Monthly Archives: May 2013

Column: Legacy Left in Artwork

by Woody

 

A Legacy Left in Indelible Ink (and Paint) 
“The happiest paintbrushes are the worn-through ones.”

 

These are the words of a young man who, long before earning a university minor in Painting, took a summer art class at age 12 from Chris Martinez.

 

Teaching my son drawing skills, and more importantly doing so in an encouraging manner, was not the first time Chris entered my life.

 

That moment occurred in a previous writing life for me, so long ago The Star was still The Star-Free Press and I was in the sports department. It was 1987 and as a staff rookie I was taking a beating in the letters to the editor from Ventura High fans claiming my columns were pro-Buena; and Bulldog backers complaining I favored the Cougars.

 

Into the newsroom one day walked a visitor, a bearded stranger to me but wearing the warm smile of an old friend. It was, as you have guessed, Chris. For no reason other than because he was such a kind man, he gave me the most heartfelt gift an artist can bestow: one of his artworks.

 

It was a 12-by-15-inch black ink drawing, featuring a caricature of me wearing a Los Angeles Rams jersey, a Dodgers cap, and baggy Lakers shorts. A hockey puck is balanced on my right shoulder pad and my hockey-gloved right hand grips a hockey stick. On my left hand I am spinning a basketball, a feat all the more impressive considering the baseball mitt. Scattered around my sneakered feet are a soccer ball, volleyball, bowling ball, baseball, softball, football, tennis ball and two golf balls.

 

Also, an angry-looking Buena Bulldog looks up at me, as does Ventura High’s Cougar mascot.

 

A handwritten inscription on the masterpiece reads: “Woody – Sticking your neck out and taking chances are prerequisites for creativity . . . Keep up the good work. – Chris Martinez.”

 

How dearly did I appreciate Chris’ creativity and skill – his talent was so great he was at one time a Disney illustrator – and above all, kindness? The cherished drawing hangs on a wall by my writing desk alongside a “Pyramid of Success” signed to me by Coach John Wooden.

 

On a nearby bookshelf is another personal reminder of Chris’s artistic virtuosity: He did the illustrations for the book “Raising Your Child to be a Champion in Athletics, Arts, and Academics” that I co-authored with Wayne Bryan in 2004. To this day, Wayne uses the biography caricature Chris drew of him using a tennis racket as a guitar for his sign-off signature in e-mails.

 

Three weeks ago today, the music died. So did the artwork. Chris passed away, and far too soon; he would have turned but 67 in July.

 

Chris made his mark in Ventura in indelible ink. It would surely be quicker to take a roll call of Venturans who do not own a personal caricature drawn by Chris than those who do.

 

He also made his mark in paint.

 

As iconic landmarks go, Ventura is blessed with a handful: the Pier and Two Trees and the Mission, to name three.

 

Here are three more: the portrait of Bob Tuttle that graces Ventura High’s gym named in the legendary coach’s honor; the Dragon mascot mural at Foothill Technology High School; and the huge mural of the school mascot Lion holding a poinsettia on the front of Poinsettia Elementary. All three created by Chris.

 

There are numerous other Martinez Murals across the county, landmarks each that make locals smile daily.

 

Yes, Ventura was Chris’s canvas – his canvas just happened quite often to be the outdoor stucco walls of schools. And the smooth walls inside gymnasiums. And basketball hardwood center courts where he painted school logos. Also, each holiday season, dozens of storefront windows were his canvas as well.

 

Too, his canvas included the students he instructed, the young sports writer he encouraged, the countless others who enjoyed the beauty of his artwork.

 

Indeed, it is fair to say that the legacy Chris Martinez leaves behind includes the happiest one possible for an artist: a myriad worn-through paintbrushes.

 

 

 

 

 

– Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star. You can contact Woody at WoodyWriter@gmail.com or www.WoodyWoodburn.com

 

 

 

Column: FB rides to boy’s rescue

by Woody

 

Facebook rides to boy’s rescue

           This is a love story.

It stars a boy and his grandfather, a thief and a school principal, Facebook and a village of caring people.

           Tony, a fourth-grader at Mound Elementary in Ventura, had his bike stolen after leaving it at school overnight.

Happy Tony with his bike and Mound Principal Todd Tyner.

His misfortune mounted. Riding double on the crossbar of his grandfather’s bike for the two-mile trip home from school shortly thereafter, Tony’s foot caught in the spokes and he flew head over handlebars.

           Todd Tyner, Mound’s principal, had not known about the bike theft or the dangerous double-rides to and from school. When Tony showed up on crutches the next day, Tyner asked and learned and cared.

“I knew we needed to get Tony a replacement bike as soon as he was well enough to ride again,” Tyner recalls thinking.

At 11:18 a.m. that very day, Tyner posted on his Facebook page a brief summary of Tony’s predicament. Shining the Bat-Signal above Gotham City’s night skyline could not have elicited a speedier response of help.

Indeed, a mere two minutes later at 11:20 a.m. – sent from a mobile phone because the Good Samaritan did not want to delay until getting home – came this on-line reply: “I have a bike he can have. He can choose from 4 cuz my kids never ride them.”

Another offer came at 11:36 a.m. – “he can have my beach cruiser. it needs fresh tires but that should be easy to take care of.”

And another and another . . .

12:15 p.m. – “I got $10. If we all chip in we can buy a nice new one.”

12:21 p.m. – “I have a specialized BMX I could part with! Needs a new pedal.”

12:24 p.m. – “I have 2 new bikes in my garage. Need air in tires.”

2:24 p.m. – “We have a brand new boys bike that he can have.”

3:15 p.m. – “I want to help. Can I drop some money off at school?”

And on and on, more than 30 offers for bikes, helmets, locks and cash in a few hours. The problem of no bike turned into one of too many bikes. A nice problem to have. Tyner actually had to turn off the Bat-Signal.

Sitting in his office recalling the “It’s A Wonderful Life”-like event, Tyner is asked if he was surprised by the kind outpouring?

“No, not really,” he answers. “The Internet is a wonderful way to reach out to the community. I knew if I let people know about the need, someone would have an extra bike. This is a very caring community. I see it a lot.”

This time it was a bike, but other days Tyner has seen backpacks and school supplies donated to kids who are without.

And this past December some Mound teachers collected two large bags of clothes and shoes for a couple students in need. They asked Tyner to surreptitiously drop them off at the boys’ home before Christmas, which he did.

“We see them wearing the clothes,” Tyner shares. “That is a rewarding feeling.”

So, too, was the feeling of summoning Tony into the Principal’s Office after the boy was finally off crutches three weeks later.

“I said, ‘I know you need a bike,’ ” Tyner retells. “I told him about Facebook and that more than 40 people had offered to help him out. Tony thought it was pretty exciting that there were people out there who cared enough to give him a bike.”

Along with a new safety helmet and lock (care of Rob and Karri Button), Tony was given his choice of the two bikes that were ultimately donated – the other is being kept for a similar exigency down the road. He selected a shiny red BMX, good as new after Tyner cleaned it a little and pumped up the tires.

“Tony had a big smile when he rode home that day,” Tyner says, beaming at the recent memory he will surely carry into his old age – as will Tony.

As I said at the start, this is a love story. The name of the bike benefactor is Danielle Love. How perfect is that?

 

*

– Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star. You can contact Woody at WoodyWriter@gmail.com or www.WoodyWoodburn.com

 

Column: The Cancer Bell Tolls

by Woody

For Whom the Cancer Bell Tolls

 

            While the order of stanzas often changes, the message in a poem by Martin Niemöller, a prominent Protestant pastor who spent seven years in Nazi concentration camps, remains constant and tragic:

 

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out –

Because I was not a Socialist.

 

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out –

Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

 

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out –

Because I was not a Jew.

 

Then they came for me –

And there was no one left to speak for me.

 

Eight decades after Niemöller penned these powerful words they have taken on new meaning to me. Personal meaning. About another heinous killer.

 

First cancer came for my young children’s beloved daycare provider, Jeannie.

 

Then cancer came for my dearest friend, Karen.

 

Then cancer came for Eric. And Louise. And Keith.

 

After gallant battles by each, and despite everything modern medicine could throw at it, this Gestapo of a disease unmercifully claimed all of their lives.

 

Then cancer came yet again and again, for my dad just over a year ago and two months later for my eldest brother. Surgery and radiation and chemotherapy – and let’s be honest, luck and god’s grace, too – saved their lives.

 

Then cancer came for me. Last Dec. 17, my wonderful dermatologist, Dr. Jill Mines, took a biopsy from a crack in my lip that stubbornly wouldn’t heal. The lab results came back positive for squamous cell carcinoma in situ: skin cancer.

 

A few weeks later Dr. Arthur Flynn, a talented plastic surgeon, sliced a wedge out of my right lower lip. For a while I looked like a bass that lost a battle with a barbed fishing lure. But the painful pout was a small price to pay because the new biopsy margins came back clear. Translation: The doc got it all.

 

Cancer is not only frightening, it is frighteningly common. To give you an idea, two out of five Californians will be diagnosed with some form of the disease in their lifetime. In other words, the cancer club is about as exclusive as Sam’s Club.

 

The good news is the American Cancer Society is making an impact through groundbreaking research to prevent, diagnose, treat and cure cancer. In fact, its annual Relays For Life raise funds that help save 400 birthdays each day.

 

The Relay For Life of Ventura will be held next Saturday (May 18) beginning at 10 a.m. and feature a festival of food trucks so even if you are not participating directly, you should drop by.

 

(Other upcoming local Relays For Life include: Ojai’s Nordhoff High, June 1; Westlake’s Oaks Christian School, June 8; Hueneme High, June 22; Fillmore’s Harmony Community Center, July 12; and Carpinteria’s Linden Field, July 20.)

 

After long successful runs at Ventura High and then Buena High’s football stadiums, this year’s Ventura event – under the guidance of new tireless chairperson Patty Abou-Samra – is moving to the San Buenaventura State Beach. It is difficult to imagine a more beautiful setting.

 

Actually, in a manner, this coastal site will become even more breathtaking with the sight of 1,500 members on 65 relay teams as they walk for 24 hours around the clock and around a circular 400-meter path outlined in chalk on the grass field. Their shared purpose is to raise funds, raise awareness, raise hope.

 

Raising more goose bumps than a Pacific sunset does will be the nighttime Luminaria Ceremony where hundreds of candles outlining the walking path’s perimeter will be lit, each flame representing a loved one’s life prematurely extinguished by cancer.

 

John Donne, a 17 th century English poet, wrote these immortal words that inspired no less than Ernest Hemingway: “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

 

When I look in the bathroom mirror a slight scar on my lip reminds me for whom cancer’s bell tolls; it may toll for thou, too; or surely for someone thou’st knows or loves.

*

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

 

Column: “Poem” is now Wood Chips

by Woody

From Lovely “Poem” to Wood Chips

One hundred years ago, Joyce Kilmer penned “Trees” with one of the most widely familiar opening couplets in American poetry:

I think that I shall never see / A poem lovely as a tree.

The other morning I looked out my window and across the street as a lovely “poem” got sawed down, cut up, turned into wood chips and trucked away.

It was like seeing a theatrical street version of Shel Silverstein’s classic children’s book “The Giving Tree” starring two workmen in white hard hats and optic-yellow vests.

Actually, this story was even sadder for this tree’s limbs were not used to build a house for the grown boy; its trunk not crafted into a boat to sail the seas. When the workmen’s work was finished, there was not even a stump left to sit and rest upon.

An arborist could tell you what type of tree this was, but I cannot. Were I to venture a guess, wise readers would surely point out my ignorance. No matter. What is important is it was majestic, perhaps 70 feet tall and leafy with a trunk I could not reach my arms around.

Something else important: the tree had become a botanical Leaning Tower of Pisa, cracking and raising a section of sidewalk. And if it toppled, it would fall across a busy street. Too large to be braced or straightened, the tree was a danger that surely needed to come down.

And so at 9 a.m., a whining chain saw turned an overcast morning tenfold gloomier. Standing in the basket of a gargantuan cherry-picker, a workman cut off the large branches one by one by one as he hydraulically rose higher and higher and higher.

Far below, the felled branches were cut into manageable lengths and fed into a wood chipper that roared like a jet engine. Lines of a “poem” went in, mulch came out.

And then the tall, barren trunk came down, made not into lumber for a home or boat, but into short logs to be burned in fireplaces. This was not a heartwarming thought.

From start to finish, what took decades and decades to become living poetry was eliminated in less than four hours. It was tree-mendously sad.

It was not my tree, not in my yard, and yet it was mine and yours because trees are for all of us to enjoy. Trees are one of nature’s Hallmark cards — an ironic thought since some trees literally become greeting cards. Or, more irony here, newsprint.

Kilmer again: A tree that may in summer wear / A nest of robins in her hair.

No more birds will nest in the lovely tree I used to see out my kitchen window looking east, the sun rising above it in the late spring mornings.

The melancholy event gave me pause to think about a handful of memorable trees in my life: The evergreen beside the driveway of my first boyhood home that my two older brothers and I attempted blind shots over during games of H-O-R-S-E. The sturdy buckeye near a swimming hole that we swung from on a rope. The apple tree I picked snacks off on a shortcut home from school. The orange tree my two then-young kids and I planted. The giant redwoods we saw, in awe, as a family. And on and on.

I think “poems” fill all our lives more than we generally realize. We draw trees in kindergarten and climb trees as older kids and hopefully at least once plant a tree, for as the Greek proverb states: “A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.”

Kilmer once more:

Afterward, this columnist fool walked over to determine how old the tree had been by counting its rings, but the stump was cut off below the ground and covered with dirt.

I may be overestimating by half, but I like to think this tree had sprouted in 1913, the same year as “Trees” came into being.

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(Published 5-4-13 in Ventura County Star)