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Sherwood Lee “Woodie” Hyde
by: Mike Izzo
In our lifetime we meet many people. Some appear in the windshield and are quickly a speck in the rearview mirror, never to be seen again. Some travel the same road in the lane next to you, occasionally leading, sometimes following, but always somewhere in sight. But only a few will yell, “I’ve got shotgun”, jump in, slam the door, and be ready to go anywhere, anytime, anyplace, for any reason. These are the people that make such a lasting impression on you that you become friends forever.
Shortly after joining the Southern California Olds Club, I decided to run for office. In the late 1980’s, our monthly board meetings were held at the home of Dennis Baker. Ellen Santucci always sent Domenic to the meeting with a double chocolate cake, bathed in thick, creamy, chocolate icing. Corners of the cake were reserved for Woodie. There were four of them. I think at one point, Woodie asked Ellen to make a cake in an “X” pattern so there would be eight corners. You see, corners offered the recipient 1/3 more frosting than a side piece and 2/3’s more frosting than an interior piece. Woodie supplied his own drinks…two quarts of ice cold chocolate milk purchased locally before entering the meeting. Ellen never made the “X” cake, and Woodie never passed up a corner piece of any cake.
As captain of the ship (club president), I quickly learned the importance of a good anchor. When discussion over an item bogged down or when the group became polarized over an issue, my clean-up batter, rocket-ready, go-to-man was Woodie Hyde. Being a founding member of our chapter, Woodie would silently sit at the end of the table, mentally reviewing the history of the item, recounting important details about every previous discussion on the subject back to the birth of our chapter, and when called upon, would offer his unbiased, logical, “Spock-like” opinion. With marksman accuracy, Woodie always brought everything back into focus.
Why not just cut to the chase and call on Woodie first? What…and miss his “cat that ate the canary” snicker of a smile?
To say that Woodie was a dedicated club member, is a gross understatement. In addition to being a founding member of the So. Cal. Chapter, Woodie was religious about making it to the regular membership and the monthly board meetings. If Woodie was in town, he would be there. Over the years, when discussions centered around moving our meeting location to a different part of Los Angeles, various factions of our chapter lobbied to get the meeting in their area. Woodie’s response, “It doesn’t matter where, I’ll be there.” And he was. Heavy traffic, pouring rain, brush fires, blistering heat, none of it mattered. Over the years, he held every office (some more than once), attended almost every event, volunteered for Pomona Swap Meet duty, flipped burgers, judged cars, manned the registration table and even played Santa Claus, both at Christmas and occasionally when the club treasury dipped into the red. Silently and without fanfare, Woodie (aka Santa) would deposit a thousand or two from his own account to carry the club through a lean period. Most club members never even knew it happened.
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In the mid 90’s, Gail Alger and Barry Kentrup campaigned a 1930 Olds in the Great Race. The first couple of years, Neil Matranga and I drove the chase vehicle as mechanics for the two week cross-country event. Then Woodie and I teamed up for a couple more years. The first year with Woodie, I had to join the team late because of work obligations. I flew into Omaha and Woodie was to pick me up at the airport. Woodie parked the truck and trailer on the third floor of a parking garage and then met me at the concourse. Upon leaving the garage, the spiral exit ramp got the better of Woodie and frustration soon set in as repeated backing and turning would not free the wedged trailer. Now one thing you never want to do, is tell someone how to back a trailer and I knew this, so I kept my big mouth shut. Finally Woodie got out and said, “Mikey, you try.” I jumped in and a couple moves later we were on our way. He looked over at me and said, “Now how did you do that?” I said, “I drove semi’s for three years and Greyhounds for five.” None of which he knew beforehand. From that point on, Woodie had loads of fun introducing me to all the kids who came out to see the Great Race cars as the Greatest Trailer-Backer-Upper in the country.
It was on this Great Race trip that I became aware of Woodie’s appreciation of Blues Music. He carried a briefcase full of cassette tapes of Leonard Cohen, Aaron Neville, Willie Nelson, Lightin’ Hopkins, Muddy Waters, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Meat Loaf, Lynyrd Skynyrd and many more than I can remember. I arrived with tapes of The Eagles, The Rolling Stones, Cream, The Yardbirds, Jimi Hendrix, ZZ Top, The Allman Brothers and a new gal on the music scene named LeAnne Rimes. Woodie instantly fell in love with her Patsy Cline type delivery and damn near wore that tape out. Lyrics about tough times, lost love, tragic lives or any tearful memory were what Woodie thrived on. He could quote any line from any song. On more than one occasion over the years, Woodie told me that if he ever lost his hearing or for some reason couldn’t listen to his music, there would be no reason to live.
As far as I know, Woodie never picked up an instrument or played a note of music, but we discussed bands and guitars often because he knew that I once played in a band and now collected guitars. He shared one of his personal dreams with me on one occasion. He wished he could play bass in a blues band. Standing toward the back, close to the drummer, plucking away at a Fender Precision Bass, never singing but letting everyone in the audience know that he really felt every word and emotion of the blues he was thumping out.
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In 2003, I decided that I had been to every car show and seen every 1,000 point 57’ Chevy that I ever wanted to see. I was getting interested in collectible trucks. I looked for a restored diesel semi-tractor and found my heart’s desire in a 1972 Brockway located in Michigan. Without one second of hesitation, Woodie was onboard for the big-rig retrieval adventure to the Midwest. To get us there and act as chase vehicle for the trip home, I rented a Plymouth Neon that Woodie and I pointed East, swapping driving duties and trading music selections. We made it to Michigan in about 44 hours, picked up the truck and headed West past Chicago. A good night’s sleep, a trucker’s breakfast and tanks filled with fuel, we aimed toward California connected by CB radios and a mutual fondness for the open road. With Woodie in the Neon, we kept tabs on the Smokies and scoped out the truck scales, avoiding weight fees most of the time. We stopped along the route to visit Jeff Edwards in Iowa and in Denver to see Al Russell, dodged a tornado in Nebraska and generally had a blast jawin’ on the CB to everyone on the highway about anything and everything. Shortly after our trip, Al Russell passed away and Woodie and I were both very happy we stopped for the visit.
Take Woodie to any Deli and his number one dream meal was tongue sandwich. I would occasionally stop at Jerry’s Famous or Art’s Deli on my way to the club meeting and bring Woodie his favorite bovine delicacy. While everyone else had a burger and fries, Woodie savored every bite of his Moo-Cow Tickler warding off a barrage of “X” rated comments about where the cow’s tongue had recently been.
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Over the past ten years or so, Woodie took it upon himself to write obituaries in our local chapter newsletter, The Rocket Circle. In true Woodie style, with tongue in cheek (no pun intended), he wrote under the pen name of Slim Toonun, carefully, gingerly and lovingly weaving the good and not so good qualities about the deceased into a candid tribute. Never too long, always to the point, no personality trait was sacred or un-noticed. I think we all minded our actions just a little bit knowing that someday Woodie might be writing about us. At Woodie’s Memorial Service, I tried to give back exactly what Woodie dished out and verbally presented the following:
I SLEPT WITH WOODIE HYDE
Sometimes Woodie was driving while I slept.
Sometimes I was driving while Woodie slept.
Sometimes it was a dingy motel along an Interstate.
Sometimes it was a 5 star downtown hotel while on the Great Race.
Sometimes it was the living room floor of a fellow Olds Club member.
Sometimes it was 40 winks in a lawn chair amongst the hustle and bustle of the swap meet.
If there was a car show, a swap meet, a vehicle to be transported or simply a dear friend to visit, Woodie Hyde was the co-pilot of choice.
No road trip was complete without him on the team.
I did a rough estimate of the miles I logged with Mr. Hyde.
The figure was close to 30,000.
That my friends, is small potatoes to the dozen or so others in this church that could each lay claim to well over 100,000 miles.
I could tell you about the time spent every morning getting the hair (or as Woodie called it) his “Do” just right…
or…I could tell you how I nearly froze solid when Woodie controlled the air conditioner…
or…I could tell you how I tried in vain to hide the salt shaker from him…
but nothing…nothing…compares to the thunderous, gear grinding, maximum overdrive, jet engine loud, non-stop snoring that Woodie could produce.
You just had to be there…thankfully I was…and wouldn’t trade a minute of it for anything.
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Woodie didn’t suffer a long illness. He lived his own life to the very end. A sudden and catastrophic stroke while wheeling and dealing on the computer brought our dear friend down. All the medical techniques known to man couldn’t keep him with us.
To many OCA members across the country, Woodie was the West Coast, Big Dog of the 1950 Oldsmobile. Others like Ed Konsmo, Bill Ehrsam, Keith Berg, Chuck Brennan and Don Baldwin will need to fill his shoes. Someone will need to field the questions from members…how to remove a certain part, what color wire for a certain accessory, where do I find a certain piece of molding? I hope everyone can be as generous and willing to help as Woodie always was.
To us here in Southern California, we knew Woodie Hyde as more than just an encyclopedia for the 50’ Olds. He was a dedicated husband, a loving father, a friend you could count on anytime for any reason, a loyal club member and a 100% genuine human being.
Woodie, we will always remember you.
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