Tag Archives: Vin Scully

Toasting My Favorite Books This Year

by Woody

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

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“Do you want sixteen ounces?” the waitress at a local craft brewery asked. “Or twenty?”

“Sixteen’s good,” I said before Gary Tuttle, my happy hour companion, followed with his ale selection, specifying: “I’ll have the twenty.”

When in Rome – or drinking with a long-distance legend who surely wore Adidas Rom running shoes in the 1960s: “Make mine a twenty, too,” I revised.

“Then I want twenty-four ounces,” Gary interjected playfully…

…and yet, in a nutshell, the humorous interaction unveils the serious competitive spirit that made Ventura’s native son a two-time NCAA steeplechase champion, three-time American record holder, and runner-up finisher in the prestigious Boston Marathon.

A new book that prominently features Gary throughout – “Running Behind The Redwood Curtain” written and compiled by Vince Engel – has a gem of a story that pairs perfectly with our beer orders. It took place Gary’s senior year at Humbolt State and, edited slightly for space, here is how he tells it in the pages:

“At 9:30 p.m., as I was preparing for bed, Vince made an announcement: ‘It’s the end of January and I have been sneaking daily peeks at your (Gary’s) running diary. For the first time in our five years of running together, I have tallied more miles in a month than you. I have one more mile total – I finally beat you in total mileage for the month.’

“I said nothing, but after a glance at the clock I began to put on rain sweats and running shoes. Vince’s smug smile turned to chagrin as he stammered, ‘What are you doing?’ I replied, ‘I’m going for a two-mile run in the rain – January has two and a half hours remaining.’

“Vince, with a worried smile, responded: ‘It’s pointless – I will just run with you, we will get wet and cold for no good reason, and I will still have one more mile than you.’

“I replied, ‘Darn, you’re right. I guess I will run hard for all two hours and thirty minutes left in January. I just need to beat you by over one mile to win the mileage – you are the middle-distance runner, I’m the distance man, so you know I will do it. Be prepared for the toughest run of your life.’

“By now Vince is getting very upset with me. ‘Can’t you just let me win once?’ he said.

“I said, ‘Nope. Are you coming?’ ”

After running the two extra miles needed, alone in the rain, Gary stayed up guarding their front door until midnight to make sure Vince didn’t sneak out to one-up him. Tuff plus mettle equals Tuttle.

While “Running Behind The Redwood Curtain” is not for everyone, hardcore running fans, and especially fans of Gary Tuttle whose storytelling highlights the 459 pages, will definitely enjoy it.

Of the 59 other books I crossed the finish line reading in 2024, here are my top recommendations, beginning with three nonfiction home runs: “Home Waters” by John N. Maclean; “The Bookshop” by Evan Friss; and “Perfect Eloquence: An Appreciation of Vin Scully” edited and compiled by Tom Hoffart, whose own chapter introductions alone are grand slams.

On the fiction bookshelf, shamelessly I shall lead off with my own debut novel, “The Butterfly Tree: An Extraordinary Saga of Seven Generations,” sharing company alongside “The Adventures of John Carson in Several Quarters of the World” by Brian Doyle; “Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk” by Kathleen Rooney; and “A Walk in the Sun” by Henry Brown.

Also, “Water for Elephants” by Sara Gruen; “Horse” by Geraldine Brooks and “The Horse” by Willy Vlautin; “Wandering Stars” by Tommy Orange and “Night Came With Many Stars” by Simon Van Booy; “North Woods” by Daniel Mason and “Kingdom in the Redwoods,” a middle-grade novel by Keven Baxter; and “Kunstlers In Paradise” by Cathleen Shine.

Bookend thin-paged offerings that measure up big are “Until August” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and “Crossing Delancey” by Susan Sandler.

Lastly, let me raise a toast – with 20 ounces, not 16 – to my runner-up and favorite novels I read this year: “James” by Percival Everett and, with understandable bias and unimaginable pride, “Before & After You & Me” by my daughter Dallas Woodburn.

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“Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” ends soon! New sports balls can be dropped off through Dec. 13, 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.

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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.

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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 Golden Voice

by Woody

As with every Dodgers fan – no, every baseball fan no matter their team affiliation – news of Vin Scully’s death at age 94 on Tuesday 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 back to the same memory two decades past when the home phone rang and my wife answered and the velvety voice on the other end of the line – “Hello, this is…” – 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 quickly rang again, The Golden Voice once again asked for me, and Lisa instantly realized her embarrassing mistake.

A few days later, I didn’t interview Scully so much as I pulled up a chair in his Dodger Stadium radio booth long before that night’s game and listened to his singular storytelling. I had hoped for maybe 15 minutes of his time, but he graciously enchanted me 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 40 years old – fouled off a couple pitches and worked the count full.

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.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

“Hello, this is Vin Scully . . .”

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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End of an Era Stirs Dodger Blues

            The phone rang and my wife answered and the voice on he other end of the line was unmistakable even before the caller identified himself.

“Hello, this is . . .”

Vin Scully was returning my call. However, I had not mentioned to my wife that I was trying to set up an interview and since it is not every day that The Voice of the Dodgers phones home, my wife was caught off guard.1scully

“You aren’t Vin Scully,” she said, amused, thinking it was one of my friends pulling a prank.

And she hung up.

The phone rang again, again the golden voice asked for me, and this time my wife realized her embarrassing mistake.

A few days later, I didn’t interview Scully so much as I pulled up a chair in the Dodger Stadium press box and listened, enchanted, to his storytelling. At one point, he mentioned having just read “The Professor and the Madman” about how the Oxford English Dictionary was compiled by two men – one turning out to be an insane murderer. It struck me, as Scully spun the synopsis, that he could read a random page from the dictionary and make it a listening pleasure on the radio.

About a year after formally meeting Scully we crossed paths a second time at a gala dinner – washing hands in the restroom. Remarkably, he remembered my name, but the greater display of his peerless people skills was his insistence I come meet his wife.

I have been reading The Star for the better part of four decades, writing in its pages for more than a quarter century, and in all this time I cannot recall a more terrific on-going feature, “Peanuts” included, than the daily “Visions from Vin” compiled by Jim Carlisle chronicling Scully’s life and career. The sports-section serial came about because, after being the rivet holding the franchise together for the past 67 seasons, Scully is hanging up his mic following the Dodgers’ regular-season finale in two weeks.

While the gems Carlisle has uncovered from various books, magazines and newspaper interviews have been enjoyable, even more so have been the personal encounters with “Vin” shared by local readers. The common denominator of their remembrances is this: the next time Scully is rude to someone will also be the very first time.

Scully’s friendliness is authentic.

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

And what are some of the stranger “compliments”?

“I’ve signed a lot of baseballs, as you can imagine,” he answered. “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.”

As personal tale after tale shared in “Visions from Vin” attest, these moments are indeed kept, safely wrapped in red velvet in each person’s mind.

One more red-velvet moment. Our interview concluded, I asked Scully if he would put me at the plate in Dodger Stadium. Pat Riley once diagramed for me the Lakers’ “Fist Up” play to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and my goodness how I wish I had kept that doodled napkin. Even more, however, I wish I had recorded Scully’s imaginary calling of my Major League at-bat against the great fireball-throwing Bob Gibson.

No matter, for I can hear it in my mind’s ears yet, working the count full before Scully ended my fantasy with a wink, so to speak: mighty Woody struck out. It was perfect.

To borrow from Ernest Thayer’s famous poem, “Casey at the Bat,” come game’s end on Oct. 2, the tale will be this: “Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; the band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; and somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout . . .”

. . . but there is no joy in Dodgerville, mighty Vinny has called his final out.

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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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This and That, Plus Balls Tally

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s new book STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter is available for Pre-Order HERE NOW! In time for the holidays!

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This, that and final holiday ball tally

            Nobody asked me, but here goes anyway . . .

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It has certainly been “raining cats and dogs” this week, which raises the question: How in the world did that crazy expression originate?

During my trip to Ireland last year, I got the answer – or, at least, one that makes as much sense as any.1catsdogsrain

During a countryside tour of County Cork, our guide pointed out a number of traditional thatched roofs that still exist. He explained that when these roofs were the standard long ago, cats and dogs actually climbed up, burrowed into, and slept inside the thick straw.

When it rained exceptionally hard, the animals would jump out to escape from near drowning. Hence the expression, “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

Even if our Irish guide was pulling our American legs, I like it!

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The word “unbelievable,” I believe, is greatly overworked.

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Listen up, NFL and NCAA football! Either do away with the rule against offensive players pushing, pulling and using forklifts to assist the ball carrier, or start throwing the penalty flag. It looks like a rugby scrum on 25 percent of the running plays!

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I lack all musical genes, and have no songwriting experience whatsoever, but I am still convinced I could write a hit for Adele.

Shoot, I believe she could sing this column and make it sound wonderful, so unbelievable is her voice.

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Speaking of unbelievable voices, Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully once told me about a fantastic book he had just finished reading, “The Professor and the Madman.”

Hearing him summarize this story behind the creation of the Oxford English Dictionary made me think that Scully could read straight from the Oxford English Dictionary and make it sound like poetry set to music.

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The Jane Laut murder trial in Ventura County for the fatal shooting of her husband, former Olympic athlete Dave Laut, is finally set to begin next week.

Understand, the shooting took place on August 29, 2009 – more than six years ago. And only now, in January 2016, the trial? Unbelievable!

The judge and court didn’t ask me, and I only know what I read in my favorite newspaper, but that is so glacier-ly slow it seems here like one or both sides have been more focused on playing games and stalling rather than on pursuing timely justice. That’s just my two cents.

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The lighting in grocery stores is truly unbelievable: bananas that appear a nice yellow turn out to be green as limes when I get them home in sunlight.

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Nobody who contributed to “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” asked to be recognized in print, but I feel their generosity deserves nothing less and is a small measure of thanks for the disadvantaged kids they made smile.

Contributors not mentioned here previously include, in no special order: Marty and Freida Harary, Bill Ferguson, Tom and Sheila McCollum, Jim and Sandie Arthur, Kay Giles, Michael Mariani, Norma Fulkerson, Howard and Kathy Reich, Tom and Karyne Roweton, Brad and Mia Ditto, Audrey Rubin, Orvene Carpenter, Lisa Trout, Ann and Kevin Drescher, Steve Magoon, Steve Askay, Patricia Herman, Kathy and Jim Vargeson, Arlys Tuttle, Gayle Camalich, Trudy Tuttle Arriaga, Toni Tuttle-Santana, Kymberly King, Doug Woodburn, Jim Woodburn, James Woodburn, Linda Reynolds, Sally and Tom Reeder, Kathy and Joe Vaughan, and many anonymous angels as well.

Also, shoutouts to Draza Mrvichin, who gave a mix of 14 balls; my former next-door neighbor from childhood, Norma Zuber, and her PEO Sisterhood service group, which donated 19 various balls; and Jerry and Linda Mendelsohn, who donated 20 balls evenly split between basketball and soccer.

The finally tally from this past holiday season was . . .

. . . drum roll, please . . .

. . . a whopping 253 new sports balls – up from 211 a year ago – broken down thusly: 148 basketballs, 62 soccer balls, 27 footballs and 16 playground balls.

Thank you, dear readers. Your kindness is unbelievable.

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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”

 

Column: Different Slant On Autographs

by Woody

A Different Slant On Autographs

 

The Black Death had a rival scourge in the Middle Ages. Call it The Black Ink because according to historians the pursuit of autographs dates back to this period. It seems the hunt for signatures of the famous came about after the hunt for religious relics waned.

 

Centuries after bubonic plague had been largely erased, Albert Einstein weighed in with his scientific view on the autograph terming it the last vestige of cannibalism.Hancock

 

After 25 years of watching the signature savageness as a sports columnist, including seeing grown men push children out of the way in pursuit of autograph, I think Einstein was being too kind.

 

But something really cool happened last weekend that changed my viewpoint. An autograph show was held in a hotel lobby in the historic town of Gettysburg and instead of home-run heroes and Hall-of-Fame slam dunkers and Olympic gold medalists, the “heroes” signing their signatures truly were heroes. Specifically, they numbered nearly half of the 79 current surviving recipients of the Medal of Honor – our nation’s highest military award.

 

If I collected inked autographs, these warriors’ John Hancocks would be on my Most Wanted List.

 

Instead, over the years I have collected autograph of a different slant: oddball stories from athletes I’ve interviewed. Let me share a few.

 

“I am frequently asked to sign Pennzoil cans,” shared Arnold Palmer, who has done countless TV commercials for the petroleum product.

 

Similarly, Hall of Fame pitcher – and Advil pitchman – Nolan Ryan said he often gets asked to autograph bottles of the pain reliever.

 

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

 

And what are some of the stranger “compliments” he’s had?

 

“I’ve signed a lot of baseballs as you can imagine, but also golf balls and even a hockey puck which is sort of strange, I should think.

 

“Paper napkins seem popular,” Scully continued, “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.”

 

“I’ve signed dollar bills for homeless people who you know were going to spend it and not save it,” echoed Olympic gymnastics champion Kerri Strug. “And I’ve signed first-graders’ body parts with pencils – which is hard to do.”

 

Skin is popular from head to toe. I’ve seen Magic Johnson sign a bald head with a black Sharpie marker and Muhammad Ali do so on kids’ arms, legs and feet. But the most memorable thing I saw Ali autograph was a jogging bra . . .

 

. . . being worn by the young woman.

 

Speaking of dirty laundry, Olympic softball gold medalist Kim Maher added this footnote to my signature collection: “A kid handed me a sock to autograph – a gross, dirty sock!”

 

Did the former Buena High star sign it?

 

Maher: “Oh, yeah, of course.”

 

Olympic marathon champion Frank Shorter can relate: “Over the years I’ve been asked to sign some pretty grungy running shoes.”

 

Echoed Billy Mills, America’s last Olympic gold-medal winner in the 10,000 meters in 1964: “I was asked by a school fundraiser to send an autographed pair of shoes. ‘The worse-smelling the better,’ they said.” He sent a pair he’d worn only a couple times.

 

More memorable laundry. “The oddest thing I’ve been asked to autograph is a diaper,” Carl Lewis replied, chuckling at the memory. The nine-time Olympic gold medalist went on: “Luckily it wasn’t on the baby at the time – the mom pulled it out of a bag. I’d have had to draw the line at signing a dirty diaper, I think.”

 

Fellow Olympic sprinter Jon Drummond might have crossed that line, noting: “I was once asked to sign a baby’s diaper – while the baby was wearing it.”

 

Bottom line, did he sign?

 

“Yep,” Drummond answered. “If they kept the autograph, I hope they changed the diaper before it was too late.”

 

What would Einstein think?

 

I think a soiled napkin suddenly seems like a nice keepsake.

 

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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 now available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.