New Delhi - 1980-82 and Tokyo - 1982-85
By Mike McCaffrey
THE SCENE: My CPO in New Delhi was Dave Windle. He greeted us at the airport upon arrival and showed me around the compound/Embassy the following morning. Dave was also instrumental in running the Embassy Softball League, a rather large operation in its own right. The League had some six(?) teams, held a DRAFT (yup!) before the season began, and the competition was dead-serious. All this softball stuff took place in a STADIUM right there in the housing compound! This stadium was pretty large, made of concrete, and had a broadcasting booth and lights for night games. It could seat everyone attached to the Embassy, should everyone wish to sit in the hot sun, bake, drink local beer kept drinkable with FERMALDAHYDE (chew on THAT one!), but were palatable served ice cold from our American Community Support Association building (housing a nice restaurant, bar, snack bar and bowling alleys, and servicing a large Olympic sized POOL right outside the edifice). Though I had played football in high school, softball really wasn’t my thing, more/less getting me off to an awkward start with my new boss, who was in the intense recruiting process at all times.
Dave approached me at work a few days into my assignment and mentioned that he was a collector of old military medals and other items, and that he’d like to head to a shop in Old Delhi that specialized in such things. He mentioned it would be a good experience for me to accompany him; I’d get to see some of the sights and experience Old Delhi, too. Sure, struck me as a good idea. We caught a local taxi that Saturday morning and headed off. As we were trucking along, I just happened to glance at a large thing moving next to the window next to me; we were at a red light. It was an ox-drawn wooden wagon with large wheels … it was full of dead bodies! Welcome to India, Dude! The light mercifully changed, and we proceeded to the Old Delhi section of town. There are those who LOVED India, and those who didn’t feel so fervently … I was among the latter. India struck me as HOT and DIRTY. Having come from the pristine environment of American Compound Living in Bonn, The Kid was indeed in for a culture shock! But I digress: we did get to where Dave intended to go - the purveyor of old military stuff (it said so on the sign). The area was kind of grimy, so was the shop. I did notice a rather large temple of some sort in the distance, but didn’t focus on it. We alighted from the taxi, took seven or so steps, heard a HUGE commotion heading our way from the direction of the temple I wasn’t focusing on, and: STAMPEDE!!! It turns out human stampedes at religious sites in India are not entirely uncommon. What sets this sea of humanity hurtling down streets? Dunno. Never saw that in Germany! Nevertheless, Dave and I RAN to the doorway of that little shop and hugged what space we had to remove us from that street and flying bodies. I did not accompany Dave on future excursions.
Things settled down to a very dull roar from that point on. Since Delhi was a unique environment, we were given the option to take a special “Home Leave” deal, where you went back to the States, reclaimed your sanity, and had to tack that amount of time away onto the end of your tour. For those who loved being there, it was a good deal. Being non-lovers, we demurred and left a bit early … timed to the next school year for our two sons in … TOKYO! Seems my Career Advisor made good on his promise to me! This is how it was accomplished: my wife and kids were at the ACSA building restaurant, waiting for me to come on over. I was still in our apartment, a mere bunch of feet from ACSA, attending to a small matter. My doorbell rang. It was my boss, Dave, who lived right across from me in the Compound. He had a sad look on his face and was obviously holding something behind his back. “Mike, I hate to bring this to you. I know Christmas is just about here, but …” And at this point, he handed me an official message from the Department. I was so terrified that perhaps something had happened to my mother, or something of that nature … my heart was pounding. I took the message, saw my name and American Embassy Tokyo underlined in red, and gave Dave one heck of a big hug!
Before leaving, we visited the Red Fort … being closely observed by a large number of monkeys lounging on the wall next to us (“Whatever you do, don’t stare at them, they’ll attack!” … hmmm … not very reassuring).
And the obligatory visit to the Taj Mahal. Very disappointing: dirty/smelly/dark inside, as opposed to the magnificent exterior.
So now, it’s time for me to wrap up the NEW DELHI portion of our lives. And we move on to ….
Ever since I was a little kid, I had been fascinated with Japan and China. I studied both pretty extensively at UMASS (History, 1973), and was hoping upon hope of returning there again (was stationed there during my Air Force days in 1965). In addition to Japanese history, I was also highly interested in resuming my martial arts studies (judo and karate). Staying in that vein, I had witnessed the Japanese art of Kendo (ken = sword, do = Way … thus: the Way of the Sword). It fit in so perfectly with my studies of Japanese history, since the sword is one of the symbols Japanese people consider a bedrock in forming the modern state. Nobody (except drunks or those pursuing the fine art of smelling glue) fights with swords anymore, but we can consider it perhaps akin to our Wild West days with gun fighters, Wyatt Earp, etc. My very first days at the Embassy, I asked around about getting into a Kendo program, and was sent to Nakamura-san, who worked in Security and was noted in Kendo circles. I went up to the seventh-floor office where Nakamura worked. Upon entering, I spotted this bespectacled guy sitting behind a desk. Looked very ordinary, perhaps professorial. I introduced myself and indicated my interest in studying Kendo. Nakamura looked at me and asked: “You’re an American; why would you ever want to study something so Japanese?” I mentioned my previous background in both judo and karate, my wife from Japan, and my formal university studies of Japan and its history. At that point, he did a complete about-face and said he would be very happy to take me to the place he was a member of. He asked what type of clothing I had with me to practice in. All I had was a white karate-gi in one of our suitcases. He told me it was fine; bring it along. At closing time the next night, I had the gi with me in a bag, and Nakamura and I boarded the jam-packed rush-hour Metro for several stops, then switched to a train for several more stops to the Tamachi Sports Center (the darkish building in the center) ...
That building housed judo, kendo, archery, fitness, an Olympic pool, an indoor running track, etc, etc. The Kendo dojo (training hall) was on an upper floor. The entrance was hidden by a partial wall. Upon rounding that partial wall, I just about lost my breath. Inside were around 500 Japanese in full regalia practicing. The shouts and sounds of the shinai (bamboo practice swords) were something to behold. Nakamura showed me to the men’s locker room and told me to put the karate gi on, and he’d meet me at the door when I was ready. I did put that WHITE uniform on. EVERYBODY in that hall wore outfits that were DARK BLUE, resembling Darth Vader in all respects. When I stepped out of the locker room, all 500 Kendoka stopped dead in their tracks. I looked like a light bulb! I could hear subdued snickering behind their formidable iron-barred masks (part of the overall headgear). Nakamura had someone with him: ODD JOB’s TWIN BROTHER!!! Man, this guy looked SCARY! His arms seemed as big as my chest! He also didn’t speak a word of English. Nakamura told me that Morikawa Sensei (sensei = instructor, or teacher … even doctor) would now go over all the parts of the SHINAI, the bamboo practice sword; I was to pay attention. Morikawa proceeded to give his lecture in staccato Japanese. I, of course, didn’t understand a word, but I didn’t dare to interrupt; I was afraid he’d kill me then and there!
I stood there, knees shivering, while Sensei kept rattling on … and GLARING at me! Then, after what seemed like an hour, he asked me: “McCaffrey-san, wakarimasu ka?” (Do you understand?) With knees now darn near wobbling, I replied: “Ie, Sensei, wakarimasen.” (No, I don’t understand) And THAT set him off!
That was it; I was surely going to DIE right then and there. Then, Nakarmura came over; everyone was laughing, including “Odd Job.” It was all a put-on. I was the only non-Japanese in there, and they wanted to see if I was serious or would just turn tail and never come back. I passed the first hurdle and was welcomed as their token American. I remained in that dojo for my entire three-year assignment, inheriting 500 Japanese brothers.
THE SUBWAY: Catching the subway in Tokyo is a matter of endurance. The subway management hires burly young judo and rugby players to CRAM people in the subway cars during rush hour. This, I can attest, is an experience.
Until I mustered the moxie to actually drive my car through Tokyo rush-hour traffic, I relied on the subway to get me to the dojo. One night at rush hour, I was preparing to bull my way into that sea of humanity when I felt arms around my neck. ARMS AROUND MY NECK? I couldn’t see who it was but wasn’t about to stop the momentum I had built up and plowed forward, entering the jammed subway car. It was an OLD LADY! Poor, fragile thing wanted on but was no match for the panicked horde, so she just jumped up and latched onto me. We shared a little laugh once we were in there.
And, though this is highly personal, I carried a vision in my head since this event took place on a cold November night in 1983. My wife and I boarded a non-rush-hour subway to go visit the Tokyo suburb of Harajuku. That’s a place where young Japanese would dress up in clothes resembling those worn in 1950s America and dance to Rock ’n' roll songs of that era. It was quite famous and worth seeing. It wasn’t the scene of the kids dancing; however, it was a memory of my beautiful wife standing outside an outdoor vendor selling calendars . . . light snow falling . . .Thanks to the MAGIC of ChatGPT, that vision was restored to me … (She’s still beautiful, btw.)
And I will now button up the NEW DELHI - TOKYO memories on this note. I hope you enjoyed!
Will move on to the more complex/much less fun PANAMA experience next . . .