Mike Meloon (Narimasu '61) delves into a dusty, forgotten box, hidden in the recesses of the attic, and brings forth 39 year-old photos .. and his recollections of  growing up in Tokyo. 

Actually I found very few shots of our "escapades" - I think that even then I was smart enough to not keep any incriminating evidence around.   Here are some long-ago photos of some Washington Heights landmarks .. and a few stories imbedded in my memory:
 

The entrance to the Washington Heights Officer's Club. The high section on the left housed the Teen Club. From the inside I guessed that the club at one time was a gym or some such for the Officers. There was probably some whining when it was turned over to us little infidels.	The sign on the roof gives this one away - the Washington Heights BX area. The two story building on the left is the BX proper, the lower building attached on the right contains the allied shops, barber shop, snack bar, cleaners and other contract services.

Washington Heights commissary, the low building on the left, and the movie theater on the right.	Now here's one most people wouldn't recognize: The Washington Heights Interdenominational Chapel. This is the place that your parents sent you each week for Sunday school and which we usually bypassed in favor of a couple of beers and a bowl of O-soba (noodle soup) at one of the local shops just off base.

Bill Peters and Bob Schmidt outside a pet store holding some puppies that were for sale. Ever the clever one, Peters is flashing a couple of mono digital salutes, not realizing  that there are no young Japanese in the area.	On another Nikko trip (I think during the winter), a couple of the boys are showing off indications of their misspent youth by shooting billiards in the hotel. I don't recognize either one of them.

Standing on one of the wide paths inside Meiji Shrine on a hot, sunlit day, looking toward the bright sunshine on the other side of a large Torii gate. There's no special significance to this picture, unless it's to show that were were some "good" activities you could get into - sightseeing and cultural stuff.

Now - what do I remember? Yes, the motorcycle renting, gin fizzes and hi-balls at many, many little clubs in Shibuya, Shinjuku, et al, endless card games of "Sergeant- Major" on the bus during those one hour trips each way between Washington and Grant Heights for school (I can still remember how to play the game!), sneaking smokes behind the Teen Club while clambering all over the "Great Bird" monument (I think dedicated to Japanese military fliers during the war - the powers that be eventually fenced it in to protect it from us cretins), the early "rock concerts" at local clubs where we would listen to outrageous renditions of current rock and roll favorites - especially that big time hit, "Clazy Lub" (gaijins: "Crazy Love") - what a life!

On another trip to Nikko, Mike Meloon on a cop's motorcycle, whilst the latter is engrossed in a gross of donuts.

My family and I arrived in Tokyo "out-of- cycle," that is, we arrived about March of '57, rather than during a summer. I was in the eighth grade and figured that since the school year was practically over, the balance of the year would simply be "forgiven." WRONG!! I was quickly enrolled at Yoyogi Middle School on Washington Heights, which I reached from our "private rental" (off-base housing) by a half-hour bus ride each morning. I only remember one thing about Yoyogi: The first morning I attended, having ridden my bus to the school and found my various classes we broke for lunch in the little building they called a cafeteria.

Mike McAlister, taking a big chance that the cop is more interested in pastry than a couple of Brando (the 1959 one) types.

My mother had given me a bag lunch and a dime or whatever for a glass of milk. Now remember, first day and I didn't know a single soul so, naturally, had no one to sit with at lunch.  I bought a glass of milk and sat alone at a table eating my sandwich. After a while, I took a sip of milk and almost threw up! It was the worst tasting stuff I had ever encountered! I spit part of it back into the cup and threw the rest of it out, thinking that it must have been spoiled.  What I didn't know, and there was no one to tell me, was that it was "reconstituted" milk, mixed up from powder, and was the only kind of milk we ever had in Japan. I had never had any - and studiously avoided milk for the rest of my time in Japan (this may explain some of the other things I  drank while I was there).

I mentioned that we initially lived in "private rental," that is, off-base housing. Our house had been arranged for us before we arrived, and we moved right in. It was located in Shibuya-ku (how convenient!) between Ebisu train station (on the circular Yamate line that ran through Tokyo) and Daikanyama station, which was the first stop out of Shibuya on the line that went to Yokohama.
	Ebisu Station - about as convenient as they come to sample all of Tokyo's diversions.

	It was a four-bedroom house with a two-room "Japanese" wing (all shoji doors and tatami), had large trees in the small backyard which also contained a bomb shelter!!  Obviously, the house had been built before the war and, unfortunately, the shelter was filled with garbage.
Not Mike's house, but to show you that some of the Japanese/American houses were really spacious and fine.  What's wrong? Look: nice house, no garage!

 
 

The house had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and seemed quite impressive at the time although it pales by comparison to the monster houses that are being built in most suburbs today. The only drawback to the house was that it didn't have a driveway or garage - you had to park on the street.
	Typical Japanese home layout.  Everyone lives here; everyone sleeps here.  Zero privacy!

 
 

Shoji: paper screens, mostly used as doors, but yuppified as decoration in the U.S.	Tatami mats - the size of a Japanese room is measured by how many will fit inside.	Fusuma: fabric-covered doors that can be removed to make a larger room.

However, compare Japanese houses (in the suburbs) with apartments in Shibuya or Shinjuku that rent for $3,000 or more a month (1998).  They're called "mansions!"		Click on the small photo to see the large one. You'll see the mirror in the dining (!?) room reflects the other wall .. only steps behind the camera.  Wanna go back & live in Tokyo now?

I'm sure you remember that the two big festivals in Japan were New Year's and Obon, which I seem to recall occurs during the summer, but I can't remember the occasion unless it simply off-sets the New Year's festival in winter.

[Ed. note: a(nother) digression from Mike's story as an excuse to show some Obon pictures.  That definitely was a party, and we took every opportunity to enjoy Japanese, as well as American holidays! Kampai!]
 

Obon (The Festival of the Dead) is an annual Buddhist ritual which takes place in July (lunar) or August (solar calendar).  For several consecutive evenings in the cemetery next to the  temple, family members hang paper lanterns painted with the family crest to guide their ancestors' spirits back to the ohaka (family tomb).  The air is heavy with the smoke and smell of incense.

The festival is also referred to as the O-Bon festival. Putting an "o" in front of something is a way to mark the great importance of that term, a way of honoring it.  This is the time of year when souls of the deceased are said to return to this plane of existence.  Most people return to their home towns to the graves of their ancestors to clean up the grave site, burn incense and pray.  Traffic is the worst of the year!

The part of Obon that the younger children (OK, us gaijin  teenagers too) enjoy the most is lighting hanabi (firecrackers/fireworks, literally "flowery fire"). There is a constant hissing, popping and cracking over the course of the evening.

A Bon dance is held during the festival and is a community-wide activity.  In homes people will set up a "spirit altar" in front of their family Buddhist altar in order to welcome the souls of their ancestors. A welcoming fire for them is built on the 13th and a send-off fire is built on the 16th.  The house is also given a thorough cleaning and dusting during this time with fruits and vegetables being offered at the family altar.  The end of the Bon festival is marked by taking small paper lanterns containing lit candles and floating them on rivers to light the way for the spirits of the ancestors as they depart.  A message might be written on the outside of the paper lantern.

[Ed. note: now back to Mike's story ..]
 
 

Now for some background and reminders. You may recall that young Japanese loved to vandalize American cars - this was long before "keying" became popular - they used to break off the radio antenna or, better yet, steal a hubcap to hang on their wall.

 

You may also remember "cracker balls" which were pea-sized paper balls that had small amounts of gunpowder in them and they would explode like a charge in a cap pistol when you threw them against a wall or the street or stepped on them. The usual use of these balls was to place several under the legs of a desk at school so when someone sat down there would be several sharp reports. Big laugh all around.

Another purpose was to take them with you to the movie theater along with a slingshot and fire them at the screen during the show. More hilarity, but very dangerous since you were in possession of an incriminating object (the slingshot). It was fun watching the ushers race up and down the side aisles, trying to figure out who was responsible.

 

The final thing you have to know is that my family's Japanese maid was the local equivalent of "going steady" with the policeman on the beat around our neighborhood.  My father also was a favorite around the local Koban (police station), since he would distribute bottles of whiskey and cartons of cigarettes several times a year, thus ensuring close attention being paid to our particular block.

 
 

One year at Obon, with the family car parked out on the street, my father was determined to outwit the vandals. He bought a double handful of cracker balls and sprinkled them on the street around our car just before going to bed. About 1:30 in the morning, there was the sound of cracker balls exploding in the street.
My parents' and my bedrooms shared a second floor balcony which overlooked the street. My father and I dashed onto the balcony to observe an obviously very intoxicated man hunkering down by our car tire trying to wrestle off a hubcap.

 

My father hollered at him; whereupon, he dropped to his stomach and began crawling slowly away from the car. Dad picked up a flower pot (complete with flower) from the sill and launched it across the street where it hit the wall of the house opposite us and clay shards, dirt, etc. showered down on this poor fellow. At this point he jumped up, raised his hands over his head and shouted, IN ENGLISH, "No Shoot!!"  Obviously a war veteran.

 
 

Dad then heard a noise over the side of the balcony in our yard. When he looked, he could see someone crouching just inside our gate!! He picked up another flower pot and was just about ready to drop it right on the fellow's head when he stood up and it was the local cop on our beat!!

The cop raced out and collared the miscreant and proudly held him until my father and I, along with our maid to translate, arrived in the street. The cop was quite proud of himself for making the arrest and wanted to run him in.

 
 

Dad looked at the poor drunken soul in front of him,  who could barely stand up, and decided that he  just didn't want all the trouble of prosecuting,  paperwork, etc.  So he reached out, turned the  fellow around quickly three times and gave him  a shove down the street - where he wandered  off and was never seen again. The cop wasn't  happy, but his ego was salved the next day with  some kind words and an extra ration of  whiskey and cigarettes.

.............

 
 

A funny thing, about five years ago my younger sister and her husband visited Japan at the invitation of some Japanese they had befriended here in the US. I gave her a map of the main streets around our house and, with the help of her friends, found it STILL STANDING!  Of course, all the buildings around it that had been one- and two-story when we were there, had all disappeared and been replaced with 6, 8 and 10 story apartment buildings.

 
 

Now here's one on you, Jazzbo. I recall a time when you decided it would be a good idea to form a "gang," with yourself as the leader, of course, and you recruited six or eight of us unwary souls. We were to be known as "The Barons," and went so far as to have shirts made at the BX tailor with the gang "name" embroidered on them. Unfortunately, our timing was inappropriate, since at least half of the school, including most of the sports jocks, chose this time to form their own group which they called ..

The Barons vs. The Fraternity (it seemed like the whole school!)

 

"The Fraternity," and they must have had over fifty members. As soon as they noticed our little group, they couldn't wait for a face-to-face encounter. I remember a night soon after when you, wearing your shirt, in a marvelous show of bravado, strolled toward the Teen Club. As soon as you were spotted, it was the hounds

and the hare, and the only  thing that saved you was your quick feet, as you showed them nothing but elbows and soles. My own shirt was quickly relegated to the bottom of my dresser drawer and was used, years later, to buff up my car after waxing.

 
 
 

Speaking of gangs, I left Tokyo in the summer of 1960, but found myself back there several years later for a brief visit. I wandered down near the old Ebisu train station to a particular Pachinko parlor where I had spent many a profitable hour. I started chatting with one of the workers who spoke marginally more English than I did Japanese and casually mentioned that I had been one of a "gang" of Americans who frequented the area in years past.

 
 

The next thing I knew I was being politely ushered to an upstairs room, served tea and cakes, while we apparently waited for something (or someone). It finally dawned on me that although I used the word "gang" in the American meaning of a group of people who simply hung out together, they had apparently applied a different meaning to the term, and had probably sent off for one of the local Yakuza boys to come and see what rival gang was horning in on their turf.

 

Once this realization sank in, I quickly thanked everyone for their hospitality and departed the scene faster than Jazzbo before the Fraternity. See ya!!

 

Of course, as I remember my years in old Edo, I was somewhat unassuming, soft-spoken, quiet, well-behaved and respectful toward superiors.

Other people may have different recollections, but I suspect they are simply still envious.  Mike

 
 

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