After having recently completed a writing project that obligated
me to look back on my high school and college years, I recalled an incident
that will always cause me to smile and reflect upon the periodic folly of life.
Fact is stranger than fiction, and this story is certainly a reminder of that
unassailable truth.
I graduated from high school in 1981 and I graduated from
college in 1987. I worked for a small athletic footwear business called In-Stride
in Solana Beach California off and on during the course of my high school years
and early junior college years as well as for a two year period of time after I
had graduated from the University of California at Santa Barbara (either I was
extremely loyal or a bit of an underachiever, take your pick as there is
probably a little bit of truth in either conclusion). It was a great high
school job as I was an avid distance runner who also spent a lot of time
playing tennis and basketball as well. I had access to the best footwear for
greatly discounted prices and even occasionally got to try new models for free.
It was great, and as an added bonus I got to work with several really good
friends over the years.
Immediately after high school, I, like several of my friends,
floundered around a bit in my pursuit of the next “great thing” in my life.
Since I really had no idea as to my calling, I enrolled in “Junior College”, worked
a little at In-Stride, and pursued my various athletic hobbies. It was a good
life, but the small world around me was changing rapidly. Many of my friends
had gone on to four-year universities and were experiencing new and exciting
things. Two of my three sisters had gotten married and were starting something
that for me seemed so far away. Little did I realize how much my life would
change in a few short years… For now, my time at In-Stride represented a
relatively unchallenging diversion on the path to something bigger and better;
yet ephemeral and undefined…
One of my friends in the store was a couple years younger and
somehow, someway, I became a bit of a mentor to him. Like me, Jess was a
distance runner with aspirations to compete at a fairly high level. We trained
together from time to time and became pretty good friends. We dealt with all
kinds of people as anyone who has spent any time in retail can readily attest.
Most were really nice yet there was always the random oddity that could run the
gamut of human idiosyncrasies; I could usually spot them from a mile away. We
referred to them as “difficult customers” (OK— that is the PC version of what
we really called them) and it was a near certainty that post-ordeal we would
always manage to get a good laugh at the other’s expense. Guys 101…
Nothing could have prepared either of us for the appearance
of a woman who was quite frankly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Before I delve too deeply into her story, it is important to remember that this
area (Solana Beach, Del Mar, Rancho Santa Fe, Fairbanks Ranch) was (and still
is) an exceedingly wealthy area with an amazing climate for most of the year.
We were quite used to seeing attractive women, dressed provocatively, driving
really nice cars. Often, they had young children and a husband who was not
uncommonly “several” years older. Over the years, I had helped Dick Enberg (legendary
sports broadcaster), Gary Puckett (Union Gap band), and Craig Nettles (Major
League baseball player) to name a few. All had “significant others” who were
much younger than themselves. This woman, however, always came in alone or with
her son who must have been ten or so. There was something uncommonly different
about her notwithstanding her preternatural beauty. She was never particularly
friendly nor was she particularly unfriendly. It was a strange merging of the
two that almost bordered on shyness, yet she was clearly in charge of the
situation (even getting shoes for herself or her son). Jess and I worked
together a lot and on busy days we usually had one other person to help. I
ended up helping her 99% of the time as Jess flat out confessed that he was
intimidated by her beauty. I know that sounds really odd, and odder still, Jess
was an amazingly glib guy who had could converse with most anyone. I must say,
I understand what he felt. I coined the term “The Goddess” for her and we all
knew what it meant when someone uttered “Goddess Alert.” Even though I ended up
helping her many times I cannot say that any kind of familiarity or rapport was
ever developed. It was like helping an Angel who never got the memo about how
to deal with the mere mortals.
Everything about her physically was perfect. She was athletic
while managing to be not be too muscular. She was tan is a way that was
perfectly natural and made it seem as though it (her color) was nothing that
she consciously worked on. She was curvy yet you could tell that everything
about her was completely natural. She wore make-up, but you could tell that she
would have been stunning had she chosen to wear none. It was quite simply like
being in the presence of someone who was simply Beauty Personified. I remember
wondering to myself as to the details of her story knowing that is was
something that would most likely always remain a mystery.
At this time, I was living at home at 1515 West Lane in Del
Mar, a couple miles from In-Stride. I was really close with my parents and it
was a pretty common thing for us to eat out together or attend a social
function with one of their many friends in the area. I recall one random Friday
or Saturday evening in the summer of 1983 (I believe) they had mentioned to me
that they were going to a party at the home of a really wealthy couple who
lived close by (for the purposes of this story I am keeping the name and
identity anonymous). I will admit that I really didn’t like these people much
as I always found them to be pretentious and quite self-absorbed. I declined,
yet my parents really wanted me to go and mentioned that the food would most
likely be quite good. They knew my hot button and that did the trick.
We arrived and yes, for the record, the food was very good. It was the usual collection of exceedingly wealthy people living dreamily perfect lives. As we all know, that is never the case beyond superficial appearances, yet it could have been a scene that would have fit in nicely in a modern-day version of The Great Gatsby. Not really my scene yet again the food was good, and I always enjoyed spending a little time with my parents. And then, out of nowhere, it happened. In walks “The Goddess” on the arm of a guy who must have been 95-100 years old. He was quite frankly the oldest looking person I have ever seen in person. Look up “old” in the dictionary and there is a picture of this guy; I was completely and utterly stunned. You could have knocked me over with a feather I’m sure. I can remember watching her and noticing that she seemed happy and content to be there. No embarrassment, no trepidation, no self-conscious air as to the oddity of her situation. I mentioned the situation to my Dad, and he managed to get the “rest of the story” as Paul Harvey would say. It turns out, this guy was the largest shareholder in a well-known Fortune 500 company and was worth hundreds of millions and perhaps billions of dollars!
I do remember that I never saw her again, but I did occasionally wonder as to the final outcome of her “arrangement.” Clearly, its culmination was imminent as I can’t imagine that “his time” wasn’t nearly up. Also, I must admit that I envision her every time I hear the song Lying Eyes by the Eagles and I particularly ponder the line, “every form of refuge has its price.” This is not to say the song in any way depicts the real-life story of “The Goodness” and “The Cadaver,” as I have no idea, yet it is fun to imagine the strange ways of the world and the not so uncommon absurdity of the human condition. I was still young and fairly naïve. From that point forward I believe I became a little less so.
City girls just seem to find out early
How to open doors with just a smile
A rich old man
And she won’t have to worry
She’ll dress up all in lace and go in style
Late at night a big old house gets lonely
I guess every form of
refuge has its price
And it breaks her heart to think her love is only
Given to a man with hands as cold as ice
So she tells him she must go out for the evening
To comfort an old friend who’s feelin’ down
But he knows where she’s goin’ as she’s leavin’
She is headed for the cheatin’ side of town
You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you’d realize
There ain’t no way to hide your lyin’ eyes
On the other side of town a boy is waiting
With fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal
She drives on through the night anticipating
‘Cause he makes her feel the way she used to feel
She rushes to his arms, they fall together
She whispers that it’s only for awhile
She swears that soon she’ll be comin’ back forever
She pulls away and leaves him with a smile
You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you’d realize
There ain’t now way to hide your lyin’ eyes
She gets up and pours herself a strong one
And stares out at the stars up in the sky
Another night, it’s gonna be a long one
She draws the shade and hangs her head to cry
She wonders how it ever got this crazy
She thinks about a boy she knew in school
Did she get tired or did she just get lazy?
She’s so far gone she feels just like a fool
My oh my, you sure know how to arrange things
You set it up so well, so carefully
Ain’t it funny how your new life didn’t change things?
You’re still the same old girl you used to be
You can’t hide your
lyin’ eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you’d realize
There ain’t no way to hide your lyin’ eyes
There ain’t no way to hide your lyin’ eyes
Honey, you can’t hide your lyin’ eyes
In our
lifetime we are blessed if we mange to meet a few people that truly stand out
and remind us of why we have been so fortunate to live in this once hopeful,
and yet always great country. I would suggest that one’s personal history plays
a large role as we all evolve over time. In fact, I believe it would be
impossible to appreciate my connection with the particular men I plan to
introduce, were it not for a good examination of the rather winding road that
led me to them. Being in the right place at the right time with regard to special
kinship has a serendipitous quality about it that perhaps, none of us get to
fully understand as simple human players on the complex stage of life. Possibly,
it is true about the teacher appearing only when the student is ready.
I feel as
though I have been more privileged than most, to have gained a pretty good
understanding of the American journey from recalcitrant English colony to
preeminent superpower in the span of several hundred years. Ever since I can remember, I have always been
interested in history. I simply possessed a curiosity that led me to want to
know more about the past, especially the great armed conflicts and the
unresolved questions associated with those seminal events. Moreover, I have
always believed that your passions pick you rather than the idea of you picking
and choosing what you feel most fervent about. As a result of this innate
interest, I chose to in fact major in History when the time came after a very
undistinguished academic showing in high school (graduated in 1981). Junior
college, as it was known in those days, was much better fortunately, though
certainly nothing that would suggest much more than muddling through. Luckily,
I did well enough to stumble into the next step at a four-year university not
far from my childhood home in San Diego, CA.
I ended
up graduating from the University of California at Santa Barbara in the summer
of 1987 with a degree in History with an emphasis on the American West. I will
always remember “Senior Thesis” and my original paper concerning the eminent
historian Fredrick Jackson Turner’s interpretation of the American Indian. I
poured my heart and soul into this as it was an interesting, personally chosen subject.
I also had budding aspirations to possibly become a college professor and most
importantly, it was my chance to do something well and stand out. Looking back
on my life, I believe that I have enjoyed standing out, though I will say that
it has often been an emotionally wrenching zero-sum game. Sometimes in life, we
are simply part of the herd and that has been difficult for me more often than
I care to recall or admit. I remember the day came for our small group to read
our respective essays and I was shocked by the lack of quality and creativity exhibited
by my fellow classmates. I do remember being extremely nervous when my turn
came; I started to read, and the room got very quiet. That made me more nervous
of course, yet I soldiered on and at the end, the students in the room looked
like they had seen a ghost. I got an A+ on the project and my professor for the
class, Wilber R. Jacobs, told me that it was good enough to be published. This
was the formal beginning of my “maybe I’ll get a PHD” phase that petered out
much quicker than I would have liked for reasons I have never completely
understood.
After a half-hearted and unsuccessful attempt
at applying to graduate schools, I ultimately found myself back home in San
Diego working for the same guy I had worked for in high school. Kernie
Kohlmeyer had just opened his second athletic footwear store to go along with
his mail order business and he needed someone to run the retail side of the
operation. At that point I envisioned myself as a person who knew a lot about
history, had decent writing skills, and was still a pretty darn good athlete,
who kept himself really fit by competing in distance running, tennis, and
basketball. Ultimately, I really had no idea what I wanted to do. At least I
was able to get athletic gear at great prices! Basically, I was pretty good at
having fun, was most comfortable competing in some type of athletic endeavor
and was not particularly adept at charting out a career path that would lead to
the type of life I had in mind. Throughout it all I was tormented by an inner
doubt reminding me that I wasn’t where I needed to be.
I always
tell my three kids that my 20’s were the most difficult period of my life. I
felt as though I had a lot to offer, yet deep down, in a part of my brain that
I wouldn’t even admit to myself, I felt kind of lost and aimless. Couple this
with the fact that I was “technically” engaged to a woman (from Japan), who I
had met and lived with in Santa Barbara. She was now living with me in San
Diego. She ostensibly left to visit her parents in Okinawa and never came back;
it was not an especially easy time. Suffice it so say, I’d take 50 all day long
if given a choice to do it all over again. It was at this point however, that I
had three great epiphanies that would greatly influence the formation of the
person I am today.
In order
to while away the hours while working in the main store during the not so busy weekday
hours, I would fumble around on the Panasonic AM radio that was designed to
provide a little background music for the store’s “ambience.” I stumbled onto
Rush Limbaugh and was completely transformed from a liberal leaning, naïve,
post-college student / kid to a conservative leaning, free market economy
championing, young man who began to look at the world in a very different way.
The transformation was slow and in fact it took me several years to truly revamp.
Nevertheless, the seeds were planted, and they would germinate down the road.
Going back to my formative years, I had always seen the Americans in the drama
that played out in the American westward moving frontier, as somewhat
despicable people who essentially stole the land from the Indian people who
were there when the first Europeans arrived on this continent. The Civil War
and post-frontier period redeemed my thoughts substantially, yet I certainly
did not truly understand, nor did I fully appreciate the role that the American
experiment would ultimately play in the dire challenges of the twentieth
century.
The
second seminal moment occurred when I became a little disenchanted with what I
was doing and contemplated leaving. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it, I did. It
was more of a realization (thanks to my Dad mostly) that I needed to be in more
of an “equity interest situation.” I was able to negotiate a small interest in
the operation and share monetarily in some of the increased business that I
knew we could create. I remember doing a few simple things on Saturdays (our
biggest day by far) such putting a sign on my car (parked on a corner near the
store) that said “Big Sale”, and taking the time to move inventory out of the
store and placing it on tables as opposed to leaving it in the store where no
one could see it unless they came into the store. I learned this one from my Dad
as well, along with the idea of stacking inventory high to give everyone the
impression that they needed one too!!! With the help of some great “kids” who
also got to share in the proceeds of the increased business we were able to generate,
sales rocketed. I learned that you must promote, merchandise, and create
incentive. The employees all wanted to work on Saturdays because they could
make more money and the customers were pulled into the store by the simple fact
that we promoted a sale and deals. It was a fun atmosphere for all. The
experience helped me build a little confidence in my ability to succeed in a
business situation.
The final
rung in the ladder was a natural progression I suppose. My brother-in-law at
the time, Bob, was just starting a new career with Merrill Lynch and he was
doing rather well. He knew I had gone to school in Santa Barbara and it just so
happened that Merrill Lynch was looking for new trainee “stockbrokers” for
their Santa Barbara office (remember I had gone to UCSB). On his
recommendation, he thought he could get me an interview. I remember thinking at
the time that I had been a History Major, that I knew next to nothing about
stocks and bonds, didn’t own a tie, and that if hired, I would be leaving
behind family and good friends in San Diego. I didn’t feel I would have much of
a chance, yet I knew I had to try. I like to think that the collective
influences of Rush Limbaugh, my Dad, and a little success as a “retailer” led
me to believe that maybe I could do this. This was the summer of 1989 and I had
graduated from college in 1987. A lot had happened in those two short years and
I was certainly a different person in many ways; in many other ways I was the
exact same guy. I have always thought that we should change over time and in
fact at age 56, I’m confident that I will become a slightly different iteration
of myself ten years down the line. If we are a sum of our collective
experiences throughout life how could that not be the case? I’m also a little
perplexed and distrustful of people who grow older and don’t change, at least a
little.
I
remember walking into A.J. Staple’s office, and I knew right away that I had entered
an alternate universe. A.J.’s office was a conglomeration of awards,
accommodations, and the undeniable feel of trustworthiness and success (I had
to include something that captures how I would feel about it now sans the
profanity, remember people change and evolve over time). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ityRn2IA24A. I don’t remember exactly what we
talked about, I just remember that the interview went extremely well in terms
of rapport and the flow of our conversation. I do also remember that A.J. was
extremely nice and that he was completely at ease in his ability to converse
with me though I suspected he could do this with virtually anybody. And, as I
learned later, he was the single best extemporaneous speaker I have ever met. I
left feeling I had put on the performance of my life and that there was a good
chance that they would hire me. He did inform me that I would have three months
to study for and pass the Series 7 (required test for one hoping to be a
registered financial consultant), and that it was a one-shot deal. He also told
me that I would, if hired, be working out of the satellite office in Oxnard
(south of Santa Barbara).
An
important aspect to realize was that Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner, and Smith
(MLPFS) was the most prestigious brokerage firm on the Street at that time.
Needless to say, I was pretty much awestruck by the whole experience. It seemed
funny that someone with no money, could be in a position to tell people with
money, how to make money; let that sink in. The following Monday I received a
call from A.J. telling me that I had gotten the job and that I would be
starting on August 21st. It really didn’t take me long to accept the
offer and now all that was left was to create a wardrobe, learn to tie a tie,
quit my existing job, find a new apartment, and get my stuff moved in a roughly
two week period of time. I remember that my Mother made the drive with me up to
Oxnard to help me find a decent apartment and that my sister Allison helped me
to construct a wardrobe (including some generous donations from her husband)
and learn to tie a tie. The rest is kind of a blur; somehow, some way, we got
it done and I made the relatively short move from San Diego to Oxnard and was
ready to start my new life despite the fact that I didn’t know the difference
between a stock and a bond.
At this
point, fortune smiled on me again as I learned that I would be studying with
two other new hires. Peter Wroblicky and Bradley Lipman couldn’t have been more
different. Brad was a Finance Major who had probably wanted to be a financial
consultant from the time he was two I would guess, while Pete was the kind of
guy who majored in Something 101. I’m not sure Pete had any idea what he really
wanted to do at that time. I do know that he was an incredibly likable guy who
made the whole process far better for me. We immediately became fast friends
and are close friends to this day. He is a doctor now which is amazing based on
the “relaxed” manner he approached stock-brokering. I say this lovingly, as
again, he made the process so much better for me in that he reminded me time
and time again that there are more important things in life than making money
in the seedy world of financial advising. At that point in time I didn’t
realize any of this on a level that I would appreciate fully, I only knew that
I needed to learn a lot about something that I knew virtually nothing about and
that I had to do it in a relatively short period of time. That task, I soon
learned, would prove rather challenging.
Pete,
Brad, and I shared the conference room as our official study area. Our job was
to arrive looking like a stockbroker and then proceed to study all day for a
difficult test that we would take in ninety days. Pete had arrived a few weeks
before us so he would be taking the test first. Brad and I having started on
the same day, had the full ninety days to prepare. For a person like myself,
who was once described by a friend at UCSB as the guy who was studying “frogs
and Indians”, I would have been more comfortable with thirty months as opposed
to three months. Be that as it may, I set about the task of absorbing myself
into this foreign world and giving it a go. It is universally considered to be
a challenging test and I did learn recently that the pass rate is about 65%.
What made my situation a little different was that I had no background
whatsoever. For me it was truly a bit like learning a foreign language.
I quickly
learned that Brad had decided that he could essentially pass the test without
studying and that his main ambition at this point was to distract and annoy
anyone within earshot, endowed with a personality that embodied fingernails on
a chalkboard. He quickly became a detested person around the office whose
escapades are a story for another day. Suffice it to say, having him around, in
close quarters made my task quite a bit more difficult. Pete, on the other hand,
had a modicum of understanding as to the topics we were studying, so he
realized that he would need to study a little (with an emphasis on the word
“little”). He also came to realize that it took a 70% score to pass the test
and his goal was of course 71% (a little margin for error!). Then, as well as
after he ultimately passed the test, Pete was the master of procrastination and
one of his favorite procrastination techniques involved reading The Los Angeles
Times. He did this so often that I jokingly once said that Pete worked closely
with Times Mirror Corporation (owner of the newspaper at that time) and that he
did not have time for retail clients. Got a big laugh every time, even from
Pete… I ended up studying on evenings and weekends to make up for the time I
wasted with Brad and enjoyed with Pete as sequestered “roommates.” We all ended
up passing the test and yes, I do believe Pete squeaked by with a 71%! After a
two-week stint in New Jersey to complete our training we were ready to begin as
full-fledged, official, financial consultants.
I soon
learned how difficult the task would be for all of us. Calling strangers on the
phone (remember back in those days there was no Caller ID or cell phones) and
enticing them to invest their hard-earned money with you was akin to convincing
someone to take an outdoor ice bath in winter. Luckily, the newbies were all
being paid a modest salary for a period of time. We soon learned that the best
way to get a client was to have one walk in the door looking for help
unsolicited. These were usually small-time situations such as someone looking
to sell a few shares of stock or get some free advice. Nevertheless, very
occasionally it led to really good clients with substantial assets. Everyone in
the office had the opportunity to be “Broker of The Day” which also included
being the first one in, the last one out, making the coffee, and skipping
lunch. Established people in the office rarely felt the need to go this route.
The other great way to get clients was to be around when someone got fired or
left the firm for a greener pasture opportunity, signing bonus included
(successful brokers were always being recruited by other firms). At this point
an elaborate dance would ensue as the departing broker would then need to
convince his customers to move with him while the original firm’s brokers would
try to retain these clients. Dog eat dog on full display…
So, this
was the way we all basically survived while knowing that the clock was ticking
and that we were expected to show progress toward creating commissions that
would at least show that we were heading in a direction whereby we would no
longer need the salary. The only problem with this formula was that we rarely
got good accounts when a fellow broker left or was fired, and as mentioned it
was exceeding rare to have someone with sizable assets simply walk in the door.
We were openly expected to “cold call” and implicitly expected to open accounts
with any and all family members / friends who had brokerage accounts with other
firms. It was difficult, it was miserable, and it was stressful, yet I was too
young to know the difference, so I persevered in what I thought could
ultimately be a glamourous, prestigious career. Looking around the office,
despite the trappings of success all around me, I came to slowly realize that
the stockbrokerage profession seemed to create a lot of ne’er-do-wells who were
in a constant state of anxiety as to their place in the pecking order of MLPFS.
Some were resigned to it, others lived in a world of denial in which the
coveted multi-million-dollar client was always just within reach. Still others
sort of blew around like a tumbleweed hoping to survive, and a small minority
seemed to revel in the primordial pond of survival by any means… Surviving by
any means necessary often meant “participating” in Merrill Lynch sponsored
“products” that made the most money for Merrill Lynch irrespective of need on a
client by client basis. The hierarchy became pretty apparent quite early in my
tenure with Merrill Lynch- Mother Merrill / Broker / Customer/, despite
continual attempts to spin the public perception to an inverse pecking order.
In other words, you essentially had to go along to get along.
Pete,
Brad, and I transformed a bit as we attempted to navigate our way through this
morass of conflicting sentiments and perceptions. Ultimately, it shook out in
the following manner. Brad was the kind of guy who thought he knew it all and
paraded around the office with an abundance of rather arrogant bluster. He did
not know his place on the totem pole, and he proceeded to alienate himself from
any and all potential good will. Potential clients did not respond to him well
either as he never remembered the important rule about how much you care versus
how much you know. He did pretty well with the family connection thing as his
parents were well off, so he managed to survive by the skin of his teeth. Pete,
on the other hand, just seemed to be going through the motions, knowing pretty
definitively that this newfound world really wasn’t for him. Pete, being a
genuine guy with an easy smile and a carefree manner, was liked by most
everyone, and as a result, everyone was rooting for him. For me, I felt this
was my lot and that I might as well give it my best effort. I was very
respectful of the people around me and did all that I could to make friends and
gain a little insight from their experiences. I was still attempting to feel
out a very foreign world, yet I did find myself to be surprisingly intrigued by
the world of finance and it’s relation to current events as well as the
historical aspects of financial markets and the way that humans reacted (often
incorrectly) to the emotions attached to the conglomeration of financially
significant events that are occurring daily. In other words, I could see
History in Finance and importantly, Finance in History.
It just
so happened that Pete managed to fall into the kind of lucky / timely situation
that all of us dreamed about. While taking his turn as the “Duty Broker” Robert
L. Essick happened to wander in looking to transfer his account to Merrill
Lynch. A huge stroke of luck for a guy just starting out in the business… Mr.
Essick ended up transferring several sizable accounts over to Pete which
included tens of thousands of dollars for immediate investment. Pete had
managed to convince Bob (the name he preferred) to transfer his account, but
for a variety of reasons, including his disenchantment with the business and a
feeling that he didn’t really know what to recommend, Pete hesitated. Looking
back on it, I believe that Pete could see the writing on the wall and that he
knew his time was limited on both a personal as well as corporate level.
Remember, the clock is always ticking in this business. Interestingly, Pete
most likely could have done a great deal of commission business with Bob and in
turn, looked like a hero. That wasn’t the way Pete was wired and I feel that
both then and now, he would rather remain true to himself. One of the huge
reasons why I consider him a dear friend…
Pete knew that his time was short. He also
knew that the one decent client that he had would soon fall into the hands of
one of the senior, established brokers in the office. He suggested that we do a
preemptive transfer of the account from him to me. The account was the
“property” of Merrill Lynch and we had no right to move an account from one
consultant to another in the formal legalities of the company. As I mentioned,
Pete and I were well liked, and we managed to convince one of the established
administrative assistants to make the transfer. I will always remember Tess
fondly as she was breaking a rule for me in a world where breaking the rules
was not looked upon kindly. As expected, Pete was soon fired, more relieved
than disappointed. It was a fortuitous moment for me in more ways than one as
Bob became one of my best clients and most importantly, he became one of the
most influential people in my life, though I am pretty sure he would scoff at
the idea of such a notion.
Robert
Lee Essick was for me at that time a pretty intimidating figure. My job as I
saw it was to get to know him and his family and then make financial
recommendations to him based on his objectives and risk tolerance. I knew that
he had plenty of money. I also knew that I was in the business of helping him
protect what he had and hopefully earn more. I could certainly tell that Bob
didn’t have a whole lot of interest in this stuff and that with him words meant
precious little. It was almost as though he had done well in spite of himself,
and I could tell that he was a man that had lived a life that had some shadows
and crevices that few had been invited to explore. After a few initial meetings
he was still very much a mystery to me, and I thought that at best he tolerated
me, and at worst he didn’t like me very much.
Bob was
tall, perhaps 6’4”, with a full head of white hair brushed back that made him
seem even taller. He had sharp blue eyes, rough hands that had been used as a
farmer, and a circumspection about him that was difficult to interpret. And, he
had a bit of a scowl that didn’t seem to be directed at me in particular, but
more so at the human race in general. A later understanding of all that he had
been through helped me to understand the countenance. I did love the way I
could make him smile, if only momentarily. I slowly came to believe that he did
like me, yet I could also tell that he didn’t want me to be too certain about
that fact. I began to learn a little more about him as we spent some time
together as he always seemed to have more money to invest. I learned that he
had worked for Newhall Land and Farming and that he had an avocado ranch of
sorts in Ojai (a quaint little city just east of Ventura). I also learned that
he had six kids and that he and his wife Marilyn had been married since the
40’s. One of my favorite things about Bob… Despite his wealth and apparent
accomplishments, he drove to see me in an old beat up Ford pickup. Not an ounce
of pretense resided in this good and humble man who was the creation of a time
that is incomprehensible to me in light of the times that we live now… I don’t
believe Bob ever frequented a “safe space.”
It was
probably 1992 or so and I needed to see Bob about some kind of investing matter;
I told him that I would come to his place this time. I remember that it was a
beautiful summer day in Ojai and that Bob was struggling with a knee that
seemed to be giving him more and more trouble. In fact, he had taken to wearing
a big bulky knee brace to help him get around. I also remember that Bob’s place
was a beautiful ranch that required his attentions to the point that I believe
it was more of a passion than a chore. Marilyn was the perfect host and you
could tell that their marriage had been a long and loving union. By this time
Bob and I were getting to know each other a little better and I started to ask
him about his past and his experiences during World War II. I figured that he
had probably served but I really had no idea as to the scope of his
experiences. He dismissed my inquiry with statements such as “It was a long
time ago”, “I don’t think you’d find it very interesting”, and “I really didn’t
do much.” I am paraphrasing here as I do not remember exactly what he said, I
only remember that he downplayed his “small role” and I also believe that he
didn’t feel that I nor anyone for that matter, who hadn’t gone through it,
could begin to understand the gravity of it. Out of respect for me, he didn’t
want to put it that way, yet I do believe that this was what he was thinking.
I pressed
on as I had a sense that there was something profound to learn. Being a History
Major I had a pretty good idea of the time and event sequences of the war and I
started to get a little more specific in my questioning as a means to show him
that I knew the seminal events and the major players. Once he saw that my
interest was genuine, he began to open up and tell me a little about his
experiences. I learned that he was a PC Boat Commander and that he had been in
the Pacific. I also remember recalling that he was born in 1919 and that he would
have been in his early twenties when America entered the war in late 1941 (after
Pearl Harbor). The fact that he was a commander of anything at that young age
seemed to be an accomplishment in and of itself. The only thing I can really
remember from that initial Ojai conversation was that he downplayed his
accomplishments and was somewhat disinclined to give any great detail. Finally,
he did tell me that he had written a letter to his grandmother in 1950 that
told the story of an experience he had had in Okinawa shortly after the war had
ended, right after the bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He told me that he
would share it with me if I was interested. I enthusiastically, and with great
appreciation, accepted his offer.
True to
his word, Bob delivered a copy of the letter to me at my office the following
day. I devoured it immediately and was amazed by what I read (incidentally I do
have text of the letter, but I am reluctant to share it in this space without
the approval of Bob’s family). The War created heroes of all kinds and I
believe that Bob’s heroism was highly unique in that it occurred after the war
had officially ended and spoke of calamity that had nothing to do with combat
per se.
I knew
Bob near the end of his life and most assuredly he was a man that engendered a
certain amount of respect as you could see from his outward trappings that he
was a man of many accomplishments. He had attained the American Dream in many
ways as he had enjoyed a long loving marriage that had produced six children
and several grandchildren. He had returned to California after the war and had
completed a successful career that had led to financial success and comfort,
and he had parlayed that success into a ranch that seemed to provide him with a
purpose and hobby in his post-retirement years. I was reading the story of a
26-year-old kid who found himself in extraordinary circumstances at the
completion of an extraordinary World War that would be impossible to fathom for
anyone that did not live through it. Until I was given a copy of the letter to
read, my basic understanding was that he was a participant and that he had been
in the Pacific and that he really hadn’t accomplished much that was noteworthy.
You would have had to known Bob to know that that was truly the way he viewed his
wartime experience. Just an average guy, doing what he was told, as best as he
could…
Bob had
been in the Aleutians initially and the letter has no specific details as to
what he experienced there. I only know that he was a PC Boat 782’s Commanding
Officer and that his twenty-three months there were not especially dangerous. I
feel fairly certain that “danger” was a somewhat relative concept at that place
and in those times, but again, I have no specifics from Bob in our
conversations or the letter. The letter goes on to state that Bob was assigned
to a new PC Boat that was in Okinawa and that his designated task would be the
sinking of Japanese submarines. By the time Bob arrived in Okinawa, after some
additional training in the US, the war had ended. That did not mean that there
wasn’t still plenty of additional work to do. And, while being happy that the
war was over, the new assignment was unchanged as Okinawa would become a
staging area for a lot of post war activity. To Bob’s immediate chagrin and disappointment,
he soon learns that PC 1128 is a vessel in terrible shape with a crew that has
seen hard combat and is manned by a somewhat dysfunctional bunch in relation to
his former PC Boat crew.
Bob and
his fellow officers set upon the task of getting “the rusty old tub” in better
condition and turning the crew into a disciplined bunch which he soon finds is
actually an easier task than he had initially envisioned. He later describes
them in the letter as “a fine bunch of young Americans” and that they “cooperated
remarkably well.” The ultimate goal was to sail through the Golden Gate Bridge
and home, at some point in the not too distant future. Instead, fate intervened;
Bob and his crew found themselves in the proverbial wrong place at the wrong
time in the form of two monster typhoons that hit Buckner Bay off the coast of
Okinawa on September 15, 1945 and October 8, 1945.
As it
turns out September 15th was merely a warmup for what PC 1128 and
many other vessels of various sizes and shapes would face on October 8th.
As Bob writes in the letter to his grandmother… “With my meager vocabulary I
can’t adequately describe a typhoon. I think it is one of those things that has
to be actually experienced to really understand.” Again, and I cannot emphasize
this enough, this is a 26-year-old kid commanding a shoddy ship in the middle
of some of the worst typhoons on record at that time. He is responsible for the
lives of his crew and he now finds himself in a life and death struggle after
the completion of one of the biggest life and death struggles the world has
ever known. It must have been absolutely surreal. As a matter of fact, Typhoon Louise,
before departing Okinawa on October 9th, 1945, was responsible for
the outright sinking of 12 ships / craft, severe damage sustained by an
additional 32, and the grounding of 222 others. In terms of a human toll, 36
were killed, 47 were missing, and other 100 injured (some seriously). http://darbysrangers.tripod.com/Okinawa/id23.htm
Bob and
his crew had barely survived the initial typhoon and his letter is absolutely
riveting in its description of being tossed around Buckner Bay like a cork
bobbing in a turbulent pool of mayhem while dragging a 1000 pound anchor,
trying to avoid reefs and other ships, absorbing blow after blow from the turbulent surf and high waves, all the while
fighting off stinging salt water to the eyes, and praying to God incessantly
for the torment to end. Several ships were lost, and many were damaged. Shortly after this, Bob and his crew
participated in the escort of ships taking some of the first troops to Japan, while
his ship continued to perform terribly, as it was in dire need of a complete
overhaul that the typhoon of September 15th had exacerbated greatly.
Bob talks of mustering the courage to approach his superiors with a laundry
list of repairs for his “floating junk heap”. He was promised some short-term
repair work and some long-term repair work in Guam as soon as another PC Boat
arrived. The mechanics on hand managed to start the process by disassembling
the engine when word came that another typhoon was on the way which they were
told was expected to pass well south of Okinawa. The engine was hastily
reassembled just in case the weather reports were incorrect (as quite often
they were). The date was October 7th, the same day that Bob learned
that his new daughter Beverly had been born on September 20th.
As a
result of the devastating Typhoon of September 15th, the Navy had
come up with a new protocol with respect to subsequent typhoons. Larger ships
were now required to head out to sea and smaller ships such as PC Boats were
ordered to seek shelter closer to shore as best they could. This would be
difficult under the best of circumstances, yet Bob and his crew were
handicapped with a vessel that was badly compromised and importantly, was
equipped with an anchor that was far too small for its needs (the other had
been lost in the previous storm). Instead of veering to the south Typhoon
Louise headed straight for Okinawa and the ordeal began anew for PC 1128 early
on the morning of October 8th. In his letter Bob describes a desperate
situation in which he realizes that they will start to drag the anchor at any
time and that the vessel is essentially incapable of battling the elements
which are getting worse by the hour. Visibility is virtually zero, the gusts
were coming in at 175 miles an hour with a constant force of well over 100
miles per hour. By noon, Bob orders everyone to don life jackets while he
declined to do so as he didn’t want to overly worry his men; luckily, he did put
one on a little later as conditions steadily worsened. They could hear cries
for help all around them and there was nothing that could be done other than to
try and stay afloat and ride it out. Eventually, around 3:00 in afternoon, the
ship was starting to list in the winds and surf when the inevitable occurred
and one of the faulty engines failed and the other began to struggle mightily.
At this
point the unthinkable happened as the boat hit a reef, capsized, and threw all
of the crew that were topside into the violent, raging ocean. At this point Bob writes of seeing the keel of
his boat and all he can think of is to swim away as to not be crushed by the
boat. This was unnecessary as the winds had changed and he was being blown /
swept further out to sea. He sees panicked, screaming crewmen all around him
and immediately blames himself for the disaster and writes of becoming sick and
nauseated by guilt to the point of vomiting. This seems to settle his nerves
and resolve, and he sets about the task of survival. Unfortunately, the ordeal
had only just begun, and the next 24 hours would be a test of endurance and
human fortitude that would test the limits of one’s will to survive. Bob could
make out many of his shipmates and he could see that some were in agony and a
few were screaming. After an initial shock and confusion, I am convinced a
basic will to remain alive kicks in. Bob writes of he and eight of his fellow
crewmates finding the remnants of a damaged life raft that unfortunately soon
disintegrates. The high surf made any kind of conversation difficult and
saltwater spray was making it difficult to not only speak but to breathe. I can
scarcely imagine what it must have been like. As the captain of the ship Bob
did his best to keep up the spirts of the small group.
As I’m
reading Bob’s letter, I remember thinking to myself what a hopeless situation
this must have felt like to those mostly young men who found themselves in such
a dire predicament. Unknown, to Bob at the time, his radioman had managed to
get out a distress signal moments before the ship capsized which also means
that this particular navy man probably died as a result of his selfless
thinking. Luckily, the water was relatively warm, and the mangled life raft
precariously enabled the nine men to stay together. Although they could not see
each other, they could feel one another as the late afternoon turned into a
very dark night. Incredibly, Bob sustained a serious wound at about 3AM from
something in the water that he thought might have been a barracuda; I know that
my first thought would have been a shark. The bite was serious enough that it
was necessary to apply pressure to the back of his knee in the hope of stemming
the blood flow. Remarkably, Bob never mentioned anything to the remaining eight
as he didn’t want to inspire any kind of panic among them.
As the
dawn came on the waves were still “mountainous.” The coming of the light also
revealed that one of the nine had disappeared during the night. His body was
never found. Bob could tell that several of the younger members of the group
were really struggling to maintain the emotional will to survive. He knew that
the clock was ticking for all of them and that they would need to get the
attention of any ship they could spot. They had seen a few in the distance
during the evening, yet none were close enough to summon to their aid,
especially in the dark of night. Luckily, it did appear that ships were in the
area looking for survivors, but the conditions were terrible, and they were now
out in the middle of the sea as they had drifted further away from the bay
during the night.
At this
point, the letter got very difficult for me. They were at the point when, as
Bob articulates, after sixteen hours of struggle, with only the slimmest hope
for survival, it became an easy, almost peaceful decision to give up and drown.
Bob mentions his wife Marilyn and his new unseen daughter Beverly as a reason
for him to continue the fight. At 11:00AM a 17-year-old boy died as his comrades
encouraged him to continue the fight. He died slowly right before their eyes.
He ultimately went unconscious and then presumably drowned. I have a son who
will soon turn 19 and the horror of losing a child in this way is simply
heartbreaking. These are the kinds of things that happen in war. And this is
the reason a creep like Colin Kaepernick is so difficult for me to stomach.
Yes, these men and boys died to protect our freedoms, yet any person who can’t
see the respect and admiration they are owed is a person who does not know
their history. I knew my history then, yet my time with Bob brought me to a
place in my understanding that transcends the abstract concepts that most only
remotely know. A real shame…
Noon came
and by this time all of the men were dealing with eyes that had been ravaged by
saltwater to the point of near blindness and most everyone had swallowed their
fair share as well in the continuing rough seas. Adding to these miseries, they
were beginning to feel the effects of being rubbed raw by their life vests as
they were tossed around by the force of the waves. At about this time a second 17-year-old
died. He had gone delirious and was asking for a knife so that he could kill
himself. Bob speaks of the other survivors doing all that they could, yet it
was at this point it became a real struggle to keep oneself alive after so many
hours of the harsh ordeal. This may be a bit of a stretch on my part, but I feel
that Bob, later in life, thought of these two young kids often. Smiles did not
come easily for Bob and yet he was full of life in so many ways. I simply
believe that the experience simply robbed Bob of a part of his joy though I
never heard him articulate it as such.
At about
4PM roughly 24 hours after the ship had capsized, the remaining six see a ship
that appears to be heading straight for them. Realizing that this might be their
last chance, Bob decides to have several of the men swim away from the raft,
some heading right, some swimming left. They are spotted and rescued but not
without one final heartbreak. One of the remaining six dies as he is being
lifted aboard the rescue ship! Can you imagine the shape they must have been in
to have the elixir of rescue have no effect on this dying man? Nine struggled
together and only five survived. I never asked Bob if he still spoke to any of
those men and I really regret the omission on my part. Something tells me that
they did, and it was not necessarily a joyous occasion. https://uboat.net/forums/read.php?22,66946,66946
Life
changed for me as I married and had three children while continuing my career
as a financial consultant. I ended up moving from Merrill Lynch in 1994 and
continued on with Prudential Securities until 2000. At this point, I made a big
change and had a short stay with LPL Financial. Through it all, Bob stayed with
me and we continued to fashion a genuine friendship. I knew his story and he
knew mine. Our meetings were rarely about financial things despite the fact
that we pretended that they were. When I ultimately left California in August
of 2002 after unsuccessfully struggling to survive a swiftly changing industry,
Bob was the first guy that I called to inform that I was leaving the business and
moving to Oregon to join the family Christmas tree business. I remember him
telling me that he completely understood, and I also remember that we both got
a little emotional as I think we both realized that we probably would not see
each other again. Bob was 83 at the time and though his health was by no means
poor, it was also obvious that he was in the last inning or two. I remember
telling him that his family was in great shape financially and that we would be
in touch, and that I would always be there to help if needed. At this point, I
had handled his investments for 13 years. What I really meant to say, “I’ll
never forget you, and thank you for sharing so much of yourself with me.” Bob
passed away on October 19th, 2004.
I first
met Tom Oki at the beginning of my stint with Prudential Securities in roughly
1994. It had become my routine to work until the market close at 1pm and then
head to the local Oxnard 24 Hour Fitness where I would get in an hour or so
workout before heading back to the office to work a few more hours. I was very
disciplined about doing my daily workout and as I saw many of the same people
day after day, I made friends there quickly. One of the contingents included a
group of mostly octogenarians who were part of the “Silver Sneakers” program. I
noticed that one of the gentlemen (an older Japanese man) would bring his wife
Suzie but he would always do his own routine rather than join in with the group
who often did a guided routine while sitting on or leaning on a chair.
Interestingly,
the group included a couple of WWII veterans who happened to be fighter pilots.
I remember one guy in particular (John) with a full head of red hair who was
one of the nicest people I have ever met. I once asked him why he was always so
happy. He told me that he could have, and probably should have been killed any
number of times during the war, and that by the grace of God he had survived.
As a result of his experiences, he truly saw every day as a gift. He had a
smile that never seemed to leave his face. He and Tom would talk from time to
time and seemed to be friends; I do believe that I met Tom through Happy Go
Lucky John. I also remember that Tom and I started out pretty slowly as friends
at first. It wasn’t that he wasn’t friendly, it was more a result of feeling
each other out a little as our age gap was pretty substantial and our life
experiences were quite different for obvious reasons. I do remember asking him
one day if he had been in an internment camp during the war. I knew that he had
grown up in Southern CA, and that certainly made sense to me that he would have
been. He told me that he had, and I asked him if it had been Manzanar https://www.nps.gov/manz/index.htm , as again, just like with Bob, I
knew enough to lower his guard a bit, and he then felt comfortable telling me
more. It turns out that he had been interned at Heart Mountain in Wyoming.http://www.heartmountain.org/
At that
time, I had not heard of Heart Mountain while I had in fact visited Manzanar on
several occasions. I did know a little bit about the spartan life that many of
these WWII era Japanese Americans had endured. My position had always been that
while it was an unfortunate footnote to our WWII experience, I could somewhat
understand it in light of all of the infiltration and spying that had occurred
in Hawaii prior to the bombing of Pearl Harbor (something that not many people
know). In other words, “desperate times call for desperate measures.” As far as
I could tell the internees were not treated harshly and they were free to leave
at the conclusion of the war. As I got to know Tom better, I began to learn
some of the details of the situation in general as well as the very specific
and unusual details particular to Tom.
The thing
that struck me about Tom from the beginning was how proud he was to be an
American while never losing touch with the things about him that were quite
Japanese. We would talk about sports, politics, and food mostly, yet our
conversations always seemed to find their way back to the times right before
the war, during the war, and immediately after the war. A lot of this was predicated
by my urgings, as I was really interested in knowing more. I found out that Tom and his family, like
most Japanese Americans of that time, had basically lost everything as they
were forced to sell most of their possessions (including their homes, businesses,
and farms) for pennies on the dollar. Tom and his family were farmers of some
type and they were doing reasonably well despite the difficult decade of the
1930’s. I know that they were somewhere in the Los Angeles area, but I cannot
remember the exact city. I do recall that it was quite rural, yet much of Los
Angeles county was rural at that time. Another strong memory from our
discussions was the cold of Wyoming in the winter months. I remember him
telling me that it was the coldest weather he has ever experienced and that he
hated cold weather to this day as a result of the experience. I also recollect
him telling me that the conditions were “not too bad” and that the biggest foe
was the boredom of a confined yet relatively free existence within the camp.
As our friendship grew, I came away with the
impression that Tom and his family, much like Bob and his crew aboard PC 1128,
they had simply found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is
really the tale of our existence as humans from the dawn of time. What I truly
did not completely understand, and would really only understand much later, was
that Tom and a small group of like-minded young men displayed a kind of courage
that few Americans could have comprehended (then or now).
An
understanding of the term “Gaman” is probably a great place to start. “Enduring
the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity” was the mindset that most
Japanese naturally employed as they sought to rationalize all that was
happening to them in a post Pearl Harbor America. Roughly 120,000 Americans of
Japanese ancestry were ultimately rounded up and held in ten internment camps
in some of the most isolated parts of the western U.S. They were seen as a
national security risk by most Americans at that time despite the fact that
Americans of German and Italian ancestry were subjected to no such bias. In
fairness, Pearl Harbor had a great deal to do with the draconian distinction.
Interestingly the average Japanese American, at least outwardly, responded with
a “gaman spirit” that called for a perseverance that WELCOMED the opportunity
to prove one’s loyalty. In the “victim” mentality world that we live in today,
such an attitude is quite foreign and inconceivable. It was a far different
time and the first- and second-generation Japanese in America very much
retained a Buddhist way of thought that transcended Western logic.
John
Toland, in his excellent look book The Rising Sun (1970) describes some
of the Japanese complexity that Americans were starting to encounter as we
dealt with them both prior to the war in negotiations, and during the war as
enemy combatants.
“To
Westerners, the Japanese were an incomprehensible contradiction: polite and
barbarous, honest and treacherous, brave and cowardly, industrious and lazy-all
at the same time. To the Japanese these were not anomalies at all but one
united whole, and they could not understand why Westerners did not comprehend
it. To the Japanese, a man without contradictions could not be respected; he
was just a simple person. The more numerous the contradictions in a man, the
deeper he was.”
This
(albeit dated) explanation helps to explain why many of the internees of
military age welcomed a chance to serve in the military despite the fact that
the very freedoms that America represented had been denied them. They were
“enduring the unbearable” through actions that would refute the claims of their
detractors. In many ways, it was a lose / lose proposition. Most Americans
would despise them for their Japanese heritage irrespective of their
willingness to be placed in harm’s way. Nevertheless, acceptance of military
service was the party line that the Japanese American majority had chosen. To
shun this path would mean dishonoring one’s family and ancestors. A heavy
burden… And yet, this was exactly the
path that Tom and 62 other internees from Heart Mountain chose. It would mean
that there would be no one in their corner. These 63 Heart Mountain resisters
(in the other nine camps there were several hundred others) were an island
within a sea of Japanese who felt that the honorable way required that they
respond to a perceived gross unfairness with a gesture that rose above the
injustice of internment and suppression of their sacred rights as American
citizens. They were pressed and cajoled by everyone around them (both friend
and foe alike) in a carrot and stick drama to reconsider their stance. And yet,
in spite of it all, they decided to display a courage that would be true to
their principles. In many ways this was a classically American thing to do, yet
their Japanese heritage must have warred with this highly individualistic
response. “The nail that sticks up tends to get hammered” was something that
all of these young men had probably heard from their parents while growing up.
Tom told
me that they had lost everything. All that they wanted was a reinstatement of
their previous rights and property; then they would have been willing to fight
for their country. Unfortunately, the lost homes, businesses, farms, and
possessions were gone forever in most cases. The state of Wyoming certainly did
not see it their way or entertain their interpretation of events. Judge T.
Blake Kennedy, the United State District Judge for the state of Wyoming began
their trial on June 12th, 1944 in Cheyenne Wyoming. On June 26th
the 63 had been convicted of one count each of draft evasion and they were all
sentenced to three years in a federal prison. For Tom, the time in federal
prison at McNeil Island, four miles west of Tacoma Washington, in the Puget
Sound, was certainly not a terrible experience, yet it was prison nonetheless
and accounts that I have read about it in Free To Die For Their Country by
Eric Muller, certainly paint a picture of prison life with its draconian rules
and restrictions (especially in the beginning of the term). Ironically, it was
a beautiful spot with stunning views of the Puget Sound, and unlike Heart
Mountain, they were not surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers.
It was
only much later that I did some research and looked at some of the details that
I realized that Tom was embroiled in something that went all the way to The
Supreme Court for clarification. On December 18th, 1944, the Court
ruled that it was illegal for The War Relocation Authority to continue to
detain loyal American citizens at the internment camps. As 1945 progressed
toward ultimate victory against Japan, the relocation camps began to shut down
and the dispossessed Japanese Americans began to return to their “homes” and
the challenge of essentially starting over while Tom and the Heart Mountain
resisters remained at McNeil Island and were unable to help in what must have
been a traumatic time for friends and family; ultimately, Tom and his group
would be released on July 14, 1946. Many people have heard of the famous and
courageous 442nd and the Medal of Honor recipient and former Hawaii
Senator Daniel Inouye (1963-2012) who lost an arm during the war. Very few
people have heard of the Japanese American draft resisters. In the Forward to Free
To Die For Their Country, Mr. Inouye had this to say.
“In this
climate of hate, many felt the necessity of stepping forward to volunteer for
service in the military to prove their loyalty to the United States. These men
for the most part carried out their military obligations with much courage and
valor.
However,
in this climate of hate, I believe it took just as much courage and valor and
patriotism to stand up to our government and say, “you are wrong.”
I am glad
that there were some who had the courage to express some of the feelings that
we who volunteered harbored deep in our souls.”
Tom expressed
that many Japanese American people lived in churches around this time as they
had no other place to turn. Their homes and businesses were gone. According to
Tom, everyone worked together in the Japanese American community and slowly
found jobs (usually menial) and eventually cobbled together some semblance of a
sustainable life. I know that Tom ultimately became a commercial fisherman who
traveled all over the world in what was a difficult, physical profession. We
talked about those post-war years at sea a lot and I could tell that Tom had
many fond memories from those days.
Tom never
seemed bitter about the whole experience of being interned and sent to prison.
He stood up for what he thought was right and then let the chips fall where
they may. It was actually a point of great pride with he and the group, and
many of them remained close over the years. Tom wasn’t looking to tell the
story, but I do believe that he was thrilled to have found someone like me who
provided him a chance to relive those days a little to a willing ear. And, a
couple of amazing things happened in the process. First, Tom and I became good friends as we
usually saw each other five days a week at the gym and we even had regular
lunch dates as we both really liked Japanese food (the conversation often
drifted back to the War years). Incidentally he was pretty amazed by how much I
enjoyed the food and I feel that bonded us even further. Also, I came to
realize that Tom was one of the most patriotic people I knew. He loved this country
and he forgave Her for the wartime experience. Unlike many people who become
embittered by the vicissitudes of life, Tom was strengthened by it. America was
his home and he chose to look at all of the good rather than dwelling in a
self-defeating infatuation with the severe challenges of his past. It was an
amazing quality that I came to admire and cherish. Contrast this with the
aforementioned victim-centric society that we now live, and the memory of this
special man burns even brighter. Rudyard Kipling’s great poem “If” could have
been written about Tom Oki.
If you
can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on
you,
If you
can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you
can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being
hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too
wise:
If you
can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your
aim;
If you
can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the
same;
If you
can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch
the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out
tools:
If you
can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose,
and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you
can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are
gone,
And so
hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold
on!’
If you
can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common
touch,
If
neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too
much;
If you
can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is
the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
As
referenced in my discussion of Bob Essick, there would be a time for goodbyes
with Tom Oki also. Who better to understand my situation than Tom for whom
dislocation and change had been swift and dramatic… At the time we moved in
August of 2002 life had become a bit of a struggle for me. I look back on that
time now and I can hardly believe all that has happened. I was living in
Camarillo CA with my first wife and young children. Kendall was 9, Mackenna was
7, and Tanner just shy of 2. The traditional stock brokerage business was
undergoing dramatic systemic change in an environment of “do it yourself
discount brokerage” (I had transitioned to LPL Financial in 2000), 911 was a
recent, tragic, and disruptive event, the Tech Bubble had just burst, and I was
leaving the business and moving to Oregon to become involved in the family
Christmas tree business that my parents had started in 1991 after several years
of hard struggle. I was grateful for the opportunity, yet I was saddened by the
loss of the world that I knew (Finance) and the loss of many friends I had made
over the course of the last 13 years. And, I remember that Tom was always there
when things seemed to be at their worst. One of my strongest memories of the “Moving
Day” back in 2002 (we were driving to Oregon) was the fact that Tom and his
wife Suzie showed up at the house to see us off. I remember that we snapped a
few pictures, and I also remember feeling touched that Tom would show such
kindness and concern. He also went out of his way to interact with the kids
(even brought them little gifts) a bit, as he knew a thing or two about
dislocation and change.
I don’t
remember Tom’s exact age at the time, but I do know that he was within shouting
distance of 90. Be that as it may, he was very sharp mentally. And, in addition
to the daily gym workouts, he also took great pride in the daily walking that
he did. We wrote each other for awhile and I will always recall the prominent
American flag that decorated his stationary. I even visited him at his home in
Oxnard a few times in the subsequent years. His house was immaculate, and the
modest backyard was decorated with bonsai plants and the many vegetables that
he grew. On my last visit there, I recall that he tried to give me a beautiful,
and fairly large bonsai plant that I really admired. I thanked him and told him
I would love to have it, but I wasn’t sure how I would get it on the plane! We
both had a good laugh over that one. They had no children and I think they both
came to see me as their Caucasian son who thought (and perhaps most
importantly, ate) like an Asian.
As the
years went by, we ultimately lost touch with one another though I never heard
any word as to his passing. I think about him often and I have always felt the
desire to tell his story in a way that speaks of his amazing journey with the
respect and admiration it deserves. Bob and Tom never met one another but
something tells me they would have liked each other despite the obvious reasons
for them to remain distrustful of one another. That simply isn’t the way they
viewed the world. Having seen mankind operate at its worst, they chose to focus
on the moments and people who gave testament to the world operating at its
best. I know they are probably looking down on me from Heaven wondering what
all the fuss is about. They both saw themselves as ordinary men who simply did
what they thought was right, to the best of their God given ability. I will
always remember these extraordinary men and I feel incredibly honored to share
them with others as I approach my 57th year. What took me so long?
I don’t know for sure if this is Bob. It came
up in a Google Search under his name and it sure bears a striking resemblance. Finding
a picture of Bob isn’t an easy task as he wasn’t the kind of guy who sought
attention.
Tom (far left) always participated in Heart Mountain reunions or honoring events.
Day of their release from McNeil Island in 1946… Tom is kneeling to the extreme left. They were all given new suits upon release.
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