We at the Indy are greatly indebted to Tom for his faith in us, his support and his leadership. He will be missed.

Change happens - that is inevitable. But some underlying principles are constant. The Indy’s staff, columnists, photographers and other contributors remain  committed to bringing you the best community newspaper and website in the country.

It’s a job made possible by the foundation Tom Johnson has laid, and we thank him.

- Roger Bloom, Editor

editor@newportbeachindy.com

Let me go back to the start.

I’ve raised two daughters into adulthood and did a pretty good job with each.

But raising daughters has to be different than raising sons. I never had to teach a son how to defend himself, like my dad had to.  But even that didn’t work for me. Forget fighting, I just learned to run fast, faster than the guy chasing me.

But here’s where the problem comes in. I have a Golden Retriever I’ve mentioned often in this column. Her name is Sophie.

Sophie is 4½ years old and weighs roughly 90 pounds.

She’d definitely be considered a large dog.

But Sophie and I take long walks and when she encounters another dog she is, well, a complete wuss.

Let me give you an example: Sophie, my wife and I head out for a walk around the Castaways, or the Ronald Reagan walkway, as we’ll soon be referring to it. (Note to self: the Ronald Reagan statue could be a great stop if perhaps I ever buy a male dog,)

Anyway, on that walk we encounter a Chihuahua. This Chihuahua is slightly larger than one of Sophie’s paws. Sophie does what you’d expect from a big dog like her, she rolls on her back in a completely submissive position, bowing to this 2-pound yapper.

If that’s not enough, she then pees and, just for good measure, wags her tail through it.

“Oh what a good dog,” I say, embarrassed.

This, I have to tell you, is one of the high points of dog ownership. It makes me feel so safe to know that if a stranger ever breaks into my home, I’m safe.

Yea, right. My only hope is that the intruder slips on a puddle of pee and breaks his neck.

But the problem gets worse.

We have some great neighbors who have moved in across the street, Patrick and Rachel. They, some months ago, purchased a cute little Labrador puppy named Sadie.

Sadie is a feisty girl who has become a full-grown 70-pound dog. Her eagerness and energy would challenge even Cesar Millan, you know, the Dog Whisperer.

The problem here is that Sadie just wants to play. Sadie runs at Sophie and Sophie, again, being the older and bigger dog, does again what I’d expect. She rolls over and becomes, once again, the chicken.

Now, I just want to go on record and say I hated it when I did the same thing in high school, but time moves. Shane Mayhew, where are you? I still shake at the mention of his name today. I miss him since he dropped out of, I don’t know, the 10^th grade.

Anyway.

I mentioned Cesar earlier, how do I call him up and say, “Please, show up and teach my dog how to be a dog.”

It gets even worse; my daughter just bought a little French bulldog puppy, Lola. I fear for Sophie’s life on their first encounter.

When any one of these disconnect, you have a problem. That’s why I take any sort of criticism seriously.

Well, I have heard some, be it small at this point. It involves one of our advertisers and a handful of our readers.

The advertiser is Newport Handgun Instruction. They run a weekly quarter-page ad promoting “basic handgun safety and instruction.” The top third of the ad features a picture of a pistol.

There are three or four readers who have found the ad jarring and complained about it.

Now, I want to be clear: the revenue we get from this ad is not going to make or break our operation.

That being said, I very much appreciate his confidence in us.

And, because he continues to run weekly, I’m assuming he, in turn, appreciates the Indy as a vehicle to promote his business.

So here’s the question: Do I continue to run the ad for a perfectly legal business, or do I turn down the ad because it upsets some readers?

Let me share my views on guns.

First off, our Constitution’s Second Amendment protects the right of the American people to keep and bear arms. It’s hard to argue against a Constitution that has stood the test of time for a couple hundred years.

I also have some great friends who love to hunt, and I respect their love of the sport.

That being said, my own stint as a hunter was very brief. I found I didn’t like killing things.

I do own a pair of guns, one that came as a gift and another that was owned by my father when he was a kid.

I’ve only fired one of the two, and probably only twice.

Now, here’s my thinking on the advertising of National Handgun Instruction.

One of the most dangerous things anyone can do is own a weapon, but not properly understand how it works in case they need to use it or how to properly and safely store the weapon when it’s not in use.

How many times have we read a newspaper article or heard a news report of someone being killed because, one, they thought the weapon was unloaded or, two, it somehow got in the wrong hands, like those of a child.

Robbery is one of the few crimes that increased in the city last year. People turn to protection. I would like to think that when they do, they not only buy a gun from a licensed gun shop, but they learn to properly understand the intricacies of their new purchase.

It’s like driving a car: to be safe you need proper education.

Let me know your thoughts. After all, you’re important.

My first Valentine was probably for Janet Shaw in kindergarten and first grade.

Isn’t it said that we always remember our first, or something like that?

Second grade was Lyn Doer. I remember her perfectly cut bangs and her pixie hairdo, with the big bow on top.

That was love.

Third grade escapes me, I think all the girls had cooties.

By fourth grade the top choice was Candy Parker, who caught my attention on the monkey bars by spinning and flashing her red pantaloons. Even as a 9-year-old I kind of figured that something was up there.

Although, I’ll be honest, I didn’t know what.

Fifth and sixth grade, Leigh Ballard and Ellen deClerq and their red and white striped Speedos caught my attention on the swim team, the Pleasanton Thunderbirds.

Seventh and eighth grade, the loves were Debbie George and Janie Hudman. Don’t know what happened to Janie, but I still keep in touch with Debbie to this day. From what I can tell on Facebook, she’d still make someone a pretty good Valentine all these years later..

Moving on to high school, Lou Payne, Maureen Connolly and others come to mind.

Lou, or Louise, as she’s probably better known today, joined me for a date to the roller derby. That’s right, roller derby. I know what you’re thinking, what a great date! But not just any roller derby, the Bay Bombers!

If I remember correctly, halfway through the match a fight broke out in the stands and I ran, forgetting about Lou. Our dating ended soon thereafter.

Maureen was, I believe, my first “official” date. Now, I’d like to lie here and tell you about how suave I was that night and about all my great moves. Unfortunately, it was a company Christmas party. I was the janitor who swept out and vacuumed a women’s dress shop, the Gold Hanger. At the party, two drunken ladies in an adjoining bar sort of hustled me and kind of threw off the whole evening.

Maureen and I never dated again. Nor did either of the two drunken ladies and I.

Fast forward to today.

Valentine’s Day for me is a special time.

First, for my wife Vicki, she is my No. 1 Valentine. She takes care of me, loves me and makes me better as a person. She works with autistic children for a living. She demonstrates passion, understanding and patience. She is one of the two kindest people I know in this world (the other being my sister, Nancy).

I love my wife.

Next, Ashley and Victoria, our girls. We are so lucky that in spite of us as parents that we have what we would call “perfect daughters.”

And finally, Sophie, our 4 ½ year-old Golden Retriever.

Life is pretty good.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

It was to the campus of UCLA. I’d only set foot there once before, for a book fair.

The mission this day was to meet Rick Neuheisel, head football coach of the Bruins, and then attend the USC vs. UCLA basketball game.

Let me explain a few things.

One, I’m not a UCLA fan; never have been. I grew up in Northern California, in a Cal family, and the Bruins over the years were one of our hated enemies.

Then, I put my daughter through the University of Arizona, bit down hard on the Wildcats and became a fan, hook, line and sinker.

Also, one of my great friends in Orange County is Paul Salata, founder of Irrelevant Week, and about as big a USC supporter as there is.

But my quest to meet Neuheisel this day was two-fold. One, I just love sports and meeting anyone of that stature is always fun. And two, I’m emceeing a dinner for the Orange County Youth Sports Foundation on April 26, at the Newport Beach Marriott, and Neuheisel will be the featured speaker.

The goal there is to raise money for Orange County youth sports programs in need of help.

Four of us were on this trip: John Ursini, owner of the Newport Rib Company and a huge Bruin supporter and alum; Gregg Whelan, former UCLA grad student, ardent fan, and a wealth manager by day with Raymond James in Newport Beach; and lastly, Charles Harris, an Orange County PR guru.

When we arrived at the Westwood campus our first stop was their Hall of Fame. Nothing can describe the feeling of that place. John Wooden’s office, as he left it, on full display; 106 NCAA team championship trophies, more than any other program in the country; Jackie Robinson’s lockers for football and baseball; retired basketball jerseys from college’s most decorated program; and the list went on-and-on.

Next it was a tour of the athletic offices, a quick stop in Athletic Director Dan Guerrero’s office (the same Dan Guerrero that use to run the UCI athletic program), a visit to the football, basketball and major-giving offices.

Next, after dinner and some mingling, we got a complete rundown from Neuheisel on that day’s closing of the college football recruiting signing day.

Rick, as I call him now that he’s a friend, in his own charismatic way went through all 16 signees, one-by-one, pointing out their upside potential to help his floundering program.

Finally, it was off to Pauley Pavilion, the place where John Wooden, the Coach, made it all happen.

For a lifelong sports fan, it was like an art student seeing the Mona Lisa.

The game was good. The Bruins beat their hated counterparts, 64-50.

I even caught myself clapping and cheering for the Bruins, for the first time ever.

For more information on the Rick Neuheisel dinner in Newport Beach, go to ocysf.org.

To clarify things, I certainly wasn’t a teacher’s pet. The fact is, she despised me. I could tell by the look in her eye as she repeatedly scolded me, and by the citizenship marks she gave me, you remember those, as in U, unsatisfactory.

My dad loved those!

Not a quick learner, I continued to do things that resulted in further trouble with her. One day, I decided to send a note to a friend across the classroom. Mrs. Shaw, of course, intercepted it and rewarded me with the opportunity to have my desk right next to hers in the front of the classroom.

It was like I was a freak show on display. I hated it. I stayed there the whole year.

We grew close.

But Mrs. Shaw’s message was absolutely correct. There’s a right time and a wrong time to send messages. And, if you’re not careful, your message will fall into the wrong hands.

I so wish that Newport-Mesa Unified School District’s Superintendent Jeffery Hubbard could’ve been in Mrs. Shaw’s class with me.

He would’ve learned the same lesson.

The news of Hubbard’s wrongdoings has been out there for the last several months.

Hubbard, in his previous role as Beverly Hills Unified School District’s superintendent, has been accused of criminal charges of misappropriation of funds.

The story goes that Hubbard gave his former facilities director, Karen Anne Christiansen, a $20,000 stipend that was unauthorized by the school board and additionally upped her car allowance significantly, which also was unauthorized.

Why did he do all of this?

Well, at the end of the day, despite many accusations, Hubbard looked the Newport-Mesa School Board in the eye and told them he had no inappropriate relationship with Ms. Christiansen. Once the facts were heard, the truth, however, came out.

Mrs. Shaw also taught me about liars.

Well, Hubbard’s email records, most originating from his NMUSD email address, would disagree with his claim of no inappropriate relationship.

There were lots and lots of notes, or messages as they’re now called, to choose from. 

And, there were more than a couple of doozies, including a number of sexual innuendoes, most utilizing the always-effective double entendre.

In spite of all of this, the school board sat on the sidelines, and did nothing, except for new board member Katrina Foley. Foley kept calling to have Hubbard put on leave.

But none of them listened.

Now, we go back to Monday. The school board met with Hubbard behind closed doors and he finally relented, offering himself up to be put on leave. The board approved it, 6-1.

Who dissented, you ask?

Well, Foley, of course. She seemed to have a different direction in mind, as in unsatisfactory. As in you're outta here.

Mrs. Shaw would’ve been proud.

Katrina, go to the head of the class!

Good food and the United States Marines; it doesn’t get much better than that.           

First of all, I hope you’re hungry. Real hungry.

Why, you ask?

Friday is the opening night of Newport Beach Restaurant Week, which runs through next Thursday. This is the one time a year that restaurants throughout our fair city join together to offer prix fixe meals for lunch and dinner at “bargain prices.”

The theme this year for the week is Savor the Flavor.

Now, just to clarify a couple of things. First, I said, “one time a year.” You see last year they tried to get cute and do Restaurant Week twice in a three-month span and it took away some of the luster. The good news is they’re back to doing it right this year.

Secondly, don’t be confused by the “prix fixe” tag. Restaurateurs know that with all the promotion behind the week they have the chance to get new customers in the door at a time of year when it’s usually not that busy, so it behooves them to put their best foot forward. So, as you might imagine, the food is usually outstanding.

It’s a week my wife and I always look forward to, and it gives us a chance to get together with a few friends and plan a couple of nights out on the town. (Note to self, call Gloria and Tom Salata and Peter and Sharon Buffa).

Let me tempt you with a few places on this year’s list: the Pelican Grill, Bluefin, the Ritz, Roy’s. Flemings, Bayside, well, you get the idea.

It’s not just a burger or taco stand.

For a complete list of participants see page 5 or go to newportbeachdining.com.

Have fun and let me know your thoughts. I’ll pass them back to this week’s coordinator.

If food isn’t your thing, but you like to get outdoors, I have a one-of-a-kind day for you Saturday on the beach.

Get up early and head to the Balboa Pier; beginning at 6:30 a.m., it’s the Newport Beach 1^st Battalion, 1^st Marines Foundation Beach Challenge.

You know the lyrics, “From the Halls of Montezuma, To the Shores of Newport Beach.”

OK, it’s Tripoli, but Saturday it’s Newport Beach.

Here’s the agenda, a half-mile beach run, nine fitness challenges and dozens of screaming Marines.

Sound like fun?

If you’re 14 or older, you can sign-up and compete against the finest the Marines have to offer.

The event is designed for people of all fitness levels.

Check-in begins at 6:30 a.m., or should I say oh-six-thirty, or something like that.

At oh-seven-thirty, there will be a course demo and a course time set by the Marines.

Beginning at oh-eight-hundred, waves of 40 challengers at a time will begin their assault on the course.

It’s going to be, well, interesting.

You can enter at check-in and who knows, maybe you’ll even walk away with one of the team or individual awards.

You see, when I say use to be called, I’m referring to the fact that as of that evening it will forever more be named the Segerstrom Center for the Arts.           

The announcement came in spectacular fashion, with Grammy Award-winning musical performers, public acknowledgements from business and community leaders, including former Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, and a closing fireworks spectacular.

And of course appreciation and words of thanks from Henry Segerstrom and Sandy Segerstrom-Daniels.

On the way home, I asked myself what would someone have to do to have a performing art center named after their family?

You see, we’ve referred to the campus for the last 25 years as the Orange County Performing Arts Center, so why change?

Well, all one has to do is look at the history of the Center on its website for the answer.

It begins in 1978, South Coast Repertory relocates to a new theater, named after the Segerstrom family, major donors to the building fund.

A year later the Segerstroms once again champion a cause and donate 5 acres of land to build a new “music” center.

In 1980 , Henry Segerstrom becomes chairman of the board of a group of trustees, whose main focus will become major fundraising for yet another proposed new center.

Moving to 1981, the Segerstrom family makes news following another 5-acre donation and a $1 million cash gift for the “design and construction of a major performing arts center.”

Four years later, the family once again is in the gift-giving mood, this time with the Richard Lippold indoor/outdoor sculpture, named Fire Bird by Renee Segerstrom.

With the opening of the new theater in 1986, Henry Segerstrom announces from the stage that $73.8 million in private contributions have been raised to fully fund the project.

The next year Segerstrom becomes president and chief operating officer of the Center.

In 1988, now-Chairman Segerstrom announces plans for a new concert hall.

We now fast forward to 1998 when another Segerstrom family gift of land is announced. 

You think they’re done? Wrong.           

Now, bigger and better than ever, in 2000 a $40 million naming gift comes in from Henry to name the concert hall after himself and his deceased wife, Renee. It is the largest cash gift in the history of Orange County.

After reading this I thought to myself that this indeed is what makes this area of Orange County wonderful. People that have no problem reaching into their pockets to make a difference.

Think of some of the names: Sue and Bill Gross, Henry and Susan Samueli, George and Julia Argyros, Lawrence and Kristina Dodge, to name just a few.

To these and all members of the Segerstrom family, on behalf of this community I thank you for your gifts from the heart.

You know them: Tim Riley, former Newport Beach Fire Chief, and Bob McDaniel, a longtime local developer.

Slide-butt gin was the plan, but that is a column for another day.

Unfortunately, a phone call came in early Thursday morning, Dec. 30.

It’s the kind of call parents hate. The ring wakes you from a deep sleep. You immediately know that something is wrong.           

After lifting the telephone, I knew it was my daughter on the other end of the line, but trying to decipher her hysterical crying left me anxious and concerned.

Finally, after several urges to “take a deep breath,” I finally got it. Her grandfather, aka Pop-pops, had died.

Pop-pops, her mother’s dad, personified everything a grandfather could be to his only granddaughter.

In her very young years, it was jewelry store, including cash register, on the family room floor. She’d set-up shop, he’d buy.

They’d do this for hours and hours.

Horsey-back rides followed - down the hall, through the living and dining room, then back into the family room, until the horse could move no more.

And even when he couldn’t possibly do it one more time, she’d say, “Again.”

Pop-pops would then, one more time, take her for a ride.

Bingo, with the complete ball cage spinner and all 75 balls would usually be the evening finale. Pop-pops would even let her spin the cage and call the numbers. It was an exciting thing for a kid.

In the springtime, when the days warmed, Pop-pops would slowly push his “Little Buttercup” across the pool in her raft.

She became his life and his reason for living.

Over the years they always remained close.

Pop-pops, or as he was more formally known, Werner Hennig, was a big, proud German, who, through hard work and years of sacrifice, had carved out a successful career, endured a marriage of 50-plus years and raised two daughters.

But, as we all know too well, days turn into months, months into years and years into decades. At 85, his time had come.

I first met Pop-pops in 1971. He became a father figure and, perhaps more importantly, my mentor for life.

When I first shook his hand the night I met him, he called me “son.”

That feeling never left.

We had many, many wonderful times together.

But, to be honest, I had let my relationship with Pop-pops fade in the years following the end of my marriage to his daughter.

So with that as a reminder, today, I urge you to start the New Year by calling or emailing someone missing in your life and reconnecting before it’s too late. I wish I had.

Pop-pops, we’ll miss you.

For one, and this is going to sound funny, I love taking all the gas receipts out of the center-console of my car. They started gathering there last January, along with spare change, miscellaneous papers, parking slips and other things that have no place in my car.

Once a year I get this mess straightened out. And today’s that day!

Occasionally, I even find something that I’ve been looking for for the past six months.

Secondly, I try and figure out what I’m going to do “next” year to make me, myself, better.

It’s, funny, every year the list is always the same, which means I’m not very good at this resolution stuff.

This year’s list, once again, includes losing a little weight - OK, maybe more than a little - cutting back on the drinking; eating healthier and, for goodness sakes, working out. And don’t forget about ending the procrastination of projects around the house.

My wife reminds me that I’ll “feel so much better about myself.”

Note to self: don’t listen to the wife.

A couple of these resolutions seem to go together pretty easily.

Working out, eating right and losing weight seem to all have a common thread.

But here begins my problems: the treadmill in my garage seems so far away from my living room couch. And there’s no ottoman on the treadmill. Besides, have you ever tried to drink a martini while running on a treadmill? It’s nearly impossible.

So I move on.

I find that when I ride my new bike, that I had to have, my legs get tired, and when my legs get tired they get sore, and when they’re sore, I’m just not happy. I’ll be honest, I just like motor-driven vehicles better.

And so with these both out, that leads me to my sport, my exercise of choice: golf. OK, OK, I get your point about calling golf a sport, but I’m not choosing to listen.

So I head out to play golf, and even though I have a nice new pull-cart, that I had to have, that enables me to walk, I find taking an electric cart is so much easier.

And while we’re speaking of golf and eating right, how could a round of golf be played and fully enjoyed without a hot dog or two at the turn. Add in some relish and a bag of potato chips and I I’ve hit almost all of the food groups.

So much for eating right.

Then I head home to projects around the house, waiting. And I don’t know if you’re like me, but nothing goes better after a round of golf than a nice two-hour nap on the couch.

And, as you can see, I’m back to my initial dilemma: the couch is so far from the treadmill.

So come tomorrow, just like always, I’m stuck with being me.

Happy New Year!