Tag Archives: Ventura

X Marks The Spot of Paradise

by Woody

The thorn in the Rose Bowl – parade and football game – is that the weather on New Year’s Day is invariably picture-postcard perfect, so sunny and warm it entices waves of people watching the telecasts in their Midwest igloos to pack up like “The Beverly Hillbillies” and move to Southern California.

Similarly, the downside of Ventura hosting the X Games last weekend is that the TV coverage with our gorgeous ocean backdrop and pastel sunsets that seemed painted by Monet were the equivalent of a skywriter spelling out: “Hey, world! Move here! The 805 is paradise!”

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Speaking of the X Games, the “Moto X Best Whip” competition – basically daredevil astronauts on motorcycles launching themselves into orbit off a giant ramp and doing dizzying spins and twists, and even front or back flips, before safe reentry back down on earth – makes Evel Knievel’s “death defying” jumps in the 1970s look like a kid riding a tricycle off a curb.

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Pulling into my driveway the other day, on four wheels not on an acrobatic motocross bike, it struck me that the instant gratification of today’s music platforms offering most every song on command have stolen the magic of hearing a favorite tune that makes you stay in the car after arriving at your destination and listening to the end.

Now you can just go inside and simply say, “Play it again, Sam/Siri/Alexa/etc.”

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Now in my 60s, but age 6 at heart, I still get a small thrill and a big smile when I’m out on a run near railroad tracks and a train comes rumbling along and I pump my fist up and down in the universal “honk!” gesture and the engineer, bless his soul, blows his LOUD! horn.

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I like the challenge of scraping, scraping, scraping an empty jar of peanut butter to get enough for one last sandwich. Even more, I love being the first to dig into a brand-new jar – and hate it when doing the former means someone beats me to the latter.

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Add gooey silliness. My wife and I have an unspoken challenge where we squeeze, squeeze, squeeze the life out of a tube of toothpaste in order not to be the one who opens a new one. For the record, I’m usually more stubborn.

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A note from a reader regarding my unromantic wedding proposal that I shared a short while back gave me a laugh. My recap…

College Girlfriend: “I’ll go wherever you go after graduation.”

Me: “I guess we might as well just get married then.”

She (Now-Wife-of-40-Years): “Okay!”

Wayne Saddler confesses he, too, popped his “inglorious proposal” in unacceptable “Jeopardy!” fashion of not being in the form of a question: “Well, I guess we should get married.”

To which his girlfriend responded: “Let’s do this right – go ask my father for permission.”

“I was nervous during my 45-minute drive to her parent’s home,” Wayne continued. “When I asked him he responded, ‘You’re asking the wrong person.’ That was almost 47 years ago.”

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Lastly, and bestly (not a word, but should be), thanks in no small part to so many of you dear and generous readers, Erick Aleman, a track and cross country athlete at Rio Mesa High School, will be getting a state-of-the-art $15,000 “blade” prosthetic and promises to be running faster than ever with it by summer’s end.

As Erick’s coach Garrett Reynolds relayed to me to relay to you: “A massive THANK YOU. Erick and I are at a loss of words for how grateful we are for everyone’s support.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Hall-of-Fame Hat Trick for Derry

by Woody

The esteemed poet John Greenleaf Whittier, in his poem “Maud Muller,” wrote this famous couplet: “For all sad words of tongue and pen, / the saddest are these, ‘It might have been.’ ”

Equally sad, sometimes, is when something has been but no longer is. Consider, for example, Frank Sinatra singing “There Used To Be A Ballpark.”

More melancholic, to my mind, would be a similarly themed song titled “There Used To Be A Newspaper” which is something that two new communities experience each week, on average, across this nation.

And yet, selfishly, I am happy and thankful that one specific newspaper’s ink disappeared, back in 1997, back in Texas, when the The El Paso Herald-Post ceased operations. El Paso’s great loss was Ventura County’s great gain. You see, that’s how star sportswriter Derry Eads came to The Star. It was like the Los Angeles Lakers getting LeBron James from the Cleveland Cavaliers late in his career.

Hall-of-Fame sportswriter, and person, Derry Eads.

Deservedly, Derry will be inducted as a journalist into The Ventura County Sports Hall of Fame this Sunday along with Mike Enfield (soccer, Ventura High), Samantha Fischer (softball, Simi Valley High), Marlene Harmon Wilcox (track, Thousand Oaks High) and Rick Stewart (baseball, Fillmore High).

Here is how big a deal Derry is: this will be his third Hall of Fame induction, a hat trick that also includes the El Paso Athletic Hall of Fame and El Paso Bowling Hall of Fame.

The thing is, Derry has never acted like a big shot. He was always as enthusiastic about taking phone calls to record the day’s local fish reports as he was covering a CIF championship event.

Derry has the droopy mustache of a gunslinger from the 1800s and, fittingly, his trigger finger (and nine companions) is lighting quick on the keyboard, yet he is as soft-spoken as an Old West schoolmarm. Moreover, he chooses his words with the same thoughtful care in speech as he does for print. As a result, when he talks – and writes – people pay attention. I don’t think there exists a sportswriter who has met Derry and not both liked and respected him.

Derry retired from The Star in 2011, in theory anyway. In truth, he continues to cover sporting events and also remains the guru of updating the Bible of local prep sports statistics that was originally created by fellow local sportswriting legend Jim Parker.

Of the various title games and championship track meets Derry and I covered together, I have no specific press-box memory. What I do recall clearly, and with great fondness, are the countless times he and I had desk shifts together and he would happen to answer the phone when my son and daughter, when they were young, called to say goodnight to me.

Instead of transferring the call right away, Derry would talk to them for a while, asking about school and their athletic endeavors and such, and finally he would playfully refuse to put me on until they gave him the password.

“Red Snapper,” they would answer with sing-song delight even though they had no idea what the password meant. All these years later, here is the secret revealed: that is the nickname Derry called me, inspired perhaps partly from taking a fish report call and also because my hair back then still had quite a bit of strawberry tint in it.

Former Brooklyn Dodgers manager Leo Durocher is credited with saying, “Nice guys finish last,” but he missed the mark like a wild pitch. Derry Eads is proof they sometimes finish as first-rate Hall of Famers.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Fondly Missing ‘Mom’s Kitchen’

by Woody

“What is a restaurant that’s not around any longer that you miss?” asked a post on social media, eliciting more than a million responses including, locally, Ferraro’s, The Gin Mill, Bobby McGee’s and Anacapa Brewing Company.

To that Fab Four I could add myriad more – Hudson’s Grill, Ventura Spaghetti Company, Top Hat and Cartwright’s Famous Hot Dogs leap quickly to mind – but the restaurant I miss the very most is “Mom’s Kitchen.”

Perhaps your own Mom’s franchise remains open and, if so, count your blessings. My Mom’s Kitchen closed unexpectedly, and permanently, 31 years ago come October.

In its heyday – Oh, boy! – it was something. I dare say no fancy restaurant, casual café, famous chef’s food truck or 24-hour diner could ever rival it because it was all of those stirred, blended and folded into one.

Mom’s Kitchen, like similar landmark eateries, changed location over the years. It originated as a tiny hole-in-the wall in Columbus, Ohio, on Ashmore Road; soon moved into a slightly larger venue a mile away on McCoy Road; then, necessitated by its daily clientele ordering the kids’ menu alone having grown to four, expanded again nearby on Alliston Court.

Eventually, Mom’s Kitchen relocated across the country to Ventura, high atop the foothills, its best table having an ocean view that rivaled the famous Pierpont Inn’s dining room.

No matter its location, no reservations were required at Mom’s Kitchen – just walk right in and make yourself at home. Moreover, extra dinner mouths were always welcome as were bed-and-breakfast guests, the latter most commonly on weekends and any day in summer. On holidays, it was lucky the Fire Marshal didn’t shut Mom’s Kitchen down for being overcrowded.

More than once, before taking a plate a guest of mine and I would actually phone his rival location of Mom’s Kitchen to see if by chance it had a better dinner special that evening than my Mom’s Kitchen, but that very rarely proved to be the case.

Indeed, night after night, my friends, and my two older brothers’ and younger sister’s friends as well, flocked to our Mom’s Kitchen as if there were two giant golden arches out front of our house.

To be sure, hamburgers were sometimes on the menu, although they were usually grilled up by Mom’s sous-chef who, if we are being honest, was infamous for cooking the burgers a tee shot’s distance beyond the point of well done. Upon slapping a hockey puck onto a bun, the sous-chef would proudly announce, “Here you go, charred like in a fine restaurant.”

Meanwhile, Mom was a cordon-bleu-chef/short-order-cook who could turn hamburger into fifty fares – from meatloaf and stroganoff to tacos and burritos to her world famous spaghetti sauce served on handmade pasta, naturally, that made even my Italian mother-in-law Irish green with envy – all worthy of Michelin stars.

Back to the original R.I.P. eatery question, I dearly miss Leonardo’s Pizzaria from my boyhood, The New York Hero House in college, and most recently Ferraro’s. But most of all, I would wish for one more meal at Mom’s Kitchen.

I have a strong hunch you feel likewise about your own Mom’s Kitchen…

…unless, thank your blessed stars, it remains open for business. Perhaps its peak hours are now limited to special occasions like holidays and birthdays and any time you are in town. If so, I urge you to make travel plans and dinner reservations as soon as possible.

Better yet, just drop in unannounced – I’m fairly certain your Mom’s Kitchen won’t mind the surprise at all, especially this Sunday for Mother’s Day.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Three Vignettes Worthy of Smiles

by Woody

Sometimes we all need a smile. Here are three reasons to do so…

Earlier this week my granddaughter, age three – “almost four” she will tell you, even though her birthday is not until December – went to the dentist for the first time.

The milestone event was not anticipated to be like dragging a millstone up a hill. After all, Maya has not only received two COVID-19 vaccination shots without a fuss or fallen tear, out of curiosity she actually watched the needle go in both times. Yes, as Shakespeare wrote in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

Alas, in the waiting room of the pediatric dentist, nervousness was getting the best of Maya and she began to tug on her mommy’s hand to escape home. Just then, an older patient, a boy aged 9 or 10, came out after his exam carrying a long, purple balloon sword…

…and seeing Maya’s distress, the boy became a knight in shining armor by gallantly offering over his sword. Instantly, like a wisp of smoke in a gust of wind, Maya’s fears disappeared and a smooth visit ensued with a full cleaning and fluoride treatment.

Oh yes, and a big smile with no cavities and a second balloon sword.

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With inflation up, and the need for help with food up even more, an experience by a dear friend of mine, who wishes to remain anonymous, seems well worth sharing. A frequent volunteer at a local food pantry, she recalled her first time doing so.

“I spent the morning stocking shelves, breaking down boxes, and helping to distribute food to clients,” she began. “Everyone I encountered was so friendly and genuinely grateful.

“I will remember one woman in particular who was beyond excited to get a package of ground turkey. She was nearly jumping up and down with excitement. The experience made me realize what a gift it is to be able to go to the grocery store and choose what I want to eat. The clients who come to the food pantry are entirely dependent on what the in-coming donations have been that week. I was especially surprised how in-demand canned beans and dried beans always are. Indeed, we often ran out of beans quickly.

“Ever since, I have always been sure include beans when I make donations!”

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With the Ventura County Fair in full swing through this Sunday after a two-year hiatus due to the pandemic, a cherished memory from my youth has given me a smile.

It was a smaller “Country Fair Without Ocean Air” in Ohio. I was 8 and my best friend Dan was 2 – he was born on Feb. 29 and stubbornly only counted his Leap Day birthdays. Dan’s mom gave us, and Dan’s older brother Tom, $3 each as I recall. That was a small fortune considering the games and rides cost a quarter and food treats were equally cheap.

Come afternoon’s end, Tom had miraculously not spent a single dime and his mom said he could keep the $3. Naturally, he taunted us, as big brothers will, bragging about the baseball cards and Matchbox cars he could now buy.

But Dan and I had no regrets. We had gotten dizzy on the rides, been conned shooting hoops and throwing darts at balloons and tossing rings at bottles without winning any prizes, but we still came out ahead and we knew it.

All these years later, I guarantee you Tom doesn’t remember what baseball cards he got, but I still remember the fun Dan and I had.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Pier Bench Is My New Favorite

by Woody

Do you have a favorite bench?

If so, as I reckon you do, where is it? A short walk from work where you escape for coffee breaks? In a park, perhaps, under a lovely shade tree in the company of songbirds? Or maybe in a cemetery where a bench becomes an outdoor pew?

I had a favorite bench in college, on the edge of campus at the University of Santa Barbara, high on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Its wooden seat slats sagged a little from age and were a lot weathered by the salty sea air, but the view was anything but ugly. Indeed, it was a beautiful spot to contemplate a poor test; brood a dating breakup; or simply rest and savor the panoramic scene after a run on the beach below.

Coincidentally, I found a bookend favorite bench on another college campus many years later. Specifically, the University of Southern California’s Founders Park which boasts one specific tree from all 50 states. In this idyllic setting, sitting on a shaded wrought-iron bench on a nearly weekly basis for nine years – my daughter’s and son’s four-year undergraduate enrollments overlapped one year, plus the latter’s two years of MBA study – I would wait with happy anticipation for classes to get out so we could have lunch together.

I now have a new favorite bench, one of 49 skirting the historic Ventura Pier. This one is perhaps a third of the way out on the right-hand side and affords a spectacular north-facing view towards Surfers Point. Importantly, it also has a brass plaque on the top wooden back slat dedicated to: Larry “Coach” Baratte.

Along with two of his “How To Live Rules” – Each Day Is A Blessing and Give Of Yourself And You Will Receive Ten Times In Return – the plaque bears a compass rose. The latter is truly fitting because Larry was a human North Star for countless people before brain cancer claimed his precious life two years ago come tomorrow – May 14, 2020 – at age 60.

The memorial bench was a gift this past Christmas from Larry’s widow, Beth, to their three adult sons, Chase, Collin and Cole. Making it all the more special is that Larry and Beth talked about it before he passed.

Sitting on “Larry’s Bench” quiets my soul. As the timbers below shudder pleasantly in rhythm with the waves, I like to watch the world spin by. I watch beach runners on shore and dog walkers on the promenade and fishermen on the pier.

And, of course, I watch the surfers. I watch them sitting astraddle their boards, rising and dipping as if sitting on an aquatic merry-go-round, and then doing their water-walking magic.

Too, I imagine Larry in the distance, in the cove, in the curl of a wave riding a surfboard. Better yet, I see him directly below, swimming around the pier for a workout. Best of all, I feel him sitting next to me, sharing his wisdom and his laugh and his friendship.

Inspired by the pile of pencils offered in homage by visitors at Henry David Thoreau’s gravestone in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, Mass., on my most recent visit to “Larry’s Bench” I left behind a coach’s whistle hanging by its lanyard. Maybe this small gesture, or perhaps swim goggles, will catch on. It’s pretty to hope so.

Pretty, certainly, is the view. Indeed, “Larry’s Bench” is a most lovely place to take a break from the hustle and bustle of the world and reflect on why “Each Day Is A Blessing.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

Sad Goodbye To A Merry-Go-Round

by Woody

The chronicles of my Hawai’i adventures, previously promised to continue today, are postponed a week in order to share about a dear friend I lost last Sunday.

There is a good chance, if you live in or have visited Ventura County, she was your friend as well. I say “she” because just as ships are lovingly considered female, so too should merry-go-rounds.

The carousel at Ventura Harbor Village spun round and round for the very last time, to be replaced – as too often happens to nostalgic treasures – by something new called “progress.” Wild horses could not have kept me away from saying a final goodbye to these mild horses that gallop gently in circles. The hand-painted menagerie also included a giraffe, zebra, rooster and St. Bernard.

The circa-1970s carousel found a home at the harbor in the mid-1980s and in 1990 I took my then-3-year-old daughter on it for the first time. A fair guess is that we returned a hundred times more, at least, in the years that followed for what she called our “Daddy Dates.” While we rotated among numerous eateries at Harbor Village, we always, always rode the carousel.

And always, without exception, my daughter rode Rudolph. I think she initially picked him because it was summertime and she thought that was the funniest thing in the world – Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer being here in the warm sunshine instead of at the snowy North Pole. Ever thereafter she continued to politely hand over her arcade ticket at the gate and then rush excitedly past all the other animals and climb aboard Rudolph.

My daughter and I have enjoyed other carousels near and far, from the Ventura County Fair to Monterey’s Cannery Row, from Disneyland to Disney World, from San Francisco’s Pier 39 to New York City’s Central Park, but nowhere has she found another Rudolph and so always she has been a little disappointed.

Indeed, while some merry-go-rounds are bigger, or have brighter lights or shinier paint, the Harbor Village carousel will forever remain my favorite because of all the memories it carries with my daughter – and son, too, although he has never adored it quite so dearly. Yes, on the soundtrack of my life’s happiest moments the calliope music of the Harbor Village carousel plays a verse.

Adding to the melancholy of the farewell day, my daughter – herself now a parent of a 3-year-old girl – was unable to make it down from the Bay Area for a final carousel “Daddy Date.” Happily, I took an equally beautiful date. One of my favorite pictures of my wife is a black-and-white portrait when she was 5; now, as she sat astride the St. Bernard, I imagined her in living color at that age.

When I first started taking my daughter on the carousel it cost all of dollar as I seem to recall. This time it was four bucks per person, a bargain nonetheless because a five-minute ride on a time machine is priceless.

As I emotionally orbited round and round, I took a selfie video to send my daughter. My quick-thinking wife did something even better – she made a video call and that is how our little girl “virtually” rode her beloved merry-go-round during its last go-round. Naturally, she teared up saying goodbye even from afar.

“Don’t cry because it’s over,” I said over the phone, repeating a quote by Theodor Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, “smile because it happened.”

I need not tell you which carousel animal I rode. Some of the red paint has worn off his nose, but to my wistful eyes Rudolph never looked finer.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

Thanks, ‘Carissa’, for the Ventura Shout-out

by Woody

I remember watching “Little Miss Sunshine” in a downtown Ventura movie theater a number of years ago and the audience erupted with applause and cheers at the dramatic pageant arrival scene when Steve Carell’s dad character, driving the family in a bright yellow VW Microbus, misses the freeway exit and has to take an overpass to turn around…

…and the brief on-screen “star” is our 101 California Street exit – only four blocks away from the movie theater we were watching in – with the high-rise Crowne Plaza beach hotel in the background.

If you are at all like me you feel a similar thrill whenever you see Ventura in a Hollywood role. For example, our downtown in “Swordfish” or several local spots in “Two Jakes” or our beloved pier in “God Bless America” to name three more.

I imagine it’s how Monterey’s “Cannery Row” neighborhood must have felt to be immortalized in John Steinbeck’s novel of the same name. Less famously, the fictional coastal town of Cabrillo hints strongly of Ventura – and the old Star-Free Press – in my predecessor Chuck Thomas’ novel “Getting Off The Map.”

Well, a new book has me smiling and cheering for featuring Ventura in its pages. Actually, the fictional beach town is named Buena Vista, but make no mistake it is Buenaventura. From the beach and pier to Main Street and the foothills, its author – Dallas Woodburn – pays homage to her dear hometown through and through.

My daughter’s second novel, “Thanks, Carissa, For Ruining My Life” from Immortal Works, has just been published and – Boasting Dad Warning – instantly soared to No. 1 on Amazon’s list of Young Adult New Releases.

The story centers around two teenagers, Rose and Brad, who travel parallel journeys of self-discovery, empowerment, and acceptance after popular “queen bee” Carissa tears apart their lives. In Hollywood parlance, it’s “Brittany Runs a Marathon” meets “Some Kind of Wonderful.”

A wonderful kind of thing some writers like to do is scatter “Easter eggs” that only certain readers will find and recognize. “Carissa” has a basketful of such hidden treasures. For example, Tony’s Taco Shop is obviously Snapper Jack’s; Nature’s Grill makes a cameo as Nature’s Café; and in a role encompassing its own storyline is the Buena Vista radio station WAVE-104.3 that is, clear as a Santa Ana wind-blown summer day, Ventura’s KVTA-1590 where Dallas has been a guest on esteemed radio personality Tom Spence’s morning show. The observant reader will find more brightly dyed local gems.

Books are time machines and while “Carissa” will surely transport most readers back to high school, it carries me to when Dallas was only 6 or 7 and already dreaming of becoming an author. In my mind’s eye I can still see her, sitting tall on her knees, in a chair at the kitchen table and typing on her great-grandfather’s restored Underwood No. 5 typewriter. Punching the QWERTY keys, firmly with only her right index finger, she let her imagination soar.

There was modern magic in that 1911 heirloom: in second grade, Dallas had a poem – “Peanut Butter Surprise” about a PB&J sandwich made with a jellyfish because the grape jelly ran out – published in The Star’s “Kids Corner” feature and in fifth grade self-published a book of short stories and poems that sold 2,000 copies.

The little girl’s big dreams kept coming true with a play produced off-Broadway, a John Steinbeck Creative Writing Fellowship, and a handful of awards for her debut novel “The Best Week That Never Happened” two years ago.

Thanks to “Carissa” her writing life remains charmed, not ruined.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

In ‘Fair’ World, It’d Be Smiling Time

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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In a ‘Fair’ World, It

Would Be Smiling Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And no new memories left behind, either.

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

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

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

 

Readers Share Cookies and Sunrises

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Column Readers Share

Cookies And Sunrises

            Judging from my flooded email in-box, I am far from alone in being a pushover for Girl Scouts selling Tagalong and Shortbread cookies.

Diane Hunn, among others, shared: “I did a very similar thing with the little Brownie up the street from me. I was only going to purchase two boxes. But I only had $20’s from the ATM – and two boxes turned into eight!”

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Jane Rozanski related a heartwarming experience her granddaughter Juliana had.

“One early evening, a few years ago, Juliana (then 9 years old and a Brownie), her younger sister Tessa, their Daddy and their golden-doodle Rose packed up their little red wagon and went door to door to sell the cookies.

“Somewhere, on the way home, Juliana’s Hello Kitty wallet fell out of the wagon and she lost $150! They backtracked to look for it, but to no avail! Juliana made ‘Lost’ signs and they placed them around the neighborhood and her Daddy called the police to report the loss.

“The officers felt so bad for her that they passed the hat and collected $165 – and dropped by the house to give it to her!

“The next day, Juliana received a call from a mother whose 15-year-old daughter, also a Girl Scout, had found the wallet and they would drop it by!

“Juliana decided to return the $165 that the officers had collected – plus give them 30 boxes of cookies. So they packed up their wagon and they all dropped by the station to surprise the officers!”

A gorgeous “Pajama Sunset” in Ventura…

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Meanwhile, my friend Jim McCoskey takes the cake, so to speak, by buying all 66 boxes a Girl Scout had left to the tune of $330!

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John Watts sent this gem echoing my column on sunsets and the importance of perspective:

“There once was a woman who woke up, looked in the mirror, and noticed that she only had three hairs on her head. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I think I’ll braid my hair today!’ So she did, and she had a wonderful day.

“The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and saw that she had only two hairs on her head. ‘Hmm,’ she said, ‘I think I’ll part my hair down the middle today!’ So she did, and she had a grand day.

“The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that she had only one hair on her head. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘today I’m going to wear my hair in a pony tail!’ So she did, and she had a fun, fun day.

“The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that there wasn’t a single hair on her head. ‘Yeah!’ she exclaimed, ‘I don’t have to fix my hair today!’

“Attitude is everything.”

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Lastly, an email from my sister-in-law, Kay, who shared a story of my late mom I had never heard before. As background, before my dad’s house was lost in the Thomas Fire, Kay lived a short walk away from him.

“When I used to visit your Dad every morning we would often comment on the pretty sunrises. I guess when your parents first married your Mom had some pajamas that had pinks and blues in them – so your Dad and I started calling certain gorgeous mornings a ‘pajama sunrise.’

“I have told my three girls the story and now we often comment on ‘pajama SUNSETS’ because they are never around to see the sunrise with me!

“So next time you see the sky in various shades of pink and blue, your Mom may be wearing her pajamas!”

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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” …

Beauty of Sunsets and Perspective

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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The Beauty of Sunsets

and Perspective

High on my Must-See List is to visit Yosemite National Park during mid-February to witness the “Firefall” display when the water falling over Horsetail Fall seems to magically turn into molten iron ore being poured from a foundry kettle.

This natural spectacle, which lasts about a week of evenings, only occurs when the setting sun’s rays strike the falls at a rare and perfect angle.

While I have not yet seen this trick of light in person, in a way I feel have. After all, I have witnessed countless magical sunsets on our Gold Coast that seem painted by Monet using a palette of flames; mixed oils of reds, golds and oranges.

One such sunset occurred recently and, as usual, social media was ablaze with postings of gorgeous photos snapped by locals. In the comments section, my reply was always the same: “Ho-hum, another Ventura sunset.”

If you live here you will understand my sarcasm. As if one would shrug their shoulders unimpressed while gazing at the Mona Lisa. Indeed, our sunsets are masterpieces of nature. They are like Giant Redwoods – no matter how many such majestic trees you see in a forest, each is individually breathtaking.

The magical sunsets off Ventura’s coast are second-to-none.

To illuminate my point further, let me share a story from a Thanksgiving vacation in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, that my wife and I spent several years ago with her extended side of the family.

Each evening, like most everyone else staying at the resort, we would gather on the beach to watch the sun dissolve into the Pacific Ocean.

“Oooh!” said some with enthusiasm.

“Ahhh!” and “Gorgeous!” others in the chorus sang.

My wife and I remained silent and unmoved.

Perspective is everything. Sure, the Puerto Vallarta sunsets were nice and fine, but in our eyes the Golden Hour was fool’s gold. For starters, the sun sank into a plain horizon. There was no contrast – no Channel Islands – to add brushstrokes of dimension.

Furthermore, because the sky remained cloudless the heavens did not catch fire as happens on our Gold Coast. It was like watching the black-and-white portions of “The Wizard of Oz” compared to the film’s Technicolor scenes.

Not wishing to be sunset snobs, my wife and I kept our critical reviews quiet. Alone, however, we were like old Hollywood actors complaining of modern talent: “In our day, we had movie stars!”

Us: “In Ventura, we have sunsets!”

During the most recent Firefall-like sunset here, I was running at a park as late afternoon began its metamorphosis into evening, turning from a brown caterpillar into a kaleidoscopic butterfly. To be honest, I was blind to the wondrous show taking place.

My spirits were down and so were my eyes. Arthritis in my neck, which required disc-fusion surgery 17 years ago after my car was crushed by a speeding drunk driver, had been acting up worse than usual. Not yet 60, my cervical spine seems to belong to a 90-year-old.

Thus, too stiff on this day to look around to-and-fro, my focus remained steely eyed on the ground a few strides ahead. Then everything changed.

“Wow!” came a voice from a passerby going the other direction. “Look at that sky!”

My eyes lifted as directed and my spirits followed at once. Stopping in my tracks, I admired the Firefall colors being amplified with each passing moment.

Additionally, my dose of self-pity fell away like water over a falls. You see, the man who had awakened me to this pyrotechnic display of nature does his exercise loops around the park in a wheelchair. Suddenly, my sore neck seemed inconsequential.

Perspective is everything, isn’t it?

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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” …