I was heartbroken to learn recently of the death of my good friend and mentor Kiyofuku Chuma.
I first met him in 1977 when he visited my mother, who occasionally hosted visitors of the state department. I had just graduated from college and was considering a career in journalism. Chuma-san had already been a reporter at Asahi Shimbun for 17 years. “Come work in Japan,” he said. “I will make all the introductions you need.” He was true to his word. When my wife Marie and I went to India a year later, he introduced us to the Asahi Shimbun correspondent in New Delhi who promptly invited us to a charming sitar concert at his home.
When I arrived in Tokyo to work as a correspondent for Business Week, Chuma-san introduced me to then Finance Minister Noboru Takeshita and I spent a memorable week following Takeshita around on the campaign trail and had dinner with his family. Chuma-san was patient with me as I tried to understand the complexities of Japanese politics. He was quite upset when I wrote a story about a yakuza boss’s involvement in the relief effort in Kobe. Chuma-san thought the story reflected too positively on the gangster. I don’t think I ever measured up to his high standards, but he was always generous with his time and counsel. And he was a warm and open-hearted man.
Chuma-san, he wife, his son and his daughter all became close friends to Marie and me. Marie exchanged English and Japanese lessons with Chuma-san and Marie spoke at his daughter’s wedding. Chuma-san and his wife once stayed with us in Seattle. And although we took him all over the state, Chuma always said his fondest memory of his visit was of walking to the abandoned schoolyard behind our house and picking blackberries that grew wild on the chain-linked fence. “They are so sweet,” he said. “They are just so sweet–and right in your backyard.”
Chuma-san was well regarded in the journalism world and became chair of Asahi Shimbun’s editorial board in 1994 and executive editor in 1999. Even after he retired from the Asahi Shimbun, he continued to work in journalism, taking a job as chief editor of the Shinano Mainichi Shimbun in Nagano Prefecture. It meant being away from his wife and grandchildren, but he said he enjoyed helping the local reporters improve their work.
Can it be that 38 years have passed since I met that gentle man in Oakland at my mother’s house. The last time Marie and I saw him, two summers ago, he took us to a very elegant Japanese restaurant where the sake and dishes kept coming for hours. I remember waving to him as Marie and I turned to catch our train. I felt a tug at my heart, and a strange premonition that I would not see him again. It was odd I had felt that way since it was his wife who had recently been sick not Chuma-san. Now he is gone and I feel a deep loss. It is a loss that feels greatly magnified because Chuma-san and his wife were such an important connection for me to Japan. But I am also reminded how few truly precious friends we have during our short lives and how important it is for us to treasure them while they are still with us.