Relevé, Plié

Woody, my grandfather was a showman.  He grew up in Oklahoma and was a champion trick roper.  I remember him, after tossing back a few bourbons at one of the crazy parties on Carla Ridge, jumping in and out of a twirling rope, fiddle music blasting and cigarette dangling out of his mouth.  He was good at everything; at least, that’s the impression that he projected to the world.  If you asked him, on any given day how he was, the answer was always the same:

“Ain’t never been stronger”

Growing up poor, he managed to escape his humble roots.  I don’t know much about his early life.  He was a trained engineer; one of his most notable feats was purchasing and transporting the London Bridge from England, granite piece by granite piece and reassembling it into the middle of the desert town that he created: Lake Havasu City, in Arizona.  Before he came into our lives, he was very close to Walt Disney and helped plan Disneyland.  Apparently, he gathered data like population density and the projected growth of certain LA hamlets and they decided on Anaheim.   He carefully chose, not only the location of the park, but the ley lines on which attractions were placed making sure the very center was King Arthur’s Carousel.  A ley line is a supposed area where energy is concentrated geographically.  King Arthur’s carousel, located at ley line 33 was the epicenter of the park, a portal to fairyland, out of which all the magic would hopefully be dispersed.   Club 33, the only place in Disneyland where alcohol was served is named after that ley line.  After having a falling out with Walt (he claimed it was because of the jealous younger brother, Roy), Woody could only legally claim that he developed and designed Disney’s Main Street.  But Disneyland was his original baby, and his influence was scattered throughout the Magic Kingdom.

Woody (center) with Walt Disney and Buzz Price

     

Woody had also worked for the SRI, the Stanford Research Institute group that studied remote viewing; he was fascinated with the power and potential of the human mind.  It was not uncommon, in the 1970’s to have all types of characters at the house on Carla Ridge: Uri Geller, bending spoons, or some psychic who would tell your fortune just by grabbing a lipstick out of your purse.  One of his best friends was Peter Hurkos, a Dutch housepainter who had fallen off a ladder, landed on his noggin and become extremely psychic. He was part of the regular circle and gatherings throughout the years.  Once, he shook my dad’s hand goodbye as my parents were leaving Carla Ridge and whispered into his into his ear solemnly, “Don’t take the Freeway home”. 

“When Peter Hurkos tells you not to take the Freeway, you go Sunset” said my normally pragmatic father.

Woody’s physical stature complimented his large personality.  He took up a lot of space in the world.  He had a long oval face with sampaku brown eyes and cheeks that drooped like a Basset Hound.  He was often on a diet, but he loved food and had a huge belly.  He was an excellent cook, and being a Creative developed some delicious recipes.  He was most known for the chili he made; and with the help of his friend, Carrol Shelby started the International Chili Society.  Convinced that they both made the best chili (“ain’t real chili if the pot got beans”), they created Chili Cookoffs, which they started in a remote hellish corner of Texas called Terlinqua.  Chili Cookoffs were annual events and you could taste everything from Armadillo to Rattlesnake Chili.  Ernie, Woody's butler, always assisted Woody during the cookoffs, wearing a British bowler hat and bolero tie, drinking the beer that was supposed to be added to the pot between stirs.  At the cookoffs, Woody, dressed in a large red cape with Ermine trim and wore a crown.  Woody’s World Famous chili was a featured dish at the Rangoon Racquet, a restaurant in Beverly Hills.  It was $50 per bowl.  At home, he lumbered about in monogrammed clothing.  He moved slowly, with his girth and had a strong Oklahoma drawl so that when he talked he commanded an audience.  Booming, and large, he dominated a room.

“It would sure make me happy if you lost 10 pounds, Darlin” he told me in front of everyone, as I was tearing into a delicious Tex Mex meal with the family.  I reiterated this once to my therapist who asked me,

“Is Woody fit?  Into jogging?’ 

I laughed and then cried at the absurdity of his comment.

Because of Woody’s illustrious past, anything we knew about him had the potential for truth.  After all, in the hall closet there were plaster of Paris Bigfoot impressions and even scat on the top shelf.

“That was when Woody was hunting for the Yeti in the Himalayas”  said my grandmother, completely deadpan.

In the 70’s Woody worked for McCollough Oil as chairman of the Board.

He was friendly with a lot of movers and shakers, one of which was Don Kendall, the Chairman and CEO of Pepsi Cola.  Don and Woody became so close that Woody was the Godfather to one of Don’s daughters.  Don, an adventurous guy, once invited Woody and Nana to go to Iceland to do a little Salmon fishing.  Nana, who was an accomplished fly fisherman, was game.

When they boarded the small, private Lear jet there was another couple there: Mikhail Baryshnikov and Jessica Lange.  The three couples spent a week in Reykjavik, fishing, huddling against the cold and eating salmon so fresh that it practically jumped off the plate.  (Woody hated salmon so I’m guessing he subsisted on frozen hamburger patties).  My grandmother told us,

“Here we were, trudging along in our thigh high waders through the mud toward the streams and Baryshnikov was leaping over the fences like a gazelle”

I can only imagine the eye candy of Baryshnikov, the famous Russian Ballet dancer, gracefully extending his fishing line into the water, perhaps standing on large boulders en point, the only man who could look sexy in waders.  Misha was the hottest thing at the time.  He barely spoke English and stared at the world through a different lens, having defected from the iron curtain.  He and Jessica communicated in French.  Nana and Woody were social with Misha and Ms. Lange shortly thereafter.  To outsiders, that may seem like an unlikely foursome.  But Woody collected interesting characters so actually, this was typical.

I was young during this time, probably 10.  I never met Misha.   My cousins, Suzanne and Jaime were older, 17 and 23.  I love my cousins and especially Jaime.  Her fun loving teasing of me was merciless.  I was a shy and sensitive child and followed Jaime around like a puppy trying to just grasp a slice of the light she emitted.  She was an imp and a trickster and continues to be one of the funniest people I know.

Once Jaime asked Suzanne how Woody knew Baryshnikov.

“Oh, that’s because Uncle Woody used to be a ballet dancer” Suzanne said, non-chalantley.

“What? No Way!!!!” said Jaime in her loud high-pitched Valley Girl accent

“Oh yeah, he was one of the top dancers at the New York City Ballet when he was younger.  That’s how they met.”  Suzanne was adamant.  Jaime shook her head, but then shrugged it off.

Again, I have to reiterate Woody’s demeanor and physical state.  Woody walked around the house in caftans and lived on fried hamburgers and mint juleps.  He drank Pepsi with milk for Breakfast.  The idea of Woody, pirouetting on a stage with triple relevees was outlandish, preposterous and inconceivable.  But, given all the stories of Woody, not improbable.

Years, later…and I mean years….perhaps 10, we were all at Carla Ridge for yet another gathering.  Who the guest of the moment was, I cannot say.  It may have been Christmas, or Easter, or a Kentucky Derby Party, or just a Sunday football day.  Anyway, the family was gathered and as usual, all of us had brought along friends.  The house had a revolving door and all were invited. 

Jaime was holding court in her own little corner of the giant living room, regaling her friends with tales of the family, perhaps telling them the history of the house or about one of my grandmother’s movies.

“Yeah, and when my Uncle Woody was a ballet dancer….”she bragged

Suzanne hearing her from across the room began her signature laugh; a babbling brook of loud hysterics.

“What did you say, Jaime?”

“I was telling them about Uncle Woody, when he danced for the NY City Ballet” hand raised, shoulders shrugged.

“Jaime, I was joking…have you seriously believed that for all these years????” Suzanne began laughing uncontrollably now.

“What??????” Jaime shrieked.  She was derailed.

“I thought it was true!!!”

“Jaime…how could it possibly be true?”

Jaime had been had by her sister, and knowing Jaime that is a tough thing to do.  

And so the legend of Woody the Ballet Dancer was debunked and filed into the subchapter of our Family Lore section, entitled “Funniest of All”.  It was Suzanne’s private rodeo, and this time, Jaime had been trick roped.