A Tale of Fifty Seasons
Along the way a *lot* of new folks have begun reading my LiveJournal, both friends and strangers; and so it is that there are many here unfamiliar with some of the stories I've told along the way. As it seems half my friends have recently replied to the High School Meme, and stormfeather commanded us all to repost it (You! Yes, you. Yes, I'm looking straight at you, she wrote) I went to begin it and encountered the very first question: Who was your best friend (in high school)?
My best friend, then and now, remains Gauss (whom we last saw in this silly entry). Traditionally, however, that question means best friend beyond family. And while defining "best" is an extremely difficult thing (especially when one is as lucky to have close friends as incredible as my close friends) it is a far easier thing to define "oldest", especially when the two are one and the same. I met my best friend in high school literally within my very first few minutes *in* high school. And literally half a lifetime and halfway around the world later, I had the privelege of attending his wedding. :-)
And so today, on his birthday, is told one of the oldest, happiest, and first-told tales in my Journal, a tale which is familiar to many, but new to many more. The story of one of the best gentlemen I've ever had the privelege of meeting, and the oldest friend beyond family that I have. Not many folks are still best friends with their best friend from high school, especially sixteen years after they first met. But then, gentlemen like hoya99 don't come around every day.
This is that tale. Enjoy. :-)
It was the very beginning of fall, August 1991, in Tokyo. It was only my second time on the campus of the American School in Japan. (The first time had been in a driving typhoon.) It was only my second time at the place which was, beginning in a few days, to be my new school. The sticky heat hung over everything, but the cool air in the auditorium was a blessed relief, the coolness of the red plastic seating was even more so, when I settled down in one of the seats in the front.
The session was for new students; at an international school like ASIJ, that definition fit a significant percentage of the class every year. Everyone in the room was pretty much new to everyone else, in a friendly mood and ready to meet new folks. Hence, when another gentleman sat down next to me, a big, well built Irishman wearing a Boston Celtics cap and glasses, handshakes were quickly exchanged.
- turnberryknkn, I introduced myself.
hoya99, he introduced himself back with a warm, friendly smile.
A few hours later, the welcome from the principal was, well, the standard welcome from the principal. Soon enough it broke off. We all had a few hours to explore the place before the buses would return me to Shibuya-ku, a district of downtown Tokyo. John lived in Ogikubo, a suburb between where the school's virtual countryside location and the heart of Tokyo. We were strolling the hallways with another friend we had met that day. And the conversation... well, it was wide ranging. And quite unique. It was pretty obvious quickly that we both had a particular sense of humor and a casual disregard for sanity. :-)
He had many interests -- American History and historical novels, ornithology, Boston sports teams (of whose poor performance was a source of constant frustration to him) and these made fertile ground for our first conversations... and those to come.
Early winter in Tokyo was, I believe, the best time of year there -the air cool and crisp, the winds from the moutains blowing the oppressive heat and smog out to sea, revealing a brilliant blue sky. The night still had no stars, for the lights of the city were too bright to allow that. But surely the stars were up there, watching as we screamed like maniacs. Screamed and cheered and hugged and pumped fists and danced happy little jigs in the concrete courtyard of Seisen International School, celebrating wildly the end of a long Debate season..and celebrating that we, at the end of it, stood alone on top.
Both hoya99 and I were on the debate team all our three years there. The poring over magazine articles and clipping little factoids onto vast reams of 3x5 cards, the debating and counter-debating and preparing. Then on the day racing out of class and running like madmen, duffel bags packed with cards and books to catch the first of the series of perfectly timed trains until we reached Yoga station, four different train lines in a row far to the Southeast. Monopolizing a suite of tables at a local McDonalds, sucking down cokes and fries while putting the last touches on the day's strategy. Brownies in weekend prep sessions and getting silly from glue fumes at 3 in the morning...
And there we as a team danced and cheered and celebrated in the courtyard of the school hosting the tournament, our victory at hand. All that work, paid off. He smiled. I smiled. We embraced like brothers. Surely next year St. Mary's and Yokota and Seisen and all the others would return to try to knock us off. But it would be ours to lose. And as our little group's cheers rose into the night, the snow began to fall, gently, gently.
Winter turned to spring, and before we knew it our last days at ASIJ drew to a close. At the Fuchu City Hall, the huge new auditorium the local city had, we gathered as a class one last time to march across the stage, and into the future. After the ceremony, everyone gathered in a pell-mell reception upstairs, to hug, to take pictures, to make farewells. It was a time of exhultation and a little sadness, for most were leaving very soon for college in the United States, all across the United States.
I'm at the far left of that picture; hoya99 to my right. That was June, 1994.
And this was June 1995. John and I, together again, after his first year at Georgetown and mine at Northwestern's BS/MD, tearing through the moonless darkness of Nogawa park, the huge patch of woods and hills just around ASIJ. Making a wide arc around our opponents in hopes of flanking them with our superior firepower. 'Stalking' was the name we gave it, the hunt across the wide territories with massive water guns. The crouching in gullies, the flattening ourselves up on hillsides, peeking over the top as the other team darted across a clearing between tree groups in the distance. The roar of your blood in your ears as you squatted, weapon at the ready, mentally willing the enemy scout in front of you to stay dumb for just a few steps closer so you could hose him into next week. John and I made an excellent team -- the one rushing out in front of a group, the second to ambush the same group as they pursued the first.
That last summer of ours in Tokyo, a group of us went into the mountains, to the great shrine at Nikko. Nikko Toshogu was built in 1616 as the final resting place of Ieyasu Tokugawa, the unifier of Japan. It's natural and architectual beauty is such that the Japanese have a saying, paraphrased as 'Do not die before seeing Nikko.' We hiked over lacquer covered bridges; across fitted stone plazas; through cedar-paneled and gold-leafed pavillions. I remember Alex the Sweede and hoya99 stopping at every charm shop to purchase yet another traditional Shinto charm ("Hey, this one is for good luck driving! Score!"); over carpets of pine needles beneath high mountain vistas. Ieyasu had intended this place to be a small bit of the beauty of Heaven incarnate upon the earth, and certainly it was beautiful. It marked a fitting farewell to Japan, to many things.
Summer became fall, fall became winter. The years passed. Soon it was March of 1996. It was spring break, and I had come to Ann Arbor to stay with my Aunt and Uncle, and to finalize my long studying for the Medical College Admissions Test (the famed MCAT). hoya99 had come to visit a mutual friend we had here. We agreed to meet in front of the Taubman Medical Library --the only point on the U. Michigan Campus I knew well at that point.
We picked right up where we had left off --at the Pizza restaurant, our conversation, focusing on swapping medical war stories. We hiked around the vast campus, getting hopelessly lost on a number of occassions ("Great, so this pathway ends up here, fifty feet up from whre we want to go and no way down...how did we end up on this parking deck? And how do we get off?")
Eventually, we ended up crossing the great central campus Quad, at the heart of which is a brick plaza, and at the center of that a great brass "M" inlaid in the center. Our mutual friend then stopped us to take the time to tell us the great tradition regarding the M --the superstition, why people went out of their way to avoid stepping on it. It was said that if one was unfortunate enough to do so, one would fail their next blue book exam, she noted.
hoya99 and I looked at each other. He was at Georgetown. I was at the BS/MD at Northwestern, and was unlikely to be successful in applying to another medical school, the competition being as tough as it was, and so most likely to stay there. In short, we both were immune to this ancient curse...
He grinned. As did I. And we both proceeded, to the amusement/weird looks of passerby, to stomp, up and down, upon the brass M with impunity.
Ironically, of course, by sheer luck, I *did* somehow manage the miracle of getting into Michigan. And mercifully, managed to get back out again without being struck down by the curse...
Fall, 1999. Along a canal in Washington DC we walked, he still at Georgetown, finishing his undergraduate work before pursuing education policy at GW; I on an afternoon off from a medical meeting. It was still just like old times, still the conversation every bit as eclectic, as silly, as it had been for years --as it had been in the first afternoon we had met. We wandered through Georgetown; we watched the airplanes fly over the Potomac, we enjoyed each other's company.
Postcards from the Purple Line
La Dolche Vita
Custos: The Shape of Things to Come
Many times in the years since we've had the chance to visit each other. I in my many trips to Washington DC on scientific or activist business. He as he came through Detroit and made the trip out to Ann Arbor for a morning or evening.
There have been many changes in that time. Not the least of which that, after years of faithfully rooting for his Boston home sports teams -- and us in High School giving him endless good-natured grief over them -- the New England Patriots won multiple Superbowls and even his beloved Boston Red Sox finally broke the curse of the Bambino and took it all.
We've both advanced along in our careers -- he beating me to the doctoral finish line by three days -- had many adventures, made many new friends. Many of those happy stories you've had the chance to read about here in this Journal, including the stories told above. Along the way, I've been lucky enough to have had the chance to introduce hoya99 to many of my own friends. One of them was texas_tiger...
I know it is not common for one to still be close with friends one had back in high school, closing in on two decades from graduation. But I have been very, very lucky in my life, not the least of which is in finding friends truly steadfast and loyal. I tend more often than not to have friends who stick for the long haul; and longest of all hoya99.
So a toast; to my best friend from high school; a toast to a scholar and a gentleman, one of the best men I've ever had the privelege of meeting. A toast to my friends, the groom hoya99 and his radiant bride-to-be, texas_tiger. Cheers and kekkon omedeto, my friends. :-)
- This story continues in Deep in the Heart of Texas.