Witnessing History.

My latest blog entry.

As the sand runs out on yet another calendar, we all look back at the year that was. Our favorite moments, the best and worst of the world around us. What made us laugh and cry, and look forward to what the days ahead may yield.

The best part of my job, is I get to witness history. Sometimes, it's history that generations long after we're gone, will read about in textbooks. But often, it's moments that quietly slip past most that mean so much to me.

June 4th, marked the passing of John Wooden. Growing up in Southern California, you knew John Wooden. The Wizard of Westwood, the Pyramid of Success. A legend that legends aspire to be.

Wooden had been sick for a few days, and the media was keeping vigil outside the hospital on the UCLA campus. I was there just to be a second set of hands, to help out with Suraya Fadel's live shot. But we had gotten word that some UCLA students had planned a "8-clap" rally in front of the hospital so I was sent over to get some "b-roll" for later shows.

I was making my way around to the front, when the phone rang. "John Wooden just died."

I stopped. Its rare for anything to make me stop in my tracks, but this did. John Wooden was gone. I knew the whole story had changed. I knew everything had changed.

I got over to where the rally was to take place, and a few students were already there, waiting for others to arrive. I didn't know if they knew, but in moments they did. I grabbed a few quick interviews, getting the thoughts of those who organized the rally, and some who were just showing up.  

And they kept showing up. By the dozens. Then the hundreds. Then the thousands, as if the heart of UCLA opened up and poured out into the streets.

Then it started.

U..... C.... LLLLLLLLLLLLL...... A. U-C-L-A FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT.

And again.

And again, louder and louder, as if to reach the heavens for Mr. Wooden himself to hear.

These were kids who were some 80 years Mr. Wooden's junior, born decades after he had coached his last game. And they kept coming. The street overflowing with students. I was caught in the midst of the crowd, and could not see the end of either side.

Mustafa Abdul Hamid, a Bruin basketball player, grabbed the bullhorn. His words were as eloquent as a king, pouring from deep within his soul. Mr. Wooden's presence flowed through the crowd, for indeed, he was UCLA.

And it began again.

YouTube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHwFL7h4Qmg

Somewhere, amongst that sea of blue, is me. Somewhere.

I knew I had only moments, but I called a friend, a UCLA alumn, and held the phone up above the crowd: "Diana, today, you should be proud to be a Bruin."

I was still alone, Suraya wasn't able to get over right away, so I started interviewing anyone who would talk. And they all talked. And they all praised a man whom most had never met, but his presence had influenced their lives. Tears flowed as if a loved one had just passed, and a moment of silence that culminated in the loudest 8-clap the campus has probably ever seen.

The crowd began to thin, it was finals week and most had to get back to the books. Many stayed. Candles were lit. Tears were wept quietly. Friends held friends. Hands clenched hands.  

John Wooden was gone.  

I knew I was witnessing history. Not simply the passing of an iconic sports figure. Not simply the passing of a great man. I saw the gap of generations fade away. I saw the power of a single human being touch the lives of thousands.

I was in awe.

2010 was unsual. There were few "big" stories, the kind that distant relatives call and wonder if you're a part of. But it was a small part of a huge story, that will forever grace the mental calendar of the year that was.

I was very proud to have witnessed history.