GyG1345
03-03-03, 02:45 PM
From: JPageSpann@aol.com | This is Spam | Add to Address Book
Date: Sun, 2 Mar 2003 10:20:20 EST
Subject: #154 Richard Keech We Make it to Hiroshima
To:
#154 Newsletter March 2, 2003
©copyright 2003 by Richard Keech
Editor's note: Richard's back surgery will be
someday this month. Of course
he will not know when until they wake him up in
the middle of the night, put
him in chains and take him to the hospital. I
gather that once there,
accompanied by 2 armed guards, his wife will be
notified so the immediate
family can visit him.
WE MAKE IT TO HIROSHIMA
To an American, distances in Japan are deceptive.
I grew up in California
during the early twentieth century. I grew up in
a world designed around the
American love of cars. All families had cars
and loved to go places in
them. Distances were measured as a function of
their driving time.
"Nearby", as a distance, would be any place
reachable by a Sunday drive,
(about 30 miles.)
"Not too far" would be the distance a family car
could travel on a spring
vacation, (about a thousand miles.)
Only places like New York that you couldnt drive
to, were considered really
"distant."
This concept of distance doesn't work in Japan.
In Japan everything is
plannned around a "days walking distance." (A
plan that was developed a
millennia back.)
Villages are situated so that the villagers can
walk to their fields, and
still get in a days work. Farm lands farther
than that will be served by
neighboring villages.
This places these unique little villages about a
days walk apart. (Say 10
miles.)
The life of a Japanese rice farmer is a hard one.
He works from dawn to dark
seven days a week.
He is happy to make it home to his village by
nightfall. He won't be
traveling far from there if he can help it.
Thus Japanese villages are unique entities in
themselves. Each is different
and special. That neighboring village, just ten
miles down the road, is as
distant to the people of this village as New York
was to me, as a boy.
Of course we're in modern Japan now. But the
thing is the people still live
in the same small villages they grew up in. The
only change for most is they
ride bicycles now instead of walking.
Our train is traveling across the island of
Kyushu, (about the size of Orange
county in California.)
Our trip to Mogi cannot be too many miles. But it
does take time.
Our train passes through village after village,
stopping at times at small
stations. We are not riding a "local" that would
stop at every station , But
we are not riding an express either. We do stop
at quite a few.
I love the scenery thru this part of Kyushus. We
have been passing through
Bamboo forests. My favorite forest of all. Such
tall, beautiful, lacy green
giants. This type of bamboo is called "running
bamboo". It sends out runners
from its base and builds its own forest, one new
shoot at a time.
This bamboo is used in all sorts of construction.
I don't know, but suspect
that these forests are cash crops. I do know
that the new bamboo shoots are
harvested when they reach about a foot above the
ground. (They grow three
inches a day.) They are tender and edible at
this stage.
In the meantime the train has pulled into another
small station. Kay, wno nas
been enjoyoing the scene as much as I, turns to
me and says "Where do all
those bicycles come from?"
She has noticed something very special about
Japanese train stations. In
front of each station is a small parking lot. It
is divided into narrow
aisles by what look like picket fences. They're
bicycle parking racks. They
are filled with bicycles. Thousands of them.
The modern Japanese worker now toils in some
great electronics plant in one
of the major cities. To get there he rides a
bicycle to the nearest train
station, parks his bike in one of the free
parking lot bike racks, then takes
a train to his workplace city. There a factory
bus will pick him up and
take him on to his job site.
At night he will retrieve his bike from the rack
at his home station and
ride it on home.
A bit complicated but the beauty of this is he
can continue to live in his
country village. (So much better than moving to
overcrowded housing in the
city. Japan does some things quite right.)
Of interest, none of these thousands of bikes is
locked or chained. This is
Japan. There are no thieves.
I have been watching the industrial buildings as
we near Mogi. I would love
to show Kay the open warehouse used by the Army
to sort us out the day we
landed in Japan. (That was 40 years ago. I know
it can't still be there
now.) That scene is still indelibly printed in
my memory tho.
That warehouse was about a hundred feet from the
edge of the dock where our
ship was tied up.
It was cold that day. We had on only the light
tropical cotton we had been
wearing when we boarded the ship 19 days before
in Manila.. ( now tattered
and filthy.) We were freezing cold.
Out on the dock was a mountain of carry on bags,
ours, taken from us when we
boarded the ship. If we could get to our bags in
that great mountain we
would have clothes to change into. A mountain
however, that could take days
to sort out.
Not a problem for the Japanese tho. The last
instruction we were given as
we left that warehouse was,"Go pick up one of
those bags, just one, and don't
try to look for yours. Its all community
property isnt it?" Very Japanese.
We made it work. I remember telling myself, "find
a heavy sea bag that looks
like its weight comes from clothing." I did,
and came away better off than
if I had gotten my own bag..
While I have been reliving these scenes of 40
years ago in my memory the
train has arrived at the Ferry terminal.
We grab our bags and make our way to the upper
deck of the ferry. We dont
want to miss anything.
I do make a last try to redraw the picture for
Kay of that distant time and
place, the warehouse and the soldiers, but it's
too nice a day and she is
enjoying the harbor sights of fishing boats and
sea gulls.
One other picture from long ago does come back to
me as we stand there on the
Ferry. Jimmy, my buddy for the voyage, comes up
to me that morning and says
"I got them to hook up the hoses. Want to take a
bath..?"
My immediate reaction to that was "No way, It's
cold out here" But then I
add, "Why should we?"
Jimmies answer shakes me up. "Because we smell
terrible. Hadn't you noticed?"
CONTINUED........................................
http://www.richard-keech.org/
Richard Keech
Posted on Mar 2, 2003, 4:06 PM
from IP address 24.99.13.138
Date: Sun, 2 Mar 2003 10:20:20 EST
Subject: #154 Richard Keech We Make it to Hiroshima
To:
#154 Newsletter March 2, 2003
©copyright 2003 by Richard Keech
Editor's note: Richard's back surgery will be
someday this month. Of course
he will not know when until they wake him up in
the middle of the night, put
him in chains and take him to the hospital. I
gather that once there,
accompanied by 2 armed guards, his wife will be
notified so the immediate
family can visit him.
WE MAKE IT TO HIROSHIMA
To an American, distances in Japan are deceptive.
I grew up in California
during the early twentieth century. I grew up in
a world designed around the
American love of cars. All families had cars
and loved to go places in
them. Distances were measured as a function of
their driving time.
"Nearby", as a distance, would be any place
reachable by a Sunday drive,
(about 30 miles.)
"Not too far" would be the distance a family car
could travel on a spring
vacation, (about a thousand miles.)
Only places like New York that you couldnt drive
to, were considered really
"distant."
This concept of distance doesn't work in Japan.
In Japan everything is
plannned around a "days walking distance." (A
plan that was developed a
millennia back.)
Villages are situated so that the villagers can
walk to their fields, and
still get in a days work. Farm lands farther
than that will be served by
neighboring villages.
This places these unique little villages about a
days walk apart. (Say 10
miles.)
The life of a Japanese rice farmer is a hard one.
He works from dawn to dark
seven days a week.
He is happy to make it home to his village by
nightfall. He won't be
traveling far from there if he can help it.
Thus Japanese villages are unique entities in
themselves. Each is different
and special. That neighboring village, just ten
miles down the road, is as
distant to the people of this village as New York
was to me, as a boy.
Of course we're in modern Japan now. But the
thing is the people still live
in the same small villages they grew up in. The
only change for most is they
ride bicycles now instead of walking.
Our train is traveling across the island of
Kyushu, (about the size of Orange
county in California.)
Our trip to Mogi cannot be too many miles. But it
does take time.
Our train passes through village after village,
stopping at times at small
stations. We are not riding a "local" that would
stop at every station , But
we are not riding an express either. We do stop
at quite a few.
I love the scenery thru this part of Kyushus. We
have been passing through
Bamboo forests. My favorite forest of all. Such
tall, beautiful, lacy green
giants. This type of bamboo is called "running
bamboo". It sends out runners
from its base and builds its own forest, one new
shoot at a time.
This bamboo is used in all sorts of construction.
I don't know, but suspect
that these forests are cash crops. I do know
that the new bamboo shoots are
harvested when they reach about a foot above the
ground. (They grow three
inches a day.) They are tender and edible at
this stage.
In the meantime the train has pulled into another
small station. Kay, wno nas
been enjoyoing the scene as much as I, turns to
me and says "Where do all
those bicycles come from?"
She has noticed something very special about
Japanese train stations. In
front of each station is a small parking lot. It
is divided into narrow
aisles by what look like picket fences. They're
bicycle parking racks. They
are filled with bicycles. Thousands of them.
The modern Japanese worker now toils in some
great electronics plant in one
of the major cities. To get there he rides a
bicycle to the nearest train
station, parks his bike in one of the free
parking lot bike racks, then takes
a train to his workplace city. There a factory
bus will pick him up and
take him on to his job site.
At night he will retrieve his bike from the rack
at his home station and
ride it on home.
A bit complicated but the beauty of this is he
can continue to live in his
country village. (So much better than moving to
overcrowded housing in the
city. Japan does some things quite right.)
Of interest, none of these thousands of bikes is
locked or chained. This is
Japan. There are no thieves.
I have been watching the industrial buildings as
we near Mogi. I would love
to show Kay the open warehouse used by the Army
to sort us out the day we
landed in Japan. (That was 40 years ago. I know
it can't still be there
now.) That scene is still indelibly printed in
my memory tho.
That warehouse was about a hundred feet from the
edge of the dock where our
ship was tied up.
It was cold that day. We had on only the light
tropical cotton we had been
wearing when we boarded the ship 19 days before
in Manila.. ( now tattered
and filthy.) We were freezing cold.
Out on the dock was a mountain of carry on bags,
ours, taken from us when we
boarded the ship. If we could get to our bags in
that great mountain we
would have clothes to change into. A mountain
however, that could take days
to sort out.
Not a problem for the Japanese tho. The last
instruction we were given as
we left that warehouse was,"Go pick up one of
those bags, just one, and don't
try to look for yours. Its all community
property isnt it?" Very Japanese.
We made it work. I remember telling myself, "find
a heavy sea bag that looks
like its weight comes from clothing." I did,
and came away better off than
if I had gotten my own bag..
While I have been reliving these scenes of 40
years ago in my memory the
train has arrived at the Ferry terminal.
We grab our bags and make our way to the upper
deck of the ferry. We dont
want to miss anything.
I do make a last try to redraw the picture for
Kay of that distant time and
place, the warehouse and the soldiers, but it's
too nice a day and she is
enjoying the harbor sights of fishing boats and
sea gulls.
One other picture from long ago does come back to
me as we stand there on the
Ferry. Jimmy, my buddy for the voyage, comes up
to me that morning and says
"I got them to hook up the hoses. Want to take a
bath..?"
My immediate reaction to that was "No way, It's
cold out here" But then I
add, "Why should we?"
Jimmies answer shakes me up. "Because we smell
terrible. Hadn't you noticed?"
CONTINUED........................................
http://www.richard-keech.org/
Richard Keech
Posted on Mar 2, 2003, 4:06 PM
from IP address 24.99.13.138