Those three years in Japan passed too quickly. The final year my wife had gotten lost on the way home from shopping at the commissary at Camp Zama, a nearby Army base. She wound up on the Tomei Expressway, a super highway and couldn't figure out how to get off. By the time she did she was in Tokyo, over 40 miles away. She eventually made her way to a side street where she found a Koban; a five man police box. Once they were able to determine that she was a Navy wife and lived on Atsugi air base, (by then we'd moved to base housing) they radioed for a car and she was escorted the entire way to the front gate of the base. It freaked her out so badly that she and our kids flew back to Texas two weeks later.
I spent the last year in Japan living in the enlisted barracks and hanging out at Kenny's shop. When I went off duty, I'd ride my bicycle to the Seya train station, take the 15 minute hop to Yamato and walk six blocks from the train station to Kenny's. Often when he closed for the day he'd invite me up to the small apartment over his shop that he shared with his wife, Kasumi. After removing my shoes I'd walk in and give her a huge hug, lifting her off her feet (the first time I did this she was mortified, but eventually grew to accept my barbaric display of affection and, I'd like to think, looked forward to it). Then she'd cover her mouth with her hand and giggle as she welcomed me to her home. She learned about a dozen words of English during those three years and though we couldn't really talk I'm convinced that she was the kindest, sweetest human on the planet. She'd cook us a supper of yakisoba and tempura or sukiyaki and we'd have a few strong Sapporos (kampai!!) then sit in the tiny living room and discuss and argue the merits of this fish vs that, filters, lighting, you name it.
He introduced me to the works of Jack Wattley, Bernd Degen and Eduard Schmidt-Focke and some of the amazing discus strains they were developing. By now I'd learned more Japanese and he much more English and we wore away hours in happy discourse and alcoholic brotherhood. It was often after midnight when I got back to the Seya train station where I'd mount my bike (unlocked-you could leave your bike unlocked at the public rack for a year and it would still be there when you got back) and weave my way down empty streets back to the base.
Those were some of the happiest days in my life though I didn't yet have the wisdom to know just how fortunate I was in finding my friends, Kenjiro and Kasumi.
Shortly before I transferred to the Seabee base at Gulfport, Mississippi to join NMCB-62 I sold my 55 gallon to one of my barracks buddies and introduced him to Kenny.
My departure was tearful as I kissed and hugged both my friends. I felt wretched as they dropped me at the front gate of Yakota Air Base where I was to catch my hop to Biloxi Mississippi. I never saw them again. They would be in their 80s now. I still think of them and each time I do, I turn to the west, tap my chest lightly with my right fist, twice. Nothin' but love for y'all Kenny and Kasumi. Domo arigato gozaimashita.
I spent the last year in Japan living in the enlisted barracks and hanging out at Kenny's shop. When I went off duty, I'd ride my bicycle to the Seya train station, take the 15 minute hop to Yamato and walk six blocks from the train station to Kenny's. Often when he closed for the day he'd invite me up to the small apartment over his shop that he shared with his wife, Kasumi. After removing my shoes I'd walk in and give her a huge hug, lifting her off her feet (the first time I did this she was mortified, but eventually grew to accept my barbaric display of affection and, I'd like to think, looked forward to it). Then she'd cover her mouth with her hand and giggle as she welcomed me to her home. She learned about a dozen words of English during those three years and though we couldn't really talk I'm convinced that she was the kindest, sweetest human on the planet. She'd cook us a supper of yakisoba and tempura or sukiyaki and we'd have a few strong Sapporos (kampai!!) then sit in the tiny living room and discuss and argue the merits of this fish vs that, filters, lighting, you name it.
He introduced me to the works of Jack Wattley, Bernd Degen and Eduard Schmidt-Focke and some of the amazing discus strains they were developing. By now I'd learned more Japanese and he much more English and we wore away hours in happy discourse and alcoholic brotherhood. It was often after midnight when I got back to the Seya train station where I'd mount my bike (unlocked-you could leave your bike unlocked at the public rack for a year and it would still be there when you got back) and weave my way down empty streets back to the base.
Those were some of the happiest days in my life though I didn't yet have the wisdom to know just how fortunate I was in finding my friends, Kenjiro and Kasumi.
Shortly before I transferred to the Seabee base at Gulfport, Mississippi to join NMCB-62 I sold my 55 gallon to one of my barracks buddies and introduced him to Kenny.
My departure was tearful as I kissed and hugged both my friends. I felt wretched as they dropped me at the front gate of Yakota Air Base where I was to catch my hop to Biloxi Mississippi. I never saw them again. They would be in their 80s now. I still think of them and each time I do, I turn to the west, tap my chest lightly with my right fist, twice. Nothin' but love for y'all Kenny and Kasumi. Domo arigato gozaimashita.
