Using Darkness For Illumination

August 11, 2018 by Woody

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Darkness as Source of Illumination

The stories stay with me, unforgettable in their clarity, haunting as tales told around a campfire often are.

I speak not of ghost stories, however. And instead of being told to a gathering of youths by an adult, it was the children themselves orating to a camp counselor.

The stories, plural, were really one singular story told time and again to my daughter when she was in college and serving as a counselor/educator at a weeklong summer camp.

Held in the San Bernardino Mountains for 200 disadvantaged fourth- and fifth-graders from the inner city, the retreat offered typical camp activities like arts and crafts and games, horseback riding, singing and dancing.

Also, naturally, there were gatherings around a campfire each night. It was here that one youngster after another said, in different ways but with a shared tone of awe: “Wow! I’ve never seen the stars before!”

Can you even imagine that? Being 10 or 11 years old and, because of light pollution and because you have never before traveled outside the city limits, never having seen stars except on a movie screen or TV or in a book?

Not being able to pick out The Big Dipper or Orion or Cassiopeia is one thing, but to be blind to the twinkling night sky is quite another. This all comes to mind now because of the ninth annual “2018 Wild and Scenic Film Festival” to be held Aug. 18 on the Ventura County Credit Union’s campus on Vista Del Mar Drive in Ventura. (Ticket information: venturalandtrust.org/2018_wsff ) 1lostlight

Specifically, “Lost in Light” – one of the festival’s 11 short films – has me thinking of those wide-eyed summer camp kids. Shot mostly in California, the 3-minute film shows how light pollution affects our night skies. Opening with a skyline view of San Jose with the stars completely erased from visibility by Light Pollution Level 8, the time-elapsed scene shifts to Level 7 in Mountain View with a few scattered celestial pinpricks discernible.

The night skies slowly come alive as the film moves through Light Pollution Levels 6, 5, 4 and 3. Reaching Level 2, at Mt. Shasta, the heavens sparkle in breathtaking fashion and in Death Valley, Level 1, the firmament seems like a luminous blizzard where each snowflake is a star.

Other short films (all range from 3 to 17 minutes) at the festival include “Water Take One: Ventura Land Trust” showcasing VLT’s work to protect and preserve Ventura County’s open space and natural resources; “Brothers of Climbing” highlighting diversity in the rock climbing community; “Dragging 235 lbs. Uphill Both Ways” about a mother’s effort to help her four children unplug from electronics and embrace the outdoors; and “Grandad” about a man rising at dawn for a daily meditative journey rowing around a lake. 1level1

Back to “Lost in Light.” Filmmaker Sriram Murali writes of his visual creation: “The night skies remind us of our place in the Universe. Imagine if we lived under skies full of stars. That reminder that we are a tiny part of this cosmos, the awe and a special connection with this remarkable world, would make us much better beings – more thoughtful, inquisitive, empathetic, kind and caring.

“Imagine kids growing up passionate about astronomy looking for answers and how advanced humankind would be, how connected and caring we’d feel with one another, how noble and adventurous we’d be. How compassionate with fellow species on Earth and how one with Nature we’d feel.”

Masterful as it is, I wish Murali’s film was one minute longer – with the illuminated faces of children seeing the stars for the very first time.

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

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Life Stories Written ‘On the Road’

August 4, 2018 by Woody

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Writing Life Stories ‘On the Road’

Jack Kerouac, in his 1957 masterstroke novel “On the Road,” wrote: “Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”

In my mind’s eye, I also see old-time commemorative luggage stickers from different destinations around the country, and globe, bedecking the battered suitcases. Those sticky souvenirs, popular in the early 20th century, provided a personal reminder of journeys taken while quietly shouting to others, “Look where I’ve been!”

Travel is on my mind because the Ventura Storytellers Project, hosted by The Star and starring local residents, will hold two shows Saturday evening with the Keroucian theme “On the Road.”

(Both shows at the Bell Arts Factory are sold out but will be available on-line at a future date. Visit www.storytellersproject.com/ventura for more information.)

To get the wheels rolling, below are some of my favorite observations on travel from a few writers wise on the subject. 1ontheroad

Mark Twain pointed out why we should travel, writing: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

In his on-the-road memoir “We Stood Upon Stars,” Ventura author Roger Thompson adds an additional command to Explore, Dream and Discover – Get Lost. He writes:

“While traveling I’ll often veer onto a road that wasn’t on my route. This is the beginning of adventure. It’s how I’ve discovered tiny towns and sunsets and secret fishing holes and the Philipsburg Brewing Company in Montana. It’s also how I’ve gotten myself desperately lost. And since it takes an act of Congress to get me to turn around, I keep going over switchbacks and single-lane roads until either the curiosity is cured or I run out of snacks. Before turning back I get out and survey the landscape, looking to mountain peaks or rivers or stars for clues. It’s always there, deep in the wilderness, with my wife or my kids or my buddies or alone, where – in desperation for answers or simply curiosity – I am met by God.”

Another Venturan, award-winning travel writer and novelist Ken McAlpine, who has visited the earth’s four corners, always reminds me before I embark on the road: “Be sure to turn down a hidden alleyway or go inside a quiet doorway off the beaten path because that’s where you’ll find some of the most memorable experiences.”

Wise advice, indeed, for no less a philosopher than Ralph Waldo Emerson memorably beseeched: “Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” Or, as Robert Frost poetically noted, take the road less traveled by for that will make all the difference.

Emerson’s younger contemporary, Henry David Thoreau, put it this way: “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.”

Were he on the “On the Road” stage Saturday night, Dave Stancliff, my first newspaper editor, would surely include his observation: “There’s many things to see in this world that aren’t in tourist guides for one reason or another.”

In other words, grab your battered suitcase, throw off the bowlines, go down a hidden alleyway, step to the music you alone hear, get desperately lost and, coming full circle to Kerouac, “lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”

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

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Part 2: Return Letter From Mister Rogers

July 28, 2018July 28, 2018 by Woody

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Part 1 link from last week:

http://woodywoodburn.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=3721&action=edit)

Part 2: Return Letter From Mister Rogers

It was a beautiful day in a Ventura neighborhood for a three-and-half-year-old boy when he received an answer to a letter he had mailed a few weeks earlier.

It arrived on letterhead with alternating purple, gold and pink letters reading “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” at the top and dated January 2001. At the page’s bottom is an image of the familiar red Neighborhood Trolley.

One more thing of interest: One cannot help but read it and in their mind’s ears hear Mister Rogers’ familiar and friendly television voice.

“Dear Franklin,

“It meant a lot to me that you wanted to send me a letter. It was kind of your mother to help by typing the words into the computer. You are fortunate to have a mother who cares so much about you and about your ideas and questions.

“Franklin, I also liked the way you wrote your name on the letter and the way you put all kinds of fancy stickers on the letter and envelope. You certainly have good ideas.

A postcard sent personally from Mister Rogers to Franklin

A picture sent personally from Mister Rogers to Franklin

“It’s wonderful to know you’re interested in how people make different things. You told us you’d like to have a book that explains how people make different things or a video of our factory visits. There are some books in the library about how people make different things. Maybe a librarian could help you and your mother to find those books. There are many ways to learn more about the things that interest you.

“We haven’t made one video with our factory visits, but we’re glad to send our calendars to your family so you can know when we’ll be showing how people make different things.

“It’s good to know you are someone who wonders about things and asks questions. Wondering and asking are important for growing and learning. I’m proud of the many ways you’re growing, and I hope you are, too.

“You are special, and you make each day a special day – just because you’re you.

“Your television friend,

“Mister Rogers” (signed in blue ink)

If this note were not remarkable enough, there was something more. A second letter:

“Dear Mrs. Hansen,

“Thank you for helping your son Franklin send us his delightful letter and also for taking the time to add your own warm comments about our programs. You and your son have truly made this a more beautiful day in our Neighborhood – in many ways!

“Nothing could please us more than to know there’s a second generation in your family growing up with our Neighborhood, and we’re glad you have such good feelings about what your children experience with us. Thank you, too, for your kind words about our articles in Ladybug Magazine.

“While we’re honored to know how much your family appreciates what we offer, at the same time, we want you to know that we are very much aware that children who seem to like our Neighborhood best are the ones who have already experienced the deep investment of love in their own families, and so they are able to understand what we offer. That was certainly confirmed once again in your kind note to us and in the attention you gave Franklin’s questions for us, and I couldn’t help but think how fortunate your children are to be growing up in your caring home.”

The letter continues onto another page and concludes:

“Please give everyone in your family our kindest regards. We will remember with great pleasure that the Hansens are a part of our Neighborhood . . . and that we’re part of yours.

“Sincerely,

“Fred Rogers” (signed in blue ink)

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

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Part 1: A Boy’s Letter to Mister Rogers

July 21, 2018July 28, 2018 by Woody

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Beautiful Day in a Neighborhood

Writing a letter to a famous television personality and expecting a reply is not dissimilar from putting a message in a bottle and throwing it into the sea.

Yet that is what a young boy in a Ventura neighborhood did, with the help of his mother, eighteen years past. Composed by Franklin, typed by his mom and printed in Arial font, the letter read:

“December 13, 2000

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

“My name is Franklin and I am 3 and a half years old. My mommy is computing this for me. I’d like to have a book about how to do things. You know how everything works, so maybe you know this book? I wish you could put all of your ‘how’ movies together and send it to me.

A postcard sent from Mister Rogers to Franklin

“I want to know how you make plastic and how plastic gets squished into shape like a cowboy hat. Mommy says plastic starts with oil, but how does black stuff become a shiny hat? Mommy told me how to make people and deer but how do you make glass and windows? I want to know how they make this keyboard. I also want to know how to read letters.

“Can you please help me?

“I love you,

“Franklin Hansen”

Beneath Franklin’s carefully printed signature was a typed postscript:

“A note from Mom: Thank you for so many wonderful years of ‘Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood’ and for your essays in ‘Ladybug’ magazine. I am learning as much about ‘how’ now as when I was a child and I am so grateful that my children can relax with you and learn how to be better people: nicer, kinder, and more open-minded. I am still learning from you and my son’s curiosity is a wonderful excuse to say thank-you. I am sad about your retirement but as long as PBS keeps airing your shows (how do I ensure this?) my kids will continue to grow with your wisdom.

“Sincerely,

“Cindy Hansen”

All these years later, Cindy retells: “We were watching one of the shows and Franklin absolutely adored those factory segments. So after one of the shows we were talking about them and all of the things he wanted to know. He wanted to ask/wish why Mister Rogers didn’t have a show that was just those factory visits.”

The magnificent mother of two sons adds: “I was very glad that my boys enjoyed him as much as I had when I was younger. When we went to the Pittsburgh Children’s Museum (around 2010), we were so excited to see the set with Trolley moving through the Neighborhood. As we drove through town the boys kept saying, ‘He filmed it here Mom!’ Of course, this was his Neighborhood.”

Launched in 1968, the beloved “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” television show aired original episodes until 2001 – two years before the host’s death at age 74. Marking the iconic educational show’s 50th anniversary, a new film “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” is the highest grossing documentary of 2018. Moreover, Tom Hanks will star in another movie about the late Fred Rogers, “You Are My Friend,” to be released next year.

Back in 2000, back when Franklin was “3 and a half” and wrote a letter filled with questions, Mister Rogers was a big deal and surely too busy to personally answer it.

And yet in early January of 2001, it was a beautiful day in a Ventura neighborhood because a letter arrived from Mister Roger’s Neighborhood. The envelope was addressed to Cindy Hansen, but inside was a letter written to her son.

Next week, we will see Mister Rogers’ remarkable reply.

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

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Sharing From The Email In-Box

July 14, 2018July 14, 2018 by Woody

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Woody Woodburn

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Clearing Out The Email In-Box A Little

Time and again, I find that writing about the personal is also universal. Such was indeed the case with my column last week “Lowlights From High in the Sky” about some of my encounters while flying.

“Having traveled extensively hither and yon on airlines, my wife and I are just amazed at the way people dress, or perhaps undress, when air traveling today,” Rick Throckmorton wrote in an email.

“We haven’t quite seen a ‘Shorty Shorts’ (yet), but on our last trip back East recently, we were rather appalled at a traveling group of young women who seemed to be in a contest of who could wear the least and still get boarded.

“Then there are those traveling in dirty work clothes, pajamas (adults not kids), flip flops and the like. And my recent flight from Denver to K.C. in a small turbo-prop commuter, when my seatmate, weighing (no exaggeration) 400 pounds, literally forced me into the window seat, so that I could barely move. Thank goodness it was only a 90-minute flight.

“Ever seen the John Wayne movie ‘The High in the Mighty’? This movie, panned later in the comedy ‘Airport,’ shows how people in the 1950’s dressed when flying. While we don’t expect evening dresses, high heels and suits and ties anymore, people could/should wear business or sports attire when paying hundreds of dollars for their airline tickets.

“If not that, at least to show less of one’s body when perhaps more should be covered up.”

1MailbagTypewriter From Cecilia Weismann: “My only story is about the woman across the aisle from me who took off her flip flops and proceeded to put her feet up on the arm rest only to expose the filthy black bottoms of her feet!”

“I had an experience on a Greyhound bus from San Francisco to Santa Barbara,” shared Peggy Poehler. “A very large man sat next to me on this trip and fell asleep. As he slept, he ‘grew’!

“He took over all of his seat and was spreading out onto my seat. I had to move toward the center aisle of the bus to get any room for me to sit. I actually had to ‘elbow him’ to keep him from taking over both of the seats!”

“Thank you for giving the story a voice,” Ventura Judith Smith wrote in response to my column about her autistic nephew Riffy’s caregiver driver, Sunshine, who has hit on hard times and is in danger of losing the mini-van she uses to assist those in need.

“Sunshine saw a rainbow,” Judith added in an update. “An anonymous person is providing an interest free loan.”

Moreover, Star readers have generously contributed more than $1,000 to the Go Fund Me campaign (www.gofundme.com/sunshine-driving-service) to help Sunshine.

Responding to my column about visiting my son in New York City, and specifically my getting lost en route to the NY Public Library, Bill Grewe wrote:

“Woody, I enjoyed hearing about your trip. When that woman raced back at the subway station to find you and point you in the correct direction, you had found gold. Your trip could have ended then and you would have taken home a lasting memory.

“Like the guy who offered you ice-cold bottled water when he saw you in need at a local park, who are these kind people? I don’t know, but they are worthy of hopping a plane or running a mile to meet.”

Who are these kind people? You had found gold?

That is precisely how I feel about my readers.

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

Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
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Lowlights From High in the Sky

July 7, 2018 by Woody

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Woody Woodburn

400 Roosevelt Court

Ventura, CA 93003

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Lowlights From High in the Sky

Mark Twain, an enthusiastic proponent of travel, famously advised, “Throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor.”

Wise counsel, yet often in the course of sailing – or flying – away I get tangled in the bowlines, so to speak.

One memorable occasion occurred when I was taking a brand-new suitcase on its maiden trip. “Big Red” was the nickname my son bestowed on the beast when he greeted me at the luggage carousel.

Exiting the airport we took a long escalator up. Warning: Don’t text while riding an escalator. With my hands momentarily off of Big Red’s handle, it tumbled backwards.

More accurately, Big Red tumbled in place like a boulder on a treadmill while I was carried higher and further away. By the time I made my way down the up-moving stairway and wrestled control of Big Red, it looked like Edward Scissorhands had been its baggage handler. Good grief it was hilarious.

Speaking of hilarity, I have become somewhat of a legend within my family for finding myself next to memorable (pronounced “annoying”) seatmates when I fly solo. I am not talking about the run-of-the-mill characters like The Talker who keeps you from a novel or nap, or The Armrest Hog who pirates your elbow room, or The Fussy Baby or The Drunk.

Lots of passengers these non-frill-no-meal days bring food on the flight, such as fast-food hamburgers, deli sandwiches, even a full pizza. I, on the other hand, had a seatmate pull from his backpack a Tupperware tub of hot soup.

Soup is simply not a plane food. I am guessing he bought the albondigas at a kiosk and transferred it into the Tupperware as a spill-proof measure. The measure failed. A bounce of turbulence left me with a soaked-and-burning thigh.

Similarly, I had another seatmate pull out a large bowl. Granted, a salad is hardly unusual, even at 30,000 feet. But this one became memorable when the man began devouring it like The Beast in “Beauty And The Beast.” Indeed, I was hit numerous times by flying lettuce shrapnel.

“Shorty Shorts” on flight to Boston.

Another beastly encounter was a seatmate who spent most of the flight with her arms raised and crossed resting atop her head. Oh, and was wearing a tank top – her bare armpits at my nose level. Unlike “Salad Beast,” I had no appetite.

I could go on at length, but here is my personal topper. On a flight from Los Angeles to Boston, where the weather upon arrival was forecast to be rainy with temperatures in the 30s, my stout seatmate boarded wearing only sneakers (no socks), tank top and shorts.

Let me clarify the latter: short shorts.

Even that description does not do justice. Let me try further. They looked like P.E. gym shorts circa 1970. Larry Bird and Magic Johnson wore longer shorts in their heyday. Olympic milers wear longer shorts. Forget Twain’s “Throw off the bowlines” – I wished: Lower the hemlines!

Worse, upon sitting down, Shorty Short’s shorts were pushed higher, revealing so much thigh as to venture from “PG-13” to “R.” Words fail—fall short, if you will—in giving a full picture, which is probably a good thing.

Certain that my family would surely accuse me of exaggeration, or under-exaggeration, I knew visual proof would be required. Surreptitiously, I snapped a knee-to-waist photo while feigning to be texting.

“Fotomat,” my wife said, squinting her eyes tight as if trying to un-see the photo on my phone, “would have refused to make a print of that!”

At least Shorty Shorts kept his armpits to himself.

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

Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Wishing Clouds Clear for Sunshine

June 30, 2018 by Woody

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Woody Woodburn

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Wishing Clouds Clear for Sunshine

The email from Judith, a Ventura resident, began warmly, “Dear Woody, I am one of your longtime readers . . .”

As is the frequent modus operandi, however, the butter up was followed by an appeal for a favor. Often the request is for me to write a column reviewing a self-published book or perhaps to ask my readers to donate to a classroom/club/team. That sort of thing.

Judith’s cause is her nephew. Rather, her special-needs nephew’s caregiver driver who has seen sunny times erased by storm clouds.

Unfortunately, I have found it necessary as a rule to turn down all such requests lest my general interest column become a weekly book review or fundraising bugle. Too bad, because Judith’s plea begs for a happy ending.

Riffy, Judith’s 26-year-old nephew, is autistic. His driver is named Sunshine, which seems both appropriate and mocking.

Riffy and Sunshine

Mocking because when she was 12, Sunshine lost her mother.

Mocking because Sunshine had to retire early from her career as a chemist after being diagnosed with Lupus.

More so, however, Sunshine is appropriately descriptive. For example, her home has become affectionately known as “The Sunshine House” because of her affinity for welcoming those in need of a hot meal and warm bed.

Sunshine’s caring rays filled her car as well. After leaving the periodic table in her rearview mirror, she started driving senior shut-ins to doctor appointments, shopping, and other errands.

Riffy, too, began relying on her to drive him 40 miles to his daily six-hour habilitation program; Sunshine, in turn, relies on her 2015 minivan to help Riffy. All this chauffeuring has caused Sunshine to exceed the mileage allowed by her vehicle lease, meaning she must now buy it.

Roll in the storm clouds.

Ironically, the minivan Sunshine uses for acts of kindness driving others might be lost because of her kindness: a while back she unselfishly, and unwisely, co-signed a lease for a friend who needed a car to get to work and co-signed a loan for another friend to get a place to live.

You guessed it: the latter was evicted and the former was late in making payments. Hence, Sunshine’s once-excellent credit rating nosedived and she has been unable to get the new financing she needs.

Enter Riffy’s parents, Joan and Tom, who have started a Go Fund Me page (www.gofundme.com/sunshine-driving-service) with a goal of raising the $23,440 needed to pay off the minivan.

Their real goal is to give a little sunshine to both Sunshine and Riffy, who was born with a rare genetic mutation CDK13.

“As a result,” Joan told me, “Riffy has Intellectual Disability, Autism, ADHD and a Developmental Coordination Disorder.”

She added: “When you become a special-needs parent, you have to also become a special educator, behavior specialist, attorney, activist, occupational therapist, physical therapist, speech therapist, recreation therapist, psychotherapist, not to mention an alchemist, shaman, magician and fixer.”

Sunshine and her husband Joshua, meanwhile, have been godsends.

“Early on, Joshua, who is a Deacon in his Church, told me that if anything happened to Tom and me, Sunshine and he would take care of Riffy,” Joan marvels.

“When Tom had many illnesses over the last two years, Joshua would call and ask if I wanted to have a word of prayer. Sunshine would always tell me to have a ‘blessed day’ and loves Riffy’s eccentricities. Clearly, we got so much more then drivers.”

Clearly, Sunshine’s story is worthy of a rainbow ending. I just hope Judith and Joan and Riffy understand that I can’t start doing fundraising columns. Rules are rules, after all.

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

Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Nobody Asked, Here Goes Anyway…

June 25, 2018June 25, 2018 by Woody

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For a Personalized Autographed copy of “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME” or “WOODEN & ME” mail a check for $25 to:

Woody Woodburn

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Nobody Asked Me, But Here Goes Anyway

Loyal readers of this space well know that I love libraries.

Along with the breathtaking New York Public Library and the Boston Athenaeum, both of which I wrote about recently, and the Library of Trinity College Dublin that left me awestruck a few years ago, I have another new favorite: our local Ocean View Junior High library.

Although it is far more modest than the three cathedrals of books mentioned above, it is nonetheless special as evidenced by its librarian Maria Tapia being honored in Washington, D.C. with a national Inspiring School Employees Award.

How inspiring is Tapia? Students routinely pack the library from before school until after the final bell, including about 100 kids coming in during lunch period.

I wish Tapia could speak to all bureaucrats nationwide when they are tempted to cut library funding at any school.

I have been thinking about my vintage typewriter-collecting friend, Michael Mariani, who points out that some older models do not have an exclamation point key. Instead, one must take the time and effort to type a single quote mark, backspace, and a period to create an exclamation mark. UnderwoodTypewriter_Painting

Nobody asked me, but I think all computer and smartphone keyboards should delete their exclamation marks and similarly force people to fashion them. This would end the epidemic of people using one, two and even three exclamation marks in a row – !!! – in texts, emails and Tweets.

Speaking of Tweets, I think most people – especially celebrities and politicians – need a personal social media editor to check their Twitter postings for general ugliness, meanness and worse before being sent out. It would save everyone a lot of pain.

Nobody asked me, but my five favorite fruits, in order, are: strawberries, raspberries, apples, bananas, and oranges.

However, if I could only choose one fruit, it would be apples!!!

High school kids look up to professional athletes as role models, but more and more often I believe the reverse should be true.

Case in point occurred recently in Minnesota when Totino-Grace High School pitcher Ty Koehn struck out Mounds View High’s Jack Kocon to end a big playoff game.

As his teammates rushed to the mound to celebrate the victory sending them to the state championships, Koehn – in a video that has gone viral – sidestepped them all and ran to home plate to console Kocon, who has been his friend since childhood.

Koehn told reporters: “Our friendship is more important than just the silly outcome of a game. I had to make sure he knew that.”

It is said that no one stands taller than when he or she bends down to help a child.

Conversely, no nation shrinks smaller than when it separates infants and young children from their mothers and fathers.

A kind and anonymous Good Samaritan recently left a smooth beach stone – hand-painted in purple, green, pink and orange and bearing the words “hope will come” – on the brick steps that remain curbside at my dad’s home that burned to the ground in the Thomas Fire.

What a lovely, and powerful, thought: “hope will come.” I wish somehow those three words could have been said to – and, importantly, truly felt and taken to heart by – celebrities Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade, as well as every military veteran and teenager and grownup who is currently suffering and contemplating taking their own life.

With that in mind, let me close with this, the Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255. If you or someone you know is hurting, please call and maybe “hope will come.”

Father’s Day Story Packs a Punch

June 16, 2018 by Woody

Is your Club or Group looking for an inspiring guest speaker or do you want to host a book signing? . . . Contact Woody today!

* * *

For a Personalized Autographed copy of “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME” or “WOODEN & ME” mail a check for $25 to:

Woody Woodburn

400 Roosevelt Court

Ventura, CA 93003

* * *

Story for Father’s Day Packs a Punch

The photograph is from the early 1940s, black-and-white and slightly overexposed in the outdoor sunlight.

It is of a man, in his early 20s, with a thin mustache and a thick nose. His jaw is square as a brick’s edge. His hair is dark and short and flattened by sweat. His eyes are hidden in shadows.

The man is a boxer. He is in his prime, stomach flat and muscled, shoulders broad and powerful. He is working the speed bag, which is a blur after having just been struck by his left fist.

Jimmy Harvey, an Oak View resident with a gray-and-ginger goatee and bear’s build, cherishes this picture of his father taken between 1942 and 1946 while Roy L. Harvey was in the Navy during World War II.

Jimmy saw the photo for the first time when he was 14 and promptly asked his dad to teach him to fight.

Jimmy Harvey, who I would not like to box or fight!

“He said, ‘No, you don’t want to learn from Ol’ Canvas Back,” Jimmy recalls clearly a half-century later. “I asked, ‘What does that mean?’ ”

Answered his dad: “In boxing terms it means you spend more time on your back on the canvas than fighting.”

Looking through the prism of time, Jimmy, now a grandfather five times over, understands: “I think the reason Dad never taught me to fight is I used the term ‘fight’ and he used ‘box.’ He boxed for the art of it – I wanted to hurt somebody.”

In truth, Jimmy was the one generally getting hurt.

“I had my nose broken a few times,” he allows. “I wouldn’t back down. I was just stupid. I was getting expelled from high school all the time for fighting.”

The most memorable time Jimmy refused to back down happened not at school, but at home.

“I was 16 and Dad thought I was feeling my oats a little too much,” Jimmy shares. “We squared off, looking each other in the eye, and Dad said: ‘I know what you THINK you can do.’

“I was so mad. I really wanted to pop him and he knew it. He told me, ‘Let ‘er rip.’

“I decided I was going to sucker punch him quick,” Jimmy continues, pantomiming what followed by pounding his right fist into his left palm: “He caught it.”

Awed by the feat still, Jimmy adds: “Dad looked me in the eye and said, ‘You’re not ready.’ That cooled me off a bit.”

Sparring partners, in a manner of speaking, described their relationship. “We were never close,” the son allows. “I was a product of the ’60s and Dad was of the ’30s and ’40s.”

Time has a way of shrinking generation gaps. So does terminal illness. In 1988, at age 68, Roy was in the hospital. As Christmas – and death – approached, Jimmy visited daily.

“It was a race between liver failure and lung cancer,” Jimmy shares, his piercing blue eyes suddenly awash with emotion. “I was with him when he died. That was tough. Uncle Del was there, too.”

Flipping through a photo album at the wake, Del came to the picture of his brother working the speed bag.

“I said, ‘There’s old Canvas Back,’ ” Jimmy retells. “Uncle Del asked me what I’d said?

“I said, ‘Daddy told me he was on his back all the time so they called him Canvas Back.’ ”

Uncle Del replied, and sharply: “Son, I don’t know where you got your information, but your dad was All-Navy two years running.”

Tracing a finger over the grainy boxing photo, Jimmy rejoins: “He must have really been something in the ring.”

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

Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Travels reach a “Joyous” dead end

June 9, 2018 by Woody

Is your Club or Group looking for an inspiring guest speaker or do you want to host a book signing? . . . Contact Woody today!

* * *

For a Personalized Autographed copy of “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME” or “WOODEN & ME” mail a check for $25 to:

Woody Woodburn

400 Roosevelt Court

Ventura, CA 93003

* * *

Road trip reaches a “Joyous” dead end

Fourth in a series of columns chronicling my recent father-son travels from Paul Revere’s gravesite in Boston to John Steinbeck’s writing cabin in Long Island, and more.

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The lane was narrow and in need of attention, a blend of gravel and dirt and potholes, leading to a dead end.

In my mind’s eye, nevertheless, Bluff Point Lane came into focus like The Yellow Brick Road of Oz. Indeed, at its terminus and on the left, awaited a castle.

A red brick walkway leads from the driveway to the front door of John Steinbeck’s summer home in Sag Harbor, Long Island. My son and I had driven a few odometer clicks shy of 100 miles from his apartment in Manhattan, by way of Theodore Roosevelt’s Sagamore Hill “Summer White House” estate, to reach here.

Reaching my destination at 2 Bluff Point Lane.

More accurately, my journey covered more than 3,000 miles. Having previously visited Steinbeck’s boyhood home in Salinas, California, where his writing career began, I wanted to see its East Coast bookend where the aging author wrote the final manuscripts of his life.

Those closing works include “The Winter of Our Discontent,” which was fittingly set in a fictionalized Sag Harbor named New Baytown, and “Travels with Charley” about a road trip around America that began right here at 2 Bluff Point Lane on Sept. 23, 1960.

Steinbeck and his black poodle Charley’s departure on their 11,000-mile odyssey in a customized green Ford camper pickup had been delayed by a hurricane. Nearly six decades later, my son and I arrived in an orange rental car after driving through a rainstorm.

Auspiciously, the clouds parted just as we parked. Unfortunately, the front door did not open when I knocked; there would be no serendipitous tour inside the private residence. Through the windowed door, however, a prominently displayed framed poster-size black-and-white photo of Steinbeck in his mustachioed youth greeted us.

In town, in a charming bookstore, in a similar oversized frame we had earlier seen a photograph of Steinbeck in his older age. Not surprisingly, an entire shelf was dedicated to books written by this quiet hamlet’s most famous resident.

The most famous resident’s summer residence proved remarkably modest. Forest green when Steinbeck owned it from 1955 until his death in 1968, it is now painted slate grey. Three windows in front are adorned with white shutters while tall timbers adorn the expansive grounds.

One tree is especially noteworthy. Planted by Steinbeck himself directly before the front door as a sentinel for privacy, it has grown so thick of trunk a “Welcome” mat now barely squeezes in between the threshold and tree base.

Steinbeck fittingly named this house on the east end of Long Island “Eden,” yet it was not the castle I sought to sightsee. 2SteinbeckCabin

The rightful castle is around back, a stone’s throw away by a strong arm. Specifically, it is a hexagonal outbuilding that Steinbeck called his “writing cabin.” Smaller by half than Henry David Thoreau’s famous 10-by-15-foot cabin at Walden Pond, it is nonetheless a citadel for the imagination with a breathtaking panoramic view of picturesque Bluff Point Cove below.

Skirted by a brick border, the grey wooden cabin’s matching shingle roof rises to a point. Paned white double doors on one side are joined on the other five by white-framed windows to provide 360-degree natural light and inspiration.

Outside, hanging from two hooks above the entrance, a white wooden sign with hand-painted black medieval lettering reads “Joyous Garde,” in honor of Sir Lancelot’s castle.

Within, on a simple built-in plank desktop, is where the Knight of the Keyboard’s magic happened.

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

Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

WOODY WOODBURN

Writer, "Streaker" & Speaker

Category Archives: Columns

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Father’s Day Story Packs a Punch

Travels reach a “Joyous” dead end