I wanted to take a better picture but this was all the spaghetti that was left after we ate.
You must all be wondering.
What is a third generation Japanese-American doing trying to make Italian meatballs?
It’s as if you saw John Wayne behind the sushi counter asking if you want yellow tail or halibut.
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Well, the schedule has my kids staying this week for Spring Break…and they are bored. They are so bored, they again asked, “What are we having for dinner tonight? The same stuff, Papa?”
Egads.
Made them my killer (but now boring) Fettucine Alfredo with prosciutto and green peas Monday night and beef stroganoff yesterday night (with Jack removing every last mushroom from his plate).
From scratch. None of this sauce out of a bottle or Hamburger Helper stuff.
So…. My son Jack seems to like meatballs for some reason. He gets it at Subway and at this Italian restaurant in Belmont Shores. The last time he did, I told him I’d make it.
So I did.
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Just wanted to throw in a random photo… but that pot does have the basil I keep growing for cooking use. When it’s growing good, I use it as a backdrop for my macro pics. BTW, its a picture of a picture of a picture…of chalk. 🙂
I had heard many horror stories about making meatballs.
They were hard like golf balls.
They were just round hamburgers.
So I went to my trusted cooking bible: Cook’s Illustrated.
Their recipes are the Triple T’s: tasty, tried and true and only (old) male buffoons like me can mess them up. I’ve proven that.
But it turns out their secret ingredient was… buttermilk. Crazy. But it worked out wonderfully. And you used only the egg yolk; using the whole egg does something to the texture, Cook’s Illustrated said.
The ingredients for the meatballs were:
3/4 pound ground chuck (85/15 ground beef can be substituted)
1/4 pound ground pork
1/4 cup buttermilk
Two slices white bread (with the crusts cut off) cut into small cubes
1/4 cup grated Parmesan Reggiano (my preference)
One minced garlic clove
Two tbsp minced parsley (I used the broad leaf Italian parsley to make up for my being Japanese-American)
One egg yolk
3/4 tsp table salt
Pepper to taste
The ingredients for the spaghetti sauce were:
28 oz can crushed tomatoes
One minced garlic
Olive oil
Salt, pepper
2 tbsp minced basil
My rolled meatballs. In hindsight, they should have been a bit bigger… and if you’re wondering what the cardboard egg carton is for, it’s a great (disposable) way to drain your fried foods.
For the meatballs:
Soak the bread in the buttermilk for 10 minutes, crushing the bread occasionally to break it down. Do not drain.
Combine all the meatball ingredients in large bowl. (I slice through the mixture using a fork to bring it all together rather than using my hand to mix it. Keeps the mixture loose.)
Form meatballs (without compressing) about 1-1/2 inches in diameter, rolling mixture in hands. Set aside. Complete for remaining mixture.
Heat 1/4″ vegetable oil in 10″ skillet. (I don’t recommend non-stick.)
Carefully drop meatballs one by one into oil; they should sizzle. If your skillet is big enough, you may be able to do them in one batch.
Adjusting the flame, keep them sizzling while making sure ALL sides are browned. Perhaps ten minutes. (I made the mistake of having the heat too high and the meatballs too small.)
Drain.
For the spaghetti sauce:
Drain the oil from the skillet. Return to range. Pat away most of the oil BUT leave all the yummy crusty stuff on the bottom.
Heat then pour in about a couple tablespoons olive oil and garlic. Scrape up all the crusties on the bottom as best you can. Do not burn garlic; no more than 30 seconds.
Carefully pour in the crushed tomatoes. Continue to scrape up remaining crusties then bring to boil.
Turn down heat then simmer for about ten minutes, stirring occasionally.
Add basil and meatballs then simmer for five more minutes.
Adjust seasoning.
They suggested reserving a 1/4 cup of the pasta water. After draining the al dente spaghetti¹ and returning it to the pot, add back the pasta water and a couple of ladles of the sauce.
Coat then portion out your spaghetti from the still warm pot onto dishes. Pour a bit more sauce onto pasta, top with three meatballs. Your kiddies can add Parmesan Reggiano to their liking.
Bon Appetit!
(No, I am not Julia Child. You are sadly mistaken.)
Note 1: Use ample water; I use more than a gallon for a pound of pasta. Also add one tablespoon salt immediately before adding pasta. Stir to make sure they don’t stick together then cover to bring back to boil as soon as you can. Uncover then rigorously boil for recommended time for al dente.
At times, I feel uncomfortable being of the Buddhist faith. Perhaps I am not as devout as my grandfather was reported to be but my family is Buddhist. I guess I feel uncomfortable because so many of you – my friends – are of the Christian faith and cherish it grandly.
My bud Don during the dedication of the new “ambo” (?) at his church. He is participating in a Good Friday play as I type.
Because I am Buddhist, it is difficult to fathom the importance religiously of today, Good Friday. One of my most trusted friends of old, Don, partakes in a play each Good Friday at his Catholic church of which he is a most faithful member. I feel some sadness as I am unable to grasp the deepness of his love for his God or the significance of this day.
But each Good Friday, my mind races back to the Good Friday of 1992.
My oldest daughter was home as there was no school. She was nine at that time
Playing in her bare feet, she was bitten by a rattler in the front yard of my home.
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My first daughter about six hours after the anti-venom was administered, with her intensely pained left foot resting on a pillow.
Yes, my memory is not all that accurate, Robyn, but it was late morning. I was working in Downtown LA that day when a call came into my office.
When I picked up the phone, it was her mom. You have to understand her to appreciate this but she said pretty calmly, “I think Robyn got bit on her foot by a snake.”
“Huh? Whaaat? Where? Are there puncture marks?”
“Ummm… Let me go see,” she calmly says. Yes, she did. OMG! Didn’t she check already?
After a minute, she comes back and matter-of-factly says, “Umm, yes, there’s two little holes on her toe…” It was as if she was telling me Robyn got straight A’s again. Very routine for Robyn.
“Call 911!” I said quite loudly then hung up. I ran to my boss’ office and said yelled, “I think my daughter got bit by a rattlesnake! Bye!”
Did I mention I was the opposite of my ex-wife? I got pretty “animated”. It was different than being told she got straight A’s again.
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Remembering this was before inexpensive cell phones, I raced home. It took about an hour to drive the 25 miles, even back then. When I got there, no one was there. But a neighbor told me the paramedics took her to Brea Community Hospital. “Huh? Brea Community? Where’s that?!” No Google Maps, either.
After the anti-venom drip is started, the waiting begins. Her mom brought along her favorite yellow blankie.
If I recall correctly, I got to the hospital about two hours after the call. Apparently, the paramedics were going to medivac her when they located this hospital with anti-venom in the neighboring county.
It was the darnedest sight. Here were these two pretty rugged-looking paramedics in Emergency, rubbing their huge hands together like if they were outside in the snow. Briefly, her mom explained yes, it was a rattler. The doctor wasn’t sure what anti-venom to administer at first but after calling a specialist in Arizona, they decided on the anti-venom. However, the anti-venom coagulates at the top of a suspension liquid in these tiny glass tubes. The paramedics were rolling these tubes in their hands to warm and melt/dissolve the anti-venom into the liquid.
My daughter, a pretty tough kid, was just laying on the gurney quite bravely. She didn’t whimper, complain or show fear. She would be that way for the rest of the night – well, except for a split second. In fact, the only time she would show emotion was when she pummeled her younger brother – frequently. He apparently deserved it.
I believe this was taken nearing midnight. Those faint lines going up her ankle were drawn by the nurse at certain times to mark the spread of the toxins and swelling. You can see the effects of the snake bite; it was really purple.
There was cause for alarm, however. The first responders were able to locate the snake in the strawberry plants then lopped off its head with a shovel. But it was a baby rattler. For those of you who don’t know, baby rattlers are unpredictable in how much venom they would inject for a kill. Luckily, it had killed Mickey Mouse a bit earlier (or maybe it was Minnie), thereby somewhat depleting its venom supply; you could see the bulge in its body from the mouse (Yes, they put it into a glass jar to show the doctor. Yes, we kept in the freezer for awhile as a souvenir. I even took it to show my boss. Who would believe a nutsy story like this?). Plus, Robyn was a small girl. Smart, but small.
They began the drip as soon as possible… but by around 11 pm, you could clearly see the toxins marching its way up her leg, discoloring her skin as it spread. The swelling got real bad, too.
Then, the news. The nurse said if the swelling doesn’t subside by around midnight, the doctor will have to make an incision in her calf to relieve the swelling. Further, they did not know if there would be any permanent tissue or nerve damage.
Talk about feeling helpless… All we could do was wait. By this time, her skin began to turn an ugly shade of grey.
Then for the first time that day, Robyn understandably let out a tear or two.
So did I.
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Fortunately, about an hour afterwards, the toxins stopped its march up her leg. The anti-venom was finally taking effect. Soon thereafter, the swelling began to subside, slowly but surely.
Robyn in the morning chowing down on one of her favorite foods at that time – bacon. Mine are much better, of course, fried up perfectly.
By late morning – and while the skin was still an ugly shade of grey – a physical therapist came in. Oddly, she was the owner of an interior decorating store at the base of our hill; she had sold us all our new furniture and interior stuff like wallpaper and window treatments five years earlier.
She had Robyn get out of bed then try to walk. Although she had a bad limp from the pain and tenderness, the therapist said there was no nerve or tissue damage to her foot or leg. Whew.
And the Game Boy?
I thought she earned it for being a tough kid so I got her one. She got pretty good at it, too.
The new Game Boy… the start of endless fighting between her and her younger brother who she beat up all the time… and who now benches 400 pounds.
Oh… Although Robyn’s name wasn’t mentioned, her mom told me later that she made the news on KFWB news radio.
They didn’t mention her new Game Boy, though, or how brave she was.
It is beyond me as to why Obama would make such an effort to “come to an agreement” with Iran..?
That piece of paper equals the folly of Chamberlain’s Munich Agreement of 1938. Redux.
However, as to why, consider some of his past umgwalla-gwalla decisions and actions:
He is the only president who would celebrate in the Rose Garden with the parents of a deserter – a deserter that cost the lives of six additional young American soldiers that were sent out to “rescue” him. (Mark my words: Obama will ensure Bergdahl gets off.)
Help spark civil unrest by describing a young thug who was killed as “he could have been my son”…then doing nothing to quell the unrest.
Legalizing illegal immigrants via Executive Order whose first act of being in the US was criminal.
The “IRS” and Lerner.
Afghanistan – he ended the war, right?
Obamacare
Putin
Downgrading terror attacks on our own soil.
Allowing Hillary to use “private email”.
Treatment of our glorious veterans and the VA cover-ups.
My Little Cake Boss on the right as her friend snaps a selfie. They’re looking into a mirror in the Lancome cosmetics section in Macy’s.
She’s killing me, I tell ya.
Big time.
This time, my Little Cake Boss literally left me holding the bag(s)… for over an hour.
My knees crumbled under the weight.
Two vertebrae were crushed.
But I persevered. I mentally made myself to be one of our heroic Marines, carrying a wounded buddy to safety… while on the receiving end of an enemy barrage.
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I had the kids for ten days this time; I’m guessing their mother got another invitation to travel with a certain “somebody”. The fact she didn’t take my son to piano tells me it must’ve been some trip. She didn’t even tell her own kids where she would be going. Unbelievable.
Maybe it was court ordered community service.
Nah. Wishful thinking.
But the Little Cake Boss had been asking me for over a couple of weeks if I could take her shopping with her friends. She said she was loaded with greenbacks and gift cards. She even remembered how much she got from whom.
See. Women never forget.
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So I often asked her during those ten days, “When? Saturday or Sunday?”
Forget even asking what time. She uses an hour glass that she forgets to turnover.
Or even the logistics. “How many of you are going?” “When am I to pick them up…and from where?” LOL
And when I ask again, she gets mad…again.
Well, I guess I should be happy she asked me and not her mom.
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So Friday evening comes…and OMG. She has a plan…kinda.
“Can you take us on Sunday, Papa?” she asks.
“Sure, Bu-chan (my nickname for her). Who and at what time?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says.
Double OMG.
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The Three Musketeers soon after arrival. Notice their hands are empty…
Long story short, I end up picking up one of her BFF’s, “N”, at her house on Sunday at 10:45 am… and this is after the plans changed once again that morning. Her other BFF, “A”, is now having her mother drop her off at the mall at 11:00 “in front of Nordstrom’s”. She tells me this as we near the mall. (Never mind I was forced to clean the WHOLE house Saturday as “A’s” mother was supposed to be dropping her off at my house… Grrr…)
“In front of Nordstrom’s, Bu-chan?” I ask.
“Yessssss,” she annoying answers as I apparently interrupted the two girls I am chapperoning. They are the paying customers, you know.
“Bu-chan… I think there are five entrances to Nordstrom’s…” says I.
She doesn’t answer. Cha-ching. Got her. Finally. “Have her meet us in front of Lazy Dog Cafe then,” I say.
She still doesn’t really answer because her old man got her. She hates that because she’s the Boss. I can see her hurriedly texting “A”. She’s a text queen, you know.
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Anyways, I can’t remember how many stores they hit… Translation: how many HOURS… and while she knew I would have to tag along, she “hinted” I didn’t have to stand “close” to them. Sheesh.
They were in there for a month, you know… Well, actually, about five minutes. How can three girls spend five minutes in there taking a selfie???…and she wouldn’t let me see the pictures. Hmmpph.Reaching for her first Rolex at Tiffany’s.Their hands are filling up.Can’t run low on sugar.Still whippin’ out that cash. Aren’t they tired yet? Isn’t it time to call it a day???
Then, the 1-1/2 hour nightmare… It’s the equivalent of a woman having to stand for hours on end in the Craftsman Tool section at Sears while the man drools…
They hit the cosmetics section.
Lancome, even. Criminy.
Lancome?? I didn’t deserve this.
I didn’t know twelve year old girls could get so giddy.
They were crazed. I think their brains stopped working. They went from “thing” to another “thing” in there. I have no frickin’ idea what the stuff they slathered on their faces were called. There were just a bazillion colors. They would put it on then wipe it off. They used a bazillion black or white sticks with stiff little bristles at the end that they took to their eyes while standing millimeters away from the mirror…all whilst contorting their faces. They stood so close, they blocked out the sun standing in front of those full-length mirrors.
If a girl is confused, imagine how her dad felt.
Oh…and don’t forget… I indeed got stuck holding the bag(s)…
They were so heavy, my fingers went numb.
But I persevered… for over six hours.
Think about it. I could have flown from JFK to LAX on the Spirit of St. Louis in less time…and stopped to refuel.
Oh… They went back to the opposite end of the mall afterwards… to hit Sephora.
It appears Spring has come a couple of weeks early to Southern California… Some photos of blooms from around my home.
Tiny buggers invade this succulent bloom.ClematisCinerariaRed bud blooms.Aloe bloomShrimp plantAn early Portulaca grandiflora blooms from my cuttingClematisCineraria in B&WA real bad hair dayCineraria begins to bloomAloe bloomsCinerariaMy cigar…but not my yard.
“Sitting in front of my fireplace, basking in it’s warm glow gives me time to reflect upon the sacrifices that it has taken for me to enjoy the security of a good home, in a safe environment. I can hear the soft whisper of the snow as it caresses my window and covers the ground outside in a scintillating display of sparkling lights under the full moon. How many times have our service men and women watched this same scene from a foxhole, or camped in some remote part of the world. Thankful for the silence of that moment, knowing it won’t last long. Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He/she dresses in fatigues and patrols the world restlessly, ensuring that we can have this peaceful night. Every day they give us the gift of this lifestyle that we enjoy, and every night they watch over us. They are…
I have written many posts about our dog named Beau. Jimmy Stewart, the actor, had a similar dog with the same name. He wrote a poem that he read on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show back in 1981. It is funny and more. Click on the link below. I expect that you will be glad to have the experience.
I wanted to take a better shot but the kids were pushing me. “Papa! You always take pictures! Haven’t you taken enough?!”
Well, throwing together my (somewhat edible) apple pie from scratch has become a piece of cake. Or is it pie?
While my culinary and photographic skills pale in comparison to many others – like madlyinlovewithlife, for example – I’ve been asked about my recipe so here goes.
Yes, I shuddered myself to death the first time I tried it. When I baked my first one, it ended up looking more like marshmallows lined with the Pillsbury dough boy’s inflated life jacket but it, well, tasted OK.
But since then, I’ve lost my fear of it and since my counter-top skills are marginal, I cheat.
While there is a recipe for a two-crust pie, my Cuisinart food processor gets overloaded with the amount of the ingredients needed. If you think California shakes during an earthquake, you haven’t experienced standing in my kitchen when the food processor chokes trying to work the ingredients which are (for each crust):
3/4 cup unbleached flour (I used Arthur’s) plus
1/2 cup held for a second add
1 tbsp sugar
1/2 tsp table salt
6 tbsp of COLD unsalted butter sliced into six pieces
1/4 COLD Crisco all-vegetable shortening in 2 – 3 clumps
2 tbsp COLD vodka
2 tbsp COLD water
Add 3/4 cup flour, sugar and salt to food processor; pulse for a second or two to combine. Add the still cold butter and shortening, working quickly so as to keep them from softening:
Process for up to ten seconds; I like to do it in several pulses. It should look like cottage cheese curds with no uncoated flour. Scrape sides and bottom with spatula. Add remaining 1/2 cup flour and pulse up to six times. Empty into large mixing bowl.
Sprinkle in about 1/2 of the cold water/vodka, spreading it evenly. Fold over the dough mixture a bit then add remaining liquid. Keep folding mixture over until it pretty much forms a ball. It should be pretty tacky. Wrap up in plastic wrap and form it quickly into a disc about 4+” wide. Refrigerate.
1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 tbsp (or to your liking) lemon juice
Pinch salt
Pinch of ground nutmeg
As in her recipe, I use five of those luscious, good-sized Granny Smiths you can buy at Costco. If you buy them at a supermarket, you may have to use a bit more than six.
BUT!
Since I feel more at home with a screwdriver instead of a knife (and because I cherish having ten fingers), I take the man’s way out of peeling. Voila!:
Frankly, if you make more than a few apple pies a year, you’d be crazy not to have one. LOL
Anyways, after peeling, core then cut into quarters lengthwise; then, cut into 1/4″ thick slices. Place into LARGE, deep mixing bowl. After doing all five, pour in lemon juice and filling mix, using spatula to coat. (Note: per Cook’s Illustrated, the browning of the cut apple slices is harmless for this short period.) Set aside and quickly before your own Little Cake Boss sticks a finger into the bowl to steal a lick.
If you’re real good at peeling and cutting, you can do this after you roll out the dough and while it is being refrigerated.
I’m not. 🙂
Rolling the Dough
The fun part – and where I get to cheat! I got the idea from Cook’s Illustrated and modified it a bit.
If the dough has been in the refer a while, you may need to let it rest for a bit; you’ll never be able to roll it out. But don’t wait too long. It needs to be cold.
Now the cheating. Instead of your bare counter top, lay out a sheet of parchment paper, about 15″ long. Dust liberally with flour. Place one disc on center, again dusting the top generously, then cover with a similar length of plastic wrap.
Take your aggressions out – nicely. Evenly pound the disc a bit with your roller to get it started:
Evenly pound disc to get it started.
While it may take a little practice, quickly roll the dough out to a little more than 12″ in diameter (Hint: the plastic wrap is just a 1/8″ shy of 12″). I do like the tapered maple wood roller recommended by Cook’s Illustrated. The dough should look like this.. Well, yours will likely look better:
Place on flat baking sheet and put in refrigerator. Repeat for other crust.
Now turn on your oven to at least 450F (My Breville only goes up to 450F). Put in a baking sheet to preheat it. It helps brown the bottom of the crust in the Pyrex pie dish.
Also, whisk up one egg white for a wash.
Putting the Pie Together
You gotta work fast but this is the fun part.
The fruit of your labor. I know. Bad pun.
I use the parchment paper/plastic wrap approach as I can never flip the dough onto my roller with the scraper without it falling apart and needing dough surgery… So… I use the plastic wrap to flip the dough onto my roller like so:
Dough flipped onto the roller. Easy!
Then just lay it onto your Pyrex pie dish. Gently press down on the dough onto the pie dish (especially the corners and sides) while supporting the outside portion of the dough with your other hand. REFRIGERATE once again for at least ten minutes to keep the dough chilled. Otherwise, it becomes a tacky mess.
After chilling, remove the dish from the fridge then pour in the apple slices. You will need to use your fingers to move the slices around to make a nice mound.
Remove the other refrigerated dough from the fridge and do the same thing to lay it across the roller…but laying it onto the filling is an adventure each time.
Working quickly, trim the excess dough off the pie, leaving maybe 3/4″ all around. Roll the edges under each other while pressing down against the lip of the pie dish. Continue around the circumference.
I’m definitely not good at it either but with your right thumb and index finger forming a V, press the dough with your left index finger into the V to “flute” it. I think that’s what you call it.
You’re almost done! Brush on the egg white onto the top and the edges. Dust with sugar if you like then make four slits radiating out from the center.
Put the pie in on top of the preheated cookie sheet then turn down the temp to 425F. Turn the pie after 35 minutes then lower the temp down to 375F. Important!
Bake for an additional 30 to 35 minutes or until browned. Set onto cooling rack.
Can you hear it a-sizzlin’? From one of my earlier pies:
A portrait of my grandmother taken by my father in their Hiroshima home. She is flanked by my father (left) and Uncle Suetaro (right), both in their respective country’s uniforms. April 1948.
“Tell me the truth about death. I don’t know what it is. We have them, then they are gone but they stay in our minds. Their stories are part of us as long as we live and as long as we tell them or write them down.”
ELLEN GILCHRIST
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The Pain of Hope
I opened this series trying to describe the anguish a mother must have suffered – no matter what her country – knowing her son was missing in action in a battlefront so far away…
When we closed Part 5 of this series, no Imperial Japanese soldier came down off Mt. Canguipot on August 15, 1945, the day Japan officially surrendered to the Allies.¹ The US Navy and Army had also effectively sealed off any chance of retreating to other islands.
Uncle Suetaro was still on Leyte.
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The date when Grandmother Kono and Aunt Michie learned of Japan’s surrender is unknown. After all, Japan and especially Hiroshima was in shambles from the fire and atomic bombings but I’m sure they learned fast enough.
But with war over and just like ANY stateside mother, Grandmother Kono waited for her son to come home… her precious son born in Seattle who was to carry on the family name in Japan.
As days passed then months, deep in her heart, she must have come to the realization Uncle Suetaro may not be coming home…but the hope was still burning inside, I’m sure.
Hope is powerful. Hoping, you believe, will change destiny. But on or about October 15, 1947, Grandmother Kono will learn that such hope can magnify anguish.
She learned her son was declared dead.
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Japanese War Records
In January of this year and through the urging of Mr. Ota, my cousin Masako and her daughter Izumi journeyed to the Hiroshima Prefectural Office in hopes of retrieving some official military record or declaration of his death. Not knowing was eating them, too.
Because of the strictness of Japanese society, they were unsure the government would release Uncle Suetaro’s military record (if any) to his niece, Masako. I understand in anticipation of this, Masako had a “song and dance” prepared. She wanted to know that badly as to what happened to him.
Suetaro’s farewell letter. It starts with “Dearest Mama”.
She took along the precious, brittle 72 year old notebook with her… the notebook in which Uncle Suetaro hurriedly wrote his good bye letter to Grandmother Kono in May 1944. She told the government worker stories of her Uncle Suetaro from 75 years ago – that he was always happy-go-lucky and was the peacekeeper with his kind heart.
Perhaps the song and dance was unnecessary but she was successful. As sad as it was, she was given Uncle Suetaro’s certified death notification. She was also given a copy of a handwritten IJA service record that abruptly ended in 1943 – when the tide of war turned against Japan.
Excerpt from the certified military death certificate obtained by Masako. It states his place of death was 20 km north of Villaba, Leyte.Copy of Uncle Suetaro’s handwritten military record. Sadly, my father and Uncle Yutaka are listed as next of kin. All three were American citizens.
In Masako’s heart and mind, she then accepted Uncle Suetaro’s fate and resting place.
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Uncle Suetaro’s Spirit Calls Out
But with the recent discoveries and stirring of beautiful memories, the spirit of Uncle Suetaro dominated her thoughts my cousin Masako said. His spirit beckoned her mightily…so much so that even with her failing legs, she determined to go “visit him”.
At eighty years of age and with ailing legs, Masako and her filial daughter Izumi journeyed to 備後護国神社, or “Bingo Gokoku Jinjya” on February 2, 2015. It is a military shrine in which resides the god-like spirits of those men who gave their young lives in defense of Japan.
Izumi wrote that she escorted Masako to offer her prayers to Uncle Suetaro at the first altar (below), believing that was a far as she could go.
Main entrance to Bingo Shrine and first altar. Photo by Izumi K.
Then Masako, in a stunning revelation, said, “I am going to climb to the top… Suetaro is calling for me.”
No joke.
The steps Masako climbed – with her bad legs and knees – to get to the main shrine at the top…on her own… Without help from her filial daughter, Izumi. She said Uncle Suetaro was watching over her. (Photo source unknown.)
Izumi was beyond belief. Stunned.
Her mother was going to walk up the numerous steps that reached upwards towards the brave spirits. No cane. No assistance. By herself.
Masako climbed the steps, one by one. Determinedly.
Izumi wrote to me that upon reaching the top, Masako said in her Hiroshima dialect (translated by me), “Whew..! I made it! I climbed the stairs! You know, I feel Suetaro was nudging me from behind, all the time.” (「まあ～ あがれたわ～ 末太郎さんが後ろからおしてくれたんじゃろ～か？？？」)
Here is a link to a video from youtube of the shrine and stairs. It is so peaceful, you can hear Uncle Suetaro whispering. No wonder Masako had to climb those stairs:
From that day, Izumi says, Masako had renewed her life energy, all due to the call from Uncle Suetaro’s spirit.
But she did voice in reflection, “Suetaro was starving… When I think about that, dieting is nothing (meaning she can do it).”
Or, “Suetaro must be so lonely… When I think of that, I feel that we must go to Leyte to visit him and offer our prayers so he won’t be lonely anymore.”
…then, “Now I’ve got to go to the pool to strengthen my legs… so that I can walk on Leyte.”
And she means that.
She is likely going to Leyte this year.
And it looks as if Izumi and I will be going, too.
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Epilogue
I believe this young man is called Noguchi but am not positive. He journeyed to Leyte to cremate any Japanese soldier’s remains he finds as in the above. He is in one of the hundreds of caves on Leyte. His Japanese website is here: http://www.noguchi-ken.com/M/2008/10/51133019.html
Uncle Suetaro’s Soul and Resting Place
Uncle Suetaro’s dreams of life in America died with him…shared only by him. But his spirit lives on.
Perhaps somewhere on Leyte, while surrounded by the US Army, he glimpsed up at the night sky through the dense palm fronds. Rain fell upon his unwashed face. Perhaps he was wounded and if so, perhaps shivering from a raging infection. If he lived until morning, he found each dawn worse than the dawn before. He was starving.
He knew inside his heart he was not evil… But if I am not evil, why am I here dying?
While I cannot speak to how my Hiroshima cousins feel, to me, the hard evidence tells me Uncle Suetaro did make it to Leyte as a soldier in the IJA’s 41st Regiment. With the good help from Mr. Ota, his official military records document that.
But truthfully, I don’t know if he was in the troop convoy that disembarked on October 26th in Ormoc. Records indicate that only two of three battalions of the 41st Regiment landed there; the third battalion remained on Mindanao for a short period. Yet, it appears that even that last battalion headed to Leyte in short order.
Due to Mr. Ota’s notes and as corroborated by official US Army combat records, Uncle’s 41st Regiment did fiercely engage Colonel Newman’s 34th Infantry at the end of October and that one of Suetaro’s lieutenants was killed during that violent combat.
Combat records of the US 12th Cavalry Regiment document that once again Uncle Suetaro’s unit was engaged in combat. The presence of the 41st Regiment was confirmed by dog tags, having been removed from Japanese bodies then translated by Nisei’s in the US 8th Army’s 166th Language Detachment – the same unit my dad was assigned to in 1947.
There is second hand testimony that a few survivors had assembled on Mt. Canguipot from January 1945… and “mopping up” actions by the US Army units continued. Indeed, it was far from a “mopping up” situation.
Those of you versed in WWII will know of how enemy corpses were handled – down to the use of lye – so there is no need for elaboration. If you are not familiar with how death is handled in a WWII battlefield, the only thing you need to know is it is odious.
Therefore, how he met his death will never be known…nor his place of rest uncovered with his identification intact. Perhaps there was a picture of him and his siblings in his pocket that has long since dissolved away. But dedicated Japanese citizens visit these battlegrounds in search of Japanese remains to cremate them. Maybe Uncle Suetaro has been given such an honor.
I can only hope death had a heart…that he did not suffer for so long only to endure an agonizing death in a lonely confine… but statistically, over 60% of the 2,875,000 Japanese war deaths was attributed to starvation or illness (including those arising from wounds and lack of medical care).
Indeed, Uncle Suetaro is a soul lost in a faraway jungle.
My oldest son and I visited Tokyo in August, 2012. One stop was at the Yasukuni Shrine, Japan’s equivalent of our Arlington National Cemetery in a way. We left a prayer for Uncle Suetaro. May your soul be at peace, Uncle.
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Mr. Ota, on behalf of my family here in the US, I thank you for your help in our search for Uncle Suetaro.
Yes, some holdouts continued to fight the Allies after war’s official end and more lives were lost on both sides. And indeed, there were two notable soldiers who held out for many, many years. Sgt. Onoda was the longest holdout, living for 29 years in a Philippine jungle until his former commanding officer flew to the Philippines then personally rescinded his order to stay and fight but this is atypical.
Masako and Spam Musubi 