stories 6
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The following is a letter from Clint Campbell to
Don Knapp
Thanks, Don, for the memories! Do you remember that Dry Cleaner near the commuter train overpass, by Momoyama Station? If you used it, and most of us did, you probably remember the pungent odor of your neatly pressed uniforms......a little like stale pee. The old lady dried our uniforms over hot charcoal, and the fumes were really strong! Of course fresh air got rid of the smell, but by that time, they were back in the cleaners again, for "freshening up". And the smell/purification cycle started all over again.
On many occasions, we have visited Mr. Hideo Yamamoto ( formerly of the Yamamoto bicycle shop in Momoyama ) and his family, who still live near the South end of the old school football field, and now own two of the largest Honda dealerships in central Japan. During our visits, we meet some of their business associates in Momoyama, and one of them is the son of the former Dry Cleaner owner.
He had a very lucrative dry cleaning business for many years, made tons of money, and after attending Chef's Coffee School in Vienna, replaced that with a Vienna coffee shop, which is now sold to someone else who put in a Beauty Shop. While the coffee shop was in operation, for about ten years, he made more tons of money, at $7.00(US) per cup, and ( I believe ) is now a retired millionaire.
Mr Yamamoto is a billionaire! Yup, it is all true, and we were there when nobody had much of anything.
All of us helped Mr. Yamamoto with his nest egg when we sold him nylons, chocolate candy, gas, cigarettes, etc. through his little black market operation. We spent my profits and he saved and invested his. But that was the whole idea; help the natives recover. and recover they did! Big time.....
Of course, when we visit them today, our money is useless, and they treat us like bleedin' royalty, with a well furnished private ( and free ) apartment near Momoyama center, not far from their local, and very
famous ( Gekkeikan ) sake factory. We always have the stuff on hand, just in case we need a spiritual
lift now and then.
I could go on about the exciting journeys we have had to Japan since 1980, but I don't wish to overstay my welcome on the Internet!
Thanks again, Don, and we wish you and yours the happiest and best Christmas ever!
Best Regards,
Clint and Ingrid
Do any of you get nostalgic for Morse Code? For some, it's the least interest in their lives. For those ditty boppers interested: try "CGI Morse Code Translator" in your search window. It helps to have Windows Media or Music Match. You can easily type in your message to send in code as an e-mail attachment. (fairly short messages) Pick your speed. You can also check out and download a morse midi translator (free).
A COUNTRY TALE
By
Duke Dodge
The Spring and Summer of 1955 were a lot of fun.
I had just completed Morse Intercept training at Fort Devens and had drawn overseas duty at an ASA site near Kyoto on the Japanese island of Honshu.
I was stationed at the 8610 D.U. camp at Fukakusa, Japan. As soon as I arrived at camp, I knew it was going to be hard duty. We were forced to bunk in
two man rooms that were maintained by Japanese houseboys.
We had a ball field, a newly constructed
movie house and an NCO club where we were forced to dance, drink and carouse with the local "moose" at least twice a week Japanese vendors frequently visited the camp and measured us for tailor made suits they imported from Hong Kong.
Such harassment! On top of all that, the base commander insisted we tour the local countryside and get to know our gracious hosts, the Japanese, during our weekend off-duty time. Can you imagine?
The Colonel was such a "hard- nose" that he encouraged the guys to play golf, softball, basketball and football , in competition with other American camps in the area; he even allowed us to buy Japanese vehicles, like motorcycles, for our own personal relaxation and diversion. Can you picture this Colonel, or do I need to continue with the negative examples of his attitude??
One day a buddy and I took a motorcycle trip into the hill country, South of Fukakusa. As we traveled along a country road, I spotted a group of Japanese farm folk standing in front of an open, gazebo-like, building. They were making noise and a bell kept ringing. Since we were young and uninformed about the Japanese culture, we thought it was some kind of celebration, with the Japanese farmers lined up at a penny pitch. I started to laugh and make noise, as did my buddy, Felix.
What a mistake! The Japanese farmers were praying at a Shinto shrine. We were intruders to their ceremony and had insulted their religious rite with our noise and hilarity. Guess what? The whole damn crowd came running at us. Without the motorcycle transportation I might still be in Japan.
However, the lesson learned is still with me.
"Always sit on your motorcycle with the motor running, facing away from a menacing crowd, if you would hope to escape a farmer's pitchfork."