Category Archives: Columns

Every Town Has Own “Moonlight”

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Every Town Has Its

Own “Moonlight”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If not, now that would be a tragedy.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

Local Doc Lays Down Stethoscope

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Longtime Doc Lays

Down His Stethoscope

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

Bryan Bros: Kings of the Castle

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Kings of the Castle

Bryan Bros Bid Goodbye

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remarkably, Mikeandbob climbed this Mount Everest, too.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

 

Friend’s Picture Worth 1,000 Smiles

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Friend’s Picture is

Worth 1,000 smiles

In the late 1960s, World Tennis Magazine held a contest offering $100 to any of its readers who sent in a photograph of Ken Rosewall where his knees were not bent in textbook form while hitting a low ball.

The magazine might as well have offered prize money for a picture of a man walking on the moon. Neil Armstrong eventually made such a photo a reality in 1969, but it seems no image of the great Australian stiff-leggedly striking a tennis ball was ever snapped.

I bring this up because a similar contest could be held offering $100 (safe from risk of payment) for a smileless photograph of my friend Mikey, who lived four rooms down the dorm hallway our freshman year in college.

Every oddly tinted Kodachrome picture of Mikey from those days shows him wearing a smile that looks like it is his 21st birthday. Nothing has changed in the ensuing four decades. His ever-present joyous grin, now captured digitally, remains as wide as a tennis court.

I wish you could see Mikey’s smile, most especially when he is with one of his grandkids – you almost need to wear sunglasses to protect your eyes from the glint.

I dare say it is possible to hear Mikey’s smile in a conversation over the phone. Earlier this week, I could even sense his smile in a text. This was truly remarkable because he texted me from the Emergency Room…

…where he was a patient…

…with COVOID-19.

Mikey was admitted to the E.R. with a high fever, coughing, aches that felt like he had been hit by a bus, confusion and low blood pressure. On top of all that, he is high-risk with only one kidney.

Despite being in the vortex of a frightening health storm, Mikey wanted to share some sunshine with me. His words from the E.R. read in part: “Everyone that picked up a meal was soooo appreciative, saying thanks for looking out for our community. Many other restaurants are also giving away meals. … People care.”

Mikey cares in spades. Despite nervously waiting for his coronavirus test result to come back, he was focused on those who had to evacuate their homes due to the 600-plus wildfires raging throughout Northern California.

Specifically, he was worried about fellow citizens in the Bay Area where he lives and the Napa Valley where he owns a restaurant. Hence, his Osprey Seafood gave free meals to anyone who was displaced by the fires. It also donated many pounds of shrimp salad to the local Salvation Army.

Typically, Mikey humbly credited his manager and staff for embracing the effort to extend helping hands: “This is just what we do for each other in Napa. Through earthquakes, fires and flooding, Napa rises for each other.”

His words of commendation naturally reminded me of how Ventura County’s residents similarly rose up for each other during, and after, the Thomas Fire.

Like Mikey’s smile, the recent unselfishness displayed by Osprey Seafood and staff is their normal. For many years, they have donated to firefighters during firestorms.

“I am most proud of our community for coming together time and again,” Mikey added and again I proudly thought of our local community.

Thinking of Mikey, or looking at a smiling photo of him – with long, ginger curls of the past or shorter, graying hair now – I find it impossible not to break into a grin myself. He’s the Typhoid Mary of smiles by making them contagious.

So you can imagine my beaming face upon learning my dear friend is back home recuperating.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

 

The Mail Carrier, Mule, and Gum

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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The Mail Carrier,

the Mule, and Gum

“Did you get the letter I mailed you?” Dan, my best friend throughout elementary school, would ask unsuspecting victims.

“No,” came the reply.

Dan then stamped on their foot, laughing: “I must have forgotten to stamp it!”

I bring up this juvenile joke because of a letter I received earlier this week. Actually, it was a letter I mailed last week and was now marked “Returned to Sender” for lack of postage. I absentmindedly forgot to stamp it!

While I did not stamp on my own foot, I did laugh as heartily as Dan ever did.

A postal wagon similar to the one “Unc” used…

The U.S. Postal Service has been in the news of late, but not for merry reasons. Which is too bad because when I think of the mail it gives me a smile as I am reminded of my great uncle, Dewitt, whom we called simply “Unc.”

Born in rural Ohio in 1889, Unc began working for the Postal Service at age twenty and continued until age 65. He then enjoyed 31 years of retirement filled largely with fishing and gardening.

A quick gardening story before returning to the mail. While my great-grandfather developed a state award-winning strain of feed corn, Unc earned a smaller measure of local fame for his green thumb.

It happened like this. Instead of using wooden stakes for his garden beans to climb, Unc planted a single sunflower seed inside each circle of planted bean seeds. In theory, he reasoned, the beans would be able to climb the rising sunflower stalk.

In practice, the beans withered and died because the sunflowers hogged the water and fertilizer. Not all was lost, however, for Unc was thereafter renowned for growing “the tallest crop of sunflowers in town.”

Back to the mail. Unc began his postal career working on a train. His duties included tossing heavy canvas mailbags filled with letters and packages for delivery off the moving train at each town.

In his next breath, while still rolling along, he would reach out the window with a hook-ended pole and snatch mailbags containing outgoing mail hanging on posts beside the railroad tracks at each depot.

In time, Unc moved up to having his own carrier route covering some forty miles with about 80 delivery stops. Early on his mail wagon, which had a small stove inside to provide warmth during days of sleet and snow, was pulled by a single mule.

Because his workday began long before morning’s first light with mail sorting, Unc had a habit of dozing off after making the final delivery of the day. Falling asleep at the wheel – rather, reins – proved to be of no danger, however. The mule was so familiar with the mail route it simply delivered Unc home without guidance.

Refreshed from his nap, Unc was free to enjoy the remaining late afternoon – usually fishing. Which brings to mind one more story…

My two older brothers and I – ages nine, seven and four at the time – were fishing with Unc. It was a hot summer day and we asked for a root beer treat.

“Chew some gum, that’ll take your thirst away,” said Unc, who had not brought along sodas.

Nor had we boys brought along any bubblegum.

“Here, chew this,” Unc offered, handing my brothers a piece each while I had fortunately wandered off chasing frogs.

“GAHHH! YUCK! PHEWWW!”

My green-faced siblings spit out their words as well as the foul-tasting “gum” which was actually tiny plugs of chewing tobacco.

“They didn’t complain no more about being thirsty,” Unc laughed to my dad when he delivered us home.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

 

Potpourri of Quotes, Memes, Photos

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Potpourri of Quotes,

Memes and Photos

Let me begin with an award-winning photograph I came across. I wish you could see it. While 1,000 words would not do it justice, I shall try with about 100.

A majestic elephant, long in tusk, is walking alongside a skinny lioness on a sandy patch in the Savannah. The sky is blue and cloudless, visually radiating scorching temperatures.

But one must look closely to see what makes the photo so special: cradled in elephant’s curved trunk is a tiny lion cub. According to the caption, the cub was overcome by heat and having great difficulty walking. The elephant, realizing the cub would die without assistance, carried it to a watering hole.

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The elephant and lioness remind me of this observation by John Steinbeck: “When two people meet, each one is changed by the other so you’ve got two new people.”

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From my mentor Wayne Bryan: “If you can give nothing else, give encouragement.”

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A meme with a runner slogging through a snowstorm encourages: “If you wait for perfect conditions, you’ll never get anything done.”

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Similarly, and more beautifully, a meme with a painting of a woman tending a bed of flowers bears this Rudyard Kipling quote: “Gardens are not made by singing, ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ and sitting in the shade.”

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

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Echoing time’s theme, I love this answer legendary cellist Pablo Casals gave when asked, at age 90, why he continued to practice: “Because I think I’m making progress.”

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Again from Mr. Brown: “Remember that the most valuable antiques are dear old friends.”

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This unattributed friendship meme made me smile: “What’s your favorite place?”

“I don’t have a favorite place. I have my favorite people. And, whenever I’m with my favorite people, it becomes my favorite place.”

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Similarly, Winnie the Pooh shares with Piglet: “Any day spent with you is my favorite day. So today is my new favorite day.”

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“This is a wonderful day,” Maya Angelou said. “I have never seen this one before.”

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From “butterfly rising”, who like e. e. cummings writes in all lowercase letters, comes this gem: “if i do one thing today / may i be human sunshine / for someone”.

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Speaking of human sunshine, my dear friend Connie “Mrs. Figs” Halpern likes to say, “Where there is love, nothing is too much trouble and there is always time.”

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Anonymous wisdom in a sunflower meme: “You will never speak to anyone more than you speak to yourself in your head, so be kind to yourself.”

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On the topic of kindness, I came across this short but powerful vignette without attribution:

“I heard my mother asking our neighbor for some salt. I asked her why she was asking them as we have salt at home. She replied, ‘It’s because they are always asking us for things – they’re poor. So, I thought I’d ask something small from them so as not to burden them, but at the same time make them feel as if we need them, too. That way it’ll be easier for them to ask us for anything they need from us.”

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Or, as Rumi poetically preached: “Be the one who, when you walk in, / Blessing shifts to the one who needs it most. / Even if you’ve not been fed, Be bread.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

 

 

Words Add Up To Tin Anniversary

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Words Add Up To

Tin Anniversary

Tin Man is on my mind as I write today’s 600 words.

Not Dorothy’s newfound companion in “The Wizard of Oz”, but rather a homeless man I encountered many years past outside the Rose Bowl Stadium two hours before kickoff. He introduced himself as “Tin Man” even though his shopping cart was overflowing with empty aluminum cans.

I was there to cover the Super Bowl and cannot even remember who played. However, I have never forgotten Tin Man. The record earnings he anticipated from gathering recyclables at tailgate parties would not have bought the cheapest ticket to the big game. Amid princely opulence, he was a pauper.

Why am I thinking of a stranger I shared hot dogs and sodas with nearly three decades ago? Because tin/aluminum is the traditional gift for a 10th anniversary – and today marks that occasion for my column in this Saturday space.

In truth, the official debut date was July 31, 2010. Alas, as with my wedding anniversary a number of years ago, last week I dropped the ball – much like the Buffalo Bills did many times in losing to the Dallas Cowboys, 52-17, in the 1993 Super Bowl. I had to look all of that up.

Despite one fumbled anniversary, my marriage is streaking happily towards 38 years next month. Loyal readers here know I have a thing for streaks, having run at least three miles every day for the past 17 years – 6,243 consecutive days to be precise.

Similarly, my column “streak” stretches back all ten years and now numbers 524 consecutive Saturdays without a miss. Doing the math at 700 words weekly for the first eight years and 600 ever since, this adds up to more than 350,000 words. The tally seems impressive until you realize “War and Peace” comes in at 587,287 words.

Sometimes I feel like I inherited this sacred forum from Tolstoy himself. Chuck Thomas, my predecessor and mentor, was a Star – and star – columnist for half a century. The final time I saw him, Chuck was in the hospital and he joked I should pinch hit for him. He died a couple days later and his words proved prophetic.

How greatly did I look up to Chuck? Perhaps the best answer I can offer is this: his notes and letters are inside the same box that holds penned heirlooms from my idols Jim Murray and John Wooden.

Re-reading those missives from Chuck, who uniquely and affectionately called me “Wooder”, I came across this gem: “If there’s someone whose friendship you treasure, be sure to tell them now – without waiting for a memorial service to say it.”

I remain grateful I followed this wisdom and told Chuck while he was alive.

Another of his letters, written on a manual typewriter as always, is dated July 12, 1995, and was eerily prescient. Chuck, who started his career in sports, began: “Wooder, What happens to sports columnists? Some of them become old news-page columnists. …”

China is the recognized gift for a 20th anniversary, by which time I would indeed be an old news-page columnist. But even steel to celebrate 11 years seems as distant as the moon. As Jim Murray sagely shared early in my career, “I never look past today’s column.”

Or as Tin Man told me: “We’re all day-to-day and today is a good one.”

Yes, it is. And so, with a full aluminum can in hand, I raise a toast to my tin anniversary; and to Chuck Thomas; and to the two of his “three loyal readers” I have managed to keep.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

 

 

In ‘Fair’ World, It’d Be Smiling Time

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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In a ‘Fair’ World, It

Would Be Smiling Time

A John Mellencamp song comes to my mind every summer at this time. Titled “County Fair” it takes a dark and depressing turn, yet one bright lyric sticks in my heart and makes me smile:

“Kids with eyes as big as dollars / Rode all the rides”.

That, in a single image, sums up the Ventura County Fair to me – kids having their thrills riding carousels and roller coasters, trains and the Tilt-a-Whirl and, of course, slow turns on the giant Ferris wheel with its seagull eye’s view of the ocean and Ventura Pier and city below.

Sadly, a new Fair Poster for 2020 was not to be.

George Washington Gale Ferris, Jr.’s famous invention debuted at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago. Remarkably, that was actually 18 years after the debut of the Ventura County Fair.

Our 145th edition was scheduled to have opened its gates yesterday, July 31. Because of coronavirus, however, some 300,000 smiles have been cancelled and the turnstiles will dutifully remain locked. Like you, I am disappointed.

I had planned to take my young granddaughter to her first Fair this year. Instead of making new memories with her, I must be content with reminiscing about two other little girls with eyes as big as dollars.

The first girl, then 5, went to her first Fair alone with her father. Her biggest thrill that afternoon was riding the Ferris wheel. On their drive home, as her father retells it, she could be heard softly whispering to herself, “Ferris wheel, Ferris wheel, Ferris wheel,” so as not to forget the name.

Arriving home, the girl – now my wife – raced inside and excitedly told her mom: “I rode the merry-go-round!”

A second Ferris wheel memory was captured in a photograph that remains one of my favorites of my own little girl. It is in black-and-white, taken candidly by a Star photographer before newspapers became colorful, and hangs in a gold frame in her childhood bedroom.

Frozen in time nearly three decades past, she is 4 years old and my arm is wrapped around her as we ride the Ferris wheel. It was her first time at the Ventura County Fair and she will tell you it is one of her earliest vivid memories. I imagine most adults remember similar childhood Fair magic.

The Fair still makes kids of us all. If not the rides, then the exhibits or games or concerts still give us eyes as big as dollars. The Fair is a time machine. For 12 days each summer, we turn back the calendar.

Our Fair roared back after World War II, the last time it was cancelled, and it will do likewise after this war with COVID-19 ends. For now, sadly, the win-a-stuffed-animal games and whirling rides are on hold.

The chocolate-covered, deep-fried, bacon-filled food concoctions are on hold, as are the amazing exhibits of paintings and photographs, quilts and cakes, flowers and plants. The mini-pigs and giant rabbits the size of bulldogs and 4-H livestock auctions are also on hold.

In short, being a silver dollar-eyed 4-year-old, no matter one’s true age, is on hold.

Mellencamp’s song concludes as it opened: “Well the County Fair left quite a mess / In the county yard.” It is a lyric that carries extra melancholy this year since there will be no tents to fold, no rides to take down, no happy mess left behind.

And no new memories left behind, either.

However, since legend has it that Babe Ruth once played an exhibition baseball game at this very Seaside Park site, the late-season motto of sad-but-hopeful baseball fans seems in order: “Wait ’til next year!”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

 

One City Can Become Any City

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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One City Can Become

Any City, Every City

Even though my column runs on the Opinion page, I generally try to keep it a retreat from politics and controversies and instead provide a smile, a laugh, some sunshine among the clouds.

Today is an exception. Today is thunder and lightning.

John Lewis, the legendary civil rights leader who died eight days ago, famously said: “When you see something that is not right, not fair, not just, you have to speak up.”

What we have seen happening in Portland, Oregon, is not right, not fair, not just. In honor of Lewis, I have to speak up.

American citizens being snatched off sidewalks by unidentified federal forces in unmarked vans and not told why nor where they are being taken, is not right.

“A Wall of Moms” being tear-gassed while peacefully trying to protect Black Lives Matter protesters from federal forces, camouflaged and armed as if for war, is not fair.

Peacefully protesting “Wall of Moms” being tear-gassed by federal agents in Portland.

A 52-year-old United States Navy veteran standing as still as a statue while being pepper sprayed in the face and having a semi-automatic weapon pointed at his chest and then being repeatedly beaten with batons by federal agents, their home-run swings so powerful as to break a bone in his hand as well as a finger so badly it required surgery, is not just.

Indeed, using excessive police force against citizens who are protesting police brutality is ironic and tragic. Understand, this was a man who has bravely served this country, not a rioter. The video of his beating resembles the newsreels showing John Lewis being violently billy clubbed nearly to death by a state trooper during a civil rights march in Selma, Ala., more than half a century ago.

How very little has changed in so long a time.

There are those who will label me a liberal (rightly so) and broadly label the Portland protesters (wrongly so) “rioters”, “looters” and “anarchists.” In turn, they argue the heavy-handed force is merited.

Such callousness is where the slope gets slippery, grows steeper, becomes a point of no return.

As Martin Niemöller famously wrote in 1946: “First they came for the Communists / And I did not speak out / Because I was not a Communist / Then 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 out for me.”

Those who support the current deployment of what has been called “secret police” and “American Gestapo” should be every bit as fearful by what is happening as are those who support the protesters. After all, Portland can become Plano; a “blue” city can become a “red” city; any city can become every city.

Indeed, we must all heed Niemöller’s warning. Black Lives Matter supporters being beaten with batons and gassed and pulled off the streets without justification today can tomorrow become open-carry defenders rounded up without warrant; “they” and “he” can become “us” and “me.”

The uniformed officers, politicians and others who enacted similar violence in the name of our government against John Lewis and his heroic peers as they practiced civil disobedience have not been remembered kindly by history. Today will be no different.

We all need to speak out for each other. Now.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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

 

Doubleheader of Baseball Tales

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Doubleheader of

Baseball Tales

Major League Baseball’s 2020 All-Star Game was to have been held at Dodger Stadium this past Tuesday, but coronavirus called it out on strikes. As consolation, here is a doubleheader of baseball stories.

The first is told by the great Vin Scully in the Introduction pages of “The Jim Murray Collection”:

“The Brooklyn Dodgers had lost a bitter one-run game to the New York Giants at Ebbets Field. As fate would have it, Jackie Robinson was involved in a very close play at second base for the final out, and he was steaming.

“Even though most, if not all, of his teammates felt he had been rightfully called out, Jackie was hollering at the top of his lungs about the unfair call, punctuating every steamy sentence by hurling furniture, equipment, and anything else he found handy into his locker.

“Now to really get the picture you have to understand the home-team clubhouse in Brooklyn. The pecking order and star status on the team placed big-name players’ lockers near the front door. Gil Hodges, Peewee Reese, Roy Campanella, Preacher Roe, Duke Snider, and Jackie were prominently displayed.

“After that, according to rank, a player was assigned a locker that befit his status on the team. In the farthest corner of the room, near the showers and the icebox that held the beer and soft drinks, was the locker of a somewhat obscure pitcher named Dan Bankhead. The fans didn’t know much about ’ol Dan, but his teammates did. Bankhead was not one to waste words and when he did have something to say, he had the immediate attention of all concerned.

“On this day as Robinson ranted and raved and hurled his bootless cries to the heavens, his was the only sound heard in the room. In the far corner Bankhead sprawled off the stool in front of his cubicle, naked but for a towel across his loins, hands folded at his stomach and reading glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose. Right in the middle of Robinson’s harangue Bankhead said softly, “Robinson…”

Jackie stopped in mid-sentence, adverbs and adjectives hanging in the air like wisps of smoke.

“Robinson,” said Bankhead, now that he had complete silence in the room. “Robinson … you are not only wrong … you is loud wrong.”

“Jackie stood and stared at ol’ Dan for a moment, and then his handsome features broke into a wide grin. The storm had passed, the point taken, and the wisdom received.”

I bring this tale up on account of different harangue going on these days that merits a Bankhead-like response: “Hey, you all who refuse to wear face masks during this coronavirus pandemic, you are not only wrong, you is loud wrong. Let’s all wear masks for each other and get through this storm.”

The second story comes from a friend who works a side job as a baseball umpire:

“I was driving too fast in the snow in Boulder, Colorado,” Dave related, “and a policeman pulled me over and gave me a speeding ticket. I tried to talk him out of it, telling him how worried I was about my insurance and that I was normally a very careful driver.

“He said I should go to court and try to get it reduced or thrown out.

“The first day of the next baseball season, I’m umpiring behind home plate and the first batter up is the same policeman. I recognize him, he recognizes me. He asks me how the thing went with the ticket?

“I tell him, ‘Swing at everything.’ ”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

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