Author Archives: Woody

Column: Legacy Left in Artwork

by Woody

 

A Legacy Left in Indelible Ink (and Paint) 
“The happiest paintbrushes are the worn-through ones.”

 

These are the words of a young man who, long before earning a university minor in Painting, took a summer art class at age 12 from Chris Martinez.

 

Teaching my son drawing skills, and more importantly doing so in an encouraging manner, was not the first time Chris entered my life.

 

That moment occurred in a previous writing life for me, so long ago The Star was still The Star-Free Press and I was in the sports department. It was 1987 and as a staff rookie I was taking a beating in the letters to the editor from Ventura High fans claiming my columns were pro-Buena; and Bulldog backers complaining I favored the Cougars.

 

Into the newsroom one day walked a visitor, a bearded stranger to me but wearing the warm smile of an old friend. It was, as you have guessed, Chris. For no reason other than because he was such a kind man, he gave me the most heartfelt gift an artist can bestow: one of his artworks.

 

It was a 12-by-15-inch black ink drawing, featuring a caricature of me wearing a Los Angeles Rams jersey, a Dodgers cap, and baggy Lakers shorts. A hockey puck is balanced on my right shoulder pad and my hockey-gloved right hand grips a hockey stick. On my left hand I am spinning a basketball, a feat all the more impressive considering the baseball mitt. Scattered around my sneakered feet are a soccer ball, volleyball, bowling ball, baseball, softball, football, tennis ball and two golf balls.

 

Also, an angry-looking Buena Bulldog looks up at me, as does Ventura High’s Cougar mascot.

 

A handwritten inscription on the masterpiece reads: “Woody – Sticking your neck out and taking chances are prerequisites for creativity . . . Keep up the good work. – Chris Martinez.”

 

How dearly did I appreciate Chris’ creativity and skill – his talent was so great he was at one time a Disney illustrator – and above all, kindness? The cherished drawing hangs on a wall by my writing desk alongside a “Pyramid of Success” signed to me by Coach John Wooden.

 

On a nearby bookshelf is another personal reminder of Chris’s artistic virtuosity: He did the illustrations for the book “Raising Your Child to be a Champion in Athletics, Arts, and Academics” that I co-authored with Wayne Bryan in 2004. To this day, Wayne uses the biography caricature Chris drew of him using a tennis racket as a guitar for his sign-off signature in e-mails.

 

Three weeks ago today, the music died. So did the artwork. Chris passed away, and far too soon; he would have turned but 67 in July.

 

Chris made his mark in Ventura in indelible ink. It would surely be quicker to take a roll call of Venturans who do not own a personal caricature drawn by Chris than those who do.

 

He also made his mark in paint.

 

As iconic landmarks go, Ventura is blessed with a handful: the Pier and Two Trees and the Mission, to name three.

 

Here are three more: the portrait of Bob Tuttle that graces Ventura High’s gym named in the legendary coach’s honor; the Dragon mascot mural at Foothill Technology High School; and the huge mural of the school mascot Lion holding a poinsettia on the front of Poinsettia Elementary. All three created by Chris.

 

There are numerous other Martinez Murals across the county, landmarks each that make locals smile daily.

 

Yes, Ventura was Chris’s canvas – his canvas just happened quite often to be the outdoor stucco walls of schools. And the smooth walls inside gymnasiums. And basketball hardwood center courts where he painted school logos. Also, each holiday season, dozens of storefront windows were his canvas as well.

 

Too, his canvas included the students he instructed, the young sports writer he encouraged, the countless others who enjoyed the beauty of his artwork.

 

Indeed, it is fair to say that the legacy Chris Martinez leaves behind includes the happiest one possible for an artist: a myriad worn-through paintbrushes.

 

 

 

 

 

– Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star. You can contact Woody at WoodyWriter@gmail.com or www.WoodyWoodburn.com

 

 

 

Column: FB rides to boy’s rescue

by Woody

 

Facebook rides to boy’s rescue

           This is a love story.

It stars a boy and his grandfather, a thief and a school principal, Facebook and a village of caring people.

           Tony, a fourth-grader at Mound Elementary in Ventura, had his bike stolen after leaving it at school overnight.

Happy Tony with his bike and Mound Principal Todd Tyner.

His misfortune mounted. Riding double on the crossbar of his grandfather’s bike for the two-mile trip home from school shortly thereafter, Tony’s foot caught in the spokes and he flew head over handlebars.

           Todd Tyner, Mound’s principal, had not known about the bike theft or the dangerous double-rides to and from school. When Tony showed up on crutches the next day, Tyner asked and learned and cared.

“I knew we needed to get Tony a replacement bike as soon as he was well enough to ride again,” Tyner recalls thinking.

At 11:18 a.m. that very day, Tyner posted on his Facebook page a brief summary of Tony’s predicament. Shining the Bat-Signal above Gotham City’s night skyline could not have elicited a speedier response of help.

Indeed, a mere two minutes later at 11:20 a.m. – sent from a mobile phone because the Good Samaritan did not want to delay until getting home – came this on-line reply: “I have a bike he can have. He can choose from 4 cuz my kids never ride them.”

Another offer came at 11:36 a.m. – “he can have my beach cruiser. it needs fresh tires but that should be easy to take care of.”

And another and another . . .

12:15 p.m. – “I got $10. If we all chip in we can buy a nice new one.”

12:21 p.m. – “I have a specialized BMX I could part with! Needs a new pedal.”

12:24 p.m. – “I have 2 new bikes in my garage. Need air in tires.”

2:24 p.m. – “We have a brand new boys bike that he can have.”

3:15 p.m. – “I want to help. Can I drop some money off at school?”

And on and on, more than 30 offers for bikes, helmets, locks and cash in a few hours. The problem of no bike turned into one of too many bikes. A nice problem to have. Tyner actually had to turn off the Bat-Signal.

Sitting in his office recalling the “It’s A Wonderful Life”-like event, Tyner is asked if he was surprised by the kind outpouring?

“No, not really,” he answers. “The Internet is a wonderful way to reach out to the community. I knew if I let people know about the need, someone would have an extra bike. This is a very caring community. I see it a lot.”

This time it was a bike, but other days Tyner has seen backpacks and school supplies donated to kids who are without.

And this past December some Mound teachers collected two large bags of clothes and shoes for a couple students in need. They asked Tyner to surreptitiously drop them off at the boys’ home before Christmas, which he did.

“We see them wearing the clothes,” Tyner shares. “That is a rewarding feeling.”

So, too, was the feeling of summoning Tony into the Principal’s Office after the boy was finally off crutches three weeks later.

“I said, ‘I know you need a bike,’ ” Tyner retells. “I told him about Facebook and that more than 40 people had offered to help him out. Tony thought it was pretty exciting that there were people out there who cared enough to give him a bike.”

Along with a new safety helmet and lock (care of Rob and Karri Button), Tony was given his choice of the two bikes that were ultimately donated – the other is being kept for a similar exigency down the road. He selected a shiny red BMX, good as new after Tyner cleaned it a little and pumped up the tires.

“Tony had a big smile when he rode home that day,” Tyner says, beaming at the recent memory he will surely carry into his old age – as will Tony.

As I said at the start, this is a love story. The name of the bike benefactor is Danielle Love. How perfect is that?

 

*

– Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star. You can contact Woody at WoodyWriter@gmail.com or www.WoodyWoodburn.com

 

Column: The Cancer Bell Tolls

by Woody

For Whom the Cancer Bell Tolls

 

            While the order of stanzas often changes, the message in a poem by Martin Niemöller, a prominent Protestant pastor who spent seven years in Nazi concentration camps, remains constant and tragic:

 

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out –

Because I was not a Socialist.

 

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out –

Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

 

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out –

Because I was not a Jew.

 

Then they came for me –

And there was no one left to speak for me.

 

Eight decades after Niemöller penned these powerful words they have taken on new meaning to me. Personal meaning. About another heinous killer.

 

First cancer came for my young children’s beloved daycare provider, Jeannie.

 

Then cancer came for my dearest friend, Karen.

 

Then cancer came for Eric. And Louise. And Keith.

 

After gallant battles by each, and despite everything modern medicine could throw at it, this Gestapo of a disease unmercifully claimed all of their lives.

 

Then cancer came yet again and again, for my dad just over a year ago and two months later for my eldest brother. Surgery and radiation and chemotherapy – and let’s be honest, luck and god’s grace, too – saved their lives.

 

Then cancer came for me. Last Dec. 17, my wonderful dermatologist, Dr. Jill Mines, took a biopsy from a crack in my lip that stubbornly wouldn’t heal. The lab results came back positive for squamous cell carcinoma in situ: skin cancer.

 

A few weeks later Dr. Arthur Flynn, a talented plastic surgeon, sliced a wedge out of my right lower lip. For a while I looked like a bass that lost a battle with a barbed fishing lure. But the painful pout was a small price to pay because the new biopsy margins came back clear. Translation: The doc got it all.

 

Cancer is not only frightening, it is frighteningly common. To give you an idea, two out of five Californians will be diagnosed with some form of the disease in their lifetime. In other words, the cancer club is about as exclusive as Sam’s Club.

 

The good news is the American Cancer Society is making an impact through groundbreaking research to prevent, diagnose, treat and cure cancer. In fact, its annual Relays For Life raise funds that help save 400 birthdays each day.

 

The Relay For Life of Ventura will be held next Saturday (May 18) beginning at 10 a.m. and feature a festival of food trucks so even if you are not participating directly, you should drop by.

 

(Other upcoming local Relays For Life include: Ojai’s Nordhoff High, June 1; Westlake’s Oaks Christian School, June 8; Hueneme High, June 22; Fillmore’s Harmony Community Center, July 12; and Carpinteria’s Linden Field, July 20.)

 

After long successful runs at Ventura High and then Buena High’s football stadiums, this year’s Ventura event – under the guidance of new tireless chairperson Patty Abou-Samra – is moving to the San Buenaventura State Beach. It is difficult to imagine a more beautiful setting.

 

Actually, in a manner, this coastal site will become even more breathtaking with the sight of 1,500 members on 65 relay teams as they walk for 24 hours around the clock and around a circular 400-meter path outlined in chalk on the grass field. Their shared purpose is to raise funds, raise awareness, raise hope.

 

Raising more goose bumps than a Pacific sunset does will be the nighttime Luminaria Ceremony where hundreds of candles outlining the walking path’s perimeter will be lit, each flame representing a loved one’s life prematurely extinguished by cancer.

 

John Donne, a 17 th century English poet, wrote these immortal words that inspired no less than Ernest Hemingway: “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

 

When I look in the bathroom mirror a slight scar on my lip reminds me for whom cancer’s bell tolls; it may toll for thou, too; or surely for someone thou’st knows or loves.

*

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

 

Column: “Poem” is now Wood Chips

by Woody

From Lovely “Poem” to Wood Chips

One hundred years ago, Joyce Kilmer penned “Trees” with one of the most widely familiar opening couplets in American poetry:

I think that I shall never see / A poem lovely as a tree.

The other morning I looked out my window and across the street as a lovely “poem” got sawed down, cut up, turned into wood chips and trucked away.

It was like seeing a theatrical street version of Shel Silverstein’s classic children’s book “The Giving Tree” starring two workmen in white hard hats and optic-yellow vests.

Actually, this story was even sadder for this tree’s limbs were not used to build a house for the grown boy; its trunk not crafted into a boat to sail the seas. When the workmen’s work was finished, there was not even a stump left to sit and rest upon.

An arborist could tell you what type of tree this was, but I cannot. Were I to venture a guess, wise readers would surely point out my ignorance. No matter. What is important is it was majestic, perhaps 70 feet tall and leafy with a trunk I could not reach my arms around.

Something else important: the tree had become a botanical Leaning Tower of Pisa, cracking and raising a section of sidewalk. And if it toppled, it would fall across a busy street. Too large to be braced or straightened, the tree was a danger that surely needed to come down.

And so at 9 a.m., a whining chain saw turned an overcast morning tenfold gloomier. Standing in the basket of a gargantuan cherry-picker, a workman cut off the large branches one by one by one as he hydraulically rose higher and higher and higher.

Far below, the felled branches were cut into manageable lengths and fed into a wood chipper that roared like a jet engine. Lines of a “poem” went in, mulch came out.

And then the tall, barren trunk came down, made not into lumber for a home or boat, but into short logs to be burned in fireplaces. This was not a heartwarming thought.

From start to finish, what took decades and decades to become living poetry was eliminated in less than four hours. It was tree-mendously sad.

It was not my tree, not in my yard, and yet it was mine and yours because trees are for all of us to enjoy. Trees are one of nature’s Hallmark cards — an ironic thought since some trees literally become greeting cards. Or, more irony here, newsprint.

Kilmer again: A tree that may in summer wear / A nest of robins in her hair.

No more birds will nest in the lovely tree I used to see out my kitchen window looking east, the sun rising above it in the late spring mornings.

The melancholy event gave me pause to think about a handful of memorable trees in my life: The evergreen beside the driveway of my first boyhood home that my two older brothers and I attempted blind shots over during games of H-O-R-S-E. The sturdy buckeye near a swimming hole that we swung from on a rope. The apple tree I picked snacks off on a shortcut home from school. The orange tree my two then-young kids and I planted. The giant redwoods we saw, in awe, as a family. And on and on.

I think “poems” fill all our lives more than we generally realize. We draw trees in kindergarten and climb trees as older kids and hopefully at least once plant a tree, for as the Greek proverb states: “A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.”

Kilmer once more:

Afterward, this columnist fool walked over to determine how old the tree had been by counting its rings, but the stump was cut off below the ground and covered with dirt.

I may be overestimating by half, but I like to think this tree had sprouted in 1913, the same year as “Trees” came into being.

*
(Published 5-4-13 in Ventura County Star)

Book Review: “Sweet Thursday”

by Woody

“SWEET THURSDAY” by John Steinbeck (288 pages). FLASH REVIEW: How in the world did this novel, that was almost titled “The Bear Flag,” escape my reading eyes until now? My past loss is my current gain for while Steinbeck has written numerous novels that are more acclaimed, and rightly so, I dare say this could be the Master Storyteller’s most “enjoyable” piece. The wordsmith-ing is, of course, as close to perfect as possible; the characters ring true, the dialogue is spot on; and the plot is woven together elegantly. In a word, this love story is indeed “sweet” (yet gritty, too) and I can see why many consider this their favorite Steinbeck work. Something else struck me: though originally published nearly 60 years ago, some of Steinbeck’s insights on humanity and political thoughts expressed in the pages seem prescient, as powerfully appropriate today as when written. Rating: 4.5 STARS out of 5.

 

Book Review: “The Ghost Runner”

by Woody

“THE GHOST RUNNER: The Tragedy of the Man They Couldn’t Stop” by Bill Jones (352 paperback.) FLASH REVIEW: I think non-runners will appreciate the tragic life story of John Tarrant, who had a boardinghouse childhood more grim than Dickens would dream up and made all the worse in his teens by the death of his mother shortly after WWII. I KNOW that runners, especially marathoners, will have a hard time putting this book down (though reading while simultaneously shaking one’s head in sympathetic anger can be a challenge). This is the journey of a steel-legged and iron-willed English runner sentenced to fight amateur athletic brass for decades. As a result he must illegally race in the shadows without a bib number all because he earned a few pounds in his hardscrabble youth as a boxer and thus was deemed a “professional” in running. Denied any chance at his Olympic dreams, The Ghost Runner, as he becomes famously known in the newspapers and sporting world, wears disguises before jumping into marathons and 24-hour ultras at the last second last at the starting lines. In the process he becomes an inspiring legend through victory and heartbreaking defeat, the latter often due to his stubbornness and refusal to pace himself rather than always bolting to the lead from the start. Perhaps the most amazing thing about the entire tale is that it has taken so long to be told. RATING: 4 Stars out of 5 for marathoners; 3 Stars for non-runners.

Running Essay: Golden Role Model

by Woody

Jackie Joyner-Kersee Gives Back

Jackie Joyner-Kersee remembers.

“We’d stop to eat after a track meet and everyone else would buy something but I wouldn’t,” the Olympic multi-champion recalls of those long-ago days on the East St. Louis Railer Youth Track Team.

“I’d have to wait until I got home because I didn’t have any money. My mom always taught us, ‘If you don’t have, don’t ask.’ I’d run six events and still say I wasn’t hungry.”

She remembers her coach finally figuring it out. Since Jackie didn’t have, and wouldn’t ask, he started insisting she share some of his food.

Fast forward four decades. When youths at the Jackie Joyner-Kersee Boys & Girls Club in East St. Louis kept showing up hungry, Jackie didn’t wait for them to ask for food. Don’t have, don’t ask.  She started a meal program.

*

 Jackie remembers. Which is why there even is a JJK Boys & Girls Club in her hometown. Because of the huge role a youth recreation center played in her young life, she purchased thirty-seven acres of land and built a facility bearing her own name outside – and her time inside.

“We all need encouragement, so it’s important that they can come in and see my smiling face instead of just my name on the building,” Jackie told me a few years ago. “I take being a role model very seriously. It’s a responsibility that comes with being in the limelight. Someone out there likes you or your style, so you have an influence on them whether you like it or not.

“An athlete shouldn’t take the place of a parent, but some kids don’t have a parent as a role model so then that does fall on you.”

*

Jackie remembers.

Mary Joyner was more interested in her children receiving an education than in them starring in sports.

RunningSilhoette“When I was 10,” Jackie says, “I told my mom I’d go to the Olympics and do you know what she told me? She told me she’d rather I go to college. That’s the same thing I tell kids at the center.”

It is not lip service. Jackie, who graduated from UCLA in 1985, gives educational scholarships through her foundation.

Still, sports are important at the $6-million JJK Boys & Girls Club facility that annually sees 2,400 youths ages 6 to 18 come through its doors.

“We try to use sports, and also drama and music and computers, to get them interested in school,” Joyner-Kersee explains.

*

 Jackie remembers.

“We didn’t always have things, but we always had love,” Jackie recalls of her own childhood, her smile sparkling like her diamond earrings.

The letters she receives from children at the JJK Boys & Girls Club touch her heart, and sometimes break it.

“They’ll write me, ‘I love coming here because I feel so much love here,’ ” Jackie shares. “Most of us take being loved for granted, but some of these kids don’t get love at home.”

“I see courage come through the youth center’s doors every day,” she continues. “Courage to me is believing and never giving up – in anything, not just athletics. If you have that flame within you, and you get some encouragement along the way, you can accomplish your dreams.”

Jackie is a profile in courage. To give you an idea, she won six Olympic medals (three of them gold) over four consecutive Olympics; set world records; and won every sports award imaginable while fighting asthma her entire career.

Now, the heptahlon is grueling enough if you lungs work properly. But to do the 200 meters, 100-meter hurdles, high jump, shot put, long jump, javelin and 800 meters in two days when it feels like you are breathing through a cocktail straw, that takes courage.

*

Jackie remembers.

And so she started a unique program, “Daughters Without Mothers.”

Jackie, you see, became a daughter without a mother during her freshman year at UCLA when Mary died from spinal meningitis

“Not sharing the Olympics with her was the biggest downer in my life,” says Jackie, who turns 51 in 2013 – thirteen years older than her mother was when she died. “I want other girls who lose their mothers to know they aren’t alone.”

Jackie remembers where she came from.

“I’ve been blessed so I want to give back,” she allows. “When I leave this earth, I want to leave behind something that will help others.”

Because she remembers, Jackie Joyner-Kersee is unforgettable.

 

 

 

Book Review: “Together We Jump”

by Woody

TOGETHER WE JUMP, A Novel by Ken McAlpine (March) 361 pages. FLASH REVIEW: This is a beautiful quilt – a love story, in fact several; a coming of age story of two brothers; and a coming into acceptance of old-age story; a story prominently featuring a Mustang, an alligator and heroic turtles; of life and death, of real war and inner wars; a story with the poetry of Frost and Auden gracefully weaved into the prose of McAlpine: “The pain we suffer is not in things beyond us. The pain is in realizing, too late, that these things were not beyond us” and “Life is a tug of war between how we would like things to be and how they are. War is the same, magnified horribly.” And how can you not love a protagonist named Pogue? RATING, in honor of Roger Ebert: Two Thumbs Up!

Column: Sibling revelry

by Woody

Hardship Proves To Be A Gift

In the Easter morning video the girl, almost 6, benevolently leaves the easy-to-see colored eggs for her 3-year-old brother to collect. When he has difficulty finding some of them, she guides him with hints and sometimes a pointing finger. In the end, his basket has the bulk of the bounty compared to hers.

In many ways, the scene encapsulates the two decades that have followed: the big sister has always looked out for her little brother, even after he literally became bigger at 6-foot-3. Indeed, it is often the case even after we become adults that we remain locked in our childhood roles among family.

A week ago, a crisis struck. Let’s just say the bottom fell out of an Easter basket, spilling and breaking the dyed eggs. The girl, now a young woman, phoned from 2,200 miles away; “distraught” falls far shy in describing her emotional state.

It is times like this that a daughter needs her mother. However, because the latter was in a deadline vise at her work, the girl insisted she could manage and that Mom stay home.

Similarly, the daughter demanded that her dad also remain at home to help care for his own father – her beloved “Gramps” – who had just undergone knee replacement surgery. Briefly, the roles had been turned upside-down as the grown son became the father and the father became the son.

Lastly, the girl’s younger brother could surely not fly out to be by her side because he was physically and mentally exhausted, having arrived home the night before the crisis struck after traveling for 20 hours across 12 time zones following a five-week sojourn halfway around the globe.

While the parents discussed matters, the son went on-line at 10 p.m. and booked himself a flight; the last-minute ransom pricing causing him no pause. “She needs me,” he said simply, emphatically, as he hurriedly packed. In bed at midnight, he rose at 3 a.m. to make his 6:15 a.m. flight. Upon landing three time zones east he took a long bus ride and then a short taxi trip to her doorstep at 6 p.m.

To this sentimental fool it brought to mind the closing scene in “It’s A Wonderful Life” when Harry, a Navy pilot and war hero, leaves in the middle of a banquet where President Truman is presenting him with the Congressional Medal of Honor to fly through a blizzard from New York to Bedford Falls because his big brother George is in a crisis.

Despite the three-years age difference, it is not rare for people being introduced to the sister and brother to inquire if they are twins. Beyond appearance, they have always shared a twin-like bond. But perhaps never were they closer than during this tribulation.

“He’s the best gift you and Mom ever gave me,” the daughter said on the phone the night he arrived.

Over the next seven days, the brother proved to be penicillin for the ailment. He tackled the crisis head-on, providing leadership and labor, wisdom and support, loving words and a shoulder to cry on, all on his own, all on little sleep.

Sometimes the son becomes the father; certainly the young man became a man, period. Or, as the girl noted: “I have always been the big sister, but this week he has become my big brother.”

Asked how he was holding up midway through his rescue mission, the son quoted former Navy Seal Eric Greitens, who wrote in his best-selling book “The Heart and the Fist”: “When a task is necessary, its difficulty is irrelevant.”

When his sister needed help, everything else was irrelevant.

“She’s the best gift you ever gave me,” the son said, repeating what his big sis had said of him only days earlier – words that are the best gift a parent could ever hear.

And so in many ways, like a favorite old Easter morning video, I cherish the crisis that has now passed. Indeed, to other parents I wish them their own gift-wrapped hardship if it will reinforce their kids’ sibling bonds.

— Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star. You can contact him at WoodyWriter@gmail.com or through his website at www.WoodyWoodburn.com