A Walk Around Zama in April
In April 1997 I was fortunate enough to spend my vacation in Japan. A long time ago, I promised my mom that someday, when I start making enough money I'll go back to Japan and take her with me. Well, I still don't make enough money, but 15 years seemed to me quite long enough. So we went anyway. We left L.A. flying a big ol' Japan Airlines 747 - me, my mom, my wife Beth, and a suitcase full of omiyage from Texas for my relatives and friends. We spent the first week in Okinawa, which is where my mom is from. I'll have to write a little essay about that some other time. For the second week of the vacation, we came to Japan and stayed in various places, but mainly at the house of Mrs. Toshiko New who really went out of her way to make our stay comfortable. It was on a cloudy Saturday morning that Mrs. New dropped Beth and me off at Zama's main gate. It was just about cherry blossom time, but they were still a few days away from their peak.
My first destination was my old home away from home, the Zama Gym. You know, one of the really weird things about growing up somewhere and leaving it behind for half your life (and there are a bunch of folks out there who may relate to this, and not just army brats) is that you are really relieved to find that what you remember really existed. That phenomenon is further aided when things don't change one bit. That gym is STILL the same run-down looking, dusty old joint it used to be.
The baseball field around back looked as though the Smithsonian Institution had been assigned the duty of preserving it down to the finest detail in the condition it was back in the 70's, although it wouldn't surprise me terribly if older alumni can attest to an even earlier date.
Next, we headed for the Zama pool. Again, I was relieved to see that it too had not changed at all. As a young'un, I used to take the seed balls off those old sycamore trees and throw them as hard as I could against the trunk. The seed ball would explode, and since the ends of the seeds are fairly sharp and hard, there would be a bunch of seeds imbedded in the bark at the point of impact. Yes, I was a simple lad, easily amused by the wonders of nature. I'm sorry to report that the sycamore trees in Texas do not provide the same level of amusement.
We continued walking in the general direction of Zama High, and passed by what used to be Zama bowling alley (now a teen center). Being a shutter bug, I had to stop by the crafts shop to check out the dark room. Ironically, I didn't take any pictures there.
After walking past the motor pool and auto crafts shop, Zama High came into view. Wait a minute, what is that building doing in the parking lot? Well apparently they put the middle school there. I'd heard about that, but I had to see it to believe it. Anyway, here's a picture of the ol' alma mater:
I'd heard from other friends who have made the pilgrimmage that the front office didn't take too kindly to old alumni dropping in and being let loose to walk the halls. Compounding that, it was Saturday, so I didn't have much hope of ever seeing the inside of the building. So I just figured I'd orbit the building and mush my face against the windows and catch a glimpse of the forum, where we'd have the spirit week yell-offs and dances, or the biology class where us wrestlers would hock loogies in the trash cans (after taking out the trash bags and putting them on), do push-ups, clip our nails, pick our noses, etc. in order to lose those last couple of ounces to make weight.
As I was re-living those golden memories from window to window, I couldn't help but be a bit disappointed at being so close, but so far. Then the miracle happened. One of the doors was cracked open. "Well hell, I'm goin' in there!" As I approached the door I noticed a couple of people in there and I hesitated for a moment, then I recognized one of the people as none other than Mr. Smith, the art teacher. I stuck my head in the door, and introduced myself. "Aren't you Mr. Smith? I'm John Bishop's brother!" (I never took any of Mr. Smith's classes, so invoking Mr. ZHS 1982's name and associating it with me was a safe bet) To my relief, Mr. and Mrs. Smith welcomed us in and even allowed us to have a look around. This was almost too good to be true.
