Monthly Archives: March 2022

A Walk Long Remembered

by Woody

A very personal anniversary arrives next week, not of my wedding, but rather a milestone marking 35 years to the morning when I walked with John Wooden for the first time.

March 31, 1987 – Tuesday then, this year Thursday – was a day so special I marked it in my datebook of birthdays and anniversaries to remember. It proved to be an occasion that changed my life for Coach became my friend and mentor, and later a great-grandfather figure to my two children. I pinch myself still for such grand luck.

Coach and me during one of many magical visits.

In the long span since, I have written more columns on Wooden than on anyone else, as well as a book; when I give guest talks he is the person most often asked about, even now 12 years after his death at age 99; so here is a stroll down memory lane.

After interviewing Coach following a lecture he gave, he invited me to join him on his daily four-mile walk. Aware of his maxim, “Be on time whenever time is involved,” I left Santa Maria when the stars were still out and arrived in Encino with nearly an hour to spare.

At the appointed time, seven o’clock sharp, I nervously pressed the buzzer outside the condominium’s entrance. Coach, true to his code, was ready and waiting and immediately came out. After warm pleasantries on a cool and dewy Southern California spring morning, we set forth around Mister Wooden’s Neighborhood.

For the first mile or two, I peppered Coach with basketball questions but he then turned the tables and asked about my life. He was delighted to learn I was going to become a father in August and asked when was the due date.

“The eighth,” I replied and Coach stopped cold, his eyes visibly misting up. That was his and Nell’s wedding anniversary, he shared. High school sweethearts, they had been married 53 years before her death to cancer two years before our walk.

On that magical morning, I was 26 and Coach was 76 – the exact age at which my paternal grandfather died two decades earlier. Indeed, sitting in Coach’s living room after breakfast I felt like I was not with a living legend so much as visiting with what I fondly remembered my beloved grandfather to be like.

Like Wooden, my Grandpa Ansel was raised on a Midwestern farm – in Ohio rather than Indiana. Like Wooden, Grandpa enjoyed Shakespeare greatly and also similarly favored “Hamlet.” Like Wooden, Grandpa loved poetry and wrote verse. And like Wooden, Grandpa had once been a schoolteacher, albeit for only a few years in order to earn tuition for medical school.

Moreover, Grandpa’s familiar reminder to me, “If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right,” surely echoed Coach’s oft-repeated aphorism, “If you don’t have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?” Similarly, Grandpa’s “If you don’t learn anything today it will be a wasted day” dovetailed perfectly with Coach’s “Learn as if you were to live forever; live as if you were to die tomorrow.”

John Muir, reflecting on meeting – and walking with – Ralph Waldo Emerson in the Yosemite Valley, wrote: “Emerson was the most serene, majestic, sequoia-like soul I ever met. His smile was as sweet and calm as morning light on mountains. There was a wonderful charm in his presence; his smile, serene eye, his voice, his manner, were all sensed at once by everybody. A tremendous sincerity was his.”

Such is how I felt about John Wooden during our first walk and visit – and feel so still.

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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

 

This Moving Day Needs No U-Haul

by Woody

According to U.S. Census Bureau data, each person in the United States will on average move residences 11 times during her or his lifetime.

According to data retrieved from my memory, I rank well above average having moved 16 times – and that counts college, with three different dorm rooms and one off-campus apartment, as just one singular residence.

A handful of my moves have spanned only a couple miles; my most recent relocation measured just four blocks; and one boyhood move was merely two houses away, while others were marathons.

Perhaps the most memorable move was also the longest, driving coast-to-coast towing a U-Haul behind a stick-shift pickup truck with my newlywed wife and me, plus our two dogs, shoehorned inside the two-seat cab. Apollo 11’s capsule was less cramped, yet we repeated the claustrophobic feat returning to California from Delaware.

I have moving on my mind because today I make another memorable move – from Saturdays to Fridays in order to remain in The Star’s print edition. In some ways, it feels like my toughest move ever. After all, Saturday mornings have been my column’s home for nearly 11 years. Before me, Saturday’s were also home to Chuck Thomas, Bob Holt, Joe Paul, Jr. and Julius Guis, legends all.

Change is often not easy and moving Saturday’s edition of The Star exclusively online will surely upset some readers. But here’s another thing about change: while it can be a headache, it also often brings unexpected bonuses. Let me share a story…

My paternal grandfather, I have little doubt, would have bought an Apple Macintosh home computer when it was first released. Too, if he were alive, he would without question excitedly stand in line for the latest iPhone and just as surely read his favorite newspaper on an iPad or laptop rather than get newsprint all over his fingers and thus require extra hand-scrubbing before delivering a baby or performing surgery as a small-town country doctor.

You see, my Grandpa Ansel loved technology and had a history of being an early adopter. For example, long before he had the first color Zenith TV on his block, Grandpa bought one of the very first ballpoint pens manufactured – an expensive “Reynolds Rocket” that cost a princely $12.50 in 1945.

“He loved that pen,” my dad recalls, adding with a laugh, “for about two days.”

On Day 3, the state-of-the-art writing marvel sprung a leak that left a huge ink stain over the breast pocket of Ansel’s Arrow white dress shirt. It looked like he had been shot in the chest and was bleeding dark blue blood.

Not only was Grandpa out 12 bucks and change for the pen, but another $4.50 for a new collared shirt. However, instead of ranting at technology’s foibles, Grandpa shrugged it off. He just said, “A shirt salesman needs to make a living too” and bought a new Arrow – although it was a couple years before he bought another “newfangled ballpoint pen.”

While you cannot clip out a cartoon, recipe or column from online and stick it on the refrigerator with a magnet, “newfangled” e-editions still boast many advantages from speedier delivery to never getting soaked in the rain. Maybe those of us who have shunned The Star’s online edition will finally take the leap on Saturdays and learn to navigate it – and, very likely, learn to love it.

“When you leave home,” Maya Angelou said, “you take home with you.”

I like that thought: I’m leaving Saturday’s, but also taking them with me to TGIF. I hope you’ll keep visiting me.

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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

 

Readers’ Poetry, Memories, Laughs

by Woody

One hundred fourteen springs ago “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” with music by Albert von Tilzer and lyrics by Jack Norworth, was submitted to the United States Copyright Office.

Inspired by – more accurately, angered by – Major League Baseball’s ghost town-like empty and quiet ballparks, Bill Waxman, a longtime Dodgers fan and a reader of this space, sent me his own updated lyrics “with apologies to Jack Norworth” but none for the team owners:

“Lock me out of the ball game / Lock me out of the crowd

“I’ve got no interest in unfettered greed / Baseball’s a pastime we no longer need

“So it’s look, look forward to football / A game upon which we’ll depend

“Because no one will really care / When the lockout ends.”

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My requiem to a lovely tree felled near my home brought numerous reader responses, including this time capsule from Kate Larsen:

“I, too, have many trees that trigger great memories. Probably the best is the big chestnut tree in my best friend’s yard. In Michigan, there are lots of horse chestnut trees with their pointy green shells just begging to be shucked. My friend, Sally, and I loved to collect them.

“One year we had literally bushels full of these wonderful chestnuts. My mom insisted we get rid of them in the fall, so we dumped them off the side of the porch. The next spring we had a myriad of baby chestnut trees growing! Needless to say, we spent hours pulling them up and hardly ever collected them after that.”

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“You inspired me to plant more trees for grandchildren to enjoy!” vowed William Goldie, who also shared a BBC news story reporting that a tree cloned from the very one that dropped an apple on the head of Sir Isaac Newton – and thus led to his discovery of the laws of gravity – and planted in 1954 in the Cambridge University Botanic Garden was recently toppled by a storm.

On a happier note, a clone of that cloned historical tree will soon be planted in the garden.

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“I grew up with a “junk drawer” – actually a shoe box in a kitchen drawer,” shared Wayne Saddler. “But we called it “The Hell Drawer” since we always went there when someone exasperatedly exclaimed, “Where the hell is it?”

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James Barney shared his own hellish junk-drawer memory:

“Deborah makes ours look nice and tidy. Hence, when you need anything that SHOULD be in a junk drawer, look elsewhere. Case in point, and this happened recently, I was awakened by an intruder in the middle of the night. I leapt out of bed and banged the heck out of my foot. Immediate agony.

“Howling in pain, I hobbled down the stairs to the kitchen where I discovered: 1) no intruder; 2) that I was now standing in a pool of blood that was growing rapidly; and 3) there was NO tape in the junk drawer to make a bandage.

“I had to wrap my foot in a dish towel, take painful step after painful step down to the basement to get duct tape to fashion a bandage, then drag my now-throbbing foot up two flights of stairs where I discovered a dog who barely lifted her head and a wife who had slept through it all.

“Outcome: One broken toe, lost toenail, and an ‘intruder’ which turned out to be the robot vacuum which has run every night for the past two years. I’d kill for a decent junk drawer with a Band-Aid or tape!”

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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

 

A Beautiful River of Runners

by Woody

Standing along the dusty banks of The Ventura River Trail this past Sunday morning, very early and very cold, I could not help but think of Norman Maclean’s novella “A River Runs Through It.”

Instead of a stream teeming with trout, a running river of humanity was flowing through the tree-line bike path for the annual Ventura Marathon, Half-Marathon and 5K.

As I cheered for my son and future daughter-in-law, as well as for the other entrants in all three events, a quote from Maclean’s masterpiece came to mind – although I had to look it up in order to get it exactly right here: “The fisherman even has a phrase to describe what he does when he studies the patterns of a river. He says he is ‘reading the water’, and perhaps to tell his stories he has to do much the same thing.”

My daughter-in-law Jess epitomized the spirit of the day!

It struck me there were surely 2,511 different stories taking place on this morning, one for each entrant. For example, my son’s fiancé was running her first half-marathon, and successfully; he was running his umpteenth 13.1-miler, but first since battling a year-long foot injury, and with a PR; and hometown star Garrett Reynolds was making his marathon debut with a swift-as-a-salmon-heading-downstream time of 2 hours, 23 minutes.

“Reading the water” revealed many, many more stories. Such as a mother who, no matter how fast she ran, always remained one stride behind her sleeping baby in a running stroller. Likewise, a father pushed a wide-eyed child who seemed as gleeful as if he were riding in a bobsled.

Stories. A grandfatherly man with his race bib pinned to a pink T-shirt in honor of breast cancer awareness. Surely some runners were heroically battling cancer at this very moment and others were cancer survivors.

Stories. A 10-year-old girl and a 76-year-old woman finished the marathon and also an 83-year-old man and a 15-year-old boy. In the 5K, an 8-year-old boy and 10-year-old girl and 75-year-old woman and 84-year-old man. The half-marathon, which featured the most stories with 1,429, similarly spanned many generations.

Stories. One spectator along the river route was especially memorable. I dare say he cheered for each and every single runner, giving his smile to – and putting a smile on – all 2,511 faces. Honestly, I don’t know how he did not go hoarse yet for two hours he never let up.

Indeed, whether the runner was floating speedily on winged feet or struggling with sinking spirits, in a pleasant southern accent he tirelessly offered encouragement: “Only two more miles! … Relax your face… Lift your knees… You’ve got this! … You’re a winner!”

Other spectators likewise applauded for the 10K runners as wholeheartedly as for half-marathoners and marathoners, and cheered for the swift as loudly as for the slow. In return the runners smiled or gave a thumbs-up sign or with huffing breaths said, “Thank you.” Each in-person exchange was worth a thousand “Likes” on social media.

Eventually, the three streams – the marathon, which started at sunrise; half-marathon, beginning half an hour later, halfway down the trail; and 5K, starting still nearer the ocean – all merged into one river that flowed through the finish chute at Ventura Unified School District headquarters.

Arriving at the homestretch, every runner, regardless their time or distance raced, was greeted with a shout-out by name on PA system and rewarded with cheers from the throng of spectators. As it should be, for each of the 2,511 shining faces had earned a new story to tell.

No trout stream was ever more beautiful than this running river.

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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