Monthly Archives: November 2023

Ball Drive Cannot Fail Thanks to Givers

by Woody

“The gift is to the giver and comes back most to him,” wrote the wise, and Santa Claus-bearded, Walt Whitman. “It cannot fail.”

Sometimes the gift that comes back is a sweet memory, as Joe Paul can attest after giving 10 basketballs to “Woody’s 2023 Holiday Ball Drive” for local disadvantaged youth.

Specifically, Joe gave Mikasa brand balls, recalling fondly: “When I was a little kid, I got a rubber Mikasa basketball every year for Christmas. I can still remember the squeaking noise the rubber made on the wood floor on the rare occasions I got to play indoors. Usually, I was on the outside courts or in my backyard counting down the final seconds and taking the last shot for the Lakers in the NBA finals. By Christmastime of the next year, I had worn off all the rubber nubs and the ball was perfectly smooth.”

This Christmas promises to create countless similar happy memories thanks to generous givers like Joe and…

Kym King donated 10 basketballs, as did a person wishing to be anonymously recognized as “Basketball Jones,” and 10 more came from the Lewis family of Jan, Tom, Cory, Emily, and Maddy.

Representing opposite bookends of life, Nick Sarris gave 41 assorted smiles “in memory of baby Sienna” and Rebecca Fox donated two soccer balls “in memory of Arlys Tuttle, a dear friend and the beloved matriarch of the Tuttle family” who passed away recently at age 101.

The Hein family of Chris, Julie, Audrey and Howie gave 25 assorted balls and Sally and Tom Reeder donated 13 more “including one basketball because that’s how the whole thing started.”

Terry and Draza Mrvichin gave five basketballs; Nita Perkins dished out four; Signe Smale gave three; Scott and Randi Harris assisted with two; and Dennis Jones, Susan Adamich, and Kris Young contributed one each.

Jim Parker, my ol’ sports colleague, donated six balls as did Lynn Kenton, noting: “I hope these will make it to some deserving kids and make a difference in their lives.” To which I reply: They will and they will.

“In memory of Tim Fahringer ‘Ute9’, a loyal friend and teammate, VHS Class of 1980,” an anonymous benefactor gave a baker’s dozen of smiles while Kelly Lanier gave five more in honor of her recently deceased mother, Judy Lautenschleger.

Alan and Kathy Hammerand kicked in three each soccer balls, footballs, and basketballs; Olivia Reddy-Daly assisted with the same triple trifecta; and so did Don and Lynne Steensma.

Paul and Patty Schuster contributed five basketballs in memory of Charlie Feyh, “an instrumental and influential coach for our youngest daughter during her formative years,” and five soccer balls “to acknowledge the great coaching our older daughter received at Buena High School.”

Jeff Barks passed in eight balls, Sherrie Basham gave six, James Barney added three, and Allison Johnson donated two basketballs in honor of “my brother Michael Demeter who played basketball for CLU and is a very generous person.”

Dave Stancliff, my first newspaper boss, donated one basketball, noting: “I still remember getting my first ball on my fifth Christmas and going over to a nearby school that had an outside court. It was just me that morning. I heaved the ball towards the hoop … and missed, and missed again and again, for what seemed like hours. When I finally made a basket, I was sold. This was going to be my game. Sadly, old age and injuries keep me off the courts these days, but I still play vicariously in every Lakers game.”

There is still time to become an MVP – Most Valuable Philanthropist – by dropping off new balls at Jensen Design & Survey at 1672 Donlon St., Ventura CA 93003 (weekdays from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. through Dec. 11); or have online orders shipped to this same address; and I will take it from there. The Thousand Oaks Goebel Adult Community Center also has a bin for ball collection.

And please be sure to email me at woodywriter@gmail.com about your gift so I can add your generosity to this year’s tally and thank you in an upcoming column.

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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.

Dinnertime Nancy Drew Mystery

by Woody

A common parlor game, with the number often varying, is to ask: “If you could invite any three people, real or fictional, to dinner who would they be?”

The other evening, on a date night out with my much-better-half, I would have given most anything, even my delicious appetizer crab cakes, to have Sherlock Holmes, Lieutenant Columbo, and Nancy Drew pull up chairs for I unexpectedly found myself trying to solve The Case of The Mystery Glass of Whiskey.

“Thanks, but that’s not for me,” I told the waitress as she set down a tumbler filled with amber nectar. Gesturing at my pint glass, still nearly full with a tasty local craft brew, I added: “I think you have the wrong table.”

Cheers on a recent date night with Lisa…

Smiling, she said someone had sent the drink to me.

“Who?” I asked.

Her smiled broadened, taking on a hint of mischievousness: “Sorry, I promised not to tell.”

“But I need to thank them,” I persisted.

“Too bad,” she said, her eyes dancing with delight to be part of the whodunit.

I scanned the restaurant but saw no one I recognized, albeit the mood lighting and too many backs of heads, which is all I saw of half the patrons, made identification rather difficult.

Naturally it would be rude to delay in sampling the gift, for surely the secret Samaritan was surreptitiously watching, so I raised the glass high with a “Sláinte” toast to my unkown benefactor and took a wonderful warm sip.

I am no whiskey connoisseur, although I have toured the Jameson Distillery in Dublin, Ireland – twice, including earlier this year – and if I had to guess I would have ventured it was indeed Jamo.

When, against all odds, the waitress confirmed my stab in the dark was correct, it was a valuable clue. You see, for a recent anniversary gift I gave some dear friends an Irish bottle of Jameson personalized with their names on the label. I looked around again, searching the room more thoroughly, certain I would spot them.

I did not. Surely they were hiding, laughing at my bafflement.

Alas, a quick series of exchanged texts with the husband convinced me that This Hound of the Baskerville was barking up the wrong tree and they were in fact not the playful culprits. By now my wife and I were amused to giggles trying to solve the mystery.

Out of the blue, an “Elementary, my dear Watson!” insight struck me. Yes, whiskey was the vital clue – but not Jameson specifically. Knowing next to nothing about whiskeys, I have more than once asked a close friend, whose blood has surely been aged in oak barrels, for his recommendations.

“Are you out for dinner tonight?” I texted him now, naming the restaurant.

Without delay my phone pinged. The reply was simply a dimly lit photo of my wife and me at our table. A moment later my friend sidled up to share a big laugh and two bigger hugs.

No whodunit was involved in a similar encounter a few days later, in a different restaurant, when my beloved dentist personally delivered a coastal microbrew to me, also with a smile and some shared words. Best of all, he didn’t add a shot of Novocaine to make it a boilermaker.

Between these boozy bookend encounters, at yet another local eatery, a friend in my wider circle dropped by my table to say hello, sans largesse libation. But here’s the important lesson: spirit, not spirits, is what truly matters, for her impromptu visit warmed my chest ever as much as a mystery whiskey.

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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.

Holiday Ball Drive Tips Off Again

by Woody

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, annually for more than two decades, I always gave thanks for – and to – Jim Cowan for always helping get my Holiday Sports Ball Drive off to a fast-break start.

Always, Jim donated ten basketballs because the sport was especially dear to him. He had played on an undefeated CIF championship team at Ventura High under legendary coach Bob Tuttle in 1949; on two state championship teams at Ventura College; at Whittier College; and, while serving in the military, on the Far East Army All-Star Team.

Always also, Cowan, a longtime former Ventura County Superintendent of Schools, dedicated his gift basketballs, often posthumously, in honor of coaches and teachers and other individuals who had played important roles in his life.

Jim passed away four years ago at age 87, but his spirit remains an indelible part of the ball drive thanks to his widow, Ann, who has continued to donate 10 basketballs each year in his honor.

“I remember my dad telling me a story about playing basketball and a young boy came up and wanted to play,” Janice Heverling, Jim’s daughter, shared with me. “Dad said, ‘Sure,’ and when they were done playing, he asked the boy if he had a basketball. The boy said, ‘No,’ and my dad gave him the ball they were playing with and said, ‘Well, now you do!’ And that’s why he loved your ball drive so dearly.”

This lovely remembrance perfectly echoes my own encounter, more than 25 years ago, that was the inspiration for starting my ball drive. At a youth clinic former Ventura College and NBA star Cedric Ceballos awarded autographed basketballs to a handful of lucky attendees. Leaving the gym belatedly afterward I happened upon a 10-year-old boy who had won one of the prized keepsakes…

…which he was now dribbling dribbling dribbling on a blacktop outdoor court, and shooting baskets with, all while perhaps imagining he was Ceballos with the game clock ticking down to the final buzzer.

Meanwhile, the real Ceballos’ Sharpie signature was quickly wearing off.

Curious why the boy had not carefully and protectively carried the trophy basketball home to put safely on a bookshelf, I interrupted his playing to ask.

“I’ve never had my own basketball,” he answered nonchalantly between game-winning shots.

That Christmastime, thinking of that boy – and other boys and girls who do not have their own basketballs to shoot, soccer balls to kick, footballs to throw – Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive was born. Then, and each year since, you dear readers have responded like MVPs – Most Valuable Philanthropists – by donating avalanches of balls for local kids in need of an assist.

Are you up to the challenge once more, perhaps even topping last year’s total of 1,038 young smiles? If so, drop off new balls (no batteries required!) at a Boys & Girls Club, YMCA, Toys For Tots, or similar program. The organizations will pass them into deserving hands.

You can also drop off new balls (weekdays, except Thanksgiving and Black Friday, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. through Dec. 11) at Jensen Design & Survey at 1672 Donlon St. near Target on Telephone Road in Ventura; or have online orders shipped to this same address; and I will take it from there.

Please email me about your gifts at woodywriter@gmail.com so I can add your generosity to this year’s ball tally as well as acknowledge you, with a dedication to a loved one if desired, in a future column.

As Jim Cowan once told me, “It feels golden to help others.”

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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.

Spice of Life is Tastiest Ingredient

by Woody

The key ingredient in any dish, from fancy cordon bleu to backyard barbecue, that makes taste buds dance the happiest and sing the loudest is not a mystery spice, rare herb, or secret sauce, but rather, simply, the company with whom you eat.

Indeed, enjoyed with the right person or gathering, a nothing-special hot dog surpasses a perfectly prepared meal in a restaurant gastronomique in Paris.

Which is why, although I am not a regular chowhound of hot dogs, one of my all-time favorite meals was a stadium frankfurter. Actually, about 25 of my favorite meals, that being the ballpark number of Ohio State football games I went to during my elementary days alongside my two older brothers and dad.

The sweetest condiment for a hot dog is the joy of special company.

Frankly speaking, in a blind taste test those ol’ Horseshoe Stadium hot dogs would probably have ranked dead last. Eating them blindfolded would have actually been a good idea because, unlike the Buckeyes’ scarlet-and-grey home jerseys, the wieners, plucked from pots of murky water that looked less potable than a swamp, were grey only.

Add in stale buns, depleted condiment stations, and a Sir Edmund Hillary-like climb back to our upper-deck seats, by which time the wieners were cold dogs, and you had prison-like grub…

…unless you were sandwiched between your two big brothers in the bleachers, in the spring of your life, in glorious Midwestern autumn, in which case it became the standard against which I still measure all hot dogs.

Another of my most memorable hot dogs also involves my oldest brother. It was in New York City, long ago, from a vendor cart. Strolling away, my brother took his first bite and – Splat! – the entire web of sauerkraut fell onto the sidewalk that was grosser than the witch’s brew-like hot dog water in Ohio Stadium.

Rather than turn on his heels and ask the vendor for a replacement bale of sauerkraut or, perish the thought, eat the hot dog naked – let me rephrase that; eat a naked hot dog – he invoked the five-second rule; scooped up the sauerkraut, now flavored with a sullied sundry of sidewalk spices; and gobbled it up with the gusto of Joey Chestnut in Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest.

Ever since, every hot dog I’ve eaten always tastes a little better knowing it isn’t topped with sidewalk-seasoned sauerkraut.

Based on pedigree, it’s hard to top a Dodger Dog. Fittingly, one of my most savored hot dogs was in the Dodger Stadium press box dining room, during a seventh-inning stretch, when my writing idol Jim Murray joined me for a quick chew and chat.

All this thinking about hot dogs was stirred this Halloween when I had another fantastic frank that joined my grand slams of memorable meals. Just as candy tastes better when it’s earned by trick-or-treating on foot, it is similarly true for hot dogs I can now attest.

In addition to sweets for kids, for the past 30-plus years Scott, a friend of a friend, has given out hot-off-the-charcoal-grill chili dogs, complete with all the fixings – sans, thankfully, sidewalk sauerkraut – to adults. Youngsters are welcome to both treats, adding up to few hundred hot dogs served annually.

Scott’s enthusiasm and charisma, assisted by a fun giant wiener hat and aided further by free margaritas and full-size beers, make his hot dogs unforgettably delicious and worth the trip across town.

To be perfectly frank, these neighborhood-famous chili dogs, with the fellowship of my brother-of-a-friend Ken added in, were darn near the equal in my memory to those battleship-grey cold stadium hot dogs of long ago.

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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.

More Fun than Barrel of Monkeys

by Woody

Some things boggle the mind, such as how in the world is Bingo not already in the National Toy Hall of Fame? By the way, Boggle rightly is not enshrined.

Sand, if you can believe it, was inducted in 2021. Stick (2008) and Cardboard Box (2005) are also in the NTHF at the Strong National Museum of Play in Rochester, NY.

Don’t get me wrong, boxes sometimes provide more fun than the toys that come inside. And don’t shake a Stick at Sand being a blast, although whacking a Stick at a sandcastle is a lot more fun than Barrel of Monkeys, which, for good reason – the reason being it’s boring – is not in the HoF.

And yet I dare say Barrel of Monkeys is more deserving than Rubber Duck (2008), which, in my book, is the most undeserving of all 81 inductees to date. Speaking of books, how did it take 11 years longer for Coloring Book (last year, along with long-overdue Matchbox Cars) to go in than a yellow rubber ducky? Shame on the Fame!

The NTHF’s 1998 inaugural class had no slouches – nor even a Slinky, which had to wait two years before slinking in. The original HoF superstars were Barbie, Crayola Crayon, Erector Set, Etch A Sketch, Frisbee, Hula Hoop, Lego, Lincoln Logs, Marbles, Monopoly, Play-Doh, Radio Flyer Wagon, Roller Skates, Teddy Bear, Tinkertoy, View-Master, Duncan Yo-Yo. Hard to argue with any of them except View-Master in my view.

The Class of 2024, expected to be three strong, will be announced Nov. 9 and my 12-year-old-self has a bone to pick with most of the 12 finalists.

Bop It debuted in 1996 and is honestly more fun after the batteries die and thusly becomes a colorful plastic Stick good for smashing sandcastles or playing fetch with your dog.

Cabbage Patch Kids were born in 1979 and should be banned from any HoF as surely as Pete Rose for forcing parents to gamble on which toy store to stand in line for hours on end hoping to find a CPK doll on the shelves.

I think Library Card should be nominated instead of Choose Your Own Adventure Gamebooks. Connect 4 similarly gets no high-fives from me, nor my vote, as the colored disks are best used as a replacement when a Checkers piece (2003) gets lost.

“Nay!” too for Ken, who is no G.I. Joe (2004); likewise, Little Tikes Cozy Coupe is no Big Wheel (2009); and Slime is no Play-Doh, so I again say, “No-go!”

Baseball Cards are out because they are now kept in protective sleeves, not played with, and certainly not clothespinned into the spokes of a Bicycle (2000) to make it roar like a motorcycle.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is too broad of a nominee, encompassing action figures, TV shows, movies, comic books, video games and much more, so thumbs-down to Turtlemania even though my adult son will be as angry as red-bandanna-ed Raphael.

The Nerf Toys’ arsenal is also cumbersome, but the original 1970 Nerf Ball alone should have long ago joined its cousin the inflatable Rubber Ball (2009) for bringing the playground safely inside without broken lamps, windows, and noses.

Helen of Troy was “the face that launched a thousand ships,” but Battleship is the game that sunk a billion Carriers (occupies five spaces), Battleships (four), Cruisers (three), Submarines (three), and hardest-to-find Destroyers (two)!

Make me King of Playtime and “You sunk my battleship!” wails and shouts of “Bingo!” will fill the air in the National Toy Hall of Fame, and flying Nerf Balls will too.

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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.