Author Archives: Woody

Friendship Turns Back Calendar

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Familiar Laugh is

a Time Machine

H. G. Wells knocked on my front door Sunday morning and when I opened it the pages of the calendar flipped backward, months, years, four decades in all, in an instant.

Greeting me was my college roommate from freshman year. In 2019, I was 18 again.

Fingerprint analysis could not have been more accurate in identifying Matt than the proof provided by his smile. Father Time may have stolen his bushy, dark curls and added lines of wisdom to his countenance, but his grin was as broad and radiant and familiar as ever.

In the only photograph I have of Matt, for there were no ubiquitous cell phone cameras always at the ready in 1978, he is flashing his trademark electric grin as sun-bleached-mop-haired me goofily flashes a peace sign of rabbit ears behind his head.

Goofing it up as UCSB freshmen with my roommate Matt Bell.

In my mind’s eye – rather, mind’s ear – there is something even more identifying than Matt’s smile: his laugh. DNA profiling could not be more precise for identification. It is a hall-of-fame laugh, part cackle, part music.

Matt freely played that music again Sunday morning and it was more wonderful than Cheap Trick and Tom Petty and Pink Floyd making our dorm widows rattle on a Friday night.

Words of hello being insufficient after so long apart, we promptly embraced on the front doorstep – perhaps for the first time ever because college roommates in the ’70s didn’t generally hug.

The next two hours passed like two minutes as we played catch-up on our lives, our long marriages, his three children and my two plus a granddaughter, our jobs – he’s a high school principal in Northern California – and on and on. The eggs and pancakes and coffee grew cold half-untouched because the air was so warm with conversation and memories and laughter.

It’s funny sometimes what memories pop to mind. Matt was on UC Santa Barbara’s gymnastic team and while I recall him being dizzying good on the rings and pommel horse, my favorite feat of his was when he walked the entire length of our dorm hallway on his hands while the rest of us cheered as though it was the Olympics.

Matt remembered stories I had forgotten and vice-versa. Most of them I dare not share in this space, but here’s one more that I will. I had sophomorically sabotaged his toothbrush with soap and Matt retaliated ingeniously by somehow putting a small measure of sunscreen inside my tube of Crest.

As I spit and rinsed, rinsed, rinsed, Matt guffawed. I squeezed away a third of the tube to get rid of the contaminated portion and started brushing again. Again, I gagged. This happened a third time as well.

By now Matty sounded like Muttley the cartoon dog. I believe it was the only time either of us got even halfway upset at the other – in truth, I think I was mad at myself for falling for the well-played prank over and over.

Now I’m mad at myself for falling out of touch with Matt after graduation. More so, however, I’m thankful for the miracle of social media that allowed us to reconnect after 37 years.

To give you one more snapshot of what a masterpiece reunion we had, and to further encourage you to reach out to a friend you may have lost contact with, Matt and I were so busy enjoying ourselves that we forgot to take a picture together. We plan to remedy that soon.

It has been said that it takes a long time to grow an old friend, but it can also happen over breakfast.

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

Memories Tragically Go Unmade

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Buoyed in Boat Tragedy

by Two Uplifting Emails 

Making memories, that is what the 39 people aboard the Conception were doing.

Certainly most of the 33 passengers were off the Santa Cruz Island coast specifically to go diving, and the crew of six was on hand to give them the opportunity to do so, but above all they were all out there on our postcard waters to make memories.

In the aftermath of the tragic below-deck nighttime fire that claimed the lives of all 33 patrons and one crewmember, I was reminded by a reader of a recent column of mine that the trip to sea was about making memories.

Coincidentally, Sheila Kane McCollum wrote of our scenic underwaters:

“Tears streamed down my face this morning as I read about your ‘Daddy Dates’! Your recounting of your time with daughter Dallas brought to mind so many cherished memories of my own times with my wonderful dad.

“After my brothers (four and five years my senior) moved away, I took up scuba diving so Dad and I could have that to share. We spent many weekends out at Channel Islands exploring the reefs and searching for the elusive lobster.

“Because I had gone on a rafting adventure, my dad suggested we do a trip together. We drove up to Kern Valley and spent two days rafting and camping at night on some hard earth. I can’t say he loved the rafting as much as I, but we both thoroughly enjoyed our three days together, laughing and making these memories.

“Dad has been gone more than 20 years, but my memories bring him back with love, admiration and appreciation.”

When Sheila’s email arrived, a week before the stunning Conception catastrophe, it brought a smile to my heart. To figuratively see her take down a flowered box from the top shelf in her closet, set it on her bed and remove the lid, and unwrap the tissue paper that has kept safe these memories of her dad for two decades, is lovely.

Two weeks later, that image also makes the heart weep for all the memories of a dive trip that won’t be unwrapped and retold, smiled at and enjoyed, 20 years from now.

The grief, even for those of us who may never have heard one of those memories shared, is leaden. There have been far too many unbearable tragedies locally, from the Thomas Fire to the Borderline shooting to the Conception.

And yet another reader, also in a recent email, added some thoughts as a buoy. Responding to my column about playful kids at a summer camp, Diane Sweet wrote:

“I have enjoyed your columns for years and now look forward to my Saturday laugh or cry as I read your banter, philosophy, and encouragement. Today was exceptional as I was with you on the playground and talking to the kids – albeit I would not be running!

“I am celebrating my 70th birthday this week, and I totally agree with you and Walter Hagen, ‘Don’t hurry, don’t worry. You’re only here for a short visit. So don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.’

“I know 70 years sounds ‘old’, but it has gone quickly! I am continually trying to ‘enjoy the moments’. I have a beautiful and fragrant ‘Yves Piaget’ rosebush that I bought at a farm in Carpinteria that I just stop and smell whenever it’s in bloom. The sweet scent reminds me how precious and temporary life is and I don’t take it for granted.”

Perhaps that sentiment – and fond memories – is all we have to hang onto when our hearts collapse in sorrow.

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

 

Amber Rubarth is in the House

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Small Audience,

Big Enchantment

            Picking up where I departed last week, serendipity smiled and Amber Rubarth sang and my daughter and I had a strawberries-in-wintertime “Daddy date” in August.

My travel writer friend Ken likes to remind me, “Be sure to turn down a hidden alleyway or go inside a quiet doorway off the beaten path because that’s where you’ll find some of the most memorable experiences.”

Heeding this sage advice, my daughter-who-now-has-a-daughter and I drove down a main thoroughfare in Fremont to a series of smaller and smaller streets with slower and slower speed limits, and eventually turned into a hidden neighborhood. After parking, we strolled in search of an address and at last went inside a quiet doorway.

It was not pure serendipity that guided us off the beaten path. My son had learned of a “house concert” featuring Amber Rubarth. Knowing how dearly his sister delights in Amber’s music, he bought two tickets with one stipulation: I must keep the destination a surprise.

Amber and Dallas after the “house concert.”

Mission accomplished. Not until she stepped inside the front door and was greeted by a host – and a table stacked with CDs and vinyl LPs – did my daughter realize she was about to see Rubarth in a private concert.

In my quarter-century as a sports columnist, I sat courtside at Lakers games and saw Pete Sampras from the first row; I stood on the field a yard behind the end zone for an entire 49ers-Rams playoff game and walked inside the ropes following Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods; and on and on, but I have never been closer to the action than at this concert.

My daughter and I sat left of the stage in the front row – which was also the back row. Well, if there had been a stage. Rubarth, an award-winning singer-songwriter, occupied a card table-sized patch of hardwood floor. If I straightened my legs, I literally ran the risk of tripping Amber if she took two steps in our direction.

It bears mentioning that everyone had amazing seats as there were by actual count only 23 people in attendance. Inside a lovely living room with a vaulted ceiling and a grand piano in one corner, the gathering sat on a couch, a love seat, kitchen and dining room chairs, and in the center back row – which was the third row – high-backed barstools.

With no mic and amplifier required, Amber’s voice seemed impossibly twice as pleasant as on recordings and three times more so than in a large venue. It was wondrous to close one’s eyes and get lost in her singing and guitar playing. But it was even more mesmerizing to watch her at her craft; to see her graceful fingers flex and dance; see the currents of emotions flow across her face with the changing notes; have her warm gaze catch yours and hold it, all from a few feet away.

Before songs, Amber shared their meanings and peeled open her life at the times she wrote them. After songs, she asked audience members about themselves. It wasn’t a concert so much as an intimate party.

Often ignoring her play sheet that rested on the piano, Amber frequently opened the floor for requests. Near evening’s end, my daughter asked for “Song to Thank the Stars” which she danced to at her wedding three years ago. Amber said it was one of her favorites as well and began to strum and sing.

One lyric: “I need a song to thank the stars / That you are mine.”

My feelings precisely as I enjoyed an enchanted summertime “Daddy date” with my grown-up little girl.

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

Never Too Old For “Daddy Date”

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Serendipity Smiles …

… And Also Sings

“Strawberries in wintertime” is a favorite phrase I use for an unexpected delight, its origins dating to when I was age 10 and visited California for the first time during Christmas break.

A highlight surpassed perhaps only by my Ohioan debut swim in the freezing ocean near the Ventura Pier was gorging on a flat of sun-warmed strawberries from a roadside stand in Saticoy. In the Midwest we only ate strawberries in summertime.

All of which is to put into perspective a strawberries-in-wintertime treat I recently enjoyed. Or, I suppose, it was Christmas in August. Semantics aside, here’s the specifics: my adult daughter and I went on a “Daddy date” as she has called our just-the-two-of-us outings ever since kindergarten.

Oftentimes, with Mom and Brother staying home, we would go out to dinner and my lovely date always insisted on wearing a pretty dress. In turn, I would bring her flowers and open the car door for her because both were things she should expect boys worth dating to do when she got older.

Our “Daddy dates” have continued for nearly three decades, through high school and college and grad school; even through her finding a date who not only opened her car door and gave her flowers, but gave her a diamond ring. She, in turn, gave him a daughter eight months ago.

Singer-songwriter Amber Rubarth

Being a mom and wife and author can leave little time for being a daughter, and thus our most recent “Daddy date” was indeed a strawberries-in-wintertime evening together.

Backstory. Three years past, my daughter and I flew to Seattle solely to attend a concert by one of her favorite musicians, Amber Rubarth. The award-winning folk singer-songwriter has provided the soundtrack of my daughter’s life since teen-hood when she first saw Rubarth play in the intimate confines of ol’ Zoey’s Café in Ventura.

During life’s sunny days, my daughter beamed listening to Rubarth’s songs. More importantly, during stormy nights of tears, she drew strength and inspiration from Rubarth’s penetrating lyrics.

My daughter’s husband, who had never strummed a guitar, spent six months learning one song to play when he proposed – “Quiet” which Rubarth recorded in duet with Jason Mraz. Not surprisingly, at my daughter’s wedding the bride and groom danced to Rubarth’s “Song to Thank the Stars.”

What is surprising, however, is that on that wedding day Rubarth posted a Tweet to her many thousands of Followers: “Congratulations @DallasWoodburn on your big day!! So happy for you two!”

Rubarth knew about the nuptials because a year earlier, after seeing her in concert, my daughter cathartically wrote an essay – a letter, actually, addressed “Dear Amber Rubarth” – expressing how important the singer’s music has been to her. She then sent it off into the ether of the Internet like a message in a bottle.

One paragraph tucked inside the corked glass read: “I felt myself in your songs. I felt understood. I listened to your beautiful, fragile, strong voice sing bravely and vulnerably about love and hope and healing, and for the first time in quite some time I felt excited to fall in love again. I felt like the world was indeed a wondrous place and that there was magic out in the future waiting for me.”

Through magic, the heartfelt words unexpectedly reached Rubarth and were strawberries in wintertime to her ears. She emailed Dallas and a small friendship was born.

All the same, Amber did not know Dallas recently moved to Fremont nor did Dallas know Amber was about to play a concert there. At the last moment, serendipity smiled and sang.

To be continued next week.

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

 

Run Turns Into Schoolyard Recess

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Distance Run Turns Into

Schoolyard Recess

            “Hi!” a girl, perhaps entering third grade when the new school year begins, called out enthusiastically.

I was circling a half-mile loop around soccer fields during my daily run on a recent weekday afternoon while a youth summer camp was in full swing. About three-dozen kids were enjoying recess-like activities including tag, jump rope and various games with balls.

“Hi!” the same girl repeated, now waving, on my next loop as if seeing me for the first time. A couple of her friends joined in: “Hi” and “Hey Running Man!”

“Hello!” I replied, adding quickly as I passed, “are you having a fun summer?”

“Yessss!” they sang in chorus.

In fits and starts, as I passed by I continued a conversation with what was now five girls sitting in a circle on the grass having snacks: “When does school start?”

Gleeful again: “Next week!”

Next lap: “Are you excited for school?”

“Yessss!” again in song.

I do not like to stop during a run, but on the next lap I did so briefly to ask the five girls, “What grades are you going to be in this year?”

The answers, one by one around the circle, all accompanied by smiles: “Third, fourth, fourth, second, third.”

Off I resumed, my stride feeling as light as Hermes with his winged feet.

Next time around, I was greeted by a boy holding his palm up to give me a high-five; the following loop, a line of kids did so.

It is my experience that the best runs transform themselves from effort into play. In other words, they become recess. For the better part of the 22 laps of this 11-mile run, I was a fifth-grader lost in recess fun.

I say fifth-grader specifically because my teacher that year, Mr. Hawkins, used to join us on the playground and grass field. Some days he would shoot baskets with us; other times we would run pass patterns and he would throw football spirals to us; too, he was pitcher for both teams in softball games.

On this day, I became Mr. Hawkins – albeit in Nikes and T-shirt instead of wingtips and his familiar square-ended knitted necktie. On one loop, a boy camper handed me a football and ran out for a pass. Slowing, but still on the run, I threw wildly.

Half of a mile later, I took another handoff but this time I stopped, planted my feet, and threw a touchdown spiral to make Rams quarterback Jared Goff – or Mr. Hawkins – proud.

Another loop around, a girl tossed me a foam Frisbee. I caught it, but my return toss sailed off-target in a side breeze and she giggled. I retrieved the errant disc and this time made an accurate throw that was rewarded with a happy young smile.

There was more fun. On a couple laps, I found myself with running companions for about 100 meters and was reminded of the races we had with Mr. Hawkins to the far fence on the playground grass.

The order of events this day is beyond my recall, but they included jumping rope until I missed; playing dodge ball when a basketball-sized fuzzy tennis ball was rolled at my feet – “Good jump, Mister!”; and being asked by a girl to spray sunscreen on her back.

This day, I did not care what pace my GPS running watch showed.

This day, I recalled the words of golfing legend Walter Hagen: “Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. You’re only here for a short visit. So don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.”

This day, I stopped to play.

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

Help For “Sobsmacked” Columnist

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Readers Fill In For

“Sobsmacked” Columnist

I planned to take a stroll down Nostalgia Lane today with a column about the Ventura County Fair, which concludes its 144th edition on Sunday, but Dayton and El Paso on the heels of Gilroy made me feel an obligation to write yet again about the gun-fueled cancer that is killing America.

But I have no new thoughts, only my same old rage. Feeling sobsmacked – my word for being gobsmacked to tears – I instead will turn this space over to some emails from my readers.

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“I liked your perfect games column with the 1956 Don Larson World Series no hitter and first moon landing correlation,” wrote Alex Jannone. “I listened to one (Larson) and watched the other.

“With the final out approaching, as a wash-up boy I was washing up old Potter printing presses with benzene and no gloves – benzene and inks with chromate not only thickens your fingers and hands, but your mind too – in the downtown NY printing district at Canal and Hudson streets. Silence, then a roar from the mixed bag of Yankee and Dodger fan listeners as some other presses stopped to listen.

“With the first moon landing 1969, I was comfortably watching in my living room with my wife and small children in Commack, Long Island. Nice memories to bring back.”

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“ ‘Gobsmacked’ – now there’s a word we don’t often see/read and much less hear!” Rick Throckmorton began, quoting in extreme brief from my column sharing a tall tale about a talking dog told to me by Starr Thompson.

“I, too, have the immense pleasure of knowing Starr. We are members of the ‘Quiet Birdmen’, a national aviation group with roots to post-WWI.

“Starr, certainly a member of The Greatest Generation, is quite the story teller. I’m proud to know him!”

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            Bill Waxman poignantly found new words that I could not about America’s mass shootings, sending me his poem titled “Only in America”:

“And today we awoke to the familiar refrain / Of families reeling in their grief and their pain

“Dozens of lives the gunmen have claimed / While our leaders scramble for someone to blame

“Statements are issued, just more prayers and thoughts / That get lost in the nightmarish echo of gunshots

“Once again, there will be no action taken / To prevent the horror of El Paso and Dayton

–

“There is now no safe place to go / Malls and churches, a cool movie show

“Outdoor concerts, and yes, too, our schools / Our numbness to violence has rendered us fools

“There’s no common ground for common sense / There’s no leadership coming from Trump and Pence

“Time alone won’t correct the aberration / Of the terror that stalked El Paso and Dayton

–

“What if every elected official / Simply did what they know to be beneficial

“What if every one of them all across the nation / Simply said no to NRA political donation

“What if they all simply took a stand / To ensure that all assault weapons were banned

“Maybe then our collective conscience would awaken / To the needless carnage in El Paso and Dayton

–

“From Gilroy to Parkland, from Sebring to Vegas / The political will to do something evades us

“From Aurora to Penn State, we’re at a loss for an answer / And we sit back and ignore this fast spreading cancer

“We wring our hands, we continue to be vexed / We don’t believe that we might be next

“Until the next time, when we see we’re mistaken / We learned not the lessons from El Paso and Dayton.”

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

For Sale: Talking Dog

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Treated to Unexpected

Tall Tale in Bookstore

Once upon a time, only a few weeks past actually, I was treated to a story in a bookstore, which is a very good place for stories.

In particular, it was Mrs. Figs’ Bookworm in Camarillo, which is just about the best place in the world for stories because its owner, Connie Halpern, makes storytimes come to life when she reads aloud to children ages 1 to 102.

This story, however, did not come from Connie’s lips. Rather, it was told by 96-year-old Starr Thompson. In addition to being a Bookworm regular, Thompson is a former Flying Tiger as evidenced by the blue-and-orange ball cap he was wearing.

After serving in the Air Force in both WWII and Korea, Thompson joined the First American Volunteer Group (AVG) of the Chinese Air Force. These “Flying Tigers” were composed of U.S. military pilots recruited by President Franklin Roosevelt’s orders in 1941 before Pearl Harbor.

I did not write down the facts as I listened, only later, so if I get anything wrong the errors are mine. If I retell matters accurately, all credit goes to Mr. Thompson. And so, as memory serves…

A young man was driving through rural Ohio – which, coincidentally, is where Connie Halpern grew up, further proving truth is stranger than fiction – and a yard sign in front of a farmhouse caught his eye: For Sale / Talking Dog / $50.

The man put on the brakes, made a U-turn and pulled into the driveway.

“Hello,” greeted the farmer from a rocking chair on the porch. “You lost? I seen ya turnaround. Need directions?”

“No, no, I’m not lost,” the visitor answered. “I saw your sign about the talking dog and was curious – what’s the gimmick?”

“Ain’t no gimmick,” said the farmer.

The visitor rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but before he had taken his first footstep of retreat the farmer rejoined: “He’s ’round back. Go see for yourself.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, the visitor headed to the backyard where he found a Labrador, chocolate in color, sleeping in the shade of a buckeye tree. The dog raised its head as the visitor approached.

“Can I help you?”

The visitor twisted his neck to look at the farmer who had followed behind him, but there was no one there.

“I said, can I help you?” the Labrador repeated.

The visitor nearly fainted in his tracks. Upon regaining his senses, like a dazed boxer during a referee’s ten count, the visitor stammered: “You … really … can talk?”

“Of course I can talk,” the Labrador replied. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you even more.”

The gobsmacked visitor plopped down on the grass.

“I used to work at the airport sniffing for drugs and listening to conversations,” the Labrador continued. “If I heard something suspicious, I’d go tell my superior. Travelers can be an annoying bunch, though, so after a while I quit.

“Before long, I found I missed the excitement so I got a job with the FBI sniffing for explosives. I loved the thrill of it, but it’s a young dog’s game so last year the FBI forced me to retire – put me out to pasture here.”

The visitor, hardly able to believe his ears, returned to the front porch and said in astonishment: “My god, your dog is amazing! He’s worth a million dollars, at least, so why are you selling him so cheaply?”

“It’s all BS,” the farmer said, curtly. “Buster didn’t do any of that airport security and FBI stuff like he claims. He’s a good-for-nothing liar.”

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

Gifts Learned Through Sports

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Sports and Learning

Go Hand-in-High-Five

            The Star’s annual high school Scholar-Athletes were announced last week and, as always, their academic deeds are every bit as impressive as their physical feats. Indeed, their GPAs and SAT scores are perhaps even more eye-popping than any RBIs and TD totals.

Headlined by female and male Scholar-Athletes of the Year Peyton Erickson (Ventura High, soccer) and Kevin Daniel (Royal High, tennis), the 26 honorees further add to their remarkable resumes a series of leadership endeavors, community service work and club activities.

While it might seem there must be pixie dust in the Gatorade potions they drink, in truth the magic elixir is sport itself. This was evidenced at the Laureus Youth Leadership Summit held in Los Angeles a week past with dozens of youths and also adults meeting to explore such topics as “What it means to be a young leader”; “Why sport is uniquely positioned to develop leadership skills”; and “How skills are transferred from sport to all areas of life.”

Speakers in the two-day conference included four-time Olympic gold medalist runner Michael Johnson and Olympic sabre fencing bronze medalist Ibtihaj Muhammad, but the real stars were the youth themselves who shared their own insights. For example, one exercise featured a chalkboard that began as a clean slate except for this prompt at the top: “Sports showed me…”

Throughout Day One of the summit, participants of all ages picked up sticks of white, blue, red or pink chalk and fully filled up the board. In printed letters as well as in script, sometimes using all caps for emphasis or underlines, here are some of the values of sport as written by young athletes and their mentors:

“How to play as a team. Make new friends. How a team can become a family.

“How to interact with others as family (heart). Family, work, life, opportunity, community. To have fun!!!

“It’s okay to make mistakes! (heart) Helps me improve my self-confidence. Feels like a painter painting a masterpiece.”

“The world (underlined). New experiences. Go new places.

“Seek out those who will help you achieve your GOALS!! I am capable of so much! Independence. Leadership.

“Hustle & Dedication. Motivation. Courage! Patience (underlined twice). Assertiveness. Inspiration. Discipline.

“Minor setback for major comeback! Not to give up. Dedication is key! HOW TO GET BACK UP again and again. Giving up is not an option.

“Youth leadership is harnessing a platform with vision, integrity and an open mind.

“The young people are NOT (underlined) the future, they are the NOW (underlined three times)!

“How to be an ambassador through play. It’s more than just a win or a loss. FUN!

“Help break racial barriers. It doesn’t depend on the gender you are. Brings others together. To not be a judgmental person. Helped me understand others, learn for others, listen to others.

“Do your best! Be curious & vulnerable. Sportsmanship. Passion.

“Teamwork makes the dream work! (heart) Learn who can help you achieve your dreams.

“Compassion and Love. Be yourself. Staying true to yourself is the way to live.

“How to be a better person. How to express myself and connect w/ multiple kinds of people. Give the same respect that I want to receive.”

Had I been asked to contribute to the colorful chalkboard, I might have quoted tennis legend Billie Jean King: “Sports teaches you character, it teaches you to play by the rules, it teaches you to know what it feels like to win and lose – it teaches you about life.”

The 2018-19 Star Scholar Athletes have each learned all this and now lead by example as well.

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

 

Apollo 11 Pitched “Perfect Game”

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Apollo 11 Pitched

A “Perfect Game”

A number of years ago, a press-box sage shared with me a story about a New York newspaper hiring a famous novelist to cover the 1956 World Series between the Yankees and Brooklyn Dodgers.

All went well with the guest columns until Game 5 when the Yankees’ Don Larsen pitched the first – and still only – perfect game in the history of the Fall Classic. An hour after Larsen had jumped into the celebratory embrace of catcher Yogi Berra, the big-time author buried his face in his palms and muttered: “I can’t, I just can’t. It’s too big for me to write about.”

That famous October 8 date in baseball history comes to mind when I think of July 20, 1969 when Neil Armstrong leapt into history with one small step: “It’s too big for me to write about. I can’t.”

But I must try.

Neil Armstrong’s historic small step/giant leap on lunar surface.

The biggest stories are often best told in the smallest ways, macro being revealed in the micro, and so perhaps recalling NASA’s “perfect game” through the eyes of a 9-year-old boy has merit.

I was, of course, that young boy. Like nearly all American boys – girls, women and men, too – in the 1960s, I watched the Space Race unfold on television with Cape Canaveral launches and space walks and ocean splashdowns. Because of the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo programs, growing up to become an astronaut superseded being a fireman, cowboy or Major League baseball player as the No. 1 dream of most schoolboys.

Slumbering in dreamland is where I would have normally been when Neil Armstrong climbed out of the lunar module because on earth it was nearing 11 p.m. in Ohio, too late for 9-year-olds to be up even in summertime. But this was not a normal night. This was the night sci-fi writers like H.G. Wells and Jules Verne miraculously became authors of nonfiction.

Before camping in front of the television, I remember going outside and staring up at the moon with naked eyes and full imagination. My fantasy thoughts were in many ways more clear than the grainy, ghostly, black-and-white TV images to follow.

Fuzzy as the broadcast was, seeing Neil Armstrong hop down the spider-legged Eagle’s ladder, pause dramatically on the footpad, and then step onto the lunar surface remains as vivid in my mind a half-century later as when it happened “LIVE FROM THE MOON” (as the screen text declared) at 10:56 p.m. Eastern Time while I watched transfixed sitting on the floor six feet from a 25-inch TV screen.

My family had recently gotten its first color television, a Zenith console, and in all honesty “Bonanza” and “Star Trek”, both always popping with vibrant colors, paled to this historic moonwalk episode aired only in black and white.

“That’s one small step for (a) man,” Armstrong famously said, either forgetting the “a” or more likely it being swallowed by space static, “one giant leap for mankind.”

Another quote became nearly as famous, this one employed in myriad situations by the general public: “If we can put a man on the moon, why can’t we (fill in the blank)?” Fill in the blank could be anything from make a toaster that doesn’t burn toast to forging world peace.

Putting a man on the moon in 1969 seems all the more impossibly magnificent as we look back through the prism of time because it was accomplished with slide rules and early generation computers that filled massive rooms. Similar computing power now fits into the smartphones owned by most 9-year-old kids.

On today’s golden anniversary, Apollo 11’s “perfect game” seems bigger than ever.

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …

Inspiring Memes Speak Volumes

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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600 Words About

1,000-Word Memes

            My late friend, mentor and longtime steward of this space before me, Chuck Thomas, believed in taking the day off now and again and filling his column with words borrowed from other people. In this same spirit, here are some quotes from inspiring memes I’ve come across in recent weeks that are worth 1,000 words – or, in this case, 600 words.

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“Gardens are not made by singing, ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ and sitting in the shade.” – Rudyard Kipling.

“Fill your life with adventures, not things. Have stories to tell, not stuff to show.” – unattributed.

“Kids don’t remember their best day of television.” – unattributed and featuring a photograph, snapped from behind, of two kids around age 6 or 7, walking side by side down a dirt path in the woods. Carrying walking sticks and sleeping bags, and wearing fishing hats and hiking boots, the boys are dressed for adventure from head to toe and echoed another meme: “Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt.” – John Muir

“No road” – or dirt path – “is too long with good company.” – unattributed.

“There is absolutely no reason to be rushed along with the rush. Everybody should be free to go slow.” – Robert Frost.

“It does not matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop.” – Confucius.

“When you feel about quitting, think about why you started.” – unattributed.

“ ‘Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.’ – Lao Tzu … so be patient, but also persistent, as you pursue your dreams and passions!”

Similarly, a meme in three images showing a caterpillar turning into a cocoon and then emerging as a soaring butterfly states: “Give. Yourself. Time.”

“Never give up on a dream just because of the length of time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway.” – H. Jackson Brown.

A meme without a photo created a vivid image nonetheless: “ ‘Because I think I’m making progress.’ – Pablo Casals, one of the greatest cellists who ever lived, when asked why he continued to practice at age 90.”

“ ‘Don’t let yesterday take up too much of today.’ – John Wooden … or worries about tomorrow either.”

“There are only two days in a year that nothing can be done: one is called yesterday and the other is called tomorrow.” – Dalai Lama .

“You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.” – Jane Goodall.

“The difference between who you are and who what you want to be is what you do.” – unattributed.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” – Mary Oliver.

“Each and every day: share something you have learned, and learn something worth sharing.” – Greg Woodburn.

“ ‘And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” – John Steinbeck … good plus good, day after day, adds up to very good; to even better; and to great!”

“Tip your server. Return your shopping cart. Pick up a piece of trash. Hold the door for the person behind you. Let someone into your lane. Small acts have a ripple effect. That’s how we change the world.” – unattributed.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.” – Gloria Vanderbilt, although a similar quote is attributed to Plato.

Lastly, an unattributed meme filled with sunshine in both image and words: “Be the reason someone smiles today.”

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FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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” …