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Blogs by Maggie Bishop
Mom’s Most Handsome Man – Japan 1963 9/21/2008 6:23:42 AM
Military brats may relate to this. Mom met the most handsome man in her life because of me. It was my fault.
The Grant Heights base police had turned in my name as reported by witnesses. They said I was not injured but that she would have to report to the Base Commander in person. Dad was at work, thank goodness, so she’d have time to figure out how to defuse his response once she survived the interview. Us kids were nowhere around. Mom tried to confide her concerns to our maid, Toshio Namiki, but her English was not that good. Every housewife had a maid as a way of helping the post-WWII economy back when “made in Japan” was a slur against quality. Mom must have worried about what her favorite daughter (her only daughter) could have done to get the police involved. I wouldn’t harm anyone. The police said I wasn’t hurt. Could I have gone somewhere off limits? I couldn’t be inappropriately dressed. The boys were another story. They had been caught throwing lighted cherry bomb firecrackers on Japanese thatched roofs. Talk about dangerous!
Witnesses – they must have recognized me because I was a cheerleader at Camp Drake Junior High School and a soap box derby princess. My picture was in the paper often. Mom knew her fourteen year old daughter wouldn’t be bad, after all, I watched James Arnez speaking Japanese on Gunsmoke and laughed at “Poopie,” the Japanese pronunciation of Popeye. Even though I liked Leslie Gore more than her favorite, Frank Sinatra, she didn’t worry about my judgement. I rode my bicycle past the rice paddies to school at the base a few miles away and had never had a problem. My solo bus and train rides to downtown Tokyo to charm school each week had been adventurous but not note worthy to the police. I’d tell her about the tinny sound of the three-piece chindonya bands and the salty-sweet taste of o’sembe crackers.
Mom was 5'6" and trim. She sewed the form fitting stylish dresses in the early 60s and made circle skirts for me. Since the closets were smaller then, her choice of what to wear was limited. Hose and heels, of course. Women didn’t wear pants in public. Her hair was usually dark but I remember when she dyed it red, she swears it was only for one day.
The ladies in her Red Cross volunteer group and the NCO auxiliary had all talked about how good looking the base commander was. He out-shone Rock Hudson, his eyes were more compelling than Paul Newman’s, his carriage was Air Force perfect in his blue uniform.
Mom was ushered into the Base Commander’s office. Her thoughts about what I had done, about her hose seam being straight, about what her husband would say fled. The Commander extended his hand to shake hers when she heard him say, “Ma’am, I’d like to commend your daughter...” She raised her eyes to meet his...
Recipe that awakens strong memories in me ...
Taco night in the Bishop household was an all-out grab fest. I competed with four brothers and my parents to over-stuff the taco shells with spiced hamburger, lettuce, tomatoes, sauce, bell peppers and onions topped with grated cheddar cheese – sharp, of course.
The trick was to fill three at a time, have plenty of napkins at the elbow, then crunch away, disregarding the mess.
I seldom won the most taco’s eaten event but have won in the fond memory event.
