Under His Wings
How does one begin to describe 91 years of a man's life when you weren't around for most of it or were too young and too preoccupied to remember? You can't really. My dad, Isamu Murata, lived that long and was closing in on his 92nd birthday when he died. In fact, I wouldn't have written this if not for a seemingly unfortunate injury. That injury changed my dad's life from independence to needing full time assistance. The injury and the pandemic changed Woody's and my life too. The pandemic allowed me to work from home and it resulted in no teaching opportunities at Woody's college. We moved in with my dad to help him out and to live with him for a little over a year following the accident. And what a rich year it was!
I was raised during a time when most parents weren't very involved in their children's lives. My dad and I lived in our own worlds with our paths crossing at the dinner table and during an occasional family outing or vacation. What conversations we did have focused on making my mom happy and ensuring I kept up with my chores and school work.
The time we spent together this past year gave my dad and I a chance to get to know each other very well. It was an unexpected blessing. I was able to ask lots of questions to fill in details of stories that I had heard over the years. And I got to hear some new stories that I hadn't heard before. My dad was also able to get to know me, and particularly, my heart and my passion.
In some ways, you can look at my dad's life and say it was quite remarkable given the humble, dirt floor beginnings. His military assignments, marriage into my mother's family, and golfing prowess led him to encounter a litany of people that went on to shape international, military, business, sports and cultural trends that continue even today. My dad was uniquely equipped for the moment being a Japanese American, a US military officer, and a terrific golfer, all in the midst of the transitional period of two nations and former enemies emerging from a world war.
Despite those encounters, he remained grounded and saw people for who they were - people like himself. He remained himself whether he was singing and drinking with his father-in-law who was reshaping the life insurance industry, meeting kings and leaders of Asian nations to strengthen alliances, supporting military leadership in shaping US Pacific strategy, entertaining a PGA hall of famer in our home, engaging with founders and executives of booming Japanese electronics and manufacturing firms, or even demonstrating his golf swing to Japan's most prominent professional baseball team. He treated them all the same - with respect but as people.
 |
| Army and AF generals, Akio Morita (founder, CEO Sony) |
Kauai Stories
My grandfather, Shōnosuke Murata was the third son of Magojirō and Tami Hara and was born in the spring of 1882. Shōnosuke was 19 years old when he left the island of Kyushu, Japan to work the plantation fields of Hawaii. Eighteen years later, Shōnosuke, then 37, married Shio, who was 18 years old in Waipouli, Kauai in January of 1920. My dad, Isamu Murata, was born in August, 1929 at the start of the Great Depression. He was my grandparent's 5th child of nine children.
My dad remembers his father as being quiet, reserved and an extremely hard worker. He spoke very little English, leaving Shio, who also went by 'Ashiro', to handle many of their business transactions. Shōnosuke must have been well educated while in Japan as he was very gifted at writing Kanji - the Japanese writing that uses Chinese characters. He was called upon by the local Buddhist Temple to write because of his skill.
My dad remembers his mother as the life of the party. She had the ability to make others feel welcome and at home. She was the 4th child and the 3rd daughter of Tamejirō Kishida and Mutsu Sasabe who divorced when she was very young. Her mother, Mutsu, returned to Japan but left the children with Tamejirō. Tamejirō subsequently married Matsu Nishimoto and they had three additional daughters. Shio, who was born in Kauai, was kept home by her mother to help with the household. My dad believes that she was the only one of the Kishida children who never graduated from high school because of her staying home.
The Murata home was a one room house with a dirt floor. Uncle Iwata, who was a carpenter, built the structure and would be a key resource for the family over the years. My dad was unclear of the relations with Uncle Iwata and it is unclear who he might be when examining the Japanese family register (koseki). It may be possible that he was Shin’ichi Terada who was the person on record to report the death of my grandfather to the Japanese Consulate, or Misao Kawada, who my cousin said was a relative. Along with the main structure, he built an outhouse a ‘good distance from the main house’. He built a second room and later added two additional rooms to the original home as more children were added to the family.
True to Japanese tradition, each day was concluded with the family taking turns bathing ‘Japanese style’. That meant washing and rinsing off before getting into a wood heated redwood bathtub to soak. My dad said that the water was so hot that he would start with one toe before easing his foot, and then one leg, and the rest of his body into the bath and could only stay in for a short while because it was so hot.
My dad observed his father and mother putting in long hours of labor. Their work ethic left an indelible imprint on him. He remembers his parents getting up every morning around 2:30am for work as day laborers in the sugar cane and pineapple fields. Their work day would finish sometime around 3 to 4pm. Shonosuke was the hardest worker he has ever known. In addition to his work in the sugar cane fields, he raised a dozen hogs, two milk cows and tended to two pastures and a half acre garden where he grew vegetables, melons, and sweet potatoes.
My dad witnessed his mother’s hard work first hand as he accompanied her to her work in the pineapple fields when he was 10. She was often called upon to perform the most difficult jobs such as preparing the pineapple tops used for seedlings - a hard job that was even more difficult because of the sharp spines on the pineapple. He said they would use cheap cloth gloves but would develop 'blisters on top of blisters'. Following her field work, his mother would quickly return home before going to the ocean or river to fish. After fishing for a few hours, she would head home to prepare dinner for the family. Following dinner, the home would often be the gathering place for drinking beer and singing and his mother would lead the way. My dad said his mother had the most beautiful singing voice.
While some of my dad’s brothers attempted to skirt chores and work, he looked at it as a privilege that his mom asked him to wake up and go with her to work in the pineapple fields. In the fields, he saw how the laborers would often do the minimum required to achieve their quota. However, when a bonus was offered for extra bags of pineapple, he watched the workers truly work to their potential as there was a substantial increase in productivity. That early experience caused him to believe that diligence and perseverance come from within and will eventually find its reward.
Before and after a hard day’s work in the fields, there were chores around the house that included milking their cows, and caring for their pigs. As an adolescent, my dad recalls getting frustrated with their milk cow, Winnie, when she stepped in the milk bucket during a milking session and spoiled the milk. He recalls punching Winnie in the udder in frustration, and then having to try to calm her down so he could start again. 'Nice Winnie', he'd gently say. 'Nice cow'.
To feed the family pigs, my dad pushed a wheelbarrow around to his relatives and neighbors to gather food scraps. Being a rural community, houses were a good distance apart and the path to collect the scraps was quite circuitous. After collecting the scraps, there was a more direct route back home but it meant pushing the wheelbarrow along the plantation train tracks across an elevated mound. Several times when making the journey, he encountered a train while taking that path. With nowhere to go, he would lose his load as he took the wheelbarrow down the embankment in order to avoid being hit by the train and would have to start again.
When my dad was a little older, the train became a source of a favorite treat - burned sugar cane. During harvest, the sugar cane fields were burned and the burned cane was loaded onto the train cars. Since the trains travelled too fast to make off with some cane, the boys figured out that they could coat a section of track with grease and the loss of traction would stop the train. While the conductor ran to the beach to collect sand to spread onto the greased tracks, the boys would collect the cane from the stopped train and make off with the sweet heist. Having become wise to their antics, the conductor ran after and caught my dad during a subsequent attempt. The conductor told him that he was taking him to the authorities as they drove down the tracks only to drop him off with a stern warning and a long walk home.
Seafood was my dad’s favorite food throughout his life. In addition to enjoying the bounty of seafood that his mother would bring home, he would also gather seafood from the streams, rivers and ocean. He spoke of eating certain seaweeds directly from the ocean while swimming along the shoreline, and of catching and cooking crawfish from the creek near their home.
One of his favorite seafood was octopus which would hide amongst the cracks and crevices along the ocean reef. He would take a pole and stick it into holes and then look for the distinctive ink to know if an octopus was present. If there was an octopus, it would grab onto the pole. If he could pull the pole back without much of a fight, then it must be a smaller octopus and he would try to catch it. On the other hand, a larger octopus would put up quite a fight and he would leave the pole and get away or he’d be in for quite a battle. Even the smaller ones would wrap their tentacles around him and attach their suckers to his arms, chest and back. He would pry them off to a distinctive, ‘pop, pop, pop’ sound as the suckers came loose. Once captive, he would take the octopus to a nearby rock on the shore and beat it over and over to tenderize the meat.
During World War II, a ban was made against fishing in the ocean for fear that a sympathizer might communicate with Japanese forces. The residents were notified that violators would be shot and killed. For families like the Murata’s, the ocean was a vital source of food. Despite the risk, his mom would defy the order by sneaking down an irrigation canal in the dark of night. Along the way they would pass the troops assigned to watch and guard the coastline. Once reaching the ocean they would fish and then return back in the cover of darkness with the nets and catch in tow. He remembers the troops being so close at certain points along the route that he could hear them talking and smell their cigarettes. He believed they surely must have seen them but kindly looked the other way so they could fish and survive.
When he was a little older, my dad said that he would take any job that he could find. That led him to work as a cannery worker, a baker, and as a golf caddie, where he came to learn and love the game of golf.
At the cannery his job was to make sure the cans didn’t get jammed along the path to the packing table where a line of ladies separated and loaded the pineapple into the cans. He remembers how they would prepare the pineapple by dividing it into sections that would go into different color labeled cans - separating the sweetest portion, the bottom of the pineapple, to be sold as premium pineapple. He said a union approached the cannery workers and convinced them to strike only to have the company abandon the cannery and never return, costing them all of their jobs.
At the bakery he learned to make bread, pastries and pies. The owner grew to trust him and would put him in charge of making certain baked goods. He remembers the owner offering to take him to the beach with his family one work day. When my dad politely declined because he hadn’t finished making the pies, the owner told my dad to provide instructions to another worker. Upon return, my dad tasted the final goods but could not finish the bite. The worker he left in charge had mistaken the sugar for salt. On another occasion, the owner again took my dad to the beach. But on that day, the owner disappeared while swimming. He presumably got caught in a riptide and was never seen again. My dad was pretty certain that the owner had a girlfriend and wondered if this was his way to start a new life.
At the golf course, my dad would wait his turn in hopes of caddying for one of the course patrons. He loved his caddie job most of all because he loved the game of golf and found many of the golfers to be quite generous. He said he once had a client who drove his ball into a deep green side bunker. After failing to hit the ball out on a couple of attempts, the golfer, being out of sight of the others, grabbed the ball along with a handful of sand and threw the ball and sand onto the green. He turned and gave my dad the eye to keep their secret and then continued on to the green. At the end of the round, he gave my dad a very generous tip.
My dad had two older brothers, Ted and Kiyoshi, who would caddie as well. They, like my dad, had incredible hand eye coordination and had both taught themselves to play golf. Ted in particular could perform incredible golf tricks and my dad said that his Army buddies referred to him as the ‘barefoot wonder’ because of his skill and lack of shoes when he played. He would later team with my dad for tournaments or bets when they lived in Honolulu. Both brothers ended up making a living as golf professionals for a good portion of their lives.
My dad spoke the most fondly of two of his siblings, his younger sister Janet, and his younger brother Bobby. He said that in a similar fashion to what his mother did in her household, Janet did in theirs - she took on the responsibility to help her mother with all of the responsibilities around the home. He remembers her doing everything with a great heart. He also remembers getting upset at his other siblings for taking advantage of her great work ethic and kind heart.
Bobby was 8 years younger but my dad considered him to be one of his best friends. He would include Bobby in his chores and found that same willingness to help around the house and to help their mom. When my dad delivered newspapers, Bobby would ride along. In fact, he tried to bring Bobby along wherever he went. That included the bakery where Bobby rode to work and then played with the baker's son. When my dad and Bobby were both serving in the military, Bobby was able to be there when he won a Japan Open. Bobby was also there to see when my dad was presented with the lifetime membership to Koganei Golf Club.
My dad remembers never keeping any of his job earnings for himself. Each day he would take what he made and would give it to his mother to help the family. His Uncle Iwata had picked up on my dad’s honesty with money. Knowing that Shio would refuse money from him, Uncle Iwata would give my dad money from time to time to give to his sister. My dad remembered his uncle giving him $20 dollars once, an incredible amount of money for their family back then, but he faithfully passed it on.
In elementary school, my dad remembers being taught the song, ‘Ulili E’ - a Hawaiian song about how a little sandpiper would run along the beach feeding while avoiding the waves. He said it was funny how they were taught it one day in class but that he still remembers the words to the song. He would sing it to us every Christmas after we finished Christmas dinner.
In middle school my dad started getting into trouble because of the company he was keeping. One day after class, his teacher pulled him aside and told him, 'birds of a feather, flock together'. He got the message and separated from his bad friends and decided that he could do better and started to pursue good grades in school. With his improved grades now in high school, a counselor told him he had the acumen to go to college. He went to his parents and asked if he could save the money that he earned during his final year so he could go to college. They agreed. Up to that point, he had given all of his earnings to his parents. He ended up graduating 2nd in his class and became the first and only one of his siblings to graduate from college.
Honolulu Stories
During college my dad lived with his older brother in an apartment in Waikiki and got a job as a bartender. When applying for the job the owner asked if he had any prior experience, which my dad convinced him he had. The owner decided to give my dad the job and put him to work right away. My dad had no idea what he was doing. A kind waitress, seeing him struggle, took him aside and gave him a quick lesson on making the most popular drinks. He took home a bar book and taught himself the others. That’s how he became, as he puts it, a 'professional bartender'.
He loved to bartend because of the people that he met and the great money that he made. When his older brother moved out of the apartment, he was still able to meet all of his expenses. He quickly became adept at entertaining his patrons by tossing liquor bottles and catching them behind his back. Later in life, he was attending an event with other Air Force officers. He started telling them about his bartender days and decided to show his friends his trick. He tossed a bottle of liquor in the air but missed the catch behind him and the bottle sailed down and crashed on the floor. As he turned to observe the mess, he looked up and saw the commanding general standing there looking on. Much to his relief, the general made a joke and started to laugh and the others just got a good laugh at his expense.
One time during his bar shift, a group of marines had run up quite a tab and then left without paying. A frantic waitress told him what had happened and my dad went running after them. Seeing that my dad was trying to catch them, one of the marines hid behind a wall and then cold cocked him in the mouth as he ran by, knocking out a number of his teeth. My dad’s future brother-in-law was a dentist and connected him with an oral surgeon who built an implant for him that he had to use from that time forward. When word reached the sergeant of his soldiers' transgressions, he came to my dad and apologized for their actions. He paid their bill and asked my dad whether he would like to press charges or let them go on to their assignment - Vietnam. The sergeant suggested that Vietnam might be the more extreme punishment and my dad agreed and didn't press charges.
At the university, my dad enrolled into ROTC and became a member of the golf team. He said he signed up for ROTC because of the monthly stipend he received but never intended to remain in the service beyond his four year commitment. On days when he had a late evening at the bar followed by early morning ROTC training, he employed a cab driver to wake and pick him up and drive him from his apartment to the back of the exercise fields so he could sneak in and join his unit ‘just in time’. The commanding officer, who later became one of my dad’s best friends, told him that they all knew what he was up to, much to his surprise.
 |
| UH Golf photo Ray Tanaka (best friend in college and future brother-in-law), mom (mascot) |
At the university, he met a 'beautiful' girl whom he'd later marry. Both of my parents claimed that kimchi, the fermented Korean dish, brought my parents together. My mother had already caught my dad's eye but he had determined that she was out of his league. My dad's determination changed in a business class that they took together. My mom moved from her assigned seat to one next to my dad in order to avoid sitting next to a ‘kimchi boy’ since he smelled so bad. The rest is history.
My mother was the daughter of a very successful businessman who, upon learning of their interest in pursuing marriage, had several of his workers go and spy on my dad. The ‘spies’ knew my dad from his bartending duties and came and told him not to worry, they would give him a good report. Following the report, my grandfather took an entourage and traveled to Kauai for a visit to their home. Apparently, my dad’s mother entertained them with songs and drinks and made a most positive impression. My grandfather approved the union. Following graduation, my parents married in September, 1952.
Golf
If anyone were to ask what my dad was passionate about for much of his life, the answer would be easy - golf! From an early age he learned to play the game and had the physical and mental abilities to match. Most of his free time was either on the golf course as he loved both the game and the socialization with friends and colleagues. He dedicated time hitting balls on the driving range, practicing in the yard, working on his swing, putting in the house, reading books and magazines, and watching tournaments on TV.
My dad was remarkably skilled with a golf club. Over the years he would make the adjustment to the changing technologies, but you'd always find an old steel wedge in his bag. He would use the wedge around the greens and he had an incredible feel for making shots with that club. There was a small round circle that appeared to be part of the design of the wedge from a distance but upon closer inspection you realized that it was a worn spot on the steel clubhead. He was so consistent he would strike the many golf balls that he had hit over the decades in the exact same spot.
For practicing his short game, my dad had a bag filled with old golf balls. There must have been several hundred balls in the bag that he had collected over time. He would practice hitting them across the front yard and back again. At our home in Colorado, there was a sidewalk and busy street on one side and the length of the house with several windows on the other but there was never a concern of a shot going awry. When my mom would send me out to call him in for dinner, he'd place the bag on one end of the yard and then try to pitch the balls into the bag. It was remarkable how many he would land in the opening of the bag. All of them would end up inside or next to the bag.
One time when I played golf with my dad, I hit a shot that landed directly behind a pine tree. The course designer kindly left the tree in the middle of the fairway. I asked my dad what he would do in that situation. We had started playing really early and there were no other golfers waiting. He brought three balls and two clubs as he came over to assess the shot. He then showed me how by changing your grip you can affect the ball flight coming off of the club. He then proceeded to hit a fade and then a draw, bending the ball flight trajectory around either side of the tree and onto the green. And then for fun he hit a high arcing shot over the tree top and, of course, onto the green.
Another time, he took me to play at the Broadmoor, the very exclusive club at the foothills of the mountains outside of Colorado Springs. We again were out early when there were only a few golfers playing. After we finished the first hole, he asked me to take the wheel of the gas powered cart. ‘Really?’ I thought as he insisted it was ok. All was fine until we reached a par 3 where the tee box was considerably higher than the green. After hitting our shots, we got into the cart and headed down the slope to the green. The cart started to travel really quickly as we descended the hill. Near the bottom, I could see a pretty good indentation in the ground where the cart path met the grass so I decided I better turn and avoid that area completely. I turned the wheel a bit too sharply and my dad, who was only holding onto his putter, went tumbling out of the cart. I sheepishly turned the cart around to pick him up. Rather than yelling or lecturing, he asked in a slightly annoyed voice, 'Whatcha doing?'
My dad was also adept at making clubs. When woods were really made out of wood, he would spend hours finishing a head and attaching it to a steel shaft with the fine wire that he carefully glued and wrapped from the neck of the wood and up the shaft. As new materials came into the game, he was ready with glues, torches, files, and a grinder. He would often modify clubs with lead weights, different shafts, and custom grips that would suit his game. He never fell into gimmicks though - he loved the purity and sportsmanship of the game and the early professionals.
In all of the houses that we called home over his military career, you could find golf clubs all around his house. At first, they were tucked in the corners of closets out of sight. As my mom became more tolerant, you could find a club here and there by entrances and in room corners throughout his house and outside. When visiting, I'd often see him walk into a room, pick up a club and practice his backswing with the long pause at the top which became so characteristic of his game.
Perhaps most humorous was how his love of golf was so evident in other areas of his life. Need a stop for a garden gate? My dad dug holes and placed plastic inserts so that a golf shaft would slip down into the hole with the grip standing about waist high. When wanting to hold the gate open, you'd simply lift the shaft from the insert, open the gate past the hole and then slip the shaft back into the insert. Voila - gate doorstop! Have a plant or small tree that needed support? Use a golf shaft! Car trunk or hood not staying open? You get the idea. Once I went over to his house and was checking on his pond. There next to the pond were three golf shafts sticking out of the ground near the pond. They weren't tied to a tree or plant so I went in and asked what they were for. He said that he had recently climbed into the pond to clean it but had difficulty getting out and standing up. Oh course, just use a golf club!
In college, my dad played golf for the University of Hawaii which had an outstanding team. Although Hawaii was unable to compete for the NCAA Championship, some local organizers paired him against PGA pro Tom Nieporte, the 1951 NCAA National Champion from the Ohio State University, who had moved to Honolulu. My dad won the match play event 3-0. They would often play in tournaments together and became good friends.
My dad played competitive golf from 1954 through 1960. He won the Fil-American International tournament in 1954 and 1955. In 1956, he placed 4th at the Hawaiian Open as an amateur, and won the Hawaiian Public Links, Hawaiian Armed Forces, and the Pacific Air Force Championships. He also represented Hawaii in the USGA Public Links championships in San Francisco. In 1956, he was assigned to the Far East Air Forces Headquarters outside of Tokyo, Japan and continued to compete in tournaments as his military schedule would permit. He became somewhat of a local celebrity, being an officer in the USAF and of Japanese descent. He competed in the Japan Open and won Best Amateur in 1957 and 1958. His most cherished achievement was being recognized as an honorary lifetime member of Koganei Country Club; the most exclusive golf course in Japan. He was the Koganei Country Club Champion/Best Amateur in 1957-58-59.
My dad’s competitive career ended in 1960 when he was diagnosed with a lower back disorder that made it difficult for him to walk or stand for longer than 5 minutes. Forgoing surgery, failed medical treatments and pain medications, he developed his own exercise and physical therapy regimen that he would do over the course of each day to strengthen his core. His self-treatments enabled him to continue to play the game he loved. He would go on to win the ATC Commander’s Cup (1975), the Retired USAF Golf Championship (1989), and numerous country club championships. Despite his success, he was probably best known for his sportsmanship and friendly demeanor whenever he played. He continued to enjoy playing golf with his golf buddies well into his 80s and could boast a 7 handicap at 82.
In his late 80’s, a neurosurgeon and pain management physician requested an MRI of my dad’s lower back to address his ongoing lower back discomfort. They independently said that based upon the MRI images alone that he should be wheelchair bound. Upon learning of the exercise regimen that he developed, they said his approach was contrary to anything that they had learned or would recommend, and suggested that he write a book. They found it remarkable that he was able to walk, nevertheless play golf.
Air Force
My dad entered the Air Force with a reserve commission in October, 1952 and was assigned to Hickam Field as a statistical services officer, and later in protocol. In protocol, he would interact with the top Air Force leadership. This included General Hunter Harris and General Laurence Kuter who both became instrumental in shaping his early military career. General Kuter personally requested my dad be transferred to Tokyo when he assumed command of the Far East Air Forces in 1955. My dad was planning on turning the assignment down because of his plans to play golf professionally, but my mom’s family encouraged him to take the assignment. As an interesting anecdote, in the iconic photo of Franklin Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, and Joseph Stalin, General Kuter is in the back row as he was a special attaché to President Roosevelt.
During his assignment in Tokyo, my dad received a promotion to 1st Lieutenant in 1955 and was offered a regular commission. With his aspiration of playing golf professionally, he turned the offer down. He then served as the Accounting and Finance Officer in Amarillo Technical Training Center located in Amarillo, TX. Upon the recommendation of General Hunter Harris, he was then asked to serve as the aide and executive officer to General Seth J. McKee, Commander U.S. Forces Japan and Commander Fifth Air Force with headquarters at Fuchu Air Station, Japan. That first tour led to his involvement in the USS Pueblo incident where he had to notify General McKee of the ship’s capture by North Korean forces. General McKee then followed with actions that nearly led the US forces to escalate the incident. My dad recorded his concerns of the misrepresentations that ensued to protect responsible parties from culpability.
Following his two year tour, my dad remained at Fuchu as aide and executive officer to General McKee’s successor, Lieutenant General Thomas K. McGehee. During that second tour, General McGehee promoted my dad to major and offered him a regular commission for the 2nd time. My dad said that it was extremely rare for someone to be offered a commission a second time and was grateful for the additional opportunity which he readily accepted. When General McGehee later assumed his new assignment as Commander, Aerospace Defense Command in Colorado Springs, Colorado, he asked my dad to join him as his aide and executive officer.
General McGehee was my dad’s favorite ‘boss’ and my dad referred to him as his ‘best friend’. My dad was amazed at how well General McGehee treated those who served around him and how humble he remained. Mrs. McGehee and my mother became good friends as well and the four of them would regularly go out for dinner together. My mom was appointed as the designated driver as they would often have ‘one too many’. I remember our family going over to the McGehee's home for Thanksgiving. They treated us like family.
One example of their relationship was when General McGehee and my dad arrived at a function together a bit early. Sitting in the car, he told my dad that they should go ahead and get 'started' so my dad made them a couple of cocktails while they sat waiting for the function. When it was time for the start of the function, my dad started the car and accidentally backed the car into a ditch. They were both ok even though the car was now stuck and undrivable. He said General McGehee and he started to laugh uncontrollably at the accident and at their predicament. He had my dad call the AF base motor pool to come and rescue the car, and then to bring them a car and a driver for after the event.
Following the retirement of General McGehee, my dad was assigned as Director of Cost and Management Analysis at Randolph Air Force Base, which brought our family to Texas. He later served at his last assignment as Assistant to the Commander at the San Antonio Real Property Maintenance Agency. In all, his Air Force career spanned over 28 years.
Following his retirement, my dad earned a real estate license and worked as a broker in commercial and residential real estate, primarily selling small businesses in the San Antonio area. He said his two biggest sales were a large collision center, and one of the most well known Chinese restaurants in San Antonio. He sold the restaurant to family members of the San Antonio Spurs' head coach. Leading up to the sale of the restaurant, he was amazed at how clean the restaurant and kitchen were kept. He said it was always spotless and that you could probably eat off of the floors. He also said the owner was very savvy and wealthy and owned businesses out of state and was selling to move back to that area. When assessing the value of the business for the sale, he said the owner provided two numbers. One was the record of sales in the books for tax purposes while the other were the actual sales, which were substantially higher. My dad said that the owner was not alone in this practice of misrepresenting earnings to avoid paying taxes. Following the sale, my dad couldn't believe the new owners moved the restaurant from its location where it has been so successful. The restaurant eventually went out of business.
Loving husband
Perhaps one of my greatest memories of my dad was the tender care that he provided my mother during the final years of her life. My mom had developed dementia which her doctors believed was due to her having a number of micro strokes. Even though she suffered from increased memory loss, she continued to know all of her family members. In fact, she continued to interact with us up until the day before she died.
For a period of about three years, my dad took over all responsibilities from her. He remembered the heartbreak that my mom had when she decided to leave her bridge group, a game that she loved and had played for as long as I can remember. He also found that my mom had forgotten to pay some bills which she was meticulously thorough at completing and recording in her handwritten accounting ledger. My dad stopped playing golf so he could devote all of his time caring for her.
When Woody and I would visit on weekends, my dad would allude to all that was happening and what he was going on but I never grasped the extent of his effort until one day when he called me while I was working at my office. He asked if I could come over to help my mother to stand up as he wasn't able to help her to stand. I knew she was having trouble walking because I had helped purchase a walker for her so that she could make her way around the house a bit more easily. However at that point we then learned that my dad, with his bad back, was assisting her in getting up and down, helping her dress, preparing meals, shopping and managing their household and finances. Quite a task list for an 87 year old.
Following that call, my mom lived for a few more months. We had no idea how short her remaining life would be when we stepped in to help. But we became regular witnesses of the love and care that my dad provided to her in preparing her favorite foods, being next to her, singing to her and making her laugh. It was a joy to be around them both to see the great love they had for each other.
When my mother died, my dad was standing by her side, holding her hand, assuring her that all was going to be ok, and singing to her. Somehow, he made a very sorrowful moment beautiful.
Spinal cord injury
In April of 2020, my dad sustained a serious spinal cord injury when falling in the kitchen of his home. He had finished preparing his dinner and had placed it on the kitchen table in front of the television. He apparently went back to the kitchen to refill a drink when he fell. After a number of hours, he woke but was barely able to use his arms and one of his legs. He managed to make his way about 20 feet on his stomach to the living room side table where we had recently placed a telephone by the sofa. It was after 12:30am when I received his phone call so we believe that he had been unconscious or making his way to the telephone for over 7 hours. When we arrived at his house, he was lying on the floor by the sofa and was unable to sit or stand up. I was able to get him upright. With him using one leg that had some mobility, we were able to get to the car and to make our way to the hospital.
He asked us to take him to the San Antonio Medical Center (SAMC) which is an enormous military hospital about 15 minutes from his home. The hospital was just on the cusp of the COVID-19 pandemic so we had to drop him off at the emergency room entrance and then wait in the parking lot. After a couple of hours, we got word that they were going to admit him. They said he was verbally interacting with the doctors and medical staff, and appeared to be fine except for his paralysis.
The emergency room doctors initially thought he had a stroke, but magnetic resonance imaging revealed a spinal cord injury. From the MRI, the doctors had identified a growth on his spine. The growth, which the orthopedic surgeon referred to as a 'pannus', was a bony growth on his vertebrae that was impinging his spinal cord just below his head in the upper portion of the spine. It had apparently been there for some time. The diagnosis explained several symptoms that my dad had described prior to falling. The fall had severely exacerbated the problem.
The doctor recommended surgery to relieve the spinal column from further injury. He felt that there would be little to no recovery from the damage caused by the fall but that the surgery would prevent certain increased loss of functionality and even death once the impingement affected a vital organ.
Because COVID-19 had closed the hospital to outsiders, my sister and I arranged a video conference with the doctor and my dad in his hospital room. My dad had already decided to go forward with the surgery, but the doctor wanted to make sure he understood the risks and recovery implications. In asking for options prior to our meeting, the doctor came up with three surgical options. Once my dad fully understood the surgical procedure and the bleak recovery outlook, he decided to forgo any of the surgical options and see what life would be like with his new condition. He was transferred from SAMC to a rehab hospital and underwent physical therapy.
For the two weeks while my dad was at rehab, we spoke to him and the nurses and staff by phone because of the pandemic. We knew he had a strong will and a determined work ethic. The reports came back indicating that he was making progress much to our delight. They said he was walking down the hallway to the rehab gym so we were of course happy to know that. The physical therapist made it clear to us that he had a long way to go and would be unable to live on his own moving forward. We let her know that we would be taking on the responsibility to care for him and would be exploring ways to assist his recovery. Under normal circumstances family members who were to assist their patients would come in for a brief training day to get an understanding of what to do and what was involved in his care. Because of COVID-19, we weren't able to talk to them or him.
On the final day at the rehab hospital, we met him and his nurse on the emergency room driveway. He was unshaven and was wearing a gait belt over his clothing. The male nurse helped my dad into the car. Watching the difficulty he had in getting my dad into the car gave me an initial understanding of just how unstable he was. The nurse gave us a walker and some other items that the hospital ordered that they believed he would need in his recovery. The nurse then showed me a list of medications that we were to order and gave me some brief instructions on his care.
Despite our concerns, we were thrilled to be with him. It had been almost a month since his injury and he was genuinely glad to be out of a hospital and to see us too. We prearranged a video conference call with any family that could join so we headed to his house to get him situated for the call. I helped him to use the walker to get from the garage to a chair in his living room. The time there was arduously slow but with a little assistance, we made it there without incident.
Following the call, I was helping him walk to the bathroom when Woody noticed his eyes glaze over. Fortunately, there was another chair nearby and I was able to guide his fall so that he ended up sitting back in the nearby chair. His eyes were open but he was unresponsive as we spoke to him. He had a moment of low blood pressure when he went from sitting to walking to the restroom. He was diagnosed with orthostatic hypotension.
My wife and I moved in with my dad to help him out and to host the home health workers that started to come by his house. Initially, a nurse, physical therapist, and occupational therapist came over to assess my dad and then their aides came to fulfill their orders a couple times each week. In addition, we hired caregivers to come in to help him get ready and fed in the morning through noon each weekday.
Despite rehab and a very willing spirit to work at improving, my dad’s condition worsened to where he was only able to take a couple of very unstable steps. He had little feeling in his hands and feet and couldn't raise his arms above his shoulders. His dominant side was more limited than his left so he tried to do most things with his left hand but it was very limited as well. He needed assistance to perform the most simple of functions.
We remained in contact with the surgeon from SAMC and had a phone meeting to again discuss the surgical options, but my dad again didn't like the prognosis that the surgeon offered. I had received a very strong recommendation of a local neurologist who in turn recommended another surgeon in his practice to do an assessment. Upon reviewing the case, the surgeon felt that my dad could regain up to 60-70% of his mobility by doing the procedure, but he would lose the ability to move his head independently. After discussing this surgeon's prognosis, my dad decided to have him perform the surgery.
Surgery and recovery
In June, my dad underwent the procedure. It utilized titanium rods that were attached from his cranium to his 7th vertebrae. It is medically referred to as an occipital fusion through C7. The surgery lasted almost 4 hours and the surgeon felt the surgery was successful. He encouraged my dad to be diligent in his rehab - something we were never concerned about. My dad was encouraged too as he felt an immediate improvement in his hands following surgery.
Much of the lost feeling and coordination returned to my dad’s hands and feet, but only after many months of rehabilitation. The therapy and daily walks helped to build back his lost strength. Amazingly he regained the ability to first hold a fork, then to lift it with assistance from his left hand, then to lift, turn his hand and lower his mouth to the fork, and finally to lift, turn his hand, and guide the fork up to his mouth. One of my dad’s goals when he was going through therapy was to use chopsticks again. He wondered why the Japanese chose such a difficult utensil with which to eat! After much practice, he was able to use chopsticks again as well. He said one thing that really helped him to relearn was by watching his great granddaughter, Hope, learn how to eat.
Following months of rehab, my dad’s in-home occupational therapist was finalizing her paperwork and remarked that she believed my dad had recovered 90% of what he had lost! Woody and I had dismissed all of the health workers until it was just the physical and occupational therapy aids visiting a couple times a week. This was now their final visit as he had improved so much. They had all done an amazing job to help him on the journey and appreciated his willingness to work diligently and hard.
Following surgery, we decided to find a new primary care doctor for my dad. My parents had been seeing the same primary care physician annually for years. But when we took my mom to an emergency room after a fall, the ER doctor hinted that she should have ceased taking numerous medications that he found on her medication list. The new primary care doctor was wonderful and took the time to run a battery of tests on my dad. He took my dad off of some medications that he also no longer needed.
Woody was a catalyst behind much of my dad’s recovery and improvements. She would sit in on the physical and occupational therapy visits and then encouraged my dad to follow through with the exercises and routines. When the in-home therapists said that my dad was doing too well to continue their services, Woody found, arranged and then shuttled my dad to and from an outpatient physical therapy center. At home she helped my dad with his walks as his coordination and stamina improved. She started first in the house, and then outside, and eventually around the block. Before he died, my dad was walking up to a mile every day. She also completely altered his diet. We were all amazed to learn that he no longer needed any of the medications, supplements and diapers that he had been taking and using for years to help with his blood pressure, digestion, constipation and incontinence.
Six months following the surgery we held a final video call visit with my dad's endocrinologist. The endocrinologist was referred by the new primary care doctor to address his orthostatic hypotension. The doctor was very thorough and we appreciated how he always took time to listen and talk to my dad during each video call visit despite what appeared to be an incredibly busy schedule. He began following my dad shortly after the surgery and had been working to reduce the medications because of their negative side effects. He said my dad could stop taking the remaining medications for his blood pressure.
At 91 years of age, my dad was free of all medication other than some eye drops for glaucoma. My sister's co-workers in health care back in California called his recovery, ‘miraculous’. Everybody that we were around seemed to agree with that declaration including his doctors and therapists.
Dreams
Every evening over the year since his injury, I helped my dad get ready for bed. At first I was helping him do almost everything, but as his mobility and coordination improved following surgery, my before bed tasks had dwindled to helping him into bed and getting him set for the evening. It was an odd turn of events as I considered that there might have been a time when he did this for me. He regularly thanked me and apologized for being such a burden. It wasn't a burden but rather a privilege and honor to care for him - something I tried to tell him each time he apologized.
One evening when I was helping him to bed, he told me that he had the same two dreams for several nights. In one dream he was standing by the shore and could see men in a fishing boat. Jesus was telling the men to fish on the other side of the boat. He said when they did, they were so surprised as they caught a net brimming with fish. In the second dream he said he was standing on the side of the road in a crowd when a beaten Jesus walked by on His way to be crucified. He stepped out to help Him but was pushed back by some soldiers.
My dad has never been a religious man so I was perplexed as to where these dreams came from. I decided to read him the recorded accounts from the Bible in case he had seen a movie or dramatization that wasn’t accurate. After I had finished reading the accounts, he expressed that he really enjoyed hearing them and wanted me to continue reading more from the Bible. So each night I read a chapter until we completed all four gospels. We then read through the book of Acts so he could hear what happened after Jesus’ resurrection. When we finished Acts, we read through the first five books of the New Testament again. The time before bed had become a precious time in our routine.
Following that, I tried to decide what to read next. I knew that he had watched my personal life from a distance but that he didn’t really know me very well. So I told him about all that had happened since God came into my life as a teenager and why I am who I am, why I made the decisions that I made: why I married Woody, why we had as many children as we did, why I took the jobs that I took - essentially why I have lived the life that I have lived.
I included reading him the story of my first son, Christopher, his first grandchild. My dad and mom visited Christopher almost every day of his 7 month life so it was a story he knew well. But, he had never heard it from my perspective nor known about my interactions with God and what God was doing in my heart. He was astonished and amazed at my experiences.
Following that, I gave him a synopsis of the whole Bible. About the covenant that God has made with Abraham, about the fulfillment of that promise through Moses, about how the story of Moses and the Israelites paralleled Jesus and his fulfillment of coming to set the captives free as recorded in Isaiah and the prophets. We talked about the miracle of modern day Israel. We read the book of James, 1 John and had just finished 2 John the evening before he became ill. Each night after I finished reading, he graciously thanked me as we said good night - first in English and then in Japanese.
Birds
In the first days at home following his injury, my dad developed a fascination for birds. With his limited mobility, he asked to be seated where he could see his koi pond, and watch for birds. He didn't want to watch TV, didn't want to read, didn't want to watch golf - all things that he loved to do before. He just wanted to sit, reflect and watch birds.
We were perplexed as to why the sudden fascination with birds, but what an amazing year to watch birds. Our area had a huge influx of birds that year - many, many times more than I had ever seen, and varieties that I have never or rarely seen before. As his mobility and coordination returned, he started to walk up to a mile a day and returned to his old pattern of reading the paper and magazines and to watch the major golf tournaments, but he always took time to watch and comment on birds.
One day he asked me, ‘What's going on with the birds?’ I got up from my work and looked out into the yard and there were a couple hundred yellow and gray birds that were traveling back and forth between the patio and a tree. I have never seen anything like it. In fact I couldn't recall ever seeing more than a handful of birds in the yard at one time ever. And here were hundreds! They kept doing it again and again as if they were performing for us. I couldn’t find the variety in a bird book.
Another day, we looked out and there were close to 50 robins in the yard. Another day, there were a hundred or more wrens and sparrows playing in his yard and taking turns drinking from his pond. Another day, blue jays, swallows, and cardinals took turns visiting in mass. Another day, several hundred cedar waxwings came into his yaupon holly trees and picked off every berry. There were so many birds that they literally covered his patio and pond. And then there were the regular visits from the hummingbirds, his favorite. He would marvel at their size, agility and speed.
Perhaps most unusual, we had a pair of red-shouldered hawks make a nest in my neighbor’s 40 foot palm tree across the street. My dad would walk to our front window several times a day to watch them. The nest was hidden by the palm fronds but he would occasionally see one sitting out on a frond or returning to the nest so we knew that they were there. Following their nesting, our area was hit by three severe winter storms that struck back to back. We both wondered if the hawks could possibly have survived the record low temperatures, and the ice and snow. For several days, we didn't see them. But then one day, there they were. Then came the severe thunderstorms and rain and high winds, but they were still there.
A few days after my dad died, we had 4 inches of rain, hail and severe winds as we sheltered under a tornado warning. The winds howled through the trees and against the house. The next day, many of the palm fronds, dead from the winter storms, had been ripped off of the palm tree and left the nest completely exposed, but there the hawks were.
As the leaves filled in on the trees in my yard, the view to the nest where my dad used to watch the hawks had become obscured, but still visible from where I sat to do my work, so I continued to watch them. Shortly after my dad died, I spotted a white round puff of feathers - the fledgling! My family and I would catch glimpses of the baby and would watch the parents bring and feed it food. I know my dad would have loved to have seen it.
On the day of the funeral, the fledgling had grown into a young hawk. Gone were the soft white down feathers now replaced by the distinct markings of its parents. The fledgling was now regularly testing its wings as it prepared for its journey away from the nest. Friends and family who came over to the house after the funeral were able to see the hawk as it readied itself for its first flight.
About a week or so later I started my work day without hearing the now familiar hawk cry. I looked up at the nest and the hawk was not there. A little later, I heard the cry and spotted the hawk and its mother in a nearby tree. Shortly afterward, the young hawk left the area in front of our home for good.
On a walk a day after the hawk left, I saw a large feather gently laying on the top of a small bush on the side of the path that I frequent when I walk our dog. I first walked past it but then returned and picked it up since it was so unusually placed - as though someone had left it there for me. Examining it, I suddenly recognized the distinct markings - it was a feather from the wing of the hawk! Amazing! But did something bad happen to the hawk? No, I would still occasionally see and hear the young hawk as I walked around the wooded area behind our neighborhood. It was a gift.
I think back now and do see birds throughout my dad’s life. His middle school teacher redirects his life by telling him, ‘birds of a feather, flock together’. After every Thanksgiving dinner, he would sing us a Hawaiian song about a sandpiper, and a Japanese fishing song that had a bird. Of course as an Air Force Colonel, the eagle is the rank's emblem.
Death
In the emergency room of the hospital where my dad died, we sat waiting as the medical staff sought to determine the cause of his abdominal discomfort and his low blood pressure. In the afternoon, a sequence of doctors and a surgeon came into the room to let us know that my dad had an ulcer that had ruptured in his stomach and that he was very sick. They needed to perform surgery immediately. Although uncomfortable, my dad was awake and making small talk with the medical staff who stopped by. The staff was a bit perplexed at his lack of discomfort and pain given the circumstances.
We made several phone calls to family so he could share some goodbyes before heading to surgery. His usually grand voice was now a whisper and at times difficult to understand. Following the calls, I asked my dad if he needed to pray and to say anything to the Lord. He told me, 'Every night as I'm lying in bed, I thank the Lord for my life, for the wonderful marriage to mom, and for you and Woody, for Liz and Don and each of my grandchildren. I ask Him to forgive me and I pray for each of you.'
As they wheeled him away for surgery, we kissed him and said goodbye. We could hear him making small talk to the nurses as they wheeled him down the hallway.
Nearly five hours later, Woody and I met with the surgeon in the now empty waiting area. My dad's surgery was the last to finish that evening. The surgeon didn't have good news. My dad was in sepsis and there was a lot of damage caused by the stomach acids in his body cavity. They had temporarily closed the incision but were needing to clean and assess him in a second surgery the following day. He told us that recovery would be long and arduous given he survives the surgeries and sepsis.
Liz and Don had secured the last two seats on a flight from Sacramento and were landing in San Antonio later in the evening. Woody and I continued waiting until we were told we could go up to the ICU to see my dad. The medical staff was so kind and thoughtful as they let us come in to be with him as they completed the transition from surgery. They typically only let one family member to visit under their normal COVID protocols. My dad looked peaceful as we spent a few moments with him, got a quick update from the ICU staff, and then left to pick Liz and Don up at the airport. From the airport, we went back so Liz could visit. Upon leaving, I left my phone number with the ICU nurse.
Around 3AM, Woody heard my phone and awakened me. It was the nurse and he wanted me to know that they had been increasing medication because my dad's blood pressure continued to be very low. After discussing it with the doctor, they decided it would be good to notify us. Upon hearing the update, we decided to go in so we woke up Liz and headed back to the ICU.
An ICU doctor and nurse were in the room when Liz, Woody and I arrived. The doctor and nurse let us know that he was stable but that they had been trying to address low blood pressures during the night. The nurse told us that they had just finished adjusting the medication that they were using to elevate his blood pressures and were now at the maximum dosage. We watched as the blood pressure readings on the monitors began to improve.
A half hour or so after the adjustment, my dad's blood pressure started to decline again. As the nurse checked and double checked all of the medical equipment being used to support my dad, you could sense the concern settling over him. We let him know that it was ok and that we knew that he was doing all that he could do. He told us there might be some other things that they could try. However, collectively, we understood that it was time. I told him that it was ok and how we appreciated his care and concern.
Liz, Woody and I gathered around his bed as death approached. We each had a moment to speak words of gratitude, thankfulness and assurance as my dad passed from this world. It was hard to believe that just over a day before this moment, he was enjoying a meal that brought back memories of his childhood.
Under His Wings
Upon meeting with the funeral director, we were faced with determining what to inscribe on the tombstone. We thought about some of the Japanese phrases that my dad would say and about some of his favorite songs but nothing really stood out to us.
When I awoke in the morning having fallen asleep thinking about what to inscribe, my dad's age, 91, was the first thing on my mind. I immediately thought of Psalm 91 because I am very familiar with the first two verses - my 'life scripture'. Then the month April, the 4th month, came to mind - the month that both my dad and my mother died. I wasn't familiar with the fourth verse of that Psalm so I turned to Psalm 91:4 and read the passage:
He will cover you with His pinions, And under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.
Psalms 91:4
As I considered the passage, I was amazed that it had a reference to birds. I immediately was reminded of a recurring conversation that I had with my dad over the last year. Many times he reflected on his life and how he was a blessed man. He would look back at the actions of General Kuter and General McGehee and tell me that someone was always looking after him. I reminded him that those men were only in his life for a short period. They weren’t there in the beginning and had long been gone from his life so they couldn't have been the source of his fortune. He agreed.
He spoke of his marriage and how grateful he was for my mom’s long life and the 64 years he shared together with his wife, the mother of his children, his only golf coach, and his true best friend. He looked at my sister and I and our spouses, his nine grandchildren, and great grandchildren and was so grateful for our lives. He would often comment on each grandchild and express something positive that he saw in each life, always overlooking any flaws.
What could possibly be the source of this blessing?
He expressed how he didn’t understand why he lived until 90 and why he was still here on earth. He pondered why he had lived longer than all of his parents and siblings.
One evening, after my dad again pondered his providence, I told him that I knew the source of his blessing. 'It is the Lord,' I said. 'He was the one who guided your path from Kauai. He was the one who guided you into a military career that brought Liz and I to a place where we could hear the gospel and experience His power and to be transformed. It was the Lord who gave me the opportunity to care for you and mom and to, in turn, bring this good news to her and now to you.' My dad pondered my response as he went to bed. Soon thereafter he told me that he agreed. He now understood his providence and why he lived as long as he did. He said he needed to hear what I had read to him from the Bible and to hear my stories, my testimony.
As the memory of that conversation and the words of the Psalm came together, I began to weep as I was flooded by its meaning. I had never understood how feathers and wings could be a source of refuge and a place of protection until having witnessed first hand all that the hawk endured to protect its young. 'Like the hawk, He was the one who covered and protected you. He was the one who provided you with a home and with shelter. He was the one who fed and nourished you. He was the one who kept you warm during those frigid days and nights. He was the one who blanketed you from the heavy snow and ice. He was the one who held you securely during the gale force winds. He was the one who kept you dry in the drenching rains. He was the one who shielded you from the pelting hail. He was the one who sheltered you from the blazing sun.'
Later that morning, I offered the idea about using that passage to my sister and she said that she had just read that Psalm. She looked back and found that Psalm 91 was her Bible reading the day that he died.
He will cover you with His pinions, And under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.
佳信
NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®
Copyright © 1960,1962,1963,1968,1971,1972,1973,1975,1977,1995 by THE LOCKMAN FOUNDATION
A Corporation Not for Profit
LA HABRA, CA
All Rights Reserved
http://www.lockman.org
© Copyright 2021, 2024, 2025 by Rick Murata. All Rights Reserved.