An Atomic Spark from a 1937 Yearbook

The Atomic Peace Dome, 1,500 yards from Dad’s high school.

The atomic bombing of Hiroshima left a spark – a spark which grew into universal forgiveness and kindness.  From that unbounded forgiveness and kindness came a 1937 high school yearbook from a school that no longer existed – but its soul survived intact and gloriously
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Dad is simply a very quiet man.  For every word he spoke, mom must have said a bazillion words.  No wonder he was quiet.  (You know, it may have been better to write “every word he tried to speak”.)

But this past Sunday, June 10, dad was a songbird in Spring…even though mom was there.

Dad was eighteen again and back in Hiroshima, riding the train to school with his friend Aoki.  Carefree.  Young.  After 75 years, Dad was looking through his high school yearbook he probably never saw.

How I got that yearbook from 1937 for Dad is a story of unbounded kindness and a love for peace – and driven by a unwavering desire to honor those that perished in Hiroshima.

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All Dad had said in the past was that he ran track in his high school days and that the school was called “Nichu”.  I thought it was a nickname.  He wasn’t enthusiastic to share much more.

I was determined to find out more of my Dad’s past he was keeping hidden.

In Dad’s shoebox: a Nichu High School Pennant flying for an athletic meet in 1937.

All I had to start with had been a 1930’s photo (above) of a pennant Dad had stashed away in a shoebox and a couple of class photos.  After some exploring, I figured out the Japanese symbol on the flag was a melding of “二” and “中”, or “Nichu”, the name Dad mentioned.

Researching in the Japanese language was an endeavor.   I finally came across a possible lead and sent a blind e-mail…  In spite of considerable odds, I received a reply from a man in Hiroshima.

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Mr. Akira Tsukamoto is a survivor.

In the waning days of the war, school children were put to work for their nation’s war effort in factories and fields.  That was their destiny.  Mr. Tsukamoto was one of those children.

Their teacher was Mr. Sekimoto; they had a nickname for him, “Mr. Pale”, because of his pale complexion.   The night before that fateful morning, Mr. Sekimoto had decided that it would be better for the class to tend a field and clear it of weeds.  Preparing the field for crops was more important than having class, he determined.  They would be in the northwest area of Hiroshima.

My two littlest kids standing in front of the Enola Gay in 2010.  I always viewed her as part of history.  Now I see a personal link.

Then came the morning and they were in the field while the other classes fatefully went to school.  Then they heard the familiar drone of B-29 engines.  They all saw what appeared to be three parachutes and a B-29 flying away.  One student recalls seeing something black in shape tumbling towards the earth.

There was a terrible blue and yellow flash.  A shock wave blew them down.  They covered their eyes and mouths as they had been trained.  But the heat from the blast was so searing, they could hear their skin and hair burning.

Their faces and bodies were burned on the left sides; in addition to searing pain, their skin slipped off.  All they could use was mashed raw potatoes as a salve.  It would take two months for their wounds to heal.  They say they were spared for a greater cause.

Mr. Tsukamoto’s story – translated into English – can be read here.  It is gripping and without malice.  Just kindness.

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Fast forward 67 years.  Mr. Tsukamoto – the child who was pulling weeds in a field – was the one who kindly responded to my blind e-mail.  It turns out he graduated after the war from the school that rose out of the ashes of Nichu.

He did not know me but his survivor’s heart – driven now for world peace and in honor of 300+ young classmates that perished – propelled him to our communicating.

After learning of my search for information on my father’s high school years, he found Ms. Tomoko Kanetou.  Ms. Kanetou is an administrative manager at Dad’s successor school.  Together, they tracked down an actual copy of dad’s yearbook from 1937.  It is the last copy in existence.  She conscientiously made high resolution scans of the 48 page yearbook and sent a CD to me here in the United States through my cousin Masako.

They did all this without pause.  For a complete stranger across the Pacific.  An American.  Just incredible.

In the middle picture is Dad’s track team with him at front row, center. Mr. Sekimoto, the one whose decision saved Mr. Tsukamoto, is in the bottom photo, standing next to the archer on the left.

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This past weekend, my oldest daughter hosted an early Father’s Day breakfast at her first home.  My father went through the yearbook I assembled page by page.  Not once.  Not twice…but for almost three hours during last Sunday morning.

He remembered the school song.  He said he was on their track team and won 1^st or 2^nd places in the 100m, 200m, broad jump and triple-jump.  He was even pictured, front and center, in Nichu’s track team yearbook photo (right).

Other pages struck me with disbelief and astonishment.  They gave a glimpse into life during the “pre-war” days in Hiroshima.  He talked about the influence of war on schooling.  That will be saved for a later story but further explains why his love and remembrances of his youngest brother are buried so deep in his hidden memories.

My ever-quiet father was not quiet that morning.  I have never heard him talk so much and for so long…  Truly an atomic spark from a 1937 yearbook.  All arising from a peace-fueled and unsolicited joint effort by complete strangers, Mr. Tsukamoto and Ms. Kanetou.  Perhaps they weren’t complete strangers after all.

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At day’s end with the yearbook… A smile the world’s supply of pistachios couldn’t buy.

In an earlier story, I praised old man Jack for being a giant in forgiving.

There are other giants in this world.

Mr. Tsukamoto, a survivor and Ms. Kanetou.

On behalf of my father, I thank you.