Author Archives: Woody

Column: A Blarney Kiss

by Woody

A Blarney Kiss to Remember

This is the first in a four-column series on my recent travels to Ireland to explore my distant family roots and much more.

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            Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield in the 18th Century, famously observed: “Sex – the pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous, and the expense damnable.”

Kissing the Blarney Stone!

Kissing the Blarney Stone!

The Earl’s kiss-and-tell quote could well have been about the Blarney Stone.

To be sure, the expense of traveling from Ventura County to County Cork, Ireland, where Blarney Castle is located, was damnable.

As for the position required to plant my lips on the legendary Blarney Stone, it was ridiculous indeed. Here I was atop the five-story castle built in 1446, lying supine with my head and shoulders precariously extended over a two-foot gap between the battlement floor and the outside stone wall with a 90-foot straight drop to the ground below.

Fortunately, three steel rails have been installed to prevent a fatal fall – which happened on occasion in centuries past – but it is nonetheless unnerving to arch backwards over the parapet’s edge until one’s head is upside-down and facing out in order to kiss a germ-infested block of limestone imbedded in the opposite wall below floor level.

Spider-Man would feel a twinge of acrophobia.

Blarney Castle rises tall out of the bedrock.

Blarney Castle rises tall out of the bedrock.

While risk to life and limb has been eliminated, there remains danger of a bumped forehead or scraped nose during the contortions. I earned both red badges of courage.

The acrobatic challenge actually begins with a steep climb up a claustrophobically narrow and low-ceilinged spiral maze of a staircase to reach the castle’s summit.

Sir Winston Churchill is reported to have been tall to the challenge, kissing the Blarney Stone in 1912. Hollywood’s Oliver Hardy, who comically starred with Stan Laurel, is also among the long list of celebrities and dignitaries said to have accomplished the feat.

Both figures famously fortify the lore of the Blarney Stone’s magical power to endow the gift of eloquence to all who kiss it for

Hardy successfully made the transition from silent movies to talkies while Churchill simply became arguably the greatest orator of the 20th Century.

Even beyond its celebrated rock of ages, Blarney Castle is magnificent. However, on the drive back to the hotel our cab driver insisted my wife and I visit Bunratty Castle, located 100 kilometers north in Limerick, claiming it to be “one-hundred times more brilliant.”

This sounded like a bunch of blarney.

It proved true.

Bunratty Castle is breathtakingly impressive.

Bunratty Castle is breathtakingly impressive.

Bunratty Castle is monstrous outside and gorgeous within, an architectural masterpiece of stonework rising from a riverbank into the clouds. With a drawbridge at the front entrance and four imposing sentry towers at each corner it looks exactly as one thinks a medieval castle should.

Descending a twisting stairwell after enjoying a panoramic view from Bunratty’s crest, I encountered a woman in ascent.

“How much further up,” she asked, short of breath but full of excitement, “until we can kiss the Blarney Stone?”

Having bussed the Blarney Stone two days previous, I now possessed such gift of eloquence as to not laugh out loud at her muddle. Instead, I gently explained this was Bunratty Castle and unfortunately the Blarney Stone was in the Blarney Castle about 60 miles away in Cork townland.

The woman was visibly crestfallen. And embarrassed, for she shared she was a Limerick resident and had brought her visiting cousin here specifically to kiss the Blarney Stone.

It would be like my taking a visitor who dreams of riding Disneyland’s iconic Matterhorn instead to Magic Mountain and getting in line for Revolution.

For a different reason Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw did not kiss the Blarney Stone, passing on the opportunity because he said: “Eloquence I have enough and an overabundance.”

Unlike the great Mr. Shaw, an under-abundance have I. And so my hope is the legend is true and some eloquence rubbed off on my lips, and scraped nose, and can be transferred to my typing fingertips.

If so, the position will have been ridiculous and the expense damnable, but my pleasure from kissing the Blarney Stone far from momentary.

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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”

Column: Going Cell Phoneless

by Woody

Going Phoneless Takes ‘Bold’ Effort

Barbara Walters once famously asked Katharine Hepburn in a TV interview, “What kind of a tree are you?”

For the record, the legendary actress replied “oak.”

1-boldWere I similarly asked what animal my BlackBerry Bold cell phone was, the answer would be “cat” because it has had nine lives.

Alas, it grew so antiquated over the past seven years it became a dumbphone compared to state-of-the-art 3G, 4G and now 5G smartphones. With each new iPhone and Galaxy unveiling, I began to secretly hope my BlackBerry would finally croak so I could replace it without remorse.

But a funny thing happened – every time it appeared to die or was lost or stolen, I was crestfallen. I had fallen in love with the Bold’s miniaturized real QWERTY keyboard that made texting and emailing gunslinger quick.

I say my BlackBerry had nine lives, but that might be an understatement. When I forgetfully left it behind in restaurants it always wound up back in my hands like a well-thrown boomerang. Thrice stolen it was returned each time by good Samaritans who found it in trashcans while scavenging for aluminum cans. Another time it was left on a car roof and didn’t break – or get run over – when it fell off as I backed out. Two battery replacements provided successful CPR.

In the end, my BlackBerry’s Achille’s heel proved to be its keyboard that allowed a small splash of water to get through the cracks and fizzled its electronic circuitry.

My own inner circuitry fizzled a bit when I learned my family’s family plan was not eligible for a free upgrade/replacement for a full month. Waiting would save me $200 so I went on a 30-Day Cell Phone-Free Diet.

What promised to be a welcomed experiment in being unplugged started off disastrously. The first full day I was cell phoneless, I got a flat tire on the freeway driving home from the airport. What are the odds, Mr. Murphy?

Fortunately I was near enough an exit to get off the 101 and limped into a gas station. Which, of course, had no public payphone. Two separate customers I approached asking if I could borrow their phones reacted with wary disbelief that anyone in the 21st century didn’t have their own cell phone.

The clerk inside helpfully phoned AAA for me and a tow truck driver quickly arrived and even more quickly put on the spare tire as though his weekend job is with a NASCAR pit crew.

For the next 29 days I wondered how we used to get along without cell phones. Not just for big things like car trouble, but small things like calling your spouse because you forgot what you were supposed to pick up at grocery store or having your kids text you when they need a ride home from sports practice.

But I also saw the evils of being too tightly leashed to one’s cell phone. And never more dramatically than at the park one weekend afternoon when a father was throwing a football with his young son. The Norman Rockwell scene was splashed with graffiti, however, because after each catch the 10-year-old boy had to race to his dad and hand him the football instead of throwing it back. You see, the dad was holding a cell phone to his ear the whole time and couldn’t catch a return throw.

Also, sadly, in restaurants I witnessed couples on dates and family outings where everyone’s head is bowed with their attention focused on their cell phone screens instead of on enjoying each other’s company.

And on and on.

After the month passed I got a newfangled latest and greatest and fastest oversized smartphone which, to be honest, blows my old BlackBerry out of the water.

We’ll see how many extra lives it proves to have, but I’m determined not to let it steal too much of my attention away from my own life. Instead of looking down during a walk through the park, I want to look up and see the trees.

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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”

Column: Hollywood Tale

by Woody

Hollywood Tale Ends With Airtight Alibi

The other day a friend asked if I had ever considered writing a movie script. To my credit, I didn’t end our friendship on the spot.

Let me explain. I once gave it a whirl and like most screenwriters – wannabe greenhorns to green-lighted veterans alike – I ended up secretly wishing revenge on a movie producer who has lied through white-capped teeth.

1-hollywoodBinding the snake’s hands, putting a pillowcase over his head, cracking a rib and basically scaring the living daylights out of him during a nighttime home break-in admittedly might be a tad extreme.

Depending on your definition of “tad.”

My Hollywood tale began in Lana Turner-like fashion. Instead of being “discovered” on a stool at the soda fountain in Schwab’s Pharmacy on Sunset Boulevard, I was at my desk in The Star’s newsroom. A reader phoned, said he admired my columns, and asked if I would be interested in writing a screenplay for him.

I reacted the way my wife did one evening when Vin Scully returned my phone call at home: she thought it was a friend playing a practical joke and hung up. Like Mr. Golden Voice, Mr. Silver Screen Movie Producer called right back. He insisted he was serious. I insisted I was not interested. He persisted. I agreed to meet him.

Mr. Movie Producer’s home (pronounced “mansion”) at the top of a long, winding driveway took my breath away. When he opened the 10-foot-tall elaborately carved art piece of a front door he “had me at hello.”

By the time I said goodbye two hours later, Mr. Movie Producer had shown me a rough edit of a film he was wrapping up (I actually recognized a few of the actors) and we had hashed out some ideas for a “Remember The Titans”-like plot I would write. I should mention this was a few years before “Titans” became a blockbuster.

There were, however, a few buckles in the red carpet to trip over: I had never written a screenplay; never taken a screenwriting class; did not even know how to properly format the text of a script.

“No problem, no worries, no big deal! Writing a sports column is harder,” Mr. Movie Producer insisted.

“Introduce all the characters in the first five pages, give the plot a twist at page 30 and another at page 60,” he explained.

“Buy a screenwriting program and a new laptop and I’ll pay you back,” he promised.

I delivered a script that Mr. Movie Producer insisted he loved; he delivered excuses and delays, but never a nickel reimbursement for the screenwriting software much less a dime of the $5,000 writing fee he guaranteed.

In truth, I was not 10 percent so gullible as to think there wasn’t a 90 percent likelihood I would get stiffed; I saw it as motivation to write a screenplay and an excuse to get a new laptop.

Still, I would be lying if I did not admit to dreaming of movie success and becoming nicknamed Hollywoody. So when Mr. Movie Producer stopped phoning me and started ignoring my calls, I was a little angry.

While I gave up big-screen hopes for my “Blindsided” script, I held on to wishing I would one day come across it as a straight-to-DVD release and I could – in true Hollywood fashion – blindside Mr. Movie Producer with a lawsuit.

Fast forward a number of years when I read a newspaper story about a late-night home invasion by two masked gunmen. They reportedly tied up the homeowner, who had been watching TV, covered his head with a pillowcase, punched him in the face and broke one of his ribs before escaping with $2,000 and some computer equipment.

When I read the victim’s name I did a double take – it was Mr. Movie Producer! On the silver screen, I would have been an obvious suspect.

Indeed, I felt as lucky to have the airtight alibi – being seated in a press-box chair at a Lakers game the night it happened – as Lana Turner must have felt sitting on that famous stool at Schwab’s.

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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-mock-upCheck 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”

Column: Smiley’s “Death of a King”

by Woody | 1 Comment

‘Death of a King’ is Lively, Relevant Today

Pursuant of my goal of reading 50 books annually, I just finished “Death of a King: The Real Story of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s Final Year” by Tavis Smiley that will be released Tuesday (Sept. 9) but which I got my hands on early.MLK

It is not only the most remarkable of the 33 books I have read to date in 2014, it ranks among the best I have read in many years. It is so riveting and enlightening I read it twice in one week.

In truth, I feel I have “read” it three times because I had the great privilege of initially listening to an audio-book version, if you will, during a two-hour lunch with Smiley at a Caribbean café. It was like hearing a one-on-one lecture about Abraham Lincoln from Doris Kearns Goodwin, or David McCullough discussing the year 1776 over beers.

Smiley is a similar scholar of note on King. As he writes in the Introduction: “During the most difficult period of my childhood, a time when I had fallen into deep despair, (King’s) spirit entered my soul and excited my imagination. I recognized the rhythms of his rhetorical passion as more than hypnotic: I knew they were righteous. As a result of their disturbing truths, I became a lifelong student of his work as a minister, advocate, and writer. His call to radical democracy through redemptive love resonated with me on a profound level.”

In “Death of a King,” Smiley profoundly chronicles from April 4, 1967, when King delivers an impassioned speech opposing the Vietnam War, to his assassination on April 4, 1968. The tumult of these final 365 days is truly remarkable.

But what I found most remarkable is that 46 years later this story is eerily relevant with police shootings of African-American men, peaceful demonstrations and riots; poverty, racial inequalities in the justice system, and militarism dominating the headlines.

Here, in King’s own words from “Death of a King,” are some examples that ring loudly still:

“A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.”

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“You can’t blame nonviolent demonstrators who are demonstrating for their constitutional rights when violence erupts.”

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“In the final analysis a riot is the language of the unheard. And what is it that America has failed to hear – it has failed to hear that the plight of the Negro has worsened over the last twenty years, that the promises of justice and equality have not been met, and that large segments of white society are more concerned about tranquility and the status quo than about justice and humanity.”

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“We must see now that the evils of racism, economic exploitation, and militarism are all tied together.”

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“I speak out against this war, not in anger, but with anxiety and sorrow in my heart, and, above all, with a passionate desire to see our beloved country stand as a moral example of the world.”

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“True compassion is not flipping a coin to a beggar. It comes to seeing that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.”

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“The lives, the incomes, the well-being of poor people everywhere in America are plundered by our economic system.”

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“We must all learn to live together as brothers in this country or we’re going to perish together as fools.”

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“We may be able to emerge from the bleak and desolate midnight of man’s inhumanity to man, into bright and glittering daybreak of freedom and justice. I have not lost hope …”

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Tavis Smiley

Tavis Smiley

Smiley concluded our lunch the same way he does “Death of a King,” sharing the goose-bump-inducing eulogy King delivered in 1965 for Reverend James Joseph Reeb, a white man who joined the Civil Rights Movement and was then murdered because of it.

King’s words would prove prescient of his own death, as he asked about Reeb’s murder: “When we move from WHO to WHAT, the blame is wide and the responsibility grows.”

It is an evocation that remains relevant in American life today.

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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-mock-upCheck 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”

Column: What’s in a Name?

by Woody

Mike, Bob, Imogen, Mo’ne and more

No rhyme or reason, just odds and ends . . .

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As a Luddite who continues to embrace e-books as I would a bouquet of poison oak, I love what my friend Drew Daywalt, author of the mega-award-winning-best-seller children’s book “The Day the Crayons Quit,” said in an interview with thecaliforniamom.com:

crayons.png AM“As for books, I think they’ll always be necessary as long as humans are curious, even though their form might change over the ages – our current trend obviously being toward e-books.

“One thing I can say about my own kids is that they like picture books in traditional paper form. Even though they love the iPad for its games and videos and interactive qualities, they still prefer good old-fashioned paper and page turning for reading.

“I’m not sure what it is, but if they’re anything like me, they get that rush from the tactile sense of a real book; the feel of the paper, the rustle of the pages, the smell of the ink, the reveal that comes from the turn of the page.

“And even though books are competing with other new media, I don’t think the form is in trouble, even if the format may be. Theater didn’t kill books, radio didn’t kill theater, TV didn’t kill radio and the Internet didn’t kill TV, music or books. Things are changing, but the fundamentals will always remain.”

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Here’s hoping the Internet doesn’t kill newspapers.

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In a terrific “Life in Pictures” profile this week in New York Magazine, I like how the humor of 36-year-old identical twins Mike and Bob Bryan – currently gunning for their 100th career doubles title at the U.S. Open – came through, such as:

Mike: “Bob would say he is the better driver. We shared a Mercedes and I totaled it.

Bob: “I am the better driver.”

And Bob again: “We have to warm up our bodies a little more than we used to. A couple of years ago, I went gluten-free, like Mike. But after we won a tournament, I had a huge waffle.”

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If you are reading this while waiting for a fetal ultrasound, here are the most popular baby names of 2014 (so far) from the website Nameberry.com:

Girls – Imogen, Charlotte, Isla, Cora, Penelope, Violet, Amelia, Eleanor, Harper and Claire.

Reaction XX: Oh-em-gee! Imogen is No. 1? Who knew so many young parents were such big fans of Shakespeare’s play “Cymbeline” and specifically the king’s daughter?

Boys – Asher, Declan, Atticus, Finn, Oliver, Henry, Silas, Jasper, Milo, and Jude.

Reaction XY: It’s nice to see literature playing a role here, too, with “To Kill a Mockingbird” (Atticus), “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” and, of course, “The Vampire Diaries” (Silas).

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There are some people (pronounced “fuddy-duddys”) who scoff at today’s trending baby names and miss the old days of Robert, David, Jennifer and Mary.

I just wish today’s kids, by any name, were not 10 percent less healthy and fit – according to a new study from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention – than they were just 10 years ago.

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On the topic of children, the Ventura County Human Services Agency is hiring 36 additional social workers in the next few months to keep up with the growth in child abuse complaints.

The historic local expansion should be applauded, although far better news would be if the agency could make record layoffs due to a lack of child abuse cases.

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Add kids’ names. I predict a new challenger to overtake Imogen: Mo’ne.

Mo’ne Davis is the charismatic, hard-throwing 13-year-old GIRL wunderkind pitcher from Philadelphia who has graced the cover of Sports Illustrated for not only pitching a shutout in the Little League World Series but for striking out gender stereotypes.

Heck, Mo’ne might overtake Atticus, Silas and Finn, too.

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One mo’re name. The NFL fined Cleveland Browns rookie quarterback Johnny Manziel $12,000 for flipping off the Washington Redskins’ bench during a preseason game.

It is just the latest punk move by the Heisman Trophy winner whose nickname should be changed from “Johnny Football” to “Football’s Justin Bieber.”

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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-mock-upCheck 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”

Column: Amazing Grace (and Duane)

by Woody

A Fast Friendship Out of the Blue

KaBOOM! KaBOOM! KaBOOM!

The racket sounded like a judge frantically trying to restore order in his courtroom.

Instead of a gavel, however, this ruckus was the pounding of 11 small, wooden mallets upon two tabletops. Specifically, two dining tables covered with butcher paper taped down at the corners.

A bushel of Maryland Blue Crabs seasoned by the gods!

A full bushel of steaming Maryland Blue Crabs seasoned by the gods!

And the butcher paper was covered with mountainous piles of Callinectes sapidus: Maryland Blue Crabs, fresh from the Chesapeake Bay.

There are a handful of meals over one’s lifetime that stand out above all others and this dinner two weeks past makes my honor roll. Beyond the delicious food, this was due to the fine company. Oh, and the messy fun that made me feel like a kindergartener in need of an art smock.

Indeed, when I arrived my hosts, the aptly named Grace and her husband Duane, apologized for not warning me to wear an old shirt.

Since I was a blue crab virgin, Grace’s father, Ray, gave me a cracking tutorial. He began by showing me how to locate the crab’s apron – a male’s looks like the nearby Washington Monument while the female’s resembles the Capitol dome – and then breaking it off.

Ray lost me somewhere between removing the top shell and cleaning the gills, but I latched onto the most important step: Pound the crab with the mallet and then pick out and eat the sweet meat.

What I lacked in skill, I made up for with enthusiasm. Half-a-dozen crabs into the feast, I needed a clean shirt; after dozen, a shower; still I kept going.

This was Thanksgiving in August. Instead of an oversized turkey, Grace served up a full bushel of steaming blue crabs seasoned by the gods. Half as many would have been a challenge to finish, but the 11 of us did our mighty best.

“You learn a lot about someone when you share a meal together,” Anthony Bourdain, chef and TV personality, has said.

I learned that Ray was in the CIA during the Cold War and I learned much of Grace’s charm comes from her mother, Anne.

I learned that in just about any endeavor, Duane would be my top draft pick. A Southern California beach boy, he was a discus thrower on scholarship in college and now does triathlons; he is a masterful furniture maker and also built entirely by himself their gorgeous house that merits being featured in Better Homes and Gardens.

Duane and Grace with Greg and me.

Duane and Grace with Greg and me.

Too, he is an involved dad of two terrific teenage sons; a wonderful storyteller; modest as a monk; and generous beyond belief.

Actually, the last thing I already knew about Duane and Grace. You see, when my son accepted a 10-week summer internship in Washington, D.C., with KaBOOM!, a national non-profit dedicated to promoting active play for kids, he needed a place to stay.

I have a dear Venturan friend who grew up in Virginia and I asked him for recommendations where to look for housing. Ken in turn emailed a childhood friend for suggestions; Grace instantly phoned back saying they would take the stranger in.

“Who does that?” my wife, a remarkably kind person herself, said in happy wonderment, her sleepless nights of worrying where our son would stay now cured.

Amazing Grace, Duane, Robbie and Scott, and charismatic collie-mix Hobie, made Greg feel so welcome that when I showed up for the crab feast only I was a visitor. Instead of a lonely rented room, Greg came home each night to a family. If he was running late, they held dinner. If he needed a ride, they drove him or gave him the car keys. When they went to parties and barbecues, Greg was included.

“We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed,” Ray Bradbury wrote. “As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.”

Grace and Duane proved Bradbury wrong, for they filled the vessel to overflowing even more quickly than 11 hungry souls emptied a bushel of delicious Maryland Blue Crabs.

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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”

Column: Cosby to ‘Mork’

by Woody

Cosby, Carlin, ‘Crazy Guy’ and Mork

Bill Cosby was the first comedian I fell on the floor for. In fact, the first LP – that’s what we called long play albums back in the ’60s when I started out as a child – I owned was not by the Beatles or The Beach Boys, but rather Cosby’s “I Started Out as a Child.”1-coz

I remember in third grade our assignment was to recite a poem or short story from memory: I performed “The Water Bottle” off that album to great laughs.

In turn I listened endlessly to Cosby’s ensuing LPs “Why Is There Air”, “Wonderfulness”, “Revenge” and “To Russell, My Brother, Whom I Slept With” which hit home because I had two brothers.

The next stand-up comedians who could make Nestles Quick shoot out my nose were George Carlin and Steve Martin. I’m not sure if my older brothers ever actually listened to Martin’s “Let’s Get Small”, “A Wild And Crazy Guy” and “Comedy Is Not Pretty!” albums, but they heard me mimic the routines.

I even went to a Carlin performance at UC Santa Barbara in the late 1970s wearing an arrow fashioned as though it had been shot through my head – one of Martin’s trademark props.

Sitting a few rows from the stage with my similarly arrow-headed friend Brian Whalen, Carlin spotted us, stopped in mid-joke, and adlibbed, “You guys are at the wrong concert.”

And then along came Robin Williams. He was so hilarious that a number of freshmen in my dorm, myself included, sometimes wore rainbow suspenders like his alien character in “Mork & Mindy.”1-mork

Williams just got funnier and funnier. And while he never replaced my first comedy crush, Cosby, he may have given me more total laughs simply because he could squeeze 30 minutes of punch lines into three frenetic minutes. Remarkably, Williams’ serious work might have surpassed his funny stuff.

Williams tragically succumbed to the demons of depression Monday, his death at age 63 leaving fans with figurative arrows through the heart. Here are some of his – and his film characters’ – words from the heart . . .

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“You know what music is? God’s little reminder that there’s something else besides us in this universe; harmonic connection between all living beings, everywhere, even the stars.” – Robin Williams

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“No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.” – Robin Williams as John Keating in “Dead Poets Society”

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“(If) I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her.” – Robin Williams’ character Dr. Sean Maguire in “Good Will Hunting”

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“Listen, you hear it? Carpe. Hear it? ITAL(whispering)ENDITAL Carpe. Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.” – again as John Keating

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Now, more happily, I would like to share some wisdom from a different Williams – Marcella, my daughter’s former fourth-grade teacher and now a family friend, who upon celebrating her birthday this week shared some “What I Know Today” thoughts:

“Tend to the pieces and parts. The whole will take care of itself in good time.

“Make time to do the stuff you like to do and figure out what those things are.

“Be sure you aren’t good at everything you do. If you are then you’re probably not doing much. Don’t get stale. Learning is essential.

“Know the difference between a situation and a crisis. Either way, things can always at least feel a little better with a snack, a sweater and a nap.

“Endings herald beginnings and a little creative destruction now and then clears the decks for a solid foundation to build anew.

“Know the difference between building a resume and a eulogy. Do both. Be responsible for good work and a good life.

“Be brave. Live big. Love more.”

Carpe diem.

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Wooden-&-Me-cover-mock-upWoody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check 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”

Column: An Unknown Hero

by Woody

Wooden & Me Kickstarter Front PhotoWOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” can be purchased here at Amazon

 

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An Unknown Hero Among Heroes

For the first five days of August, I was in the august company of heroes in our nation’s capital.

Heroes like astronauts John Glenn and Neil Armstrong and earlier fliers like Charles Lindbergh and the Wright Brothers, all in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum.1-arlington

Men and women, heroes, interred in Arlington National Cemetery, a heartbreaking landscape that is ironically beautiful.

My tour of heroes included monuments for those who served in World Wars I and II; the Korean War Memorial; and the Vietnam Memorial Wall.

In the National Archives I peered at Founding heroes like Benjamin Franklin and John Hancock’s faded “John Hancocks” on the original Declaration of Independence.

And, of course, there are the marble heroes in the National Mall: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Martin Luther King, Jr.

Yet the hero who arguably engraved the deepest impression on me was one I encountered shortly after my late-night arrival at Ronald Reagan National Airport when I boarded the Metro Blue Line to my downtown D.C. hotel.

The first few minutes of the ride were quiet, sans the pleasant rhythmic sounds of the train itself, when suddenly came clamor.

A passenger facing me two rows ahead in the near-empty train car – a tall, sinewy man in his 20s, his bare arms covered with long sleeves of tattoos, his electrocuted blond hair making Einstein’s look tame – jumped from his seat like a jack-in-the-box. He shouted at a goateed man, about the same age as he although shorter and stockier, sitting across the aisle.

Apparently the goateed man had “disrespected” the mangy tattooed man’s dog. In a flash the two men were nose-to-nose although only the tattooed man spoke – or rather, shouted. He cursed at the goateed man; challenged his manhood; unleashed racial taunts. Exclamation marks punctuated his torrent.

At any second I expected weapons to come out and I don’t think I was alone; a young woman facing me across the aisle looked absolutely petrified. As the vile racial epithets from the crazed tattooed man intensified, I signaled with my eyes that she – we – should sneak out the door at the next stop.1-metro

Just then, THUMP! The goateed man unloaded a punch. And another and a third. Frankly, Gandhi might not have blamed him at this point. Meanwhile, the tattooed man’s large dog remarkably remained nonviolent.

In slow motion this is what I next witnessed: a baldheaded man with his back to the fray bolted from his seat and in one fluid motion spun 180 degrees into the aisle, took three lightening-quick strides and grabbed the goateed man from behind before he could throw a fourth punch. Breaking apart two pit bulls would have required less courage.

It was as if Batman was aboard.

Sitting beside his gray-haired wife, the baldheaded man had been as unimposing as Bruce Wayne: he was wearing peach slacks and a white sweater and appeared old enough to receive Social Security.

Once he rose, however, the Teddy bear came into focus like a grizzly. If not a former NFL linebacker, my guess is he was once an Army sergeant or perhaps a retired police officer for he exuded the authority of both.

After getting between the combatants who were now both screaming bloodily at each other, the baldheaded man barked commands: “Knock it off! Now! Get out of here! Now! Before you get arrested!”

All the while the baldheaded man strode forward slowly and wide-footed, a heavyweight boxer backing up a foe, herding the goateed man towards the exit door as a German Shepherd would direct a sheep.

At the next stop the goateed man and tattooed man both got off; the baldheaded man returned to his gray-haired wife’s side; and the rest of us in the train car breathed easier.

When my stop came, I used the exit door furthest from me but nearer the baldheaded man.

“Thanks,” I said, shaking his hand. “You’re a hero.”

He smiled humbly, but appreciatively, and almost as widely as did his wife.

*   *   *

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

Check 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”

Column: Annoyned and Happy

by Woody

Mood Swings Like a Pendulum

If you were expecting 700 words of happy and nice this morning, phone your grandma. I’m in a “Look At That Idiot Wasting Precious Water During Our Drought By Watering His Sidewalk And Driveway” kind of mood.

I’m starting to love brown grass.

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I get annoyed when I see someone toss litter out a car window.

I love seeing Good Samaritans picking up litter that isn’t theirs.

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I get annoyed by the Ventura County Fair’s crushing crowds, late-night noise, parking hassles and impossible-to-win carnival games.

I love the Ventura County Fair’s happy crowds, late-night music, convenient shuttles and carnival games that I am going to win at this year!

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I get annoyed when I call a customer service line and have to wait so long my ear gets irritated by the phone receiver.

I love it when I get a customer service rep who is friendly and helpful and we even ask each other where we are located and how’s the weather.

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I get annoyed when Tiger Woods is in the newspaper headlines and TV promos when he is not even in the hunt.

I love it that golfers call infractions on themselves.

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I get annoyed by failed role models in the world of sports.

I love that Mike and Bob Bryan, the all-time winningest doubles team in history, continue to be even greater champions off the court. For example, by raising more than $100,000 at their recent V-Grid Tennis Fest to benefit local junior tennis programs and other deserving youth groups.

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I get annoyed when half the sesame seeds on my bagel fall off and make a mess.

I love it when a frozen yogurt has a mess of toppings.

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            I get annoyed because Clayton Kershaw’s pitching gems haven’t been televised here in the Southland due to network disputes.

I love that Vin Scully has decided to return to the Dodgers’ broadcast booth next year for his 66th season.

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I get annoyed when exiting the parking lot at a big-venue concert seems to take longer than the concert lasted.

I love the ease of attending the local “ROCK The Collection Summer Concert Series” on Saturdays at Riverpark.

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I get annoyed when a quick service restaurant meal for eating on the premises, not take-out, still comes wrapped in two pounds of aluminum foil, paper, cardboard AND a paper bag – a lot of waste for 30 seconds of use.

I love it when I remember to take reusable bags to the grocery.

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I get annoyed when I don’t take someone’s wise advice.

I love it when I do.

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I get annoyed when I try to buy tickets on-line for the Ventura Rubicon Theater because its website is so glacier slow it seems faster to drive to the box office and buy them in person.

I love seeing plays at the Rubicon Theater.

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I get annoyed when people don’t clean up their dog’s mess.

I would love an ordinance that requires the people who don’t clean up their dog’s mess to clean up the mess from the rest of our shoes.

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I get annoyed when my Facebook news feed posts “new” items that are a couple days old. More than once I have gone to a food truck or local live music performance because of a “new” post only to discover the truck or musician was actually on site yesterday.

I love local food trucks and local live music.

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I get annoyed after I let a salesclerk up-sell me.

I love it when a salesclerk steers me in the right direction.

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I get annoyed when I don’t have my reading glasses and my arms aren’t long enough to compensate.

I love it when a restaurant has I-Forgot-My-Readers-Friendly Print Size in its menu.

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I’m no longer annoyed by how quickly my car gets dirty because I feel like a good citizen by not washing it.

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

 

Check 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”

Column: “Daddy” Ruth

by Woody

‘Daddy’ Ruth was Sultan of Sweet

George Herman “Babe” Ruth, who made his Major League Baseball debut 100 years ago this month (July 11), had more nicknames than suit pockets, including “The Bambino”, “The Sultan of Swat”, “The Colossus of Clout” and “The Wali of Wallop.”

To Julia, however, “The Home Run King” was simply “Daddy.”1-ruth

“Everywhere we went people worshiped him because he was The Famous Babe Ruth,” Julia Ruth Stevens, now 98 years old and Ruth’s lone surviving child, once told me. “I worshiped him because he was my daddy.

“We had so much fun together. Daddy couldn’t have been a better father. Being his daughter, I was the happiest girl in the world!”

Happy memories.

“Daddy always rose to the occasion, whether it was hitting the ball out of the park when he said he’d do it or making it to my (high school) graduation,” Julia recalled, the latter requiring flying home from a road trip and arriving just in time to hear her name announced. “When he made a promise, he always came through. You could count on it.”

Memories.

“One of my favorite things was when Daddy would go hunting or fishing,” Julia said. “He liked to leave the house by five, so he would get up really early and stick his head in my bedroom and ask softly, ‘Want to have breakfast with me?’

“I’d always say, ‘Absolutely!’ It was a chance to spend some special time alone with him. We’d go to the kitchen and Daddy would fix ‘The Babe Ruth Special’ – he’d brown a piece of buttered bread in a frying pan and then cut a hole in the middle of it. Then he’d put an egg in the hole and put fried boloney on top. It was his original creation and he loved it.”

“It was SUCH FUN,” Julia continued, sounding like she was talking in all capital letters. “I LOVED just talking to him. Then he’d leave on his hunting or fishing trip and I’d go back to bed to sleep a little more.”

Memories.

“Daddy gave me a wristwatch, my very first watch. We were playing on the couch and he was tickling me and I guess I threw my arm back and broke the crystal on the watch.”

Young Julia’s tears welled up but never had a chance to roll down her cheeks: “Daddy said, ‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll get you anther one.’ Daddy always showered me with love.”

Another memory.

“Daddy was very strict. Even into my 20s, I had to be home by 12 o’clock. Daddy would say, ‘There’s nothing to do after midnight.’ ”

She laughed at the irony, adding: “He very well knew that wasn’t true!”

Other things he said did ring true to Julia: “One value Daddy taught me was to be truthful. He hated it when anyone lied. ‘You can’t trust anyone after they have lied to you,’ he said and I’ve always remembered that. He also told me never to look down on anyone – he felt strongly about that.”

Memories.

“I loved to see kids smile when he gave them an autograph,” Julia shared. “He’d always sign – never turned down a kid for an autograph, or even an adult. He signed almost everything you can imagine: balls and gloves and bats and caps and shirts, ticket stubs and scraps of paper. You name it, if someone asked Daddy signed it.”

Memories.

“I remember that when Daddy came up to bat the sound of the stadium changed,” Julia recalled, and clearly, eight decades later. “A loud murmur would rise because the fans all wanted to see Daddy connect with one of his tremendous swings that would make the ball soar!”

A pause: “I saw him hit quite a few home runs.”

Longer pause: “Of course I saw Daddy strike out a lot, too!”

There were a lot of both to see: 1,330 career strikeouts and 714 homers.

“As great as Daddy was as a ballplayer, he really was just as great as a father,” Julia concluded. “I LOVED being Babe Ruth’s daughter. It was just so MUCH FUN!”

As “Daddy” he was The Babe Ruth Special indeed.

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

Check 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”