Pachipro
Apr 25, 2005, 16:10
I met Suzuki-san in 1979 during my junior year at Sophia University. The house across the street renovated their downstairs and opened up a small snack. How strange I thought, that a gsnackh would open up on a residential street. It really is true that you can open up a business anywhere in Japan! (A snack is a small establishment that serves alcohol and cooked food. Since they serve food, they can stay open until the wee hours of the morning. A bar, on the other hand, serves mainly alcohol, almost no food, and had to close by midnight-1am. I think it still holds true today.)
I had never ventured into that place because I was too busy with school and teaching or I was out partying with my friends at discos and gLive Housesh (places where live rock music was played).
Some nights when I was studying or trying to sleep, I would hear the singing of karaoke from that little place. It really bugged me at times, but I let it slide as this was, after all, Japan and karaoke was becoming all the rage. What the big deal was about karaoke was beyond me, but the Japanese just loved singing to the gempty orchestra.h
Yes, this was Japan. One of the few places in the world where you can rent an apartment with paper thin walls and hear your neighbors snoring or making love as clearly as if there were no walls. But, like everyone else, I pretended that I didnft hear them, and never complained or knocked on the walls, and neither did they. After all, I knew they could hear me also when I had a gguesth for the night no matter how quiet I tried to be. It was something you got used to and learned to live with.
Anyway, one night at about 10 pm, having nothing to do, I decided to venture over to that place. I opened up the sliding door and ducked under the curtain. Talk about a hole in the wall! The place was no more than eight feet wide by maybe, 16 feet long and had a counter that sat 6 people. Thatfs it. Any more than 6 or 7 people in that place and it would be deemed over crowded and a fire hazard.
The place was empty and I was greeted with the customary gIrrashaimaseh and sat at the bar. I could tell that the small (no more that 5 ft tall) mama-san was perplexed that a ggaijinh came into her place, so I quickly ordered a beer in Japanese. As the place was empty, I wanted to put her at ease in case she thought I was going to rob her or start some trouble.
She gave me the beer with the customary small plate of some snacks. Sometimes it would be potato chips, or peanuts, or pickles, or whatever she was serving with drinks that night.
Since I ordered in Japanese she began the conversation with the usual g20 questionsh in Japanese. gOh, you speak Japanese?h gWhat do you do?h gDo you like sushi?h gDo you live around here?h etc., etc.
I answered her questions and I could tell that she quickly became at ease with me, especially since I told her I lived across the street. After the questions stopped it became eerily quiet, so I ordered another beer and wondered if anyone else would come in here.
The mama-san asked if I was hungry and I scanned the menu on the wall and ordered some edamame (soy beans in the pod) and some Ika Maru Yaki (Fried squid rings). Live in Japan long enough and you come to find out that one important, unwritten rule-of-thumb in Japan is that one MUST order food with ones drink in a snack.
She was impressed that I could read Japanese and quickly made my order. More small talk followed while she cooked my order and played some music in the background. Still no one came in.
After being there for what seemed like an hour or so, the sliding door opened and an older Japanese man with a black French beret and glasses on walked in. I glanced over to the door and was surprised to see that he had a dog on his back! He was carrying it the way mothers carried their babies on their backs! In Japan this is known as gonbu suruh, to carry on ones back. How strange and cool I thought!
He came in and the mama-san got him his gkeyh bottle of whisky from behind the counter. I could read the name gSuzuki and Jiroh on the bottle. For those unfamiliar with the term, A "Key Bottle" is a bottle of Whisky, Sake, Shochu, etc. that you purchase at a bar or snack for about double or triple (depending on the area) its regular price. Your name is put on it and it is kept on a shelf for the next time you come in. Once you purchase a "Key Bottle" you only have to pay for a bucket of ice & water if you are drinking mixed drinks. This usually costs about 500 or more yen depending on the area. If you are drinking it straight, then you pay nothing. In either case it is expected that you will order something to eat. Itfs still the most economical way to drink when out in Japan and you frequent a place often.
Jiro was the name of his dog. It was a beautiful gShiba-kenh (http://www.bulldoginformation.com/japanese-dog-breeds.html) dog. Anyone who has lived in Japan for any length of time knows what type of dogs they are.
Suzuki-san bent his knees and lowered the dog to the floor. Mama-san brought the dog a bowl of water and Suzuki-san sat at the far end of the counter about three seats away and didnft even acknowledge that I was there. I looked at him, nodded my head in a greeting and said, konbanwa (good evening). He nodded back with a little grunt of gUnh.
I love dogs, so I bent over to pet his dog which was quite friendly. Still no acknowledgement or words from Suzuki-san. gWell, the heck with you too,h I thought and went about drinking my beer and eating my squid and edamame.
Mama-san played some more music and they began to talk. I ignored them as, although I could hear most of the words and phrases they were saying, I had no idea what the subject was. Thatfs one of the great things of the Japanese language. You can have a conversation with someone and only you two know what youfre talking about as the subject is understood between the speakers and is usually never mentioned in front of strangers.
After a while I heard him say, gKono hito dare?h Whofs this person? Mama-san came over to me and asked my name. I told her it was Joe. She repeated my name and he said with a bow of his head, gJoe-san, yoroshiku hajimemashte,h Nice to meet you Joe. I noticed he was missing a middle tooth. He introduced himself as Suzuki.
I replied and introduced myself in Japanese and we began to talk with the usual g20 questionsh. I found out that he was a retired business man who lived alone with his dog about a 10 minute walk away. His wife had died two years previous.
He started looking through a book and after a while asked to sing a song. Mama-san slipped an eight-track tape into the player and he began to sing while reading the words from a book.
After the song was over, he asked if I could read Japanese. I replied that I could. He then asked if I could sing karaoke and I told him that no, I couldnft. He said I should learn. I told him that I couldnft carry a tune and would probably sound terrible. I also told him that I was too shy. He said he would teach me. I replied to the effect of gThanks, but no thanks.h Suzuki-san looked disappointed and our conversation suddenly came to a halt. He continued singing now and then for the next half hour or so, but didnft say much to me.
I didnft know it then, but in Japan when you are asked to sing a song when out with a group or another person, no matter how shy you are or how terrible you sound, you MUST sing. Everyone does and no one will put you down or boo you for it like they do in the states on gkary okeyh (US pronunciation) nights. Failure to do so will cause you to lose gfaceh and make you look gstuck-uph or gtoo goodh in front of the others. Even if you canft read Japanese, there will always be words to some corny song in English that everyone knows, like gYesterday, by the Beatles or gYou Are My Sunshineh or gMy Wayh by Frank Sinatra, etc.
In my six years there to date no one has ever asked me to sing a song. Maybe they took it for granted that I couldnft or wouldnft sing. I donft know. Besides, till then karaoke was not all that popular and was just coming into its own.
Anyway, another customer came in and he and Mr. Suzuki began to talk. After a while they were both singing. Again he asked me, and again I politely declined. They just ignored me after that and I finally paid my bill and went home.
I went there the next night as it was pretty convenient and was told that Suzuki-san came in there about 3 or 4 times a week always with his dog. I went there maybe 2-3 times a week after that and every time Suzuki-san was there he would try to get me to sing and every time I declined. However, he didnft ignore me and we became close. Every time I went and he was there or would come in later, he would great me with a loud gJoe-san!h I can still hear his voice today.
About three weeks later I went there at about 9pm and Suzuki-san was already there and, as usual, began singing. I really liked the tunes to some of the songs he was singing. Some of them I knew from the other bars and radio and TV and some I didnft. He pushed me again to sing and, again, I declined.
After about three beers, one which was bought by Suzuki-san, he again pushed me to sing. I finally gave in and said gOk, Ifll try.h He selected what he called an easy song: gOmae Nih by Frank Nagai. He opened the book of words and we began to go over it together. The words were simple, mostly hiragana with a few kanji that I knew. After he was satisfied that I could read all the words he asked mama to play the tape. We each had a microphone and we went over it together with me following his lead. It was a simple song that anyone could sing. Then he asked that I sing it alone. The tape was played and I did pretty well for my first try. He made me do it about three times afterwards to make sure I got it. With the echo turned up I didnft sound half bad after all.
I mastered that song that night. The next time he taught me another song: gKuchinashi no Hana.h I forget who sang it. I mastered that and after about a month I was able to sing about 10 different songs. My favorite song though was gKitaguni no Haru by Sen Masao.
Soon he began to take me to other places in the neighborhood and we would sing songs. He would sing one and then I would sing one. We became the hit of the neighborhood snacks and the bars around the train station. Me, Suzuki-san, and Jiro. Jiro soon began to take to me and we would walk from the bar across from my apartment to the other places with Jiro on my back. Soon I was known and welcomed in almost every snack and bar in the neighborhood. I was known as the gaijin who could sing Japanese enka. He even knew the mama-san in the gMurasakih bar I mentioned in a previous story, but we were never there together.
I made many more friends there and Suzuki-san and I became the closest of friends along with the mama-san. I looked to him like one would a grandfather. He would visit me often at my apartment with Jiro and we would sit and talk while watching TV and drinking. We would play pachinko together. Once or twice he even cooked for me. A couple of times he came with me to Yokohama when I carried the Omikoshi during festivals with my friend and he even bought me a watch when I graduated the University which I still wear to this day.
I really came to love that man. We were together at least 3 days a week for two years. We just plain enjoyed each others company and not once were our conversations conducted in anything but Japanese. Even though he knew some basic English, he never tried speaking it. I can still hear him knocking on my apartment door at about 8 or 9pm saying gJoe-san nomimashou!h Joe! Lets go drinking. Always with Jiro on his back.
On August 17, 1981 I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of fire engines. They sounded really close. I looked outside, and since they werenft on my street, I went back to sleep. The next morning I get a knock on the door and it is the mama-san in tears telling me that Suzuki-san and Jiro died in a fire the previous night. It turned out he fell asleep while smoking and the rest is history. I mustfve cried for a week after that.
Yes, even today I still visit a few of the places we used to frequent at Odakyuu-Sagamihara station that are still there. And every time I sing, I make sure to always sing gOmae Nih in honor of Mr. Suzuki. The song may be 25 or 30 years old and ancient, but I donft care. And I always preface the song with a tribute to my Ojiisan (grandfather) and gsenseih (teacher) who never gave up on the young gaijin and taught him to sing Japanese enka.
Suzuki-san I will never forget you!
I had never ventured into that place because I was too busy with school and teaching or I was out partying with my friends at discos and gLive Housesh (places where live rock music was played).
Some nights when I was studying or trying to sleep, I would hear the singing of karaoke from that little place. It really bugged me at times, but I let it slide as this was, after all, Japan and karaoke was becoming all the rage. What the big deal was about karaoke was beyond me, but the Japanese just loved singing to the gempty orchestra.h
Yes, this was Japan. One of the few places in the world where you can rent an apartment with paper thin walls and hear your neighbors snoring or making love as clearly as if there were no walls. But, like everyone else, I pretended that I didnft hear them, and never complained or knocked on the walls, and neither did they. After all, I knew they could hear me also when I had a gguesth for the night no matter how quiet I tried to be. It was something you got used to and learned to live with.
Anyway, one night at about 10 pm, having nothing to do, I decided to venture over to that place. I opened up the sliding door and ducked under the curtain. Talk about a hole in the wall! The place was no more than eight feet wide by maybe, 16 feet long and had a counter that sat 6 people. Thatfs it. Any more than 6 or 7 people in that place and it would be deemed over crowded and a fire hazard.
The place was empty and I was greeted with the customary gIrrashaimaseh and sat at the bar. I could tell that the small (no more that 5 ft tall) mama-san was perplexed that a ggaijinh came into her place, so I quickly ordered a beer in Japanese. As the place was empty, I wanted to put her at ease in case she thought I was going to rob her or start some trouble.
She gave me the beer with the customary small plate of some snacks. Sometimes it would be potato chips, or peanuts, or pickles, or whatever she was serving with drinks that night.
Since I ordered in Japanese she began the conversation with the usual g20 questionsh in Japanese. gOh, you speak Japanese?h gWhat do you do?h gDo you like sushi?h gDo you live around here?h etc., etc.
I answered her questions and I could tell that she quickly became at ease with me, especially since I told her I lived across the street. After the questions stopped it became eerily quiet, so I ordered another beer and wondered if anyone else would come in here.
The mama-san asked if I was hungry and I scanned the menu on the wall and ordered some edamame (soy beans in the pod) and some Ika Maru Yaki (Fried squid rings). Live in Japan long enough and you come to find out that one important, unwritten rule-of-thumb in Japan is that one MUST order food with ones drink in a snack.
She was impressed that I could read Japanese and quickly made my order. More small talk followed while she cooked my order and played some music in the background. Still no one came in.
After being there for what seemed like an hour or so, the sliding door opened and an older Japanese man with a black French beret and glasses on walked in. I glanced over to the door and was surprised to see that he had a dog on his back! He was carrying it the way mothers carried their babies on their backs! In Japan this is known as gonbu suruh, to carry on ones back. How strange and cool I thought!
He came in and the mama-san got him his gkeyh bottle of whisky from behind the counter. I could read the name gSuzuki and Jiroh on the bottle. For those unfamiliar with the term, A "Key Bottle" is a bottle of Whisky, Sake, Shochu, etc. that you purchase at a bar or snack for about double or triple (depending on the area) its regular price. Your name is put on it and it is kept on a shelf for the next time you come in. Once you purchase a "Key Bottle" you only have to pay for a bucket of ice & water if you are drinking mixed drinks. This usually costs about 500 or more yen depending on the area. If you are drinking it straight, then you pay nothing. In either case it is expected that you will order something to eat. Itfs still the most economical way to drink when out in Japan and you frequent a place often.
Jiro was the name of his dog. It was a beautiful gShiba-kenh (http://www.bulldoginformation.com/japanese-dog-breeds.html) dog. Anyone who has lived in Japan for any length of time knows what type of dogs they are.
Suzuki-san bent his knees and lowered the dog to the floor. Mama-san brought the dog a bowl of water and Suzuki-san sat at the far end of the counter about three seats away and didnft even acknowledge that I was there. I looked at him, nodded my head in a greeting and said, konbanwa (good evening). He nodded back with a little grunt of gUnh.
I love dogs, so I bent over to pet his dog which was quite friendly. Still no acknowledgement or words from Suzuki-san. gWell, the heck with you too,h I thought and went about drinking my beer and eating my squid and edamame.
Mama-san played some more music and they began to talk. I ignored them as, although I could hear most of the words and phrases they were saying, I had no idea what the subject was. Thatfs one of the great things of the Japanese language. You can have a conversation with someone and only you two know what youfre talking about as the subject is understood between the speakers and is usually never mentioned in front of strangers.
After a while I heard him say, gKono hito dare?h Whofs this person? Mama-san came over to me and asked my name. I told her it was Joe. She repeated my name and he said with a bow of his head, gJoe-san, yoroshiku hajimemashte,h Nice to meet you Joe. I noticed he was missing a middle tooth. He introduced himself as Suzuki.
I replied and introduced myself in Japanese and we began to talk with the usual g20 questionsh. I found out that he was a retired business man who lived alone with his dog about a 10 minute walk away. His wife had died two years previous.
He started looking through a book and after a while asked to sing a song. Mama-san slipped an eight-track tape into the player and he began to sing while reading the words from a book.
After the song was over, he asked if I could read Japanese. I replied that I could. He then asked if I could sing karaoke and I told him that no, I couldnft. He said I should learn. I told him that I couldnft carry a tune and would probably sound terrible. I also told him that I was too shy. He said he would teach me. I replied to the effect of gThanks, but no thanks.h Suzuki-san looked disappointed and our conversation suddenly came to a halt. He continued singing now and then for the next half hour or so, but didnft say much to me.
I didnft know it then, but in Japan when you are asked to sing a song when out with a group or another person, no matter how shy you are or how terrible you sound, you MUST sing. Everyone does and no one will put you down or boo you for it like they do in the states on gkary okeyh (US pronunciation) nights. Failure to do so will cause you to lose gfaceh and make you look gstuck-uph or gtoo goodh in front of the others. Even if you canft read Japanese, there will always be words to some corny song in English that everyone knows, like gYesterday, by the Beatles or gYou Are My Sunshineh or gMy Wayh by Frank Sinatra, etc.
In my six years there to date no one has ever asked me to sing a song. Maybe they took it for granted that I couldnft or wouldnft sing. I donft know. Besides, till then karaoke was not all that popular and was just coming into its own.
Anyway, another customer came in and he and Mr. Suzuki began to talk. After a while they were both singing. Again he asked me, and again I politely declined. They just ignored me after that and I finally paid my bill and went home.
I went there the next night as it was pretty convenient and was told that Suzuki-san came in there about 3 or 4 times a week always with his dog. I went there maybe 2-3 times a week after that and every time Suzuki-san was there he would try to get me to sing and every time I declined. However, he didnft ignore me and we became close. Every time I went and he was there or would come in later, he would great me with a loud gJoe-san!h I can still hear his voice today.
About three weeks later I went there at about 9pm and Suzuki-san was already there and, as usual, began singing. I really liked the tunes to some of the songs he was singing. Some of them I knew from the other bars and radio and TV and some I didnft. He pushed me again to sing and, again, I declined.
After about three beers, one which was bought by Suzuki-san, he again pushed me to sing. I finally gave in and said gOk, Ifll try.h He selected what he called an easy song: gOmae Nih by Frank Nagai. He opened the book of words and we began to go over it together. The words were simple, mostly hiragana with a few kanji that I knew. After he was satisfied that I could read all the words he asked mama to play the tape. We each had a microphone and we went over it together with me following his lead. It was a simple song that anyone could sing. Then he asked that I sing it alone. The tape was played and I did pretty well for my first try. He made me do it about three times afterwards to make sure I got it. With the echo turned up I didnft sound half bad after all.
I mastered that song that night. The next time he taught me another song: gKuchinashi no Hana.h I forget who sang it. I mastered that and after about a month I was able to sing about 10 different songs. My favorite song though was gKitaguni no Haru by Sen Masao.
Soon he began to take me to other places in the neighborhood and we would sing songs. He would sing one and then I would sing one. We became the hit of the neighborhood snacks and the bars around the train station. Me, Suzuki-san, and Jiro. Jiro soon began to take to me and we would walk from the bar across from my apartment to the other places with Jiro on my back. Soon I was known and welcomed in almost every snack and bar in the neighborhood. I was known as the gaijin who could sing Japanese enka. He even knew the mama-san in the gMurasakih bar I mentioned in a previous story, but we were never there together.
I made many more friends there and Suzuki-san and I became the closest of friends along with the mama-san. I looked to him like one would a grandfather. He would visit me often at my apartment with Jiro and we would sit and talk while watching TV and drinking. We would play pachinko together. Once or twice he even cooked for me. A couple of times he came with me to Yokohama when I carried the Omikoshi during festivals with my friend and he even bought me a watch when I graduated the University which I still wear to this day.
I really came to love that man. We were together at least 3 days a week for two years. We just plain enjoyed each others company and not once were our conversations conducted in anything but Japanese. Even though he knew some basic English, he never tried speaking it. I can still hear him knocking on my apartment door at about 8 or 9pm saying gJoe-san nomimashou!h Joe! Lets go drinking. Always with Jiro on his back.
On August 17, 1981 I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of fire engines. They sounded really close. I looked outside, and since they werenft on my street, I went back to sleep. The next morning I get a knock on the door and it is the mama-san in tears telling me that Suzuki-san and Jiro died in a fire the previous night. It turned out he fell asleep while smoking and the rest is history. I mustfve cried for a week after that.
Yes, even today I still visit a few of the places we used to frequent at Odakyuu-Sagamihara station that are still there. And every time I sing, I make sure to always sing gOmae Nih in honor of Mr. Suzuki. The song may be 25 or 30 years old and ancient, but I donft care. And I always preface the song with a tribute to my Ojiisan (grandfather) and gsenseih (teacher) who never gave up on the young gaijin and taught him to sing Japanese enka.
Suzuki-san I will never forget you!