Tag Archives: Fourth of July

An Unknown Hero Among Heroes

by Woody

Woody’s debut novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Today being the Fourth of July, it seems fitting to share a column about a hero from my Star archives from a decade ago…

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

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

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

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

In the National Archives I peered at Founding heroes like Benjamin Franklin and John Hancock’s ornate signatures on the original Declaration of Independence.

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

Yet the hero who arguably engraved the deepest impression upon me was one I encountered shortly after my late-night arrival when I boarded the train from the airport to my downtown D.C. hotel.

The first few minutes of the ride were quiet, sans the pleasant rhythmic sounds of the track below, when suddenly calm turned to clamor. A passenger two rows ahead of me – a tall, sinewy man in his 20s, bare arms covered with sleeve tattoos, electrocuted blond hair that made Einstein’s look tame – jumped from his seat like a jack-in-the-box and began shouting at a goateed man – about his same age, although shorter and stockier – seated across the aisle.

The goateed man apparently had said something to the mangy tattooed man’s equally unkempt dog. Quick as a hiccup, the two men were standing nose-to-nose as the tattooed man angrily cursed and challenged the goateed man’s manhood.

A young woman facing me across the aisle looked petrified. As the vile racial epithets from the crazed tattooed man intensified, I signaled with my eyes that we should slip out the door at the next stop.

Just then – THUMP! – the goateed man landed a solid punch to the jaw and – THUMP! THUMP! – a second and third blow. Frankly, Gandhi might not have blamed him at this point. Remarkably, the tattooed man’s large dog remained nonviolent.

Before another punch could be thrown, or a weapon pulled out, a bald-headed man sitting with his back to the fray bolted from his seat, spun 180 degrees into the aisle in one fluid motion, took four strides in two blinks, and seized the goateed man from behind. It was as if Batman happened to be aboard the Metro Blue Line.

Sitting beside his gray-haired wife, the bald-headed man, wearing peach slacks and a white sweater, had seemed as unimposing as Bruce Wayne. Rising into action, the human Teddy bear came into focus like a grizzly – or a former NFL linebacker or retired Marine sergeant.

“Knock it off!!! Now!!!” the bald-headed man commanded fiercely with multiple exclamation marks. “Get out of here!!! Now!!! Before you get arrested!!!”

Having stepped between the two combatants, the bald-headed man assumed the wide-footed stance of a heavyweight boxer and slowly and deliberately backed the goateed man towards the closed exit.

At the next stop, the goateed man retreated out the door with haste; the tattooed man and his dog also departed; the bald-headed man returned to his wife’s side; and the rest of us passengers finally exhaled.

When my stop came, I used the exit door further from me but nearer the bald-headed man.

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

He smiled, humbly, but his wife’s proud smile was as oversized as John Hancock’s “John Hancock.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s debut novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody 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.

Balloons Filled with Wisdom, Love

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Balloons Filled with

Wisdom and Love

Selfishness may not be on the rise, but it sometimes seems that is the case. It therefore seems timely to share an unattributed story my friend Larry Baratte sent me shortly before his death, which I have rewritten for brevity.

An elementary school teacher asked the children in all grades to each blow up a balloon and then write his or her name on it. The inflated balloons were tossed into the hallway and mixed around thoroughly.

The teacher then set a timer for five minutes and instructed the students to find the balloon with their own name on it. On the word “Go!” the children ran around helter-skelter looking for their own balloon.

When time ran out, not a single child had succeeded.

Now the teacher told them, wherever they were standing, to grab the balloon nearest them and personally give it to the person whose name was on it. In less than two minutes, everyone had their own balloon.

“Balloons are like happiness,” the teacher explained, “no one will find it very quickly by looking for theirs only.”

That wisdom bookends nicely with another email I received recently. It quoted a group of children, ages 4 to 8, who were asked: “What does love mean?” Their answers are as uplifting as helium balloons.

“When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.” – Billy, age 4.

“Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries.” – Chrissy, age 6.

“When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis, too. That’s love.” – Rebecca, age 8.

“Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.” – Terri, age 4.

“Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.” – Karl, age 5.

“Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt and then he wears it every day.” – Noelle, age 7.

“Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.” – Elaine, age 5.

“Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and just listen.” – Bobby, age 7.

“If you want to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.” – Nikka, age 6.

“Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.” – Tommy, age 6.

“During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore.” – Cindy, age 8.

“Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.” – Mary Ann, age 4.

“My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don’t see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.” – Clare, age 6.

“When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.” – Karen, age 7.

“Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him to make sure the taste is okay.” – Danny, age 8.

“You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.” – Jessica, age 8.

In other words, like happiness, love is like a balloon – you won’t find it by looking only for your own.

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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” …