Category Archives: Columns

Help On Our Life Journeys

by Woody

 My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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Having Help Along Our Journeys

In addition to offering kind words of congratulations, a number of people have requested I share in a column my induction speech from last Sunday’s Ventura County Sports Hall of Fame ceremony.

Their wish is my day off. Here, then, is an abridged version, picking up midway and including a brief tale I shared in this space a few years ago but warrants retelling.

My personal Hall of Famers -- Greg, Lisa, and Dallas.

My personal Hall of Famers — Greg, Lisa, and Dallas.

“Four score and seven years ago . . .” Oops, not my speech.

“Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth.” Oops again, wrong speech although the right sentiment.

OK, here we go:

I am confident finding the right words in a press box under deadline pressure, but even with lots of time to think about it, words escape me in adequately expressing the thrill of being here with fellow 2015 recipients George (Contreras), Jack (Kocur), Eric (Reynolds) and Roger (Evans) – and also joining the likes of Eric Turner, Mike Larrabee, Jamaal Wilkes, Mike and Bob Bryan, and on and on.

None of us being honored tonight, and this includes you remarkable high school and college student-athletes of the year, got here by ourselves. We all had help along the way from parents and siblings, friends and teachers, teammates and coaches, from spouses and an endless string of others.

An example I like to share is Roger Bannister breaking the 4-minute barrier in the mile. Running is a solitary sport – but success isn’t.

Bannister would not have made history without Chris Brasher pacing him through the first two laps and Chris Chataway sacrificing himself to lead Bannister through the third lap.

In life, we all have people blocking the headwind for us and pacing our way.

I’m here because as a kid I got hooked reading Jim Murray’s sports columns and in college had him answer a letter with advice and as a young sportswriter had my writing idol befriend me.

I’m here because of sports editors who believed in me; and copy editors who caught my mistakes and colleagues who inspired me; and athletes and coaches who gave me their time.

I’m here because of Wayne Bryan’s and Coach John Wooden’s mentorship.

And, of course, I’m here because of my wife, Lisa, and daughter, Dallas, and son, Greg.

Let me close with this brief story. It happened in a small farm town in Ohio where a young girl wandered away from home and got lost in the family’s wheat field that had grown taller than she was.

We all get lost in our own "wheat field challenges" and need a helping hand.

We all get lost in our own “wheat field challenges” and need a helping hand.

Her family called out her name and searched frantically, but could not find her. Soon neighbors joined in and eventually half the townspeople were running through the wheat field trying to find the little girl, but with no success. The field was simply too big.

Darkness fell and so did the temperatures. If not found soon, the little girl would surely die from the bitter cold.

Finally, the little girl’s father called everyone in from the wheat field. No, he was not giving.

Rather, he had an idea. He gathered all the volunteers and had them join hands to form a long human chain. They then walked together, side by side by side, and combed through the tall, amber waves of grain.

In this manner they did not miss a single area as they had when searching separately as individuals. Within ten minutes, the search party of nearly one hundred individuals, now united as one, found the little girl curled up on the ground – shivering, but still alive.

We are all lost at times and need others to help us overcome our own “wheat field challenges.”

Other times we must offer the helping hand.

And so to everyone who has linked hands to help me along my journey, to the Hall of Fame Committee and to all my loyal readers, I say to you what Coach Wooden once wrote to me:

“Although it is often used without true feeling, when it is used with sincerity, no collection of words can be more expressive or meaningful than the very simple word – Thanks!”

Thanks!

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

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

Column: Masterpiece Grads

by Woody

New Grads, Create A Masterpiece Day (And Repeat)

Dear Class of 2015, I am honored to have been invited (albeit by myself) to address you here today.

Michelangelo, when asked how he had created one of his masterpiece sculptures, replied simply: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”1angel

Creating your own masterpiece life, dear graduates, as you journey forward requires a similar process: You must see the angel – your passion – and then set it free.

For Michelangelo, this meant chipping away the pieces of marble that did not look like the angel or the horse or David. In our lives, this means chipping away the distractions and challenges and even the negative people who are preventing us from achieving our dreams.

In addition to being sculptors, you are also painters who create your masterpiece by adding brushstokes of color to the canvas. In other words, by adding determination and patience and love, to name just three key hues.

For good reason my dear mentor John Wooden advised focusing on creating your masterpiece day and not your masterpiece life. A masterpiece sculpture is created one chisel strike at a time; a masterpiece painting one brushstroke at a time; a masterpiece novel one keystroke at a time. So is a masterpiece life – private and professional – created one masterful day at a time, one after another, until they add up to masterpiece weeks, months, years.

To focus on a masterpiece life, or even a masterpiece year, is too daunting. Better to keep in mind this additional wisdom from Coach Wooden: “Little things add up to big things.”

A parable about a starfish emphasizes the big power of little acts. It was a beautiful Southern California morning and a beachcomber was walking along the sand that was littered with kelp and driftwood from a violent storm the night before. In the distance he noticed a man bend down to pick something up and then toss it into the ocean.

Every few steps, the man repeated this calisthenic: stop, bend, stand, toss. But what was he throwing, the beachcomber wondered: Driftwood sticks? Broken seashells? Skipping stones?

As the two morning walkers neared each other, the beachcomber finally realized the man was picking up starfish that, by the hundreds, had been washed ashore by the violent storm’s high surf and left stranded.

The beachcomber could not help but laugh at the other man’s futile efforts. “You’re just wasting your time,” he said. “There are too far many starfish for you to make a difference before they die.”1gradpic

“Maybe,” the man replied as he gently tossed another starfish into the waves. “But to this one I’m making a world of difference.”

As you venture out into the world, Class of 2015, keep an eye out for “starfish” who need your help.

Before closing, I would like to share a passage near the end of Ray Bradbury’s classic novel, Fahrenheit 451: “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.”

These words remind me of a poem by my grandfather Ansel, handwritten on the title page of his medical college textbook Modern Surgery and dated Oct. 1, 1919, less than a year before Bradbury was born:

“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.”

By finding your passion and work that you want to live on, dear graduates, and by creating your masterpiece day, over and again, in the end your Chief will call it good.

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

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

Column: Messing With Hangers

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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Clothes On Floor Is Hanging Offense

How many times has your mother, wife or significant other, asked (pronounced “told”) you, “Will you please hang up your clothes!”?

Personally, I lost count at about six – age 6, that is.

Had I a quarter for every time I have heard that exasperated complaint I could hire a butler to pick up after me.1hangers

To be honest, I’m not all that bad at putting clothes away in dresser drawers.

And I’m flat out good at putting my clothes away on chairs. I can drape, layer and stockpile clothes enough for a week on a single chair and another week’s worth on the seat and handlebars of an exercise bike. A circus performer spinning plates on sticks should have such a gift of balance.

But I have yet to master the art of using clothes hangers. I haven’t checked my symptoms on Web M.D. but I think I might be afflicted with “hangerphobia” or perhaps even “hangerexia nervosa.”

Males are especially susceptible to both Oscar Madison-like maladies, although females are not immune. Teenage girls are proof of this; spiders and snakes frighten many less than handling do hangers.

Let’s face it, hangers can be very scary lurking in dark closets, hanging like one-legged bats with wings spread before attacking unsuspecting hands. Moreover, they often strike in pairs, groups and bunches.

Unlike socks that mysteriously disappear in the dryer, hangers, like rabbits, seemingly multiply overnight. Two explanations for this phenomenon are that hangers are reincarnated lost socks or perhaps hangers simply have no natural predators to thin the herd.

Well, they now have one – me!

Just once I would like to reach into my bedroom closet and grab a single hanger and pull it out without 13 cousin hangers clamping onto my wrist like a school of hungry piranha.

Hangers apparently thought Ben Franklin was talking about them when he said, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

Separating the wire pretzels, which always seem in the midst of a spirited game of Twister, is no simple task. Rubik’s Cube is far easier to solve. Nerves of steel alone won’t suffice. Patience and reason are all but useless.

A short temper, however, helps. Brute force is what hangers most respect. A wild, shaking motion – similar to the one used to dislodge a piece of gum from your fingertip – is the most effective method for separating clustered hangers.

After you finish playing 52-hanger pickup, you must select the right hanger for the specific job. This is no small task as the variety of hanger designs is matched only by the curses they invoke.

Heavy and sturdy. Thin and frail. Metal, wood, plastic and composites of the three. Some swivel, some don’t. But all raise one’s blood pressure, especially the thief-proof hotel hangers.

Thin wire hangers are ill-suited for anything, sans perhaps T-shirts – and who hangs up a T-shirt? Drape a pair of jeans on one of these wimps and the sucker will bend and sag in the middle.

However, if you have locked your keys in the car, thin is in and this is your best choice for breaking in.

Plastic hangers are fine for most things except men’s jeans, but are also more expensive and, in my experience, prone to being hogged by one’s wife.

Chin-up bar gauged metal hangers rate 5 Stars for everyday use. In fact, three out of four dry cleaners recommend these.

Tailors, on the other hand, endorse the use of wooden hangers for sports coats and dress pants.

Another choice to prevent leaving a crease across pant legs is a hanger with a cardboard tube along the bottom. Unfortunately, the cardboard invariably bends or detaches, causing the pants to fall to the floor and get numerous creases.

My advice is to avoid these fragile hangers and skip the problem altogether by tossing your clothes directly onto the floor yourself.

Indeed, I find these hangers, actually all hangers, annoying – even more so than being asked (told), “Will you please hang up your clothes!”

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

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

Column: Offering My 2 Cents

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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Nobody Asked, But Here’s My 2 Cents

Prince William and Kate didn’t ask me, but while Charlotte Elizabeth Diana is a lovely name, they missed a royal opportunity – all the more so with the planned release this year of the new movie “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” – by not naming their daughter Princess Leia.

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The late Huell Howser is still "California's Gold."

The late Huell Howser is still “California’s Gold.”

Nobody asked me, but watching reruns of the late and beloved Huell Howser’s “California’s Gold” makes me both sad and happy. He was an a-MAZE-ing talent.

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Those “Watch Your Speed” radar signs along some roads are a good idea except when there are two lanes each direction, often with cars traveling different speeds, because there is no way to know which car the radar is flashing a speed for.

Caltrans didn’t ask me, but it needs to paint a marker on the road to show where the radar is focused.

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Does anyone else find it silly when TV news reporters appear to be going though some kind of fraternity hazing by reporting in (pick one: a snow bank, sideways driving rainstorm, high surf crashing over a sea wall, hurricane winds)?

And how about the crazies who “photo-bomb” in the background during these live TV weatherperson initiations?

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Boston Marathon Bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev admitted guilt in the courtroom before his trial started so does anyone agree with Woody The Dunce that it seemed like a waste of money and time, such as sending the jurors on a field trip to the boat he was hiding in when shot and captured, to drag the proceedings out for weeks – and now doing similarly with the penalty phase?

The judge didn’t ask me, but if the U.S. Supreme Court hears about an hour of testimony for a case, I say this trial and penalty determination should have been limited to the four hours it takes many runners to complete the Boston Marathon.

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Christmas arrived in May for me when I received the kindest email from Paul Olmsted saying my annual “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” inspired him to personally give new tennis rackets to the first 50 kids ages 10 and under who sign-up for the upcoming USTA youth lessons program at Buena High School running from June 22 to July 13.

(To register a youth ages 6 to 17, or for more information, call 805-630-9269 or email olmstedp2001@yahoo.com.)

Olmstead, who played at Arizona State and is a former president of the Ventura Tennis Club and assistant coach at Ventura High, says he simply wants to help more kids take up the great sport.

Nobody asked me, but for $10 you can sponsor the signup fee for a kid in need and for and $25 you can also buy an extra gift racket. Checks made out to Ventura Tennis Club can be sent to Ventura Tennis Club, P.O. Box 3005, Ventura, CA 93006.

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The National PTA and National Education Association didn’t ask me, but it says here that Teacher Appreciation Week should have been a full seven days instead of limited to this past Monday through Friday – after all, most teachers spend part of their weekend grading papers and making lesson plans.

Therefore, I encourage everyone to extend the celebration a couple days by sending a letter or email to a teacher who encouraged you; inspired you; helped you turn your life around; in short, who made a life-changing difference in who you are today.

Another great way to say thanks is to make a donation – such as by going to donorschoose.org and searching by ZIP Code – and support a classroom in Ventura County.

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Here is a great thing about being an “adult” (my wife claims I am unqualified to know since I generally behave like I’m 12) – having a generous slice of leftover pumpkin pie for breakfast.

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A handwritten message on a Post-it Note that has been up for a full school year on an otherwise bare refrigerator in the apartment of four grad students I know always makes me smile when I visit: “Don’t forget to smile!”

Nobody asked me, but that’s good advice always.

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

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

Column: Stan Smith, Part II

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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The Rest Of This Story Took A While

Eight weeks ago in this space I shared a cherished memory of being a 10-year-old ball boy for Stan Smith in 1970, two years before he would ascent to being ranked No. 1 in the world. After literally smashing his wooden racket while hitting an overhead smash on match point to win the doubles title with Bob Lutz, Smith gave me the crumpled frame as a souvenir.

Feeling 10 years old again with my boyhood idol, Stan Smith.

Feeling 10 years old again with my boyhood idol, Stan Smith.

To borrow the signature phrase from the late, great radio broadcaster Paul Harvey, “And now the rest of the story . . .”

Last week I was a guest at “An Evening With Stan Smith” fundraising dinner held at the spectacular home of Valerie and Alan Greenberg to honor the former Ojai champion during this year’s 115th annual tennis tournament.

In addition to my lovely wife, I brought along that old broken Wilson Jack Kramer Pro Staff model racket. I have always regretted not asking Smith to autograph it that long-ago summer day in Ohio.

In Ojai, on a spring night, I now hoped to remedy that.

“Hello Mr. Smith. I’m Woody and we met 45 years ago,” I said as introduction. “I was a ball boy at the Buckeye Boys Ranch tournament.”

“I remember you,” Smith warmly joked. “You’ve grown a little taller since then.”

It can be a dicey thing meeting one’s hero. The risk is that in person he or she will fall shy of the image you hold. My boyhood idol measured up even in my adulthood, which is saying something because Smith stands 6-foot-4.

For the next 15 minutes, Smith, still five-set-trim at age 68, regaled me one-on-one with stories of his Hall of Fame career. Of Wimbledon, where he slept in a narrow bed a foot too short for him en route to winning the singles title in 1972.

Of his days at USC, where he won the 1968 NCAA singles championship and partnered with Lutz – who was also on hand this night – to capture two NCAA doubles crowns.

And of Davis Cup play, specifically his match for the ages in 1972 in Bucharest against Ion Tiriac, against eight Romanian line judges, against a head umpire intimidated by the hostile home crowd, against death threats on the U.S. players.

Tiriac’s “out” balls were routinely called in and Smith’s “in” shots called out. Smith got two such bad calls on one single crucial point.

Still, Smith overcame it all and prevailed in five sets to clinch the Cup. Too, he overcame the urge to punch the gamesman Tiraiac rather than shake his hand at the net afterwards. Instead, Smith coolly told him he no longer respected him, turned, and walked away.

Wayne Bryan, emcee for the evening, began his warm introduction of Smith with a roasting that belonged in a comedy club. Smith laughed so hard I half-expected his trademark blonde mustache to slip off his quivering lip.

But when the microphone was in Smith’s hand, as with a racket, he gave better than he got, displaying a wicked sense of humor and playfulness and grace.

SmithAutograph

Finally autographed 45 years later!

Speaking of having a racket in his hand, when I showed Smith the old Pro Staff he smiled and instantly examined it. He explained how he personally nailed the butt cap secure and showed me where he twice tacked the old-school leather grip in place before tightly wrapping it on.

And then his right hand, a paw really for it is huge and strong, wrapped itself around the oversized 4-7/8 grip. All these years later his fingers instinctively found their familiar grooves in the overlapping seams and he squeezed gently, caressingly almost, and waved the Wilson magic wand ever so slightly to better feel its heft and balance. From his contented smile you could tell it was like he had been reunited with a dance partner from a long-ago Prom.

Then my boyhood hero returned to 2015 and, while I remained in 1970 a little longer, he signed the racket with a single double-tall script “S” next to “tan” which was above “mith”.

And now you know the rest of the story, finally completed 45 years later.

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

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

 

Column: Venting Some Anger

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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Reasons to Count to 10 . . . or 100

If you were expecting 700 words of nice this morning, phone your sweet grandma. I’m in a sour mood. But before getting angry, let me share Thomas Jefferson’s “Ten Rules For A Good Life” I recently came across:

Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.

One of Thomas Jefferson's 10 Rules For A Good Life: "When angry, count to 10 before you speak; if very angry, count to 100."

One of Thomas Jefferson’s 10 Rules For A Good Life: “When angry, count to 10 before you speak; if very angry, count to 100.”

Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.

Never spend your money before you have it.

Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap; it will never be dear to you.

Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst, and cold.

Never repent of having eaten too little.

Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly.

Don’t let the evils that have never happened cost you pain.

Always take things by their smooth handle.

When angry, count to 10 before you speak; if very angry, count to 100.

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After counting to 10, let me say I get angry when adults complain about today’s youth being lazy/rude/entitled/fill-in-the-negativity. The 88 high school seniors honored at this year’s 32nd annual Star Scholar Awards are evidence that Millennials are awesome.

And while the Star Scholars stand out for their academics, volunteerism, athleticism, artistic talents and more, consider this: for each of them honored there were countless other worthy of nomination.

Here is another example of our amazing youth: over the past 17 years, students from Buena High have donated 11,000 hours restoring the Anacapa Island landscape to make it more hospitable for seabirds.

For these efforts the National Park Service has recognized Buena’s Environmental Club with the national Hartzog Volunteer Youth Group Award.

And while Ventura County is indeed special, rest assured every county across this great nation has its own star scholars and young volunteers.

The future is in good hands.

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After counting to 30, let me say I get angry when the Ventura County Board of Supervisors rushes through a proposal, such as it did by scrapping a three-member ethics commission that ruled on campaign finance complaints and replaced it with the appointment of two people – one who will investigate and a czar who will rule.

The law – co-authored by supervisors Steve Bennett and Kathy Long, and passed by a slim 3-2 vote – is troubling because it raises conflicts of issue, most especially because one of the two appointees has previously campaigned for and given money to Bennett.

Most agree campaign finance reform is a good thing, but this change is like trying to improve officiating in college basketball by allowing one of the coaches to handpick an alum from his school to call all the fouls.

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This statistic made me count to 50 in anger: on one single day this past January we had 1,147 homeless children, women and men in Ventura County.

Granted, this is 20 percent less than two years ago but that is meaningless to these 1,147 fellow humans.

We can, and must, continue to do better.

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I had to count to 70 after reading about a 6-year-old girl and her 10-year-old brother who were picked up by Maryland police and held for more than five hours before their parents could even see them.

The siblings’ “crime”? Walking home from a park.

“Two kids that are unaccompanied and they’ve been walking around for about 20 minutes,” said the man who called 911.

It is not an isolated incidence of lunacy. A mother in South Carolina was jailed for letting her 9-year-old play alone in a park and a Florida mom was arrested because her 7-year-old was alone on a playground, to mention just two recent stories.

There weren’t enough jails to lock up the all the parents in the 1960s and ’70s who let their kids explore the world.

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I have to count to 100 every time a law enforcement officer (or volunteer cop) mistakenly shoots a person with a handgun when he or she meant to use a stun gun.

Who had the bright idea of making a stun gun in any way resemble a handgun in the first place?

How about forcing manufacturers to design stun guns shaped like flashlights – then a cop’s mistake of devices won’t be deadly.

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

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

Column: Beauty in Imperfection

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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Imperfection Can Be Beautiful

“How long does it take you to write a column?”

It is a question I am often asked when speaking to a classroom of kids or a service group of adults or book club. I really have no good answer other than, “About twice as long as it should because I’m a painfully slow writer – but usually not long enough because my deadline seems to arrive before I’m completely satisfied.”

Navajo blankets often have a "spirit outlet" imperfection purposely woven into them to add even more beauty.

Navajo blankets often have a “spirit outlet” imperfection purposely woven into them to add even more beauty.

This is as true now with a week to turn in a column as it was in the press box with as little as 20 minutes to write from game’s end to deadline. Indeed, I have found truth in Leonardo da Vinci’s observation: “Art is never finished, only abandoned.”

And yet historians suggest da Vinci had a difficult time abandoning his art fully, as it is believed he worked on the Mona Lisa, off and on, for possibly 16 years, including 12 years on the lips.

Thank goodness for deadlines that force a writer to abandon his or her art. Indeed, a deadline is penicillin for the bacteria writer’s blockitis and paralysis by perfectionism.

“Perfectionism is the enemy of creation, as extreme self-solitude is the enemy of well-being,” said the prolific writer John Updike.

Volitare was more succinct, noting: “The perfect is the enemy of the good.”

Nonetheless, I still believe that in writing – as in most endeavors – time and effort are the ally of the good becoming better. Certainly I think a column I spend many hours on, and rewrite and polish and rewrite, will rise above one I bang out in a couple hours.

“Aim at perfection in everything, though in most things it is unattainable,” advised Lord Chesterfield. “However, they who aim at it, and persevere, will come much nearer to it than those whose laziness and despondency make them give it up as unattainable.”

John Wooden put it similarly: “Perfection is an impossibility, but striving for perfection is not. Do the best you can. That is what counts.”

I recently learned that the Shakers, renowned for their furniture design and craftsmanship, had their own vaccine for Type-A perfectionism – they deliberately introduced a “mistake” into the things they made in order to show that man should not aspire to the perfection of God. Flawed, they believed, could be ideal.

Perhaps many of us can take a lesson here from the Shakers. Maybe we don’t figuratively need a gold star and “Perfect” written in red ink atop the page of everything we undertake. Maybe instead we need to be proud of doing our best.

Maybe we need to see our creativity when we draw outside the lines. Maybe we need to embrace the effort when we don’t set a new PR in a 5K or marathon.

Maybe we need to ignore advertising that makes us believe that only a wrinkle-free, gray-free, fill-in-the-blank-free appearance is beauty perfection.

Similar to the Shakers, the Navajos purposely weave a single imperfection into their handmade blankets. To their eyes this makes the blankets more, not less, beautiful.

In his terrific book, “Blood and Thunder: The Epic Story of Kit Carson and the Conquest of the American West,” author Hamptom Sides elaborates on this mindset:

“Navajos hated to complete anything – whether it was a basket, a blanket, a song, or a story. They never wanted their artifacts to be too perfect, or too close-ended, for a definitive ending cramped the spirit of the creator and sapped the life from the art. So they left little gaps and imperfections, deliberate lacunae that kept things alive for another day.

“Even today Navajo blankets often have a faint imperfection designed to let the creation breathe – a thin line that originates from the center and extends all the way to the edge, sometimes with a single thread dangling from its border. Tellingly, the Navajos call the intentional flaw the ‘spirit outlet.’ ”

Henceforth, I will keep the Shakers and Navajos in mind with my writing – and other undertakings – and embrace imperfections. However, I won’t intentionally weave a mistake into my columns as I am confident my “spirit outlet” will occur on its own.

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

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

 

Column: Stranger Becomes a Friend

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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Downside of ‘Hello’ is ‘Goodbye’

“A stranger,” Will Rogers said, “is just a friend I haven’t met yet.”

Three years ago, Jongsoo was a stranger to me.

And then we met, crossing paths at the Ventura Aquatic Center community park. I was on my daily run going one direction around the soccer fields and he walked, aided by a cane, in the opposite. “Hi,” I said as we passed.

My joyful friend, Jongsoo, and me before saying goodbye.

My joyful friend, Jongsoo, and me before saying goodbye.

“HELL-OHHH!” Jongsoo replied in all capital letters with the “o” drawn out and punctuated with an exclamation mark.

Jongsoo not only greeted me with “HELL-OHHH!” whenever I saw him in the days and months that followed, often a few times a week, he would sing it with the same enthusiasm on each ensuing loop, sometimes a dozen times in one afternoon, as if every encounter was the first.

Soon we were exchanging a hug with the day’s first “HELL-OHHH” and high-fives thereafter. Jongsoo’s carbonated joy always added a lightness to my stride and heart.

Too, he made me laugh. For one thing, Jongsoo often walked with a transistor radio, sans earphones, blaring loud enough to scare away birds. Moreover, he sometimes did a few dance steps for my amusement.

The sight of Jongsoo and me trying to converse had to amuse all who saw us, an odd couple to be sure: he two decades older than me; me a foot taller; and neither of us understanding much of what the other was saying despite our pantomimes.

One day early on, Jongsoo was limping more than usual and through gestures I asked about his leg. He answered by displaying a scar that looked like a great white shark had taken a bite out of his hip and thigh. Through charades it became clear the shark had been a car.

Last week, Jongsoo gave me a note, in English, explaining he was leaving in five days and would not return for at least a year.

“Thanks for cheering me up whenever I see you at the park,” it also read. “Thank you for being my friend.”

The following afternoon I handed Jongsoo a return note of thanks with some questions about him. One, two, three days passed and I did not see him at the park. I feared I would not get to say goodbye to my friend.

Why had I not realized sooner that Jongsoo must be living with someone who could translate for us? Mad at myself, I recalled what sports writer Frank Graham once wrote about Bob Meusel, a gruff outfielder with the New York Yankees who in his fading playing days warmed up slightly: “He’s learning to say hello when it’s time to say goodbye.”

On the final day before Jongsoo would fly back to South Korea, as I was nearing the end of my run and about to leave the park, a VW Beetle honked and pulled into the parking lot. Jongsoo had insisted his daughter, Kim, drive him over one last time in hopes of catching me.

“HELL-OHHH!” Jongsoo sang.

“An nyoung!” I said back, after asking Kim for the Korean translation.

From Kim I learned that her father is 76 years old, has three children and his arranged marriage is closing in on its golden anniversary. He has been staying in Ventura with Kim, who came to American in 1994 to earn a doctoral degree in Special Education and remained here to teach, and her husband Cory, a software engineer.

I also learned that a taxi had struck Jongsoo five years ago in Seoul; his hip socket and part of his shattered femur needed to be replaced. How he now walks for one to two hours daily is remarkable and inspiring. Surgery and chemotherapy for colon cancer also did not slow him down for long.

After giving my friend a hug, I asked Kim how to say goodbye in Korean.

“An nyoung!” I said again, for the salutation she explained is the same going as arriving.

I learned to say hello when it was time to say goodbye – but now I’ll be ready to say hello when goodbye ends and Jungsoo and I meet again at the park.

*   *   *

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

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

Column: Good News Nuggets

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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There’s Good News This Morning

Gabriel Heatter, a popular radio commentator for the Mutual Broadcasting network during the World War II era, liked to focus on uplifting stories and greeted his audience with the sign-on: “Good evening everyone, there’s good news tonight.”

In honor of Heatter, who passed away 43 years ago this week: Good morning everyone, there’s good news today.

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Nearly everyone in the Turkish town of Bagcilar, near Istanbul, secretly learned sign language in order to surprise their deaf neighbor with a magical day when his sound barriers were broken down.

My friend Connie, owner of Mrs. Figs' Bookworm, helped put on a wonderful "One City, One Book" talk featuring Garth Stein.

My friend Connie, owner of Mrs. Figs’ Bookworm, helped put on a wonderful “One City, One Book” talk featuring Garth Stein.

Thanks to a production crew and cameras hidden inside baby strollers, purses and even an apple on a fruit stand, the uplifting gift to a young man named Muaharrem was captured on video.

The fun begins when Muaharrem – and his sister Ozlem, who is in on the surprise – leaves home on what he thinks is a normal day and encounters a pedestrian on the sidewalk who signs, “Good morning.”

Next, a baker behind the shop’s counter greets Muaharrem with sign language: “We’ve got hot bagels.”

Back outside, a man purposely spills a bag of fruit just as Muaharrem approaches. After Muaharrem stops to help pick up, the man gives his thanks by signing, “I’d like to offer you an apple.”

By now Muaharrem appears stunned, as if he has entered some Bizzaro World, and asks his sister: “Do you know him? Is he hearing impaired?”

Answers Ozlem: “I don’t know.”

The choreographed fun continues when a woman on the sidewalk “accidentally” bumps into Muaharrem and apologizes in sign: “Sorry, my mistake.”

Inside a taxi, the driver signs, “Hi, welcome.” Muaharrem remains bemused until he is dropped off in the public square and greeted by all his neighbors. The ruse is revealed, he is overcome by emotion.

Granted, it was all done for an Internet advertisement for Samsung’s new video call center for the hearing impaired, but for the town members it was done from the heart.

*

The Internet hasn’t killed books just yet.

Camarillo’s fourth annual “One City, One Book” literacy event, in chorus with Mrs. Figs’ Bookworm, last Sunday featured a talk by Garth Stein, author of “The Art of Racing in the Rain.”

Almost as wonderful as Stein’s engaging, enlightening and humorous hour-long talk is that the Camarillo Public Library’s conference room was filled to Standing Room Only.

Indeed, 300 book readers in one place is good news that required the bestselling author to spend a full second hour signing copies of “The Art of Racing in the Rain” as well as his new novel “A Sudden Light.”

*

In the dark of night, in Eugene, Oregon, a family of four – with a fifth member on the way – was sleeping in its car in a public park that was about to close for curfew.

Robert Wood, his pregnant wife and two young sons were en route moving from Alaska to Eugene and trying to save money while looking for living quarters.

When police officer David Natt discovered the Wood family and heard its story, he made them leave the park . . . but first he gave them money – collected in advance from a local church – for two nights in a hotel until their new housing was available.

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One corner of Philadelphia is certainly living up to the “City of Brotherly Love” nickname thanks to one customer who walked into a small pizza parlor and left $1 to pre-purchase a slice to be redeemed by the next homeless person who enter and couldn’t afford a meal.

Mason Wartman, owner of Rosa’s Fresh Pizza, wrote the purchase down on a Post-it note and stuck it on the wall behind the register. Word spread and soon the kind deed – and Post-its – multiplied as more customers “paid-it-forward” by buying a guaranteed slice of pizza for anyone in need.

To date, 10,000 pizza slices have been bought for needy neighbors!

Mother Teresa said, “If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.” Remarkably, by feeding one person it is possible to inspire feeding a hundred people – or even 10,000. That’s good news.

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

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

Column: A Stew of Thoughts

by Woody

My new memoir WOODEN & ME is available here at Amazon

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Thoughts on This, That, the Other

Nobody asked me, but here goes anyway. . .

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I don’t understand the appeal of the new Apple Watch that requires a person to also carry an iPhone in order to activate all the watch’s features, such as tracking physical activity and alerting a person via vibration when texts arrive.

1dicktracyApple didn’t ask me, but alert me when it finally makes a wristwatch that is a phone – you know like Dick Tracy had 80 years ago!

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Congratulations to Ventura County four-peat champion Westlake High School for placing 20th in the state Academic Decathlon.

Nobody asked me, but I would like to see academic all-stars get the same media coverage when they decide which college they will take their talented minds to as blue-chip prep athletes receive on national signing day.

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Hollywood and theater chains didn’t ask me, but how about if they cut the 20 minutes of coming attractions by half and show some of the Oscar-nominated Best Short Animated Films we never get to see?

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I hadn’t watched a national evening news broadcast on one of the three major networks for a while and when I did recently my takeaway on all the fluff was this: #WalterCronkiteIsSad.

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If somebody asked me if I wanted a bacon and raspberry jelly-topped hotdog on a Krispy Kreme doughnut bun I would think they were messing with me.

But “The Krispy Kreme Donut Dog” really is a mess of a concoction offered at Fawley Stadium in Wilmington, Del., home of the single-A Blue Rocks.

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Add Krispy arteries: Not to be outdone, for $7 fans attending Phoenix International Raceway can buy a 900-calorie “CARBuretor Crunch” which is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich encrusted in Cap’n Crunch and topped with bacon.

Only 131 days until the 2015 Ventura County Fair opens!

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Nobody asked me, but my personal list of Best Clam Chowder in Ventura County has a new No. 1 with Garman’s Pub in Santa Paula leapfrogging Beach House Fish at the Ventura Pier, Lure Fish House in downtown Ventura, and Andria’s Seafood at the harbor.

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I love how a friend of mine recently had a $7 breakfast at a small-town diner and left a $20 bill, noting of the waitress’s reaction: “Her 13-dollar smile made my day!”

A few days later another friend asked a Girl Scout how many boxes of cookies she had left and, told 84, bought all of them. I would have loved to see that $336 smile.

*

Congrats and good luck to 805 community treasure Josh Spiker for taking over the Tri-Running store in Camarillo which he has coolly renamed Mile 26 Sports.

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Congratulations also to the 805’s Mustang Marketing, and thanks to all who contributed, for giving more than 300 sleeping bags to the homeless.

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Charlie Sifford, The Jackie Robinson of Golf who recently passed away at age 92, once told me when I asked if he regretted being born too soon to play on the then-segregated PGA Tour in his prime, answered: “I don’t regret being born too soon, I’m just thankful I was born at all.”

A great lesson in perspective for all of us.

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Speaking of thankfulness, a story earlier this week in my favorite newspaper included this quote from a grandmother, who has been living in a crowded trailer with her daughter and four grandchildren, after a county assistance program helped the family move into a four-bedroom house in Simi Valley:

“To us, this is a mansion. Running water, we are very rich.”

How rich does her gratitude make you feel?

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Art Linkletter was only half right with his old show “Kids Say The Darndest Things” – so do senior citizens.

During the Q&A portion of my recent talk about John Wooden at “The Californian” Ventura Convalescent Hospital, after questions about basketball and Coach’s religious beliefs, a woman raised her hand enthusiastically and asked: “Can I go to the bathroom now?!”

Quoting one of my favorite Woodenisms, I said: “Be quick, but don’t hurry.”

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

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