Brotherhood

A Navy buddy and I have been exchanging e-mails about his upcoming Sea deployment. It brought to mind a story I've been keeping to myself for almost 29 years. He liked it so I've decided the time is right to share it with you.

I was Artillery in the Army. In 1984 we went to Japan to exercise with the JGSDF in an exercise called Michinoku 84. We were there long enough to get a few weekends free. On one of our jaunts we went into the local city. For the life of me I can't remember it's name. I need to go back to my old journal and refresh my memory. Anyway, while there we did what all American tourists do I imagine. We hit a restaurant that looked like a little slice of home. A McDonalds. It was different. You ordered and then sat down and had the food delivered to the table. They served rice instead or french fries. There were at least a half dozen of us. Young, loud, hungry GIs, none of whom spoke a word of Japanese. After several minutes of pidgin English and wild gesticulations we were interrupted by an elderly Japanese gentleman. He got the gist of what we wanted and then shooed us off to a table. He placed our order and paid for the entire meal. It had to have cost him a bundle. Prices were high anyway and for beef they were outrageous. He came and sat with us, refusing all offers to pay him back. We talked as we ate and found out he'd been an Artillery officer in the Imperial Japanese Army during WWII. He'd seen combat. He spoke only broken English and we even less Japanese but we didn't need an interpreter. We spoke the same language, common among those who have made their living in uniform. It was a conversation I will always remember. He was honoring us and in his way paying homage to his own service and those men he'd left behind. It was a perfect moment, the kind that comes along but once in a lifetime if one is very, very fortunate. A bunch of young American soldiers being regaled with stories about another bunch of once young soldiers who had done their duty as they saw it. He was a proud man and it showed. In my later years, after age had granted me a modicum of wisdom, I understood that he was also teaching a lesson only those who have seen the elephant can understand. Under the uniform we are all the same. Warriors all. That bond can be found in the most unlikely places. Even a McDonalds in the middle of a nation that was once the bitterest of enemies.

I have no idea why he was moved to do what he did. No, that's not true. I know exactly what motivated him. I feel it even now as age begins it's inexorable pull on me. He saw a chance to educate, to give back to the next generation no matter the uniform and to keep the memory of his honorable service and the memories of all those men he so loved alive. If only in the minds of a bunch of young Americans and only for a little while. It worked. I'll remember him as long as my mind remains my own and I still draw breath.

I never got his name but it doesn't matter. I knew him as well as I know any of my brothers. Once a proud warrior always a proud warrior.

My buddy has agreed that when he gets to Japan he will go to a McDonalds and raise a toast to the memory of an old, proud Japanese soldier who once taught a young American what honor looks like. I am indebted my friend.

Six