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My first home was at Grant Heights DHA in Nerima-ku (the burbs of northwest Tokyo near Camp Drake and Tokorozawa Army Depot where my father was assigned). It was midway between Johnson AB (now the JASDF Iruma AB) and Tachikawa AB. I recall seeing my first movie -- the Disney classic "Pinnochio" -- with Dad at the Camp Drake Theater. Weekends were spent trout fishing at Lake Chuzenji in Nikko, where we stayed at the Joint Services Commission-operated R&R lodge, a rustic timber retreat called the Nikko-Kanko Hotel. That was religion for my father and his buddies! Or swimming, skiing and basking in the sun at Zushi Beach.
I attended K-2 at Sancta Maria International School (which, sadly, will shutter its doors for good in 2011). What I could never figure was that while we lived a mere two blocks down the street from the base elementary school -- a modern campus with the latest educational resources and facilities Uncle Sam could provide -- my parents chose instead to have me bused across the "machi" on narrow, winding roads into neighboring Narimasu to attend class in quonset huts donated by the Air Force where we hapless foreign students were taught by Portugese nuns with moustaches (hadn't they heard of waxing?) and a mean disposition.
Japan of the '50s and early '60s was truly exotic and magical for a young child, and left an indelible, lifelong imprint on me. Especially on my palms after being struck by a pointer or ruler held firmly by Sister Rosa.
We then moved stateside, from 1964-68, to East Moline, Ill. (the Quad Cities) near Rock Island Army Arsenal. I was again enrolled in a Catholic parochial school, St. Mary's. Drats... those nuns again!
Those four bucolic years ended with a return to Japan in 1968. While awaiting our World Airways flight from Travis AB to Tachi, a former classmate of mine from Sancta Maria hailed me in the passenger terminal. He'd recognized me despite the intervening years and growth spurt. He and his family were enroute to West Point, N.Y. Aside from that initial greeting, we merely asked where the other was headed to. I recall ending that awkward and all too brief encounter by saying, "Well... Have a nice life." He turned and walked away. It was a scene that we so-called "military brats" repeated time and time again. Who knows where and when we might run across one another again. So we were content to make only fast friends for fear of getting too attached, knowing full well that it was unlikely we'd ever see one another again.
Back in Japan, we lived at 213-A in Sagamihara DHA as my father was posted at Sagami General Depot. By then he was assigned to the U.S. A.I.D. mission for Southeast Asia (or "Useless AID" as he called it) and was TDY most of the time with George and John Mosier's father. I attended Zama Middle School with John (Go Class of '74!) that shared several classrooms with ZAHS on the old, drafty World War II-era campus.
As a then faithful Catholic, I had served as an altar boy at the Zama base chapel under the supervision of the chaplain, Lt.Col. Dietz. With the exception of my mother, no one called him "Father" Dietz. It was always "Colonel" and he'd worn his rank proudly. He and his aged mother lived in the quad behind us at Sagamihara. And on Sundays I'd ride shotgun in his Jaguar XJ to Mass. The Japanese security guards at the main gate would bow and salute profusely as we passed, Colonel Dietz chomping on a big, fat cigar.
In early 1970, the Air Force announced the imminent closure of Grant Heights DHA, which had served as a kamikaze training base in World War II. I had turned 14 and was crestfallen by the sad reality of its demise. So, I chose to make a sentimental pilgrimage of sorts to revisit my birthplace. After having taken the train and bus a fair distance, I walked from the main gate to the opposite end of the housing area where my first home was located. Hoping for one last glimpse inside the quarters, I hesitantly knocked on the front door but to no avail. No one answered. Grant Heights is now Hikarigaoka-koen and New Town, a sprawling urban park ringed by high-rise apartments. The only reminder that it had ever existed or that Americans had occupied the square-mile area is a brief mention of it on a signboard at the entrance to the park.
By Spring 1970, my father's A.I.D. mission was reassigned to Ft. Shafter, Hawaii, and all of our families collectively relocated to the islands that summer. I recall living in temporary quarters with the Mosiers and several other families at the Waikiki Shores Condos smack dab on the beach adjacent Fort DeRussy. Hot damn, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven! In the evenings, we could hear Don Ho perform at the Outrigger next door.
I recall John and I renting longboards and, the groms that we were, nearly getting swept out to sea by the riptides and paddling for a good hour before making landfall at Ala Moana Beach a mile away from where we'd set out! But those "salad days" would only last the summer before my parents found permanent housing in Aiea Heights far removed from any beach *tears*. John and I attended Aiea High School (Hey shukka brahs! We da Fighting Ali'is now!). I suppose John would remember attending a special assembly that year at which Liz Damon, an Aiea H.S. alumnus, performed her proverbial one-hit wonder song, "1900 Yesteryear."
Alas, my father retired the following year and we relocated to Lake Havasu City, Arizona (home of the London Bridge), where I attended Lake Havasu High School (Go Knights!). I subsequently attended Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff.
The rest is a long sordid tale (just kidding) haha. In brief, my career path has primarily encompassed broadcasting, newspapers (as a reporter then editor of several Arizona newspapers), and entertainment publicist for a Nevada casino resort. Was married with children (2 girls), now divorced and happily single again.
During the course of my marriage to a lifelong restaurateur, Debbie, I was persuaded by my ex to open a restaurant on the condition that I could open a micro-brewery as well. Sadly, it took its toll on my marriage and finances (wiped out my 401K, etc.). Where was our beloved ZAA president and fellow islander, Roy Yamaguchi, then? You could've forewarned me about the hazards and pitfalls of the restaurant business, not to mention that it is a 24/7 endeavor! Haha I am now happily semi-retired and continue to dabble on more familiar turf as a media consultant and writer. On occasion, I retreat back to the islands by way of Roy's fabulous restaurant at the J.W. Marriott Desert Ridge in nearby Scottsdale. If ever in the Valley of the Sun, it's a must for those who enjoy pan-Pacific dining.
Some years ago, I launched a blog exclusively devoted to our mutually shared experiences as an expatriate or military brat growing up in Japan and Okinawa. It was called Japan Brats -- http://japanbrats.blogspot.com -- Unfortunately, it became too time-consuming to maintain from both a technical and editorial standpoint. It is still very much online (surprisingly enough, Blogger hasn't taken it down), although many features, links, etc. no longer function. However, there's still a huge treasure trove of information and resources that remains, including a series of essays me and fellow Japan Brats had written about our recollections.
I'd long ago discovered the ZAA, along with Rick Pemble's own website. But it's taken me all these years to actually register! Trust me, Zama has never been far removed from my mind. Quite honestly, I've always felt a kindred spirit with those of you who attended Zama American High School and choose to consider myself a ZAHS almnus more so than any other.
I look forward to waxing nostalgic with all of you in person at a future reunion. Until then... Go Trojans!
Tom
P.S. Should you ever encounter a fellow brat, ask him/her, "Hey, didn't we go to different schools together?"
