Author Archives: Woody

Sweet Treat Follows Halloween

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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A Sweet Treat

Follows Halloween

Out of precaution, but with small expectation, we bought a single bag of candy bars in case any trick-or-treaters came by Halloween evening. In years past we have handed out 20 bags.

Coronavirus kept our doorbell silent as a tombstone.

It’s easy to jokingly snicker, “Great! I’ll just have to eat all these Snickers myself.” But the truth is I felt empty because autumn’s annual parade of kids singing “Trick or treat!” as their goodie sacks and plastic pumpkin buckets fill up, fills my heart.

Imagine the cutest costumed child of the night knocking on your door after the porch light has been turned off and you get an idea of what happened to me. In this case, it was a day later and two young girls were dressed up as themselves – as the cutest two siblings imaginable.

I am guessing their ages to be 3 and 5 and they were at a local park with their parents enjoying a late-afternoon picnic. Meanwhile, I was on my daily run and seeing them each half-mile loop around put a smile on my face and extra spring in my stride.

I wish you could have seen them. The girls played catch with their dad and tag with their mom; played by themselves while their parents snuggled on the spread-out blanket; joined mom and dad for a snack, and a hug, before racing off to pet a dog on a leash; and on and on their fun went.

Just as Halloween is a time machine that pulls us back to our own childhoods, these two children sent my mind racing in reverse 25 years to when my daughter and son were about their ages.

Instead of on a blanket in a park, our young family of four was having dinner at a charming Italian restaurant. After the spaghetti and meatballs disappeared, and scoops of ice cream too, our waiter vanished. The kids grew antsy as we waited for the check. Ten minutes became thirty and my wife and I became impatient as well.

“Where’s the check?” I grumbled softly.

“Where’s our waiter?” my wife mumbled.

“Where’s the bathrooms?” the kids needed to know.

Our waiter remained AWOL. Eventually, finally, at long last I caught the attention of a different server and asked if he could please get our check.

Instead of the check, our original waiter brought us a heartwarming explanation: Two elderly gentlemen at a table across the room had paid for our dinner, but requested the waiter not let us know until after they left – hence the long delay.

The Samaritan pair had seen a happy young family, our waiter explained, and simply wanted to anonymously do a random act of kindness. Ever since, I have occasionally tried to repay those kind men when I have seen happy young families in restaurants.

And so it was that I wished I could have paid the dinner check for the two girls and their parents at the park. Instead, all I could think to do was stop by before I left and tell them something they already well knew – what a lovely family they are!

This led to a brief social-distanced visit where I learned the sisters are inseparable, even sharing a bed by choice, and that a third sibling is on the way.

As I jogged away into the early arriving darkness, the two girls sang out in sweet harmony: “Have a nice day!”

“Thank you!” I shouted back. “You, too!”

What I thought was this: “Thanks to you, I already have.”

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Quoth the Raven, “Vote Ever More!”

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Quoth the Raven,

“Vote Ever More!”

What writer better to quote on Halloween than Edgar Allan Poe, who wrote in his most-famous poem The Raven: “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering fearing / Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

Below are some dark dreams that would make any mortal scream “Nevermore!” loud enough to rattle their chamber door…

*

From the moment you fall asleep you find yourself resolutely standing – six feet from the person in front and behind you – in a line stretching more blocks than the eye can see.

Despite dreaming in real time during a full eight hours of sleep, upon awakening you still have not reached the voting booth.

*

In another dream, you finally reach the front of the line only to find that you must unlock your high school locker before you can cast your ballot. Taking a wild guess, you spin the dial – clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise – and give the lock a quick yank.

“Wrong! I’m sorry,” the lock tells you, “your signature does not match the squiggle we have on file from when you signed for a FedEx package using your index finger on a touchscreen, so your ballot will not be counted.”

*

You walk to your familiar voting place but it has been shut down; so you drive to the next nearest poll but it, too, has been shuttered; so you drive further still and finally arrive at the only open poll in your county only to be greeted by a 10-hour line – which you find yourself standing in naked.

*

Your wise subconscious has decided to skip the long lines by using a vote-by-mail ballot. Alas, this results in a different nightmare as you put your ballot inside a security/privacy envelope before putting that envelope inside a second envelope specified for mailing …

… and then, like Russian nesting dolls, you put that envelope inside another, and another, and another until you wake up screaming in frustration.

*

In a similar dream, you have mistakenly used your security/privacy envelope to jot down a grocery list on and thus mail in your naked ballot inside the mailing envelope only. When you learn your ballot was invalidated by this technicality, you wake up screaming in anger.

*

Again you dream of using a vote-by-mail ballot, but to avoid nesting doll-like envelopes or having the Postal Service deliver it too late to be counted, you take it directly at an official ballot drop box – but are faced with two identical looking ones.

One box contains a tiger that will bite your hand off when you drop your ballot inside while the other box will count your vote correctly. To determine which box to use, you must solve a Rubik’s Cube in 30 seconds or recall your Netflix password on the first try.

*

In your final dark dream, your polling site in an affluent suburban neighborhood and you have flown through the line in 2 minutes and 43 seconds.

However, inside the voting booth you realize you have forgotten your election crib sheet. Looking at the propositions you suddenly find yourself again trying to open your high school locker; while standing naked in the hallway; and running late for class to take a final exam you need to pass in order to graduate.

*

You awaken each time thinking “Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore’ ” but then vow, “No, that is wrong. Vote, vote, vote always ever election more!”

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Three Winks From The Universe

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Three Winks From

The Universe

Whether the glass is half full or half empty, sometimes it gets knocked over. And sometimes when this happens the universe laughs at you, but other times it smiles and gives you a wink.

Last Sunday, the glass in question was a nearly full bottle of maple syrup waiting to be poured over pancakes. Reaching for the syrup, I carelessly knocked the bottle over …

… with its lid already off …

… the bottle toppled onto its side …

… its mouth coming to rest hanging over the edge of my plate …

… and the syrup poured onto my pancakes …

… in the perfectly desired amount …

… without any sticky syrup spilling onto the table or floor.

It was all a one-in-a-million shot and a playful wink from the universe asking, “How Did You Like That Trick?”

* * *

My luck appeared to change the next day with a half-full mailbox.

In order for a card I was mailing to arrive on time, I needed to get it out on Monday. Our postal carrier usually comes by in the afternoon, but to be safe I strolled to my neighborhood’s community mailboxes at midmorning.

My mistake was dropping the letter into the outgoing slot before checking my own box. Alas, the mail had already been delivered so my card would not go out for another day. Had I looked first, I could have instead mailed the card at the post office for timely delivery.

As the universe giggled at me, I gently chastised myself for not mailing the card an hour earlier.

Then the universe’s laugh grew louder. As I was walking back home, the postal carrier rounded the corner to exit our neighborhood. I suddenly wished I had come out to mail my letter two minutes later than I did because then I could have flagged down our mail carrier and handed her the letter directly.

Quick as a wink, I decided to wave frantically anyway …

… the postal carrier stopped her truck …

… listened to my tragic tale of being a bonehead …

… and promised to retrieve my card from the outgoing box.

* * *

If the universe wasn’t laughing at me the following evening, my wife surely was when my reading glasses disappeared. Fifteen minutes earlier I had been reading on the couch and now I had all the cushions off, searching the crevices, with no luck.

I retraced my steps from earlier that evening, from the entire day, even checked rooms I hadn’t been in for days.

As my frustration grew, I expanded my search to the kitchen trash and counters, cabinets and drawers that made no sense. I turned the couch inside out a second time.

If our 22-month-old granddaughter had been visiting, I would have been convinced she carried them off somewhere while playing and laughed it off. Instead, as I continued looking high and low and every height in between, the thought that I was losing my mind crossed my mind.

Alas, like Edgar Alan Poe’s “The Purloined Letter” or the last Easter egg often to be found, my reading glasses proved to be in plain sight …

… in the same room across from the couch …

… resting on top of a typewriter …

… that sits on a table I had checked at least a couple times.

On that keyboard is where my wife claims to have found The Purloined Glasses. She didn’t wink, but I’m convinced she conspired with the universe to prank me.

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

80th Birthday is a Superspreader

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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80th Birthday is

a Superspreader

Sharon Martin recently turned 80 and her milestone birthday celebration turned into a superspreader. There wasn’t an outbreak of coronavirus, however – it was kindness that proved widely contagious.

“At my age I have enough stuff,” the longtime Simi Valley resident says, and thus asked family members and friends to each do a “Random Act Of Kindness” in her honor in lieu of a gift-wrapped present.

“I could hardly wait until the big day to open my birthday cards and see what RAOK people had done,” Sharon further shares. “I was like a 5-year-old waiting for Christmas Day.”

Her virtual Christmas tree had more than 50 “gifts” beneath it, including monetary donations to food banks, rescue missions and other charities while food and blankets were given to an animal shelter.

The RAOKs benefited the young and old alike. One woman donated an American Girl Doll to a foster child while several friends “adopted” senior citizens to visit by phone and drop off meals to during the pandemic.

One woman rallied her coworkers and put together 75 back-to-school backpacks filled with supplies for an inner-city elementary school. Similarly, two friends made donations to For The Troops to send “We Care” packages.

“My great-niece joined with others to help clean up the beach,” Sharon said and similarly noted that a 90-year-old nun has started picking up trash on her daily walks as a birthday gift.

“Some were small things,” Sharon continued. “My brother was at a health clinic and when he was leaving he found a pen on the floor. The pen had a special inscription about a nurse and he knew it was important to someone. He spent quite a bit of time interviewing all the nurses and finally found the right one. She was so appreciative as it had been given to her on the day she graduated from nursing school.”

One friend baked homemade bread and delivered it to a neighbor recovering from surgery, along with a good book to read, and another woman made gallons of apple butter to help raise money for families in need.

Another woman tallied up how much money she had NOT spent getting her hair done during the pandemic and sent an equivalent check to a family that is struggling.

“Residents at the Simi Valley Care Center will soon have a pretty gazebo to sit under,” Sharon happily reported, “thanks to a donation to the Eagle Scout project by Josh Hoover.”

One friend saw a man at Costco unsuccessfully trying to squeeze a large piece of furniture into a car that was too small. He brought his pickup truck around and then followed the man home with the special delivery.

Sharon proudly noted that Bill, her husband of 59 years, “is always doing random acts of kindness” and for her birthday celebration this included helping a friend take 5,000 pounds of donations to a Catholic food share.

Naturally, the couple’s three sons honored their mom with RAOKs: Chris went out of his way to make sure a food delivery got to the right person; Greg found a baby quail with a damaged wing and rushed it to a rescue hospital for successful care; and Tim cleaned out the rain gutters for the widow of a victim in the 2017 massacre in Las Vegas.

Turning 80 is a big deal, but how can it compete with the childhood excitement and cake-and-sugar rush of a fifth birthday or eighth or tenth? By giving, that’s how.

As Sharon concluded: “I can truthfully say that this was my very best birthday.”

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Making Friendship A Fine Art

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Making Friendship

A Fine Art

My friend Kurt phoned out of the blue the other morning for no other reason than to say “hi” and catch up. His timing was perfect as I was in need of a little pick-me-up. By the time he said “ciao” my socks were filled with helium.

After hanging up, my mind drifted to Coach John Wooden – whose birth date, coincidentally, is this coming Wednesday – and some lessons on friendship he taught me during the two decades I knew him.

The first time I joined Coach on his daily four-mile morning walk some 30 years ago, he gave me a laminated card featuring his father’s “Seven-Point Creed” that includes “Make friendship a fine art.”

In an effort to be such an artist, the next time I visited Coach I brought along a small gift. Knowing his love of poetry, I selected a hardback collection by Rumi. Shortly thereafter, I received a handwritten thank-you note and a copy of a poem authored by Coach titled On Friendship:

At times when I am feeling low, / I hear from a friend and then

My worries start to go away / And I am on the mend

No matter what the doctors say – / And their studies never end

The best cure of all, when spirits fall, / Is a kind word from a friend

More prized than the signed poem is that over the ensuing years Coach turned those stanzas into curing words, and deeds, when my spirits fell – particularly after my mom passed away and later when I was nearly killed by a drunk driver.

Coach also had a gift for raising my spirits when they were already high. For example, when I next visited him he recited a poem from the gift Rumi book. I must confess I did not know who he was quoting until he told me. Fittingly, the selection was titled “Love” which Coach insisted was the most important word in the English language.

The poem recital was a thoughtful gesture of rare grace and a lesson through example that saying “thank you” is nice, but to show thanks is far better. In other words, wear a new sweater or necklace the next time you see the person who gave it to you; put a gift vase on proud display before the giver visits; memorize a poem or line from a book given to you.

Another life lesson put into practice was how Coach always gave his full attention on the phone and never seemed in a hurry to hang up. Indeed, if he was too busy to talk he would simply not answer in the first place rather than risk the prospect of having to be in a rude rush.

I fondly remember visiting Coach once when the phone rang and he let the call go through to his answering machine. It was his way of telling me I was his guest and merited full attention. This unspoken kindness became even more meaningful seconds later after the “Beep!” when a very familiar voice could be heard leaving a message.

“That’s Bill Walton!” I said, excitedly. “You’d better answer it!”

Coach Wooden did not reach for the phone and instead told me with a devilish smile: “Heavens no! Bill calls me all the time. If I pick up he’ll talk my ear off for half an hour and then you and I won’t get to visit. I’ll talk with him later.”

I’m glad I did not have a visitor when Kurt phoned the other day while making friendship a fine art.

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Ticking Off a List of Complaints

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Ticking Off List

of Complaints

“You know what really ticks me off?” Grandpa Earl says to his friend Clyde as they sit on a park bench in the comic strip Pickles. “Old people who sit around and complain about things.”

“But you’re an old person, and you sit around and complain about things,” replies Clyde in the second panel.

“I know,” concludes Earl. “And that really ticks me off.”

Well, if I were sitting on a park bench with Grandpa Earl – at opposite ends with both of us wearing masks, of course – here are some of the things I’d complain about . . .

People not wearing masks who don’t respect the six-foot social distancing cushion.

When someone rushes ahead of me in the grocery line and then stalls at the register while waiting for their child or spouse to arrive with an armload of items.

Self-checkouts because then I’m the one holding everyone else up with my befuddlement.

Speaking of lines, I’m forever grumpy at drivers in the front at a stoplight who need a wake-up honk when it turns from red to green.

Also, drivers who straddle halfway in a turn lane instead of scooting all the way over.

And pokey freeway drivers who clog up the left lane so a string of cars has to pass them on the right.

Speaking of speed, when a mom or dad runner pushing a baby stroller passes me. Such show-offy-ness just seems uncalled for.

When bad things happen to good people really ticks me off.

When I forget to take the trash out to the curb the night before pickup and then hear the garbage truck the next morning without enough warning to get my barrels out in time.

Forgetting passwords has me muttering quite often.

Facebook posts that confuse “they’re” and “their” and “there” as well as “your and “you’re.”

But it ticks me off even more that I never know whether to use “whoever” or “whomever.” Oh well, whatever.

When someone’s mask droops down below their nose. Nobody asked me, but in these situations I suggest we all adopt the phrase “Your fly is down” – even for women.

Heck, I’ll even accept, “You’re fly is down.”

Basketball telecasts that insist on showing a close-up of whoever (whomever?) just made a shot and meanwhile we miss the fastbreak going back the other way.

I don’t like Lakers’ home jerseys that are now brighter than a yellow highlight marker.

Long before last Tuesday’s unPresidential Debate Debasement, I have been complaining about political debates not having kill switches on the mics to prevent Thanksgiving dinner-like free-for-alls.

When emails that I want wind up going into spam and robocalls that are harder to keep blocked than ants materializing in a kitchen.

When I have a discount code for an online purchase and then forget to type it in before hitting the “Complete Purchase” button.

I have been complaining like an old-school curmudgeon for months about Major League Baseball’s experimental rule this coronavirus-shorten season of putting a runner on second base at the start of each extra inning’s at-bats.

But it really pains me, Mr. Traditionalist who still grinds his teeth at the Designated Hitter, that I actually find myself liking the bonus runner rule and the different strategies – Play for one run? Go for a big inning? – it creates.

So now I’m complaining that the extra-runner rule is not being used in the playoffs!

I thought of a couple more really good things to include in this column, but forgot what they were. Like Grandpa Earl, sometimes I really tick myself off.

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

 

Pandemic Can’t Derail Paris Trip

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Pandemic Fails To

Derail Paris Trip

Gloria, my dear friend affectionately called “Mama G” by loved ones, dreamed of celebrating her 70th birthday in Paris with her daughters. Plane tickets had been bought, hotel rooms reserved.

The coronavirus pandemic had other ideas.

Mama G’s four fabulous daughters had other ideas as well and made the Parisian celebration a reality – with an asterisk.

The asterisk: if they could not take their mom to Paris, they would bring Paris to her.

And so it was on her milestone birthday last weekend that Mama G, wearing a dazzling evening gown and stylish hat, enjoyed dinner al fresco at a bistro with lace tablecloths and candlelight, fine wine and gourmet food, and a view of the Eiffel Tower.*

Parisian “bistro” with a view of the Eiffel Towel in Southern California.

Asterisk: a poster of the iconic landmark and an elegantly decorated table were set up on Mama G’s backyard patio. Stephanie, Beverly, Jennifer and Jessica – the Fab Four – filled the seats along with one spouse and two fiancés, all safely quarantined beforehand.

Before dinner, Mama G spent the day sightseeing. Indeed, there are pictures of her in front of the Eiffel Tower and Cathédrale Notre-Dame; at the Arc de Triomphe and the Palace of Versailles; visiting the Louvre and more.*

Asterisk: the pictures were Photoshopped surprises.

The photographs taken at dinner, however, needed no Photoshopping to add in smiles as wide as the River Seine. Still, a faux Parisian party could not fully measure up to the real thing.

Again, the Fab Four had other ideas. The actual trip to The City of Light would have been a small private affair, but for the amended celebration they invited friends and loved ones from across the country, and beyond, to come along.*

Asterisk: thanks to Zoom, more than 60 people attended the birthday party in “Paris.” Scrolling through numerous computer screens was required to see every attendee.

In an actual bistro, it would have been too crowded to clearly hear the toasts given. But on Zoom, everyone in attendance simply took turns sharing their love to Mama G. It was wonderful. No, better than that: Gloria-ous.

The toasts and memories and stories came from people who have known Mama G for more than 50 years, those who entered her life five years ago, and even more recently.

One of the wonderful sentiments came from Deb, who tearfully offered in part: “Happy birthday to Mama G! To my second mother, I wish you another happy and healthy 70 years. You have raised four amazing, brilliant, beautiful women and took me in as your own. I am forever grateful to have you as me second mama.”

As you can imagine, like the champagne in the “bistro,” Mama G’s tears flowed freely. Dabbing her eyes near party’s end, she said: “It was fabulous walking down memory lane and celebrating in ‘Paris’ ”.

Speaking of tears, a second dear friend of mine also celebrated her 70th birthday in the past month’s span. Again, the pandemic led to a different kind of festivity than originally hoped for.

Instead of a large party, Barbara, affectionately known as “Mama Mac,” had a virtual gathering that featured 70 toasts – one for each candle on her cake – from 70 different family members and friends.*

Asterisk: this was not a Zoom party, but instead the toasts – intimate notes and short letters sharing why each person loves Mama Mac – were collected and published in a keepsake book. She cried. It was wonderful.

All the same, I hope 71 is the new 70 and Mama G can fly to Paris and Mama Mac has a big birthday bash in 2021.

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Every Town Has Own “Moonlight”

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Every Town Has Its

Own “Moonlight”

As long as “Shoeless” Joe Jackson and the other ballplayers in the movie “Field of Dreams” stay on the magical baseball diamond in an Iowa cornfield, they remain forever young.

We learn this when young outfielder “Moonlight” Graham steps across the first-base foul line and becomes his elderly self as Dr. Archibald Graham, giving up immortality in order to save Ray Kinsella’s young daughter from choking.

In response to my column last week, reader Lindsay Nielson shared a humorous anecdote about feeling like he had crossed the foul line in the opposite direction during his annual physical with Dr. Geoff Loman.

“I told him, ‘Doc, I think I am immortal,’ ” Nielson wrote in an email. “ ‘Really? Why is that?’ came his response.

Dr. Archibald “Moonlight” Graham played by Burt Lancaster in “Field of Dreams.”

“I rattled off all the things I had been through – two heart attacks; a fall that resulted in three screws to hold my hip together and a titanium bar in my femur; a few stent implants; back surgery that resulted in eight screws in my spine; and my second home in Palm Springs had burned to the ground, etc.

“Dr. Loman said, ‘Wow, Lindsay, that is something. But, I went to a pretty good medical school and it is my opinion that you probably aren’t immortal.’ ”

As the mortal Dr. Graham, Burt Lancaster’s character sagely says of his disappointing one-game career in the Big Leagues without an at-bat: “If I’d only gotten to be a doctor for five minutes – now that would have been a tragedy.”

Rick Throckmorton feels it would have been a tragedy had his own family doctor not had a long medical career, writing: “Your column brought back old memories of Dr. Albert Crites, who founded the Port Hueneme Belinda Hospital, later Adventist Hospital. I don’t know if he was a poet or not, but I remember him as surely being an angel or saint in disguise on earth.

“Dr. Crites treated my grandmother, who was a sad hypochondriac, and who visited him almost daily with her alleged aches and pains. Once, I accompanied her while I was on a leave from the Army. I remember him saying, ‘Bessie, now you know there’s nothing wrong with you, but I have something that might help. It’s a wonder medicine.’ He would give her a vial of what I later learned were plain sugar pills, but Grandmom was always better after taking them!

“Dr. Crites once fixed my broken finger (before splinting it) by pulling it straight after telling me, ‘Ricky, this is gonna hurt a little!’ I was in the seventh grade and a fly ball had hit squarely on top of my ring finger and broke it to 90 degrees. It hurt like heck, but Dr Crites’ soothing words calmed the tears.

“Some years later, I was involved in a serious accident while in Hueneme High School and the ambulance took me to Adventist Hospital. I had not seen Dr. Crites since the broken-finger incident and there he was. He said again, ‘Ricky, looks like this is gonna to hurt a little’ as he treated my severe burns.

“Dr. Crites took care of my mom, too, as she had to have full hysterectomy; and my WWII veteran dad’s bad heart; and I was there with Dr. Crites when dad passed away early from a massive heart attack.

“In the movie ‘Field of Dreams’, James Earl Jones’ character Terence Mann says, ‘Every town has a Doctor Graham,’ ” Throckmorton concluded. “And every town has, or should have, a Doctor Crites.”

If not, now that would be a tragedy.

 *   *   *

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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Local Doc Lays Down Stethoscope

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Longtime Doc Lays

Down His Stethoscope

In 1922, when my grandfather began his career as a country doctor, newfangled X-ray machines were found only in large hospitals. Ultrasound, CAT and MRI scans, meanwhile, would remain the stuff of science fiction for another half-century.

All the same, Dr. Ansel Woodburn had access to a state-of-the-art medical technology that could “see” inside the human body: his magical index and middle fingers and thumb. With the delicate touch of a safecracker, or sometimes employing less-than-gentle prodding, he could determine everything from broken bones to a breech fetus.

Under the headline “Fond Memories of Doc Prevail” in The Urbana (Ohio) Daily Citizen many years ago, Marilyn Johnson recalled being treated by my grandfather: “When I was small, I was always breaking a bone. Dr. Ansel Woodburn would first of all use his trusty (and hated) thumb to locate the fracture. He would then set the bone and cast it.”

She specifically recalled one fracture – and treatment: “After he casted my arm, he asked how my favorite doll was doing. Before I could say ‘Jack Robinson,’ he had fashioned a doll cradle with Plaster of Paris and wires on which to rock.”

Another memory was when her father had a finger nearly torn off in a farming accident.

“Dad wrapped it quickly in his handkerchief,” she wrote. “We had about seven miles to go and even though I didn’t have a driver’s permit, I drove. Dr. Woodburn sewed the finger back on because he thought the tip was getting blood – the finger did at last turn pink and became useful – and then sent us home with the admonition that if I got stopped by a policeman, ‘Send him to me!’

“Dr. Woodburn,” Marilyn Johnson concluded in print, in thanks, and in memoriam two decades after his death, “I reckon I’ll have to say you were A-OK – except for that mean thumb!”

Dr. Geoff Loman, my family’s “Dr. Ansel”…

I bring up these recollections because a half-century after Ansel made his final house call, another “A-OK” family doctor who could diagnose broken bones and more with his fingers and mean thumb retired earlier this week.

I saw Dr. Geoff Loman do exactly that for a leg fracture when my son was three and similarly for a broken wrist when my daughter was seven. The ensuing X-rays were simply formalities before he set the their breaks in fiberglass casts.

Over the years, from cradle to college and beyond, he also sutured their cuts and healed their illnesses. Indeed, for more than 30 years he was my family’s Dr. Ansel and I can offer no higher compliment.

My further prevailing fond memories of Doc Loman are of him always coming into the examining room smiling like he just heard a terrific joke; his soft baritone voice warm as an analgesic balm; his bedside manner as reassuring as a doll cradle crafted from Plaster of Paris for a tearful little girl.

In honor of Dr. Loman’s four decades as a family practitioner in the Ventura community, it seems fitting to share an original poem my grandfather penned inside his copy of “Modern Surgery” and dated Oct. 1, 1919:

“The worker dies, but the work lives on / Whether a picture, a book, or a clock

“Ticking the minutes of life away / For another worker in metal or rock

“My work is with children and women and men – Not iron, not brass, not wood

“And I hope when I lay my stethoscope down / That my Chief will call it good”

Dr. Loman has retired his stethoscope, but without question his Chief will call his work good.

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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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Bryan Bros: Kings of the Castle

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Kings of the Castle

Bryan Bros Bid Goodbye

“Don’t tell me about your dreams of a castle,” Wayne Bryan likes to say, “show me the stones you laid today.”

When Wayne’s identical twin sons, Mike and Bob, were eight years old they taped an image of their dream castle on the Camarillo family’s refrigerator door: To become the No. 1-ranked doubles team in the tennis world.

They then laid the stones, day after week, month after year after decade, until completing a castle that surpassed their wildest dreams. Indeed, when Mike and Bob retired last week at age 42 their career looked like Camelot.

Together, Mike and Bob have singularly been Mikeandbob – a two-headed monster with four arms and four legs, standing 12 feet, 7 inches tall and weighing 370 pounds. Even Hercules could not slay Bobandmike on a tennis court.

Their final stat line as a pro tandem: 16 Grand Slam doubles championships and 119 overall titles, both all-time records by a mile, plus an Olympic gold and bronze medal for good measure. As for their refrigerator goal, they were ranked No. 1 in the world for 438 weeks during 22 years on the ATP Tour.

Mikeandbob also authored one of the greatest goodbye statements in sports history, rivaling Lou Gehrig’s famous “Luckiest Man” speech in my eyes. It reads like an award-winning children’s book yet is inspiring for adults too:

“Many years ago, two brothers left home and embarked on a journey up a tall mountain. With knowledge from their parents and fueled by boundless passion, they moved up the mountain together, their eyes fixated on a peak they could see on the distant horizon.

“They lifted each other over boulders, pulled each other up steep cliffs, and kept each other warm when storms battered the mountain. If one boy became weary, the other pushed harder and when one boy had doubts, the other fearlessly pressed on. They often slipped and were bruised but loved their fight against the stubborn mountain.

“After years of climbing, the boys finally reached the top. The view was beautiful but not what they expected. They saw a vast landscape filled with endless ranges of even taller peaks. Without looking back, they continued on.

“The trail eventually disappeared but the boys kept going, clearing their own path and exploring undiscovered lands they never knew existed. No matter the direction, they stayed together, for they knew their journey was impossible alone.

“And when their bodies could carry them no further, they turned around and gazed upon the world they had travelled. They looked at each other, smiled proudly, and headed home shoulder to shoulder, with a newfound peace and a bond stronger than ever.”

Along their journey, Mikeandbob have behaved like knights in shining armor. For example, they gave one of their rackets to a 10-year-old boy in Japan who was fighting cancer. More than that, they stayed in touch. When they later learned he was on his deathbed, they rushed a final package to him.

A small thing? The young fan passed away wearing a gift match-worn shirt autographed by his two heroes.

One more example of thousands: For a young girl fan who was in the hospital after attempting suicide, Bobandmike sent a video message complete with a musical performance – Bob on keyboard, Mike on drums – of an original song they wrote specifically for her.

Around the time the young Bryan Brothers posted their castle dream on the refrigerator, their mom Kathy told them: “It’s far more important who you are as person than who you are as an athlete.”

Remarkably, Mikeandbob climbed this Mount Everest, too.

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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 books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …