Early 1980’s:
Our good friends, Barbara, her husband, Neil, and I were traveling to Tokyo on a new cheap ECONOMY international airline, “China Air.” Granted we weren’t flying in a milk can and sitting on folding chairs, but it was close.
Included on our “milk bottle” twelve hour flight was a formidable twelve hour propaganda movie featuring the Chinese Red Army in Chinese playing on a continuous loop.
Enlivened, we rushed out to flee the Red Army to be greeted by an avalanche of taxies, polite drivers wearing white gloves, nodding, smiling, bowing and profusely repeating “arigato ” (thank you).
My husband was traveling separately with university marching band students and San Diego State University football fans/alumni to cheer the University’s winning football team for a presentation game against the Air Force Academy team. The Japanese were avid football and band music fans.
It seemed preposterous to travel to Tokyo for a football game. But, when the university announced that the Football Gods had chosen San Diego State’s team–PLUS—the University was taking virtually everyone who had ever stepped onto State’s grass, how exciting…except they forgot me, the wife——how unforgivable!
Neil’s music publishing company had extensive business dealings with the Yamaha Corporation and the head of Yamaha had invited them to visit his northern Japanese retreat spurring them on to attending the game and a Sony music concert. The head of Yamaha also awarded the visit to me——we were a trio.
ENERGETIC & VIBRANT TOYKO
Automatic Japanese taxi doors made it imperative to stand totally away from the doors because after our driver cleverly unloaded the suitcases plus three oversized metal cases jam-packed with music scores, it was our turn to get in. He raced around to his own door, got in, hit a lever and the back doors flung open with the speed of a Nasa rocket. Whew! Thank goodness Neil said, “Stand back!” (I could have ended up on the moon visiting Neil Armstrong’s flag.)
[Flashback] Previously, I hustled right out to Nordstrom’s junior department and acquired what I thought was a snappy travel outfit. Black cloth raincoat with a hood and a zip-out lining highlighted with black high-heeled boots. Upon donning the hood I resembled Ichabod Crane. In contrast, Barbara wore a knee-length chinchilla fur—-because our trip would be over Thanksgiving and early December.
(Hint—-DO NOT WEAR a cloth raincoat with a pathetic zip-out lining in arctic Japanese weather. The snappy high-heeled boots were also not a piece of cake!)
My husband was to be guest conductor for the Sony Band Concert. The Japanese love music from their stylized gagaku,
which is ancient court music to an absolute affinity for every conceivable form of Western music. Many of the large companies have huge band programs made up of their employees with a full time paid conductor. Their concerts last three or four hours and are standing room only. Bento box lunches consisted of rice, pickles, grilled fish or meat with vegetables.
The o-bento are multi-layered lacquer lunch boxes.
Not only do the Japanese people bring their lunch, eat during the program, they also bring their amazingly young well behaved children. After 3 1/2 hours I was a lot more restless than the children. The 130 Sony band members wore brilliant red jackets that contrasted into a coordinated panorama with their jet black hair—nary a blond, brunette, or redhead.
My husband was a masterful and gifted conductor; audience members were captivated listeners—no whispering, no coughing, no bathroom breaks!
Bouquets and various Sony treasures were given to my husband who then presented his thanks in Japanese. A few weeks after returning home we received a beautifully written copy of his speech in Kanji which we had framed and displayed in our home. Japanese friends delightedly smiled politely when they visited and viewed it. We had artfully hung it upside down.
Can you tell me which way is correct?
I thought so!
Can a mob of people be controlled? Absolutely, particularly if in Tokyo. Their trains are easy, efficient, and visitor friendly. We always seemed to be in the middle of hundreds of men wearing their uniforms of black overcoats, suits, starched white shirts and ties—a moving op-art portrait. When the train arrives at a stop——frenzy——doors fly open as masses push out. Then professional pushers ram new passengers inside.
The automatic electronic doors bang shut—— no-wiggle room.
Clearly this was a country dedicated to sexism. Men were seated first on trains, they exited elevators first and when dining at hotels or restaurants manned the tables.
At a formal dinner reception to honor an American music conductor who moved to Japan, there were over one hundred men and about twelve of the weaker sex. We watched an almost intolerably monotonous in-depth slide show of his life, listened to lengthy speeches and then as Barbara and I watched from the side, the male honoree and dignitaries filled their dinner plates, then the male guests descended to the laden food buffet, (virtually everyone in the banquet room,) and lastly we on the distaff side dined.
It’s a dynamic city unmatched for bustling activity. The department stores were wonderlands of merchandise where even inexpensive purchases were clever wrapped. At night, lavish neon lights competed in Olympian pageantry to create a protective veil against darkness.
We stayed in the skyscraper Shinjuku district in a glitzy hotel. But, emotionally we were deeply missing our daughters particularly for Thanksgiving dinner. Not them! We left money with a dear friend who would stay with them. They unabashedly and merrily waved good-bye and raced out to buy items that were not or never ever in abundance in our home. Boxes of sugar cereal, Count Dracula’s chocolate puffs was the top choice. My propensity for serving thick hunks of oatmeal now faced a giant hurdle upon return.
After returning from a favorite meal, (Shabu, Shabu), we heard a knock on our door. A teeny, tiny grey haired Japanese woman waved a paper in our face—-
“Massagee, massagee!”
Not us: we said.
“Massagee, massagee,–paid,” and resolutely moved into our room.
My husband said, “You”:
Me: “No, you”,
He: “No, YOU—–
She apparently trained Ninja warriors on how to insidiously commit pain. Deep down I know my husband was the donor. He insisted the “treat” was from Neil and Barbara.
My husband was committed to return back to San Diego with the Aztec football contingent leaving me abandoned and forced to travel solo with my dear friends. We were then on our way to the home of the Yamaha business executive. [ To be continued…]
And – to my dear husband for abandoning me in my cloth raincoat and black leather high-heeled boots,
ARIGATO!
Sy’s Salient Points:
The real Ichabod Crane came from a distinguished Military Family, was a Colonel in the Marine Corps. His great-nephew Stephen Crane penned The Red Badge of Courage in 1895, a piece of American literature more befitting the Crane family name than Irving’s whimsical Halloween story.
The thick, velvet-like fur of the rodent Chinchilla has the densest fur of all mammals.
DARLING BLAIRE, HAPPY FIRST DAY OF SPRING & SINGING & DANCING IN YOUR THEATRE DEBUT!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET, HANDSOME, PRECIOUS, BRILLIANT, EVERETT!