Trip to Tokyo

This evening, as I sat with my parents on the patio outside their home, surrounded by towering trees, chirping birds, and sultry warm air, my dad took my mom and me on a remarkable trip to post World War II Japan.

Dad joined the army after high school graduation, and soon found himself on a train, bound for the west coast, where he made his way to Tokyo.  Quite a journey for a young man who had never been far from the family's Scherer's Hollow in North Moreland, Ohio.

Thanks to the typing skills he gained in high school, he was assigned to the staff at the former Japanese War Ministry building, where the war crimes trials took place.  He served as a buck sergeant, having three stripes on his sleeve.  The trials took place on the first floor.  He and the men with whom he served, lived on the second floor, partitioned off into quarters. 

When General McArthur entered the building, as he often did surrounded by an entourage, the young men were encouraged to stop whatever they were doing, and stand quietly as he passed.  They did, without question.

As a newcomer to town, Dad and several of his friends made their way into Tokyo on the train, and, in returning, forgot their stop.  They traveled north some 15 miles out of Tokyo, where they were escorted at gunpoint to the command post there.  There, the mix-up was ironed out, and Dad and his friends returned to the train station where they slept on the wooden benches for the night.  They returned to Tokyo the next morning to their jobs.  No questions were asked.

While there were separate clubs for enlisted men and officers, there were no differences, when the officers needed an extra man for an impromptu basketball game.  Perhaps, when the heat of battle had passed, the differences between the ranks was diminished.

The men were issued chip books, which contained coupons, used in place of money. A coupon worth $.10 bought dad a beer at the enlisted men's club.  I think he used a few.

Tokyo had been scheduled to host the Olympic games the year before war broke out.  The facilities had been built, but there were no games.  In post World War II Japan, the various branches of the service played football, one against the other, in the Olympic stadium.  Dad said it was interesting to go to a football game, just like in America, but in Japan. 

Dad was, interestingly, something of an entrepreneur during his time in Japan.  When he was on assignment with his driver, he would ask that they stop at the PX.  There he would buy cigarettes, of all things.  Somewhat incredulously, I asked him if he smoked.  He chuckled and said, "No, of course not."  But the Japanese did.  They would come to his room, and ask, in garbled English, if he had cigarettes.  So, I asked him quite innocently if he bought cigarettes to sell to the Japanese at a higher price.  "Well, of course."  he answered.

They paid with Japanese yen, which he amassed.  Upon leaving Japan, he bought a diamond, hiding it in his razor bag at the time he was scheduled to return to the states.  That diamond sits in a ring given to me by Dad and Mom.  This evening, though I may have been told the story as a younger girl, the story took on a whole new significance.

I was sad to leave Japan.   I am honored to have taken the journey with my Dad.