Monthly Archives: October 2021

Happy For Trick-or-Treaters Return!

by Woody

“If you can blow this balloon up with one breath you win a brand-new Cadillac,” the doctor told me just before I was to have my tonsils removed.

Considering I would not be old enough to get a driver’s license for another 12 years I would have preferred the promise of a toy Matchbox car. All the same, I accepted the challenge and inhaled the deepest breath of my young life . . .

. . . and woke up in a hospital bed wondering when the operation was going to happen.

“It’s all over,” my mom told me. “Do you want some ice cream to soothe your throat?”

I have since had more surgeries than I care to remember – wisdom teeth, kidney stone, entrapped nerve, deviated septum, cervical disc fusion – and each time I emerged from anesthesia’s fog I could not believe time had passed and the operation had already taken place.

That is sort of how I feel about the past year and half during the COVID-19 pandemic. Like it was spring of 2019 and I took a deep breath of anesthesia and suddenly I have awakened to autumn 2021.

Instead of having my tonsils or a kidney stone removed, I had birthday celebrations and holidays gatherings, concerts and vacations, all removed from the calendar. I bet you feel likewise.

Perhaps the best example I can give is a wedding of some young friends. One day my wife and I were ready to go to the big event and the next thing you know we were attending the reception for their pandemic-altered marriage ceremony that had actually taken place on Zoom over a year ago. And yet at the grand and greatly belated in-person celebration it seemed as if they had just said their vows minutes earlier.

I don’t know about you, but one of the biggest events I missed while being under pandemic-thesia was Halloween. Perhaps more than any holiday, Halloween is a time machine that transports me happily backwards. Hearing little voices sing “trick-or-treat” reminds me of walking my own two kids around the neighborhood.

Halloween also magically transports me to my own youth. Indeed, seeing a tiny Batman makes my mind flash back to when I taped a yellow bat insignia on a black sweatshirt and pinned a bath towel around my neck to go trick-or-treating when I was six. Age seven, too, for I loved Batman.

Trick-or-treaters at my front door pull up memories from a couple years later when my best friend Dan and I finished our rounds and then changed into second costumes before going back to the houses that were giving out full-sized candy bars.

Even my bad Halloween memories have become good ones with the passing of time. Like when Adam stole my pillowcase loaded with sugary bounty. To clarify, Adam wasn’t a boy bully, he was a black Labrador the size of a grizzly who lived in our neighborhood. Even though he was a gentle giant, when he came running at me I dropped my loot instead of taking any chances with his sweet tooth.

Because of coronavirus, not unleashed Adams, no little princesses and superheroes and goblins came knocking on my door last Halloween. Happily, this promises to change Saturday evening because the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has given children the green light to again go trick-or-treating.

I cannot wait. My porch light will be welcomingly on and I’ll have a wheelbarrow’s load of full-sized candy bars ready to hand out, two at a time, to make up for last year.

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Woody Woodburn 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

 

Two Tales: Impatience and Patience

by Woody

Bookends often match, but not always, as was the case with the following two incidents that occurred on the same recent afternoon. The first bookend was Impatience, the second Patience.

I was third in line at a traffic light and when it turned green the car at the front did not take off like a drag racer so the driver in the car directly behind it honked. While rudely impatient, it was at least a polite single tap – beep! – as in: “Hey, look up from reading your texts and please go.”

The front car did not go.

A count of perhaps “one Mississippi, two Mississippi” passed before the second car honked again, twice, longer – beeeep-beeeep! – expressing growing agitation, like: “Come on, pal, it ain’t gonna get any greener!”

Still the front car remained stationary.

One more “Mississippi” passed and BEEEEEEP! PG-13 translation: “Come on, knucklehead! Wake the heck up! I don’t want to sit through another long red light because of you! Go already, go, Go, GO!”

By now I was muttering R-rated complaints at the front driver.

At long last, the front car started to move at a tortoise’s pace and about three angry heartbeats later the second car abruptly changed lanes and with a loud gunning of its engine bolted ahead like a high-octane dragster.

Now I was behind the slow-pokey car, but surprisingly it was the speedy racer I cursed silently with contempt. You see, displayed on the back of the front car was a bright yellow sticker the size of a dinner placemat and impossible to miss: “STUDENT DRIVER / Please be Patient.”

Arriving at my destination, having empathetically proceeded in no rush, I soon witnessed a remarkable display of patience and Good Samaritanship (that’s not a word, but should be). On one of my loops running around the soccer fields at the Ventura Community Park at Kimball Road, a middle-aged man stopped me and pointed towards the south parking lot.

“Is that your car?” he asked.

“No,” I said, adding curiously: “Why?”

Mr. Good Samaritan had found an electronic key fob and was trying to locate its owner. This was proving to be no small task for the key fob had been lost next to the sidewalk that runs the full perimeter of the park.

Specifically, Mr. Good Samaritan found it on the other side of the park about as far from the parking lots as can be. He could have left the fob where it was, hoping the owner would retrace his or her steps and find it. The problem was, the encircling sidewalk is 1.25-miles long making it almost a needle-in-a-haystack search.

Instead, he picked up the fob and started asking every adult walker, runner, dog owner and rollerblader he saw if it was theirs. Failing at this, Mr. Good Samaritan wisely figured that locating the car might help him find its owner upon return. He thus began pressing the “unlock” button while listening for a high-pitched beep.

Coming up empty in the north lot near the aquatics center, he next tried the south one and finally found the winning SUV. Stationed here he patiently continued his search for the owner with no success.

An hour, at least, after most people would have given up, Mr. Samaritan left a note on the windshield explaining he was leaving the key fob inside at the swimming complex.

I will tell you this: If I ever lose my car key, I know whom I want to find it.

By the way, when I finished my run the SUV was happily gone.

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Woody Woodburn 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

 

Sunshine All Wrong On Sad Day

by Woody

This past Tuesday was as beautiful a day as one can imagine, early autumn laced with a lingering trace of summer, the cloudless sky as blue as Paul Newman’s eyes.

It was all wrong.

Dawn should have arrived leaden overcast and gloomy. Afternoon should have been windy and cold. The evening sky should have cracked with thunder and lightning.

At the very least, birds should have taken the day off from song; flowers should have closed their blooms; the night stars refused to twinkle.

Suz Montgomery, a Renaissance woman and local shero, succumbed to cancer Tuesday after fiercely battling the heinous-and-heartless disease into remission time and again for nearly a decade.

It is a cliché to say Suz packed two lifetimes into her 73 years. It would also be an understatement – three lifetimes is more like it. Here is a one-deep-breath biography of the longtime Ventura resident: lifetime learner and educator, tireless advocate for the elderly and energetic champion for youth, host of the “Schmooze with Suz” talk show on local television, green-thumbed gardener and marvelous Italian chef, warrior of justice fighting for the homeless and mentally ill, and, of course, mother, wife, grandmother, and dear friend to about a million people.

In my favorite photograph with Suz, we are embraced in a hug as tight as two best friends who have not seen each other in ages even though our absence had not been long at all. Her face is turned toward the camera with a smile as wide as the 805 area code and as bright as a spring day. Her eyes twinkle with delight. She is so beautiful you probably would not even notice that chemotherapy had once again stolen her hair.

What is most special about this picture is that most everyone who knew Suz has a similar photo overflowing with her love. Indeed, Suz had a way of making everyone in her life feel like they were her dearest friend. That is no small gift.

A recent gift Suz gave me, and which I believe because of its timing she wished for me to share with the world after she left us, were these ten life lessons she believed in and put into practice:

“There is no such thing as a mistake – it’s an opportunity to learn a new lesson. (Especially helpful in teaching kids.)

“Every day is a miracle – you simply need to look beyond the moment and see beyond.

“The time to do the right thing is always NOW!

“Judge your friends by the size of their hearts.

“Give to the world the best that you have and the best will come back to you.

“Grandparents are the best teachers without fear or filters.

“Trust your heart to make the right choice, not your head.

“You can always begin again.

“Serving others is the best of self – everyone WINS!

“It’s not always what you do now, it’s what you leave behind that matters.”

Thanks to the size of her heart and her passion for serving others, Suz undeniably leaves behind a legacy that matters.

You remember funny things at a time like this. A few years ago, on a drizzly day, Suz sent me this message: “Hon, have a great run today! I, too, once loved running in the rain – made me feel like I was five years old at recess.”

This is all the more reason why the sunshine seemed so wrong on the day Suz passed away at sunrise, for I could not help but imagine her running in the rain again, finally free from pain.

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Woody Woodburn 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

 

Readers’ Ali Memories & Postscript

by Woody

My recent reminiscences of Muhammad Ali, who passed way five years ago and boxed his final bout 40 years past, resulted in a flurry of responses from readers whose own memories of “The Greatest” have not faded over time. Here are a few…

“Fifty-one years ago on October 1st, 1975, I was at ‘The Thriller in Manila’! Ali v. Frazier. I was in the Navy and still have my ticket stub framed and hanging on my wall at home,” John Tunigold wrote with an attached photo of the cherished memorabilia – a very simple, nearly square, black-printed manila-colored ticket “No. 25340” elegantly preserved behind glass.

“I was straight out of high school, Class of ’73 at Hueneme High, joined the Navy and caught the end of the Vietnam War. In April 1975, we took approximately 3,000 Vietnamese refugees to the Philippines when Saigon fell.

“At the time I didn’t realize the historical significance of everything going on, including the Ali fight. President Ferdinand Marcos and his wife were there and got introduced to the crowd in the auditorium. We got tickets through special services and as you can imagine they were way up high, ‘nose bleed’ seats.”

*

            “I saw Ali at the Del Amo Mall in Torrance, trying to do magic tricks at a time when it was obvious Parkinson’s was ravaging him,” Bill Cizek wrote, adding with melancholy: “Kids were pointing at the rubber sleeve over his thumb from which he pulled out the long ‘magic scarf.’ It made me feel sad, but I also had to admire him for making appearances in his condition, trying to stay connected to his fans.”

*

            Robert Raven Kraft shared some memories from Miami where “The Champ” often trained: “I saw Ali in my neighborhood by the 5th Street gym. My boxer friends all knew him.

“My mom was the cashier at the drugstore he ate at and she talked to him all the time and also got to meet his mom. My mom’s famous line was that Ali told his mother, ‘This is the lady that takes all my money’ and my mom replied, ‘I wouldn’t take all your money if you weren’t treating all your friends.’

“I even ran three blocks with him in 1975. I wish I still had the autographed picture he signed to me as Cassius Clay in 1962.”

*

            Lastly, to borrow the signature phrase of the late, great radio broadcaster Paul Harvey, “And now the rest of the story . . .”

In 1996, seven months after my six-year-old son playfully pulled away his outstretched palm and teasingly sing-sang “Too slow!” when Ali whiffed – and then laughed – trying to give him five, I attended assemblies at two inner-city high schools where the living legend gave 3,000 students copies of his then-new book “HeALIng: A Journal of Tolerance and Understanding.”

Afterwards, in a private reception, Ali caught my eye across a crowded room and motioned me over. When I arrived, he held out his hand, hip high and palm down, and said almost inaudibly: “You got a boy?”

I nodded, stunned. Ali replied with a smile, clearly remembering the boyish prank pulled on him. Without another whispered word, he took a pen in his Parkinson’s-trembling hand and with difficulty opened a copy of “HeALIing.”

“His name is Greg,” I said.

The “Too Greg” is in seismographic script, and the drawn heart Ali sometimes added when he was not in a hurry is hard to make out, but the signature is smooth and true and as beautiful as the memory it summons.

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Woody Woodburn 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

Part 2: Little Man and ‘The Greatest’

by Woody

As shared here last week, Ken Burns’ newest documentary film “Muhammad Ali” rekindled some of my own memories with “The Greatest” during my many years as a sports columnist.

Before concluding my tale, let me recap briefly. Exactly 25 years ago, I attended the National Sports Collectors Convention and brought along my six-year-old son. On our two-hour drive to the Anaheim Convention Center I told Greg that Ali was nicknamed “The Greatest” and shared a few stories.

My press pass gained me easy access behind the velvet ropes, but a security guard with the disposition of a junkyard dog insisted Greg could not accompany me without a ticket. Admission was pricey so I told my son to patiently wait just outside the ropes where I could see him – and he in turn could see Ali from afar – and I would be back as soon as possible.

Muhammad Ali lighting the torch at the 1996 Summer Olympic Games.

Barely had I settled into a folding chair right beside The Champ when my son silently sidled up to me. When the junkyard dog had turned to growl at someone else, Greg sneaked in and for the next half hour we hung out with Muhammad Ali as he signed autographs and posed for pictures.

Finally, I told my son it was time to leave.

“Not yet,” he whispered, and loudly. “I’ve gotta say ‘Hi.’ ”

Ali heard the little boy’s protests and swiveled toward Greg, who instinctively stepped forward and extended his right hand. Ali gently shook the tiny offering in his big paw and for the very first time all afternoon the man who used to “float like a butterfly” broke out of his cocoon of total silence.

“Hi, Little Man,” Ali whispered, hoarsely, spreading his arms wide open.

A second later, The Little Man was wrapped in a bear hug. Goodness it was cool. But an even more magical moment was yet to come.

After a standing eight-count, or maybe even the full ten seconds for a knockout, Ali eventually released the Little Man and then held out his giant hand, shaking slightly from Parkinson’s Syndrome, palm up in the universal “give me five” position.

The boy, who at that age would enthusiastically smack palms hard enough to “sting like a bee,” this time slapped ever so gently before in turn holding out his own tiny palm for The Champ to return the gesture.

Ali took a swipe . . .

. . . and missed!

Because at the very last instant, the Little Man, as he loved to do, pulled his hand away like a matador’s red cape teasing a bull.

“Too slow,” the Little Man said, his two missing front teeth causing the words to lisp slightly. Like, “Tooooth looowww.” Like Ali’s own soft voice that by then, at age 54 going on 94, lisped slightly.

And like two six-year-olds they laughed together at the prank.

While still roaring with delight, Ali once again opened his wingspan fully and my son once again stepped into his open arms, 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 an end-of-a-movie fadeout and roll-the-credits hug. A full thirty-second hug. A worth-the-two-hour-drive-in-Southern-California-gridlocked-freeway-traffic hug.

A hug from “The Greatest” that the Little Man, now a six-foot-three-tall man, still remembers warmly and surely will until he is an old man.

As we walked away hand-in-hand after saying goodbye to Ali, my son stopped short and looked up at me with a Christmas-morning smile, sans two missing front teeth, and said: “You were right, Dad—he really is 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. 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