Resolutions For New Year

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

*

From Woody’s column archives, late December 2014, slightly revised…

*

“New Year’s is a harmless annual institution,” wrote Mark Twain, “of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls, and humbug resolutions, and we wish you to enjoy it with a looseness suited to the greatness of the occasion.”

In addition to wishing you and yours a New Year filled with great joy and health, I thought I would take a moment to make some resolutions for 2025 – humbug and laudable, both. Perhaps you will find some worthy of your own pursuit.

I resolve to…

Keep in mind the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who wrote: “Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.”

Own my day.

Try to live up to the wisdom of these lines in Rudyard Kipling’s remarkable poem “If” – “If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster / And treat those two imposters just the same.”

Try to treat Fret and Anxiety like the imposters they are.

Unplug, unplug, unplug.

Sunscreen, sunscreen, sunscreen.

Pass up the nearest open parking spot in order to leave it for someone, perhaps an elderly person, who might find it difficult to walk very far.

Give compliments 100 times more frequently than unsolicited advice.

Listen to more live music, the smaller the venue the better.

Listen to others more – and more closely.

Laugh more – including at myself.

As my hero Coach John Wooden encouraged and practiced, “Make friendship a fine art.”

Heed the wisdom of another hero of mine, Wayne Bryan: “If you don’t make an effort to help others less fortunate than you, then you’re just wasting your time on Earth.”

Try to, as Eleanor Roosevelt advised, “Do one thing every day that scares you.” Or, at least, challenges me.

Heed Samuel Beckett’s wisdom to “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

Try to suffer fools more gladly. As my Grandpa Ansel said, “It is good at times to deal with ignorant people because it makes you feel so smart.”

Try not to be an ignorant fool too often myself.

Again from Grandpa Ansel, keep in mind: “The only way to travel life’s road is to cross one bridge at a time.”

Read deeply from good books.

Read shallowly from fun books, too.

Use my car horn as though I have to pay $10 for each honk.

Buy two of anything a kid under age 10 is selling – and give one back to them to enjoy.

Check my email in-box less frequently and write more snail-mail letters.

Less screen time, more face-to-face time.

Shop at local small businesses first, local chains second, and buy on-line as a last resort.

Keep a coffee-chain gift card in my wallet for when I come across someone down-on-their-luck. 

Visit more museums.

Visit the beach more often, too.

Pick up litter and not just on Beach Clean Up days.

Heed John Muir’s call to “Keep close to nature’s heart and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.”

Be quicker to forgive.

Be slower to criticize – including of myself.

Stop to smell the roses – and daydream at the clouds and savor sunsets and marvel at starry night skies and appreciate similar works of nature’s art.

Give flowers out of the blue, not just to mark special occasions.

Lastly, again as Coach Wooden advised, I resolve in 2025 to try to “Make each day your masterpiece.”

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Gift Balls Rolled In In Big Numbers

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

*

Words fall shy, and greatly so, in expressing my gratitude to one and all who participated in this year’s “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive.” The best I can come up with is this: whether you gave one ball, or many, you filled my heart with birdsong.

And no melody was sweeter than from Steve McFadden, who gave four balls in memory of his dad, Harold – aka “Coach Mac,” one of my all-time favorite teachers I had for three years in middle school – noting: “It always makes me smile to know a deserving child might have a little better Christmas. My dad would love to be part of your ball drive.”

Before revealing the finally 2024 tally, here are some more MVPs (Most Valuable Philanthropists) grouped numerically to save space…

Gary Sparks gave one ball “in honor of my brand-new first grandbaby, Eliana.” Marty Rouse also gave one ball, as did my newest grandbaby, Amara Larisa Woodburn.

Lauren Siegel donated three balls, as did Rick Estberg, and Sheila McCollum.

Dave Stancliff gave five balls, as did Fran and Kate Larsen, and Ann and Chuck Elliott did so “in memory of Bill Walton, who brought courage and joy to basketball. RIP Bill.”

Diane Hunn passed in a half-dozen balls, as did Rebecca Fox “in honor of Marty Robinson, this year’s recipient of the Outstanding Community Leader Award for the Boys and Girls Club of Greater Ventura.”

In a family affair, Toni and Jaime Santana, Trudy and Raymundo Arriaga, Gary Tuttle and Ruth Vomund, and Gayle and Leo Camalich gave eight balls “in honor of Coach Bob Tuttle and his biggest fan, Arlys Tuttle, who taught us four kids to always give life their best shot!”

Eight balls were also donated anonymously “in honor of Charles Yunker, longtime coach of Ventura Missionary School’s eighth-grade basketball team, who teaches his players to play with the great skill and effort but also to practice sportsmanship towards opponents, referees and fans.”

Sandie and Jim Arthur donated nine balls and a “Secret Santa” donated 10.

Elijah Ontiveros, and Brandon Kendlinger and Tommy Kendlinger gave 18 balls “in loving memory of their cousin and brother Michael Kendlinger.”

Jerry and Linda Mendelsohn took grandkids Dannika, Parker, and Joy to pick out 20 balls “for deserving kids and reminding our own why we do this every year” and 20 more balls were given by another Secret Santa in honor of former Star sportswriter Rhiannon Potkey who year-round gives sports equipment – and smiles – to disadvantaged kids through her nonprofit organization Goods4Greatness.

A handful of Samaritans sent a combined 22 balls that arrived without gift notes to identify the givers.

Patrons of The Goebel Adult Community Center in Thousand Oaks donated 68 balls and the Pleasant Valley-Somis-Camarillo Lions Club collectively gave 150.

In another group effort, a whopping 301 balls were given by the “A Team” of family members and friends who wished to be recognized by their first names only: Michael and Reina; Allen and Alast; Rachel and Mike; Rick and Nancy; Andy and Connie; Alma and Tomas; Shaun and Ruth; Dave; Dawn and Jim; Stan and Beth; Ron and Anita; Mike and Claudia; Wilfred; Tina and Chris; Pamela; Melissa and Todd; Michelle and Michael; John and Kelly; Deborah; Achilles and Caren; Tony; Lane; Kelly and Lisa; Rose and Jace; Ricky and Brenda; Les; Donna and Art; Phil and Charlene; Steve; Maddie; Juan; and Mom.”

And now, the final gift tally for 2024 is … drumroll, please … a record 1,344 new sports balls, surpassing last year’s previous high-water mark by more than 200 deserving children’s smiles!

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Junky Skiing Santa Proves Priceless

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

*

From Woody’s column archives, December, 2019…

Some Christmas stories are sweet as hot cocoa topped with melting marshmallows. This one ain’t. All the same, I would not trade it for the world – or even for a vintage mint-condition toy Matchbox car.

The year was 1966, wintertime in Ohio, and I bit my quivering lip trying with all the strength a 6-year-old can muster not to cry. I felt like I had found a rock in my Christmas stocking.

I was in first grade, in wonderful Mrs. Bauer’s classroom, in an era when elementary schools held gift exchange parties. I was to swap toys with Paul, a boy I did not know well because he was not in my circle of recess friends.

I knew one thing, however: I would buy Paul a Matchbox car. After all, all boys loved the popular tiny cars. I seem to recall Matchboxes cost about a dollar, which was probably the price ceiling for our gift-giving.

Mom took me to the five-and-dime where my two brothers and I spent our allowance money – we got a nickel for each year of age; hence I received 30 cents weekly at the time while my older siblings got 45 and 55 cents – on sports trading cards, comic books, and Matchbox racers.

I do not remember which specific car I picked out for Paul, but my best guess is a Mustang since that is what I surely would have wanted. Paul did not reciprocate with a cool Mustang or any other Matchbox. Nor did he give me a Batman comic or a few packs of baseball cards.

No, the gift I opened at our class party was a red-and-white Santa Claus figurine, made of hollow plastic and slightly larger than a coffee mug, on green snow skis. The toy bag on Santa’s back was empty, although it probably held candy when originally purchased. Even filled with Hershey’s Kisses or candy canes, Skiing Santa surely cost no more than my weekly allowance.

In other words, I swapped a precious metal Mustang for a lump of plastic coal.

While Paul and my best pals Dan, Bob and Bill – boys did not go by Daniel and Robert and William in the ’60s – were racing their new cool Matchbox cars across desktops around the classroom, I blinked back hot tears.

Admittedly not for the right reason, I suddenly did the right thing. Despite selfishly feeling sorry for myself, I started speeding my stupid Skiing Santa alongside the Matchbox cars. Truthfully, I was not trying to erase any embarrassment Paul might have felt for giving such a crummy gift; I simply did not want to feel left out.

When the bell for recess rang, Mrs. Bauer asked me to remain behind. I sat nervously at my desk having no idea what I had done wrong. When we were alone, my teacher sat beside me and said, as I remember it: “I’m proud of you for not showing your disappointment – that would have hurt Paul’s feelings. You gave him a very nice toy and you should be happy about that.”

Mrs. Bauer’s message, which I naturally did not understand at the time, was that it truly is better to give than receive.

I eventually became friends with Paul and will never forget a few sleepovers at his house: his socks always had holes in the toes; he shared a tiny bedroom with two sisters; and he had no dad – death, not a divorce.

Skiing Santa, I have since realized, might have been all Paul had to give, making it a dearer gift than a Matchbox Mustang.

* *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Ball Drive “Cannot Fail” Thanks to Smile-Givers

by Woody

Woody’s new award-winning novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

*

“The gift is to the giver and comes back most to him,” wrote the wise, and Santa Claus-bearded, Walt Whitman. “It cannot fail.”

Star readers who have given to “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” for local disadvantaged youth are experiencing the unfailing truth of Mr. Whitman’s sentiment. As Peggy and Paul Graham, who gave one each basketball, football, and soccer ball, noted: “This has become part of our holiday tradition and a source of pleasure for us. Widening the smile of a child is the ultimate reward.”

Here, grouped numerically to save space, are some more generous smile-givers…

A mountain of gifts from “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive.”

Anna and Tom McBreen gave one ball, and the McAuley sisters – Maya, 6, and Auden, 2 – for their December birthdays each excitedly picked out a gift ball for children they will never know.

Bobbin and Steve Yarbrough gave two balls, as did Allison Johnson “to honor my brother Michael Demeter, who would like for those who can’t afford a ball to have the chance to dream.”

Elaine and Ken Lyle took three of their grandchildren – Joshua, Corbin, and Brynlee – to each choose one gift ball, as has become their shared tradition. Also giving three balls were Kathy and Ken McAlpine; Pam and Peter Carter; Signe Smale; and Peggy Brown “in honor of Kerry Karnes.”

Judy Magee-Windle donated four balls “in honor of my four grandsons who are the loves of my life”; Katherine and Frank Anderson also gave four; as did Thomas and Karyne Roweton.

David and Denise Thomas gave five balls; Jeff Barks, too; and Irma Paramo.

Glen Sittel donated six balls, noting: “It always feels great to help provide these wonderful gifts to the youth of our community.” Shelly and Steve Brown gave separate balls in honor of their six grandchildren; Bobbie and Dave Williams also gave six balls; as did Kelly Lanier. And Al and Carol Gross donated six basketballs, and a baseball glove, “in memory of Dick Utter” – Al’s basketball and baseball teammate at Ventura High in 1948 and 1949.

Marcy and Dave Erickson gave seven basketballs “in memory of Charlie Feyh, a longtime and well-loved girls’ basketball coach for VYBA and the Ventura Nets club team.”

Mary and Rick Whiting gave eight balls; as did Shelley and David Cole; and Steven and T Yamamoto.

The Bench Warmer, which serendipitously has on display a framed Lakers’ No. 23 jersey of Cedric Ceballos who helped inspire this ball drive long ago, gave nine balls “in memory of David Hilty”; Terry and Draza Mrvichin also gave nine balls; as did Lynne and Don Steensma.

Local coaching legends Mickey Perry and Joe Vaughan once again donated 10 basketballs, and in a similar annual tradition Ann Cowan likewise did so in memory of her late husband, Jim. Also giving 10 balls were Kym King; Susan Hall; Tim Hansen; Alan and Kathy Hammerand; and Kay Giles and Michael Mariani.

Steve Askay gave a dozen balls in memory of his late granddaughter, Mabel Rae, who was a role model for “extravagant love, kindness, and generosity.” Also giving a dozen balls were Carole Rowland; Scott Blaise; the crew at J & H Engineering; Chance, no last name given; Sally and Tom Reeder, calling it “one of our favorite experiences every December”; and an anonymous donor “in memory of two big Jims – Jim Woodburn and Jim Cowan – who left wonderful memories with us.”

The Bemis family donated 14 balls “in loving memory of Michael”; Roz Demaria gave 18 balls; and children at Trinity Lutheran Church in Ventura, after hearing Lennie Weinerth give a lesson on sharing one’s blessings, brought in 20 balls to share with children in need of a little TLC.

Julie and Chris Hein gave 24 balls “in memory of Jim Woodburn and Gramps Woodburn,” while Julie and Nick Sarris donated 41 balls “in memory of Sienna’s eternal spirit and Maya’s compassion for others.”

Mike and Bob Bryan, who have yet to meet a child they didn’t show great kindness to, and who have been loyal supporters of “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” every year without fail since Day 1, served up an array of 50 basketballs, soccer balls, volleyballs, and footballs.

With so many Whitman-hearted givers, this endeavor “cannot fail.”

To be continued for four more days…

*

“Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” ends Monday! New sports balls can be dropped off through Dec. 16, or online orders delivered to, Jensen Design & Survey at 1672 Donlon St. in Ventura, 93003. Please email me about your gifts at woodywriter@gmail.com so I can add your generosity to this year’s tally and acknowledge you in a future column.

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Golden Memories of Dodgers’ Golden Voice

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

* * *

With the Dodgers playing in the 2024 World Series this column, near the top of my archives from 2022, seems fitting to rerun today…

*

As with every Dodgers fan—no, every baseball fan no matter their team affiliation—news of Vin Scully’s death at age 94 gripped my heart and squeezed my wife’s tear ducts. A moment later, we smiled and laughed.

Yes, laughter among the sorrow because we both reached far back to the time the home phone rang and my wife answered and the velvety voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable even before the caller identified himself.

Lisa, unaware I had been trying to set up an interview, didn’t believe here ears. “You aren’t Vin Scully,” she said after he gave his name, amused at one of my friends’ lame jokes…

…and hung up.

The phone promptly rang again, The Golden Voice again asked if I was home, and Lisa instantly realized her embarrassing mistake.

A few days later, I didn’t interview Scully so much as pull up a chair in his Dodger Stadium radio booth long before that night’s game and listen to his enchanted storytelling for an hour.

About a year later we crossed paths at a gala dinner honoring another Southland legend, Jim Murray, washing our hands in the restroom. Remarkably, Scully greeted me by name, but the greater display of his peerless people skills was his insistence I come meet his wife. In turn, I introduced him to Lisa—albeit without mentioning the phone hang up.

Scully’s geniality in person was as authentic as it was on the airwaves.

“I enjoy people, so I don’t mind autograph requests at all,” he told me. “Why not sign? They’re paying me a compliment by asking.”

And what were some of the stranger “compliments”?

“I’ve signed a lot of baseballs, as you can imagine,” he shared. “But also golf balls and even a hockey puck, which is sort of strange. Paper napkins seem popular, even dirty napkins – I think it’s all they have on hand. I don’t expect them to keep it, but I sign anyway because hopefully they will keep the moment.”

How many magical moments did Vin—didn’t he make us all feel like we knew him on a first-name basis?—give us during his 67 years behind the Dodgers’ microphone? Count the stars in the sky and you might have the answer.

Here is another of my favorite personal moments that I keep wrapped in red velvet. Our interview concluded, I asked The Greatest Sports Broadcaster Ever if he would put me in the batter’s box in Dodger Stadium. Oh, how I wish I had recorded his imaginary call of my one-and-only Major League at-bat.

In my mind’s ear, nonetheless, I can hear it still as he announced me digging in at the plate to face the great fireballer, Bob Gibson, who promptly brushed me back with the first pitch: “Gibson says, ‘Welcome to the Big Leagues, Mr. Woodburn,’ ” said Scully.

Next pitch, I swung at a fastball after it was already in the catcher’s mitt, yet somehow “the tall, lanky kid from Ventura”—for I was magically no longer approaching 40 years old—fouled off a couple pitches and eventually worked the count full, 3-and-2.

Scully ended my fantasy with a wink, not a home run. Like “Casey at the Bat”, mighty Woody struck out. It was perfect.

Perfect, too, was Scully’s succinct answer when asked how he would want God to greet him in heaven: “Well done.”

Well done, Vincent Edward Scully. Well done, indeed.

* * *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

*

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.