Monthly Archives: June 2016

This, That, and Streakin’ Woody

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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This, That and a Horserace

“This is delicious,” I told my daughter. “Where did you get the recipe?”

“It’s my own,” she answered. “I basically clean out the refrigerator. I call it ‘Kitchen Sink Soup” because I put everything in it but the kitchen sink.”

Today, I serve you a “Kitchen Sink Column” of notes, quotes and other stuff . . .

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A shoutout of admiration to Brian FitzGerald, the longtime track-and-field coach and athletic director – and English teacher – who announced his retirement after 36 years at Rio Mesa High School.1masterpiece

Like many of the best coaches, FitzGerald always considered himself first and foremost a teacher – his “classroom” just happened to be a running track.

Because the lessons he taught his athletes, which included my own son in youth cross country, were about life even more than running, FitzGerald’s retirement made me think of the scene in “Dead Poets Society” when the prep-student played by Ethan Hawke stands atop his desk and salutes his departing teacher, played by Robin Williams, by quoting the title of a Walt Whitman poem: “O Captain! My Captain!” One by one, fellow students do the same.

FitzGerald’s students and athletes might change this heartfelt salute to, “O Coach! My Teacher!”

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“You can’t lead people unless you love people, and you can’t save people unless you serve people.” – Tavis Smiley, in his commencement speech to DePauw University’s Class of 2016.

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Add Smiley: “Today is not refundable. Make the most of it!”

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I love the wisdom in this text conversation that my friend Pattie Braga shared, calling it: “Lessons from my daughter posted at 1 a.m. (4 a.m., my time).”

“Mom, I really need a milkshake”

“What?!? It’s too late to be eating. And pull up your shirt” (responding to an attached photo of her daughter with a milkshake).

“It’s never too late for a milkshake”

(Smiley face emoji) “Good night sweetie”

“Goodnight Mommy”

Lesson II: It’s also never too late to text your mom.

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“Insanity,” Albert Einstein said, “is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Insanity is also doing nothing – about gun reform – over and over again and expecting different results.

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Add guns. Here’s a wild thought: Since women were denied the right to vote until the 19th Amendment was added in 1920, and since men have a near monopoly as perpetrators of shooting crimes, how about revising the Constitution to allow only women the right to bear arms for the next 144 years?

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Donald Trump using a teleprompter looks like he’s watching a tennis match in slow motion. Just saying.

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Stunning and sad statistic: Fewer than half of U.S. children under age 5 are read to daily.

This summertime, let’s do better!

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A few weeks past, I asked you readers to help choose a name for the thoroughbred racehorse that I have been given the opportunity to christen in my honor.

The ballots stampeded in, more than 100 in fact, and out of the gate it was neck and neck and neck between Streakin’ Woody, Runs On Guinness, and Masterpiece Day.

A few write-in votes were also cast, including: Horsey McHorseface from Amy Bruder; Be Quick from Paul Olmsted in reference to John Wooden’s maxim, “Be quick, but don’t hurry”; Streakin’ Day from Ginger White; Streakin’ Woody Runs On Guinness Creating A Masterpiece Day from Kym King; and Woody’s Masterpiece Guinness Streak from Diane Underhill.

As the count continued, Runs On Guinness ran out of steam and Masterpiece Day and Streakin’ Woody streaked to the front. They traded the lead a few times and here is the announcer’s call coming down the homestretch:

“Streakin’ Woody and Masterpiece Day. Masterpiece Day by a length, now two, now three. Masterpiece Day pulling away. Streakin’ Woody is falling off. Masterpiece Day by six lengths, now seven. It’s a masterful run and Masterpiece Day wins it!”

Masterpiece Day must now be officially approved by a governing board. I’m also still waiting to meet “my” horse. Stay tuned.

And have a masterpiece weekend.

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

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

Alcatraz Escape Buoys Spirits

by Woody

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

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Brief ‘Escape’ from Tragic Numbness

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

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

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

My remarkable friend Nate Higgins

My remarkable friend Nate Higgins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ali and the “Little Man”

by Woody

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

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Great Memories of ‘The Greatest’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the real Kodak moment was yet to come.

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

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

Ali took a swipe . . .

. . . and missed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded, stunned he could possibly remember.

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

Rest in peace, “The Bestest.”

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

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

B-Day Gift is Unbridled Success

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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Birthday Gift is Unbridled Success

Weddings, it strikes me, are a lot like locusts – more accurately called 17-year periodical cicadas.

Except this genus is the 30-year periodic wave of matrimonial invitations.

The first wave for my wife and I struck after college when many of our friends tied the knot and now the second wave is rolling in as the adult children of these couples are exchanging vows – usually beautiful, heartfelt, poetic vows they write themselves, the young showoffs.1woodyHorse

Anyway, the RSVP of a recent wedding invitation requested an interesting fact about each of us. For my much-better-half this was difficult because there are so many from which to choose – such as putting up for three decades with a knucklehead husband who suggested her fun fact should be that she is lousy at picking out birthday gifts for her husband.

Admittedly, this was a stupid thing for me to suggest. But, in my lame defense, it is true.

What is also true is that it is my own fault because a not-so-fun fact about me is that I am impossible to shop for. I refuse to make a list of gifts I would like nor do I drop subtle hints. Worse, I have been known to buy something for myself just days before my birthday – more than a few times causing my miffed wife to return what she bought me before I even open it.

Even when she is on the mark, I generally exchange it for a slightly different model, different color, different size.

“I love it! Thank you,” I will say, adding: “Did you keep the receipt?”

“Of course I did,” she replies, rolling her eyes but showing great restraint in not adding, “you ungrateful blockhead!”

Adding to the friction is that the interesting fact about me I suggested putting on the wedding RSVP is that one of my superpowers is giving great presents. I think outside the gift box; I listen for hints given so softly you need a stethoscope to hear them; and if all fails, I buy what they ask for.

Last weekend I celebrated my birthday – somewhere between how old I act (about 8) and how old my musical tastes, such as the Beetles’ song “When I’m Sixty-Four,” suggest I am. Usually my wife is stressed out for all of May because she has no clue what to give me besides a stink eye.

I don’t help matters by teasingly asking if I am going to like what she’s getting me. This year she was giddy with confidence.

“You are going to love it!” she said. “I tore up the receipt! And don’t bother guessing because you won’t come close.”

“Mom really came through,” both kids assured me. “You’re going to love it!”

They have all said this before and been wrong. This year they were wrong only in understatement. The long shot made it to the winner’s circle. My wife gave me a gift so thoughtful, terrific and outrageously unique that it makes my gift-giving superpowers seem like they have encountered Kryptonite.

My wife thought outside the box – and inside the barn. She got me a thoroughbred racehorse.

Actually, better than that. She got me the opportunity to name a racehorse in my honor. This is superior because I get a thoroughbred I can thoroughly call my own without having to pay for hay, housing and vet bills.

This is a big responsibility that I want to share with you dear readers. So I’m asking you to vote for one of three names. My win, place and show finalists are, in alphabetical order:

Masterpiece Day – paying homage to my favorite John Wooden maxim, “Make each day your masterpiece.”

Runs on Guinness – anyone who knows me knows I am a fan of “the good stuff.”

Streakin’ Woody – this is a nod to my running streak of 4,717 consecutive days as of today.

Please email your vote (or a write-in name) to me at woodywriter@gmail.com

After the ballots are counted, I think I will change my RSVP interesting fact to: “Named a thoroughbred racehorse (Fill-In-The-Winning-Name).

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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”