Author Archives: Woody

Wading in with Pizza Theory

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Wading in with Theory on Pizza

 “Filial imprinting” is the learning process where a young animal becomes attached to its parent and copies what it does. However, as Austrian ethologist and 1973 Nobel Prize-winner Konrad Lorenz famously demonstrated, upon coming out of their eggs, goslings, ducklings and chicks will imprint on the first moving object they encounter and become socially attached to it.

Konrad Lorenz with feathered friends in tow.

Konrad Lorenz with feathered friends in tow.

Usually, this moving object is the mother goose, duck or hen, but Lozenz showed it can also be a human – or, expressly in his case, the young birds imprinted on his wading boots that were at their eye level.

In one experiment, Lorenz even showed goslings could imprint on a cardboard box. When the box was then placed on a model train the gosling followed it around and around as it circled an oval track.

I bring this up because I have my own theory of imprinting that also involves a box – a pizza box. Specifically, my Theory of Pizza Imprinting is that the very first slice we ever taste becomes our ideal “pie.” Thin crust or deep dish; extra saucy or super cheesy; crispy crust or soft edges; no toppings or many; these specifics are what we will prefer forevermore.

My personal perfect pizza still mimics the first slices I had nearly five decades past from “Leonardo’s,” a mom-and-pop take-out-only pizzeria in my boyhood hometown in Ohio. Leonardo’s pizza had a thin-but-bready dough and the edge crust was nearly-burnt-crispy delicious.

Leonardo’s pies were actually square and cut into 16 pieces, meaning the four middle slices had no crust. These interior pieces were always the last to go because, lacking crust to anchor the cheese, the entire melted slab tended to slide off with your first bite leaving behind only the bready bottom wet with tomato sauce.

1pizzabox1pizzaPepperoni was the only topping I remember our family getting on Pizza Nights and even this imprinted: Leonardo’s thin-sliced pepperoni –

like its dough crust – was wonderfully crisp around the curled-up edges.

For pizza like Leonardo’s I continue to search. In fact, I even prefer the rare Italian pies that are square because the challenge of eating a crust-less interior slice without all the cheese coming off and flopping onto my chin on the first bite adds a dash of heartwarming nostalgia to the recipe.

Pizza imprinting is so powerful I have friends whose ideal pie is as rubbery as one of Lorenz’s old wading boots because their virgin slice was delivered in a franchise-logoed flat box.

While the imprinting is not quite as strong, I believe my pizza theory holds with other foods – especially “comfort” foods such as the meatloaf or mashed potatoes like your mom made; or your grandma’s chocolate-chip cookies; even the first hot dog you remember relishing.

I am reminded of this whenever my daughter or son returns home to Ventura and they crave fish-‘n’-chips from Andria’s Seafood at the Harbor. Meanwhile, the hot dogs they still hold as their standard are not Dodger Dogs, but those once served at long-gone Cartwright’s hut on Main Street.

Frankly, I had not thought of berries being on the menu for my imprint theory until a local reader commented about my boyhood experience having strawberries in wintertime from a roadside stand in Saticoy.

“Your column reminds me of Northern New York State and our visits to small stands along the highway where on display, and for sale, were fruit and vegetables grown by the Amish community,” Reva writes in an earthquaky cursive that suggests her sweet recollections are from many decades past.

“California strawberries served in our retirement facility are unusually sour and don’t improve with the addition of sweeteners,” she continues. “You must put Amish strawberries, in person to sample, on your ‘some day’ list.’ It’s well worth the trip. ”

I, for one, cannot imagine our Ventura County strawberries being sour compared to strawberries from upstate New York, or anywhere, anymore than I can imagine a wading boot looking like a mother goose. I think pizza-like imprinting, and perhaps aging taste buds, is the only explanation that holds water.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Fast-Break Iambic Rhythms

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

*   *   *

Iambic Rhythms at Fast-Break Pace

What do Alexander Hamilton and John Wooden have in common? An obvious answer is the number 10: Hamilton is on the 10-dollar bill and Wooden won a record 10 NCAA national championships as a basketball coach.

Meanwhile, about the last denominator the legendary secretary of the treasury and legendary Wizard of Westwood would seem to share is hip-hop music.1raphamilton

Well, the critically acclaimed Broadway musical “Hamilton” is performed in rap lyrics. Lin-Manuel Miranda, the creative genius who wrote the music, lyrics and playbook, is making rap more mainstream than March Madness office pools. Indeed, “Hamilton” is harder to get tickets to than the Final Four and here’s an iambic fast-break highlight why:

“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten / spot in the Caribbean by Providence impoverished in squalor grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

“The Ten dollar, founding father without a father / got a lot farther by working a lot harder / by being a lot smarter by being a self-starter / by fourteen, they placed him in charge of a trading charter.”

Take a breath, because that is only the first 10 seconds of the four-minute opening song. Act I has 24 songs in all and Act II has 23.

Which brings us to three other rap songs, the video links to which a friend emailed me, asking: “What do you think Coach Wooden would think?”

In his offering “Wooden Heart,” artist Fearce Vill mixes imagery Coach would admire along with some Wooden-isms:

“I go the hard route / I don’t play it safe / because the scuff on my shoe represents / what I’ve been through / so I’m gonna keep runnin’, runnin’

“The scuff on my shoe represents / what I’ve been through / so I’m gonna take one day at a time / one day at a time

“Things turn out best for the people / who make the best of the way things turn out / Everybody want a free throw / but nobody want to work for it”

The artist known as “Freestyle” offers these slam-dunk lines:

“John Wooden taught me / you get back what you put in it / The things he said are music to my ears

“He taught us that a poor man’s wealth is his ability / Winning takes talent / to repeat takes character / That’s what he taught the people across America

“Success is never final / failure is never fatal / What counts is the courage you bring to the table.”

And in “The Keys,” Megan Ran uses the rhythmic verbal beat of a quickly dribbled basketball while incorporating Wooden’s famous Pyramid of Success along with other maxims:

“Most times we won / before we even stepped upon the court / Tools for life much bigger than any sport / Life lessons for leaders, athletes and teachers / even musicians pushing education through the speakers on me

“Yeah, on me / these are the keys, ready / enthusiasm, intentness, loyalty, dedication, physical and mental fitness, self-control, confidence, poise, skill and condition / Better get on your mission / to make it come to fruition

“Little things make big things happen / Make each day your masterpiece / Never forget the team /Always keep the ‘we’ before the ‘me’ / Ask questions / because these here are the best lessons / Follow these keys and success is destined.”

Now back to my friend Bill’s question of what Wooden might think of these rap songs were he alive today. I think, like me, he would love them!

After all, Coach had a passion for poetry – reading, writing, reciting. Indeed, listening to these hip-hop tributes reminds me of how Coach would oftentimes recite a poem, fast-paced, almost rapper-like.

Too, I believe he would be pleased that his teachings are being shared with a new generation and audience.

Coach Wooden, however, might have had one reminder for Fearce Vill, Megan Ran, Freestyle, and the cast of “Hamilton” – “Be quick, but don’t hurry.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

My Farming Roots Run Deep

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Family Roots: Soil, Seed and Corn

This Tuesday past was National Agriculture Day, a day I observed by enjoying some fresh guacamole made from local-grown avocados and earlier giving thanks to those doing backbreaking work in a strawberry field as I drove past.

As John Greenleaf Whittier wrote: “Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; let fortune’s bubbles rise and fall; who sows a field, or trains a flower, or plants a tree, is more than all.”

And, the poet should have added, he and she who harvest a field.1cornpic

My farming roots run five generations deep into the rich soil of Ohio.

My paternal great grandfather, J.D., in particular, was renowned in the agricultural community. His 330-acre farm on Route 68, south of the small town of Urbana, was saturated with nutrients from long-ago floodings of the Mad River. On this fertile land, over many years, he developed what respectfully became know far and wide simply as “Woodburn Corn.”

J.D. began with a variety of dark corn called “Ripley” that his grandfather began growing on the family farm 70 years earlier as animal feed. J.D. cross-pollinated Ripley with a light-colored variety called “Loudenbark.” The result was what you would expect: ears of corn with a mix of both light and dark kernels.

For several successive years, J.D. selected the darker of these new ears to use as seed to repeat the process, believing this would result in a more robust and bountiful variety.

A few years into his experimentation, J.D. tested his hypothesis by planting his hybrid seed in a side-by-side test. Specifically, he sowed seven acres with the darker selection he favored and seven acres with the lighter kernels he was trying to eliminate. To his surprise, the lighter corn out-yielded the dark – and greatly so.

Thereon, J.D. switched his focus to developing an improved variety of light-colored corn. Importantly, he also selected the ears with the largest kernels – the result being corn with more animal feed per ear. He ultimately would spend more than four decades improving his corn.

About 10 years into the process, a grain elevator worker noticed that J.D.’s corn was far superior to the other corn coming in. The worker started recommending it to others, and soon J.D. was selling all his extra seed to neighbor farmers – and much further away, too.

And for good reason: J.D.’s “Woodburn Corn” won the gold medal for the Utility Contest at the Ohio State Fair as well as the silver medal for Yield. With a test result of 98-percent germination, J.D.’s entry crop in the ten-acre contest resulted in 112.64 bushels of corn per acre.

“Topping one-hundred bushels per acre was like breaking the four-minute mile,” my dad recalls, adding of his trips as a young boy to the State Fair: “Farmers from all over would come up to ask Grandpa for advice.”

Interestingly, and remarkably, J.D. grew the prize bounty without using any manure or fertilizer. Rather, he simply grew it in a virgin pasture – that is how fertile his farmland was. “One of the choicest farms of his township,” according to The History of Champagne County, Ohio.

However, it took more than choice magical land to grow medal-winning crops.

“Good seed, that’s the one big secret of our crop,” J.D. told a newspaper reporter. “But I don’t know as you would call it a secret. It’s a thing any good farmer knows.”

While my great-grandfather won prizes for his corn, my great uncle – “Unc” – earned his own measure of local fame in Urbana for his green thumb.

Instead of using wooden stakes for his garden beans to climb, Unc got the idea to plant a single sunflower seed inside each circle of planted bean seeds – the beans, he reasoned, would then be able to climb the rising sunflower stock.

Well, as they say, the best laid plans . . .

The beans withered and died because the sunflowers bogarted the extra fertilizer and water intended for the beans. Not all was lost, however, as Unc boasted – and was teased for – “the tallest crop of sunflowers in town.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Part 2: Alvin the Roll Model

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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He is a roll model and inspiration

(This is Part 2 of a column that began last Saturday)

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“Can I do this?” Alvin Matthews thought to himself, worry pumping through his veins, at the starting line of the 2016 Los Angeles Marathon.

A veteran of 20 previous marathons, including frigid treks at Antarctica and the North Pole, these were not normal pre-race jitters for the 44-year-old Ventura native.

1AlvinCycle

Alvin Matthews at the 2016 L.A. Marathon

The reason for Alvin’s apprehension was because this was his first post-accident marathon. Two years ago, he fell three stories and suffered a “catastrophic” spinal cord injury that left him in a wheelchair with limited use of his arms and hands.

Reaching the L.A. Marathon starting line on Feb. 14 required a Herculean effort by Alvin. It also required a village of doctors and rehabilitation therapists, family members and friends, and Team NutriBullet members who bought him an $8,000 state-of-the-art three-wheeled recumbent handcycle.

Two more vital benefactors were Mike Pedersen, a 3:30 marathoner and member of the Ventura Running Tribe club, and Orange County tri-athlete Brain Dao. They volunteered to escort Alvin – and provide energy drinks and gels; apply moleskin on hand blisters; and much more – along the marathon course.

On the way to the staging area, Alvin rolled through a human “Tunnel of Love” comprised of nearly 100 well-wishers. “The outpouring of emotions was overwhelming,” Mike recalls. It proved a mere sprinkle compared to the emotional deluge in the 26.2 miles ahead.

At 6:32 a.m., the starting horn blared for the wheelchair and handcycle racers.

At Mile 4, on a steep uphill leading to the Walt Disney Concert Hall, the chain slipped off Alvin’s handcycle. As Mike and Brian fixed it, the able-bodied runners who had started 15 minutes behind now caught up.

For the remainder of the marathon, Alvin would be in heavy traffic – and wonderfully so. Instead of a hindrance, it was a blessing. Instead of glares for having to weave around Alvin, the runners offered cheers.

“Nobody ever got upset,” shares Mike. “People would all say, ‘You got this!’ ‘Good job, brother!’ ‘Way to go, man!’ I’m not talking tens of times, even hundreds of times, but easily a thousand voices of encouragement throughout the morning.”

Indeed, the sometimes-mean city streets became a “Tunnel of Love” comprised of runners and spectators, police officers and firemen, race officials and volunteers.

So appreciative was Alvin that he kept giving high-fives as thanks, even though this cost him momentum and required difficult effort to get his hands slipped back into the chest-high “pedals” each time.

“The support from everyone was amazing,” Alvin says, adding twice more for emphasis: “Amazing, amazing!

“Before race I was worried, ‘Can I do this?’ and didn’t want to let myself down. But as the race went on, I knew I couldn’t let down all these people who were supporting me.”

While the cheers warmed his heart, Alvin’s body temperature was at constant risk of overheating because paralysis has robbed his ability to sweat. Out of necessity, Mike and Brian doused him with water every mile until Mile 23 when a steady downhill to the finish line allowed the competitor in bib No. 307 to pull away from his two-man entourage.

Magically, wonderfully, unexpectedly, Alvin soon gained two new escorts when Chris Pryor and Roge Mueller sneaked onto the course pedaling beach cruisers. Together, the three boyhood friends rolled the final two miles and through the finish chute as the race clock read 5 hours, 34 minutes.

In a photo with the finisher’s medal proudly draped around his neck, a neck once shattered and the reason he is laying supine in a racing handcycle, Alvin’s smile is beatific. It is the joyous smile of a boy in a Matterhorn sled at Disneyland for the first time. A smile of triumph, not tragedy.

“My accident has brought me closer to my mom and my brother,” Alvin shares. “It has given me new friends. There is so much bad stuff in the world, but I’ve found there is also so much good. So many people have come out of the woodwork to help me, even strangers and anonymous angels.

“They have all helped me realize I still have a great life.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Part 1: Miracle Man Alvin

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Remarkable Journey to Starting Line

The race aside, Alvin Matthews’ journey to the starting line of the 2016 Los Angeles Marathon is a remarkable story in itself.

Alvin’s racing resume does not suggest it was a prodigious feat for him to be among more than 20,000 people lining up for the 26.2-mile challenge three weeks past. After all, the 45-year-old Ventura native had previously run 20 marathons with a PR of 3 hours, 13 minutes.

A cold Alvin Matthews at the top of the world!

A cold Alvin Matthews at the top of the world!

More impressively, Alvin has finished marathons around the globe in North America, Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia and Antarctica. He lacks only South America to join the select “Marathon Grand Slam Club” with 73 members to date who have completed marathons on all seven continents, plus the North Pole.

Yes, Alvin completed – “survived” is more accurate – the North Pole Marathon in frostbite conditions that would make a polar bear shiver. In addition to a race-day temperature of minus-27 degrees Fahrenheit, the 6-foot-2, 175-pound competitor had to forge through knee-high powered snow for five-plus hours. It wasn’t a marathon so much as an expedition like Robert Peary made more than a century ago.

By comparison, Alvin completed the Antarctic Ice Marathon in balmy 10-degree weather.

Conversely, in true heat, Alvin has also completed a 56-mile ultra marathon in South Africa. To be sure, the 1989 Buena High graduate has heavy mettle.

Two years ago, all those marathons, combined one after another into one mega race, was a smaller challenge than what Alvin suddenly faced.

In spring 2014, Alvin was living in Lebanon and working as a contractor overseeing civilian construction. Away from the dangers of the work site, tragedy befell him.

On April 15, he found himself locked out of his house. Because it was built into the side of a hill, Alvin had easy access to the flat rooftop that he could walk across to reach an open balcony. He had previously done this several times.

“This time I slipped,” Alvin recalls, “and fell three stories.”

He landed on concrete, on his neck, suffering what his doctors termed a “catastrophic spinal cord injury at the level C5 to C7.”

Translation: quadriplegia.

What Alvin shares next, and unbelievably with a smile, reveals his unbreakable courage and character: “I’m fortunate. If I landed a few inches either way, it could have been worse.”

With a state-of-the-art hospital in Beirut deemed too far away, Alvin was taken to a local facility that did not even have computer technology. Fortunately, an expert team of neurosurgeons was brought in from the capital. One of the doctors called Alvin’s survival “a miracle.”

The Miracle Man remained in the hospital for 25 days before returning to the United States. Two months in UC Davis Medical Center Hospital was followed by six weeks at the highly acclaimed Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago.

When catastrophe strikes, Alvin says there are two possible paths: self-pity or fortitude. He chose the latter, tackling rehab like it was a “Grand Slam” marathon.

Initially barely able to move only his left side, through diligent physical therapy Alvin slowly regained some movement and strength in both shoulders and arms. Use of his once-dominant right hand remains greatly limited, but he has become adept at most things with his left hand even though its coordination is also compromised.

“The support of family and friends, and also strangers rallying around me, has kept me going,” Alvin shares.

One such friend is Jim Freeman, who had helped coach Alvin for the 2010 L.A. Marathon. Now he invited Alvin to join Team NutriBullet as its only wheelchair athlete.

After the first practice, after seeing Alvin struggle with only his left hand able to grip a wheel to propel his chair, team members organized a fundraiser to buy an $8,000 top-of-the-line racing handcycle.

Days before the 2016 L.A. Marathon, Alvin received his sleek, three-wheel, 30-gear dream machine that allows his weak hands to be securely strapped into the “pedals.” With only two short test rides under his belt, Alvin rolled to the starting line.

He recalls worrying: “Can I do this?”

Next week in this space we will learn the answer.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Strawberries Sweet in All Seasons

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

*   *   *

Strawberries Sweet in All Seasons

Jim Murray, my writing hero, once told me he regretted his modesty in not doing a column about his memoir when it came out. This lesson, combined with numerous readers of this space asking me about the meaning behind the title of my new book of essays, “Strawberries in Wintertime,” leads me to shamelessly share the backstory.

In my boyhood, I fondly remember picking wild blackberries and raspberries on humid summer days at a weekend cabin in rural Ohio. My two older brothers, younger sister, and I filled pail after pail with ripe berries – and nearly as many berries went directly into our mouths as into the buckets.1berriesstand

So plentiful were the blackberries, especially, that my dad made wine with them. Once. Not only did the blackberry vino prove undrinkable, Mom’s pots and pans were stained purple beyond ruin in the process.

Still, wild blackberries and raspberries, and store-bought strawberries, in summertime were always a delicious treat. Too, an expected one.

Berries in the wintertime, in the Midwest, however, are something I cannot recall from my youth. I am sure they were available at the supermarket in the 1960s for a premium, but Mom never brought them home.

So it was a magical winter indeed when my family took a Christmas vacation to Ventura in 1971 and spent a week at the charming Solimar beach house of family friends. I had never before seen the ocean in person, much less bodysurfed and built sandcastles or explored tidal pools at low tide and chased a “grunion run” under a full moon’s high tide.

And here is something else magical: fresh strawberries in wintertime!1berriesflat

Instead of by the bucketful as with Ohio blackberries, we enjoyed Southern California strawberries by the “flat” topless box containing a dozen plastic pint baskets with a bonus pint piled atop.

I am guessing, but I imagine the price for the entire overflowing flat from a roadside farmer’s stand in Saticoy – for Ventura County was then, as it remains today, the nation’s leading producer of strawberries – wasn’t much more than the cost of a single pint basket in a Midwest grocery store in December.

The temptation during the drive from the farmer’s stand back to the beach house was too tempting to resist. In the car, en route, I ate crabapple-sized strawberries by the handful, by the mouthful, sweet red nectar dripping down my chin.

The following summer we moved from Columbus to Ventura and strawberries became a year-round fare. Still, in my mind they have remained a special treat in wintertime. Hence the title of my newest book, as I hope each offering will make the reader smile and want to devour another.

Indeed, over the years “Strawberries in Wintertime” to me has become a metaphor for an unexpected pleasure in any season. For example, meeting my wife at a college Christmas party was certainly a strawberry-in-wintertime event – and so was having John Wooden befriend me a few years later in springtime.

A surprise birthday party, even in summer, is a strawberry in wintertime – and so is a planned trip in autumn that proves to be magical at every turn.

The point, I suppose, is that by paying attention and having the right frame of mind, our own strawberries in wintertime can fill a “flat” to overflowing no matter what page the calendar shows.

Watching an elementary school play or a Broadway show, cheering at a youth track meet or an Olympic race, building a sandcastle or visiting a castle in Ireland, can all be strawberries in wintertime.

Bumping into an old classmate or finding an email in your inbox from a friend you haven’t heard from in years, these too are strawberries in wintertime.

When I think back to my first visit to Ventura, or in fact any time I stroll on the beach or dive into the surf, I am reminded of this advice from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”

In my mind, he should have added: “And eat strawberries in wintertime.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Wedding Story With a Twist

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

*   *   *

Wedding Love Story With a Twist

We felt like interlopers, nearly, in Agoura Hills last Saturday. But like the “Wedding Crashers” characters played by Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn, my wife and I had an absolute blast.

To be honest, being invited was a surprise because the only person I knew was the groom.

Added honesty: the invitation made my heart sing, as did the tearful bear hug my tuxedoed friend greeted me with before the ceremony. You would have thought we went back two decades instead of only a couple years.

But, as one of the groomsmen noted in his dinner toast, that is the magic of Jon – he makes all his friends feel like they are his best one.

Jon has many more magical qualities, perhaps none more endearing than how he wears his heart on his sleeve. Actually, his heart seems to be tattooed on his wrist.

Jon and his dad

Jon and his dad

So it was no surprise that as each groomsman and bridesmaid walked down the aisle, Jon’s tears flowed. When the bride appeared, the trickle became Niagara Falls. His visible love was almost as beautiful as the bride herself.

After exchanging lovely vows and rings and a first kiss as wife and husband, Jon stomped on a glass and the gathering shouted “Mazel tov!” – Congratulations! – and the party was on.

Later, as the DJ earned his pay and the dance floor earned its rental fee, I spotted the father of the groom across the ballroom sitting alone at the head table. After introducing myself, the DNA source of Jon’s warmth was obvious.

I wanted to tell him about my first meeting with his son. As he had talked about his writing career, Jon lit up; discussing music and movies, he beamed more; and when he spoke about Natasha, whom he had only recently started dating, he fairly glowed.

But even this joy grew 100 watts brighter when Jon began sharing stories about his dad. This is what I shared, for while the dad certainly already knew about Jon’s love for him. it is always nice to hear such things.

In his toast, Jon’s dad had mentioned how his son phones him at midnight just to say “hi,” or to share this or that, or tell him to listen to a certain song. When Pavarotti died, Jon called in tears because he remembered listening to “The Three Tenors” with his “Pops.”

“How did you become such good friends with your son?” the father privately told me he is often asked. His answer: “I did the opposite of what my dad did.”

He explained that his own dad, a child of The Great Depression, felt his fatherhood duties began and ended with paying the mortgage and putting food on the table. And so he didn’t attend Little League games or Boy Scout gatherings. He gave reprimand, not praise, for report cards with even one B.

Jon’s father did the opposite. He went to every youth game and cheered for his son off the playing fields as well. He took young Jon to trading card shows far and near. He showed an interest in his son’s interests. He gave his time and offered praise and, no small thing, frequently told all his children he loved them.

In short, he was the dad he had not had.

When Jon was 8, his father shared with me proudly, Jon found a wallet containing $100 and on his own turned it into the police. This is not surprising after spending time with Jon’s role model.

Indeed, that private time off to the side of the ballroom, off the dance floor and away from the excitement, visiting with Jon’s dad was every bit as heartwarming as the wedding vows and cake-cutting ceremony and toasts recollecting how Natasha knew Jon was “the one” after their first date and how it wasn’t long before Jon proposed on bended knee in the aisle of a Southwest flight 30,000 feet in the sky.

I came to the wedding knowing Jon was a special man, but I left knowing why he chose his dad to serve as his “best man.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

“Old Glory,” Old Laundry

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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“Old Glory” Treated Like Old Laundry

Looking at the photograph while inside the warmth of my home gave me chills.

The photo was taken two weeks ago more than 2,700 miles away from Southern California in Virginia; taken during Winter Storm Jonas; taken as Arlington National Cemetery was being buried beneath two feet of snow.

Snapped at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the photo shows a proud member of the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment – also known as “The Old Guard” – keeping sentry during the blizzard.1foldflag

The Old Guard’s young guard is standing solemnly at attention, rifle resting on his left shoulder, both shoulders of his navy blue uniform coat dusted heavily with frozen dandruff.

His long vigil in the fierce conditions is more strikingly evidenced by two inches of snow that has piled up atop his dress cap like thick vanilla frosting on a fancy cupcake.

The chilly image gave me goose bumps of patriotic pride and a surge of gratitude for those who serve, and have served, in our military.

Another photograph, this one taken four days ago, taken in New Hampshire, taken late on primary night inside the campaign headquarters of Hillary Clinton, also made my spine shiver.

With sadness and with anger.

This photo was of an American flag crumpled on the floor in front of empty bleachers. Election night looked like laundry day.

Sadness. The warrior in The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier gave his life fighting for this flag. Anger. Our young men and women warriors sacrifice life and limb for it today.

These two photos, of The Old Guard on duty and Old Glory on the floor, reminded me of another image, this one recorded in my mind a few months past at the funeral of a local World War II veteran.

Charles Banker McConica, Navy veteran and family man and successful auto dealer and beloved friend and longtime admired member of the Ventura community, lived to be 94. The eulogies painted a beautiful and accurate portrait.

Son Jim spoke about how his dad was his biggest cheerleader. Son Charles recounted – one by one with examples of each – how his father exemplified the “Boy Scout Law” of being “Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent.”

And daughter Judy shared her parents’ cutest of cute meets, how her dad spilled salt in a USO dining hall in Belfast and her Ireland-born mom, seated nearby, suggested he superstitiously toss a pinch over his shoulder. The luck of the Irish ensued as their shared future held 69 years of marriage, three children, seven grandchildren and six great-grandkids.

The spoken words were poignant, but perhaps more so was the silent ceremonious folding of an American flag performed by two soldiers from Naval Base Ventura County.

Performed in slow motion, in full dress uniform, in a church so quiet you could hear your own heart beating, the speechless choreography of the two soldiers was as moving as witnessing a member of The Old Guard marching back and forth in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

After each lengthwise folding, the flag was pulled taught. Each fold was creased with care. Next came the triangular folds, each made with perfect corners, each creased with reverence, thirteen in all until the red-and-white striped portion of the flag met the blue field and white stars.

After the last corner was painstakingly tucked into an open edge, forming a triangle that represents a cocked hat to remind us of the soldiers who served under General George Washington, the two soldiers used their formal white gloves as though they were heated clothes irons and made the three edges crisp and sharp and perfect.

Hugging the folded flag to the chest as though it were as precious as a newborn baby, one solider then lovingly presented it to Charles’ widow, Rosena. Taps was played, more tears fell, and then the soldiers silently exited.

I wish the Clinton campaign staffer who ingloriously left Old Glory on the floor could have been at Charles McConica’s funeral. The New Hampshire photograph would have been different.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Rapunzel and “Grief Hair” Gift

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Rapunzel and ‘Relay For Life’

How many wigs for cancer patients could Rapunzel’s long golden strands have made?

This thought crossed my mind after my daughter recently had a 10-inch ponytail cut off for Locks of Love.

1dallasCeline

Dear, dear friends Celine and Dallas.

In truth, a tangle of reasons had me thinking about Rapunzel and cancer and wigs. This includes Rachel Halpern, a freshman at Camarillo High School, whose recent class writing assignment was serendipitiously shared via email with my daughter the very day she donated her lovely locks.

Choosing Disney’s movie “Tangled” as her muse, Rachel wrote about tears and flowers and singing in her second-story bedroom.

“Every time she opens the window,” her personal essay says, “she half expects to hear, ‘Rachel, Rachel! Let down your hair!’ ”

“Stylist, stylist! Cut off my hair!” were tearful words for my daughter to utter, and not because she has had flowing locks since she was young child.

Rather, because of the reason behind the drastic haircut. It was in tribute to her dear, dear friend, Celine, who was tragically killed one year ago when her taxi was hit by a truck.

The first time they met, on Move-In Day their freshman year a decade past, Celine had very short hair because she had just donated her own lengthy brown tresses to Locks of Love. It was a brave thing to do right before starting college, but Celine was fearless.

In an effort to be more fearless herself, my daughter grew her “grief hair” out for a full year and on the anniversary of the tragic accident cut it off for a very worthwhile cause.

A wig for someone who has lost her hair while fighting cancer is no small thing. I remember my own dear, dear friend, Karen Hart Haight, whose Rapunzel-like platinum locks fell victim to chemotherapy.

The final time I saw her before she passed away, Karen briefly turned my tears into laughter by tipping her wig askew and sticking out her tongue in a funny face. That moment, thanks to a wig, matters to me 19 years later.

Something else that matters is the American Cancer Society’s “Relay For Life” which will soon kick off its annual season locally with 24-hour events that include: April 9-10 at Camarillo High School; April 30-May 1 at Isbell Middle School in Santa Paula; May 7-8 at Westlake High School; May 14-15 at Ventura College; May 21-22 at Nordhoff High School and also at Conejo Creek Park South; June 25-26 at Hueneme High School; July 16-17 at Oxnard High School; and July 30-31 at the Fillmore Courthouse. For further information: http://relay.acsevents.org.

In each of our own life relays many people, often strangers, help us carry the baton. For my daughter, in her past year of grief relay, this included a new stylist.

Her scissors in action, Anastasia asked my daughter why she was donating her hair. Upon hearing the tearful answer, Anastasia paused and gathered her own emotions before sharing that her best friend died in a car crash seven years ago.

“The first anniversary is the hardest,” Anastasia consoled. “It gets better. Just hang in there.” Her warmth was medicine for a weeping heart.

After sealing the ponytail in a plastic bag for donation, Anastasia styled my daughter’s short locks, added a blow dry and then did one thing more: she refused to accept any payment.

“This is a gift for your friend,” she insisted.

That night my daughter imagined Celine telling her, “Oh my god, Dallas! Your hair! You look fabulous!” and says she found solace in an Eskimo proverb that states: “Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where the love of our lost ones shines down to let us know they are happy.”

Rachel’s written words also added comfort, especially these: “The reflection of the stars makes her eyes twinkle like the stars themselves. Each star illuminates the dark night. They look down on her and sparkle a smile, almost reminding her that the world is still hers to explore.”

The title of Rachel’s wonderful essay: “She’s Shining in the Starlight.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Getting Things Off My Chest

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Mr. Positive Takes a Negative Spin

A reader recently told me she likes my columns because they are always upbeat and positive. She meant it as a compliment, of course, but after waking up on the wrong side of the bed I see it as being typecast.

So if you were expecting 700 words of Winsome Woody this morning, you are going to be as disappointed as the proud owner of Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat finding himself driving a Prius.

If you want sugar and nice, phone your grandma. I’m in a Donald Trump ranting at the “wise-guy media” kind of mood.

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1superbowllogoI’m steamed at the NFL for switching away from Roman numerals this season and calling its championship game “Super Bowl 50” instead of “Super Bowl L.”

How are school kids, and the rest of us, supposed to learn or remember Roman numerals now? On a scale of I to C, my ticked-off meter is at about

LXXXVIII.

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The Nincompoop Football League didn’t ask me, but this year’s game should be marketed as “Super BowL.”

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I’m churning mad at the Pacific Ocean for beating up our beloved Ventura Pier this winter.

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Tom Spence, community treasure and host at News Talk 1590 KVTA radio, ticks me off for being about XLIII times more funny than am I, as evidenced by this gem he came up with after Sarah Palin droned on and on while endorsing Donald Trump for president:

“A ‘Palindrone’ is something that does not make sense forward or backwards.”

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As for palindromes with an “m,” I prefer “I prefer pi” over “Tacocat.” However, I do prefer tacos over apple pi.

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The debates – Republican and Democratic – have me steam me like a frothy cappuccino.

Even more annoying than the candidates’ Palindroning and pandering is the moderators constantly harping “Time!” . . . “Time, senator/governor/secretary!” . . . “Time’s up, so please shut up!” while the politicians continue to blabber on.

I say it’s time put up a countdown talk clock, much like the NBA’s 24-second shot clock. In this case, when the clock hits zero a buzzer goes off and the podium mic is instantly shut off. If the candidate is in mid-sentence, though luck.

Better yet, place each podium above a dunk tank – candidates who continue to blow hot air after the buzzer sounds will find themselves drenched in cold water.

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The Southern California Gas Co. has me ready to blow my lid. I say make every SoCal Gas executive live in Porter Ranch 24/7 until the months-long natural gas leak is stopped.

I’m XCIX-percent certain that would make them act with more urgency.

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Similarly, force Michigan Gov. Rick Snyder along with all the leaders at the state Department of Environmental Quality to live – and bathe – in Flint, XXIV/VII, until the lead pipes that are poisoning the water are replaced.

Again, I guarantee you the crisis would suddenly be addressed with the all-out effort it rightly demands.

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Speaking of less-than-express action that steams me like an espresso, how about if the Post Office replaces its maple sap-slow window clerks with hyper-speed multi-tasking Starbucks baristas?

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Litter ticks me off, off the charts, especially people who throw cigarette butts out car windows and most especially those who pollute our beautiful beaches with this blight.

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Homelessness. We can, and must, do better.

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I get a surge of road rage that makes my head spin like the titanium-spoked wheel of a racing bike when I read in my favorite newspaper, seemingly weekly, about another cyclist being struck by a car.

To be sure, cyclists who feel like they own the road are maddening – but in my experience they are the minority of the Spandex set.

More maddening, and I believe more common, are impatient drivers who don’t want to share the road with cyclists – and, worse yet, make their displeasure known by buzzing dangerously close when passing them.

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My DCC words are up. Thanks for reading. You’ve been a great audience. Drive safely.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”