* The big part of this article was translated by using ChatGPT. Please note that there may be some awkward wordings.
I feel like the word “charisma” has been excessively misused in Japan. I sometimes wonder if there are actually very few individuals who truly embody this term.
This is something that happened over 20 years ago.
Back then, I often went to a nearby Japanese deli, which my friend K-san managed, to eat ramen. They also sold products from a bakery chain based in New Jersey.
Mr. S, the president of the bakery chain, passed away in the summer of 2008 due to a fire at his home in New Jersey while my spouse and I were back in Japan. Although we had only met a few times, his death was shocking, as he had been kind to me. This story takes place during the last time I saw Mr. S.
One day, K-san handed me someone’s business card. He said, “Mr. S heard from me that you’re a big fan. He asked me to give this to you.”
On the card, there was the name of this person, who was famous worldwide for his primary profession, but he was also well-known for being involved in various other businesses. I think it was around the time he frequently traveled between California, where he lived, and Japan. Apparently, he wanted to meet Mr. S because he had products he wanted to sell at Mr. S’s bakery.
I was genuinely happy that Mr. S cared about me, even though we had only met twice before. But after a few days, I started to think something like, “Now I have the business card, but what’s the point if I don’t get to see the guy in person…?” An extravagant thought crossed my mind.
About 2 or 3 months later, K-san told me, “Mr. S said you can meet the guy in person. They are planning to have a business meeting at the main store.” I don’t remember the exact date, but it was a Saturday, and my wife and I already had plans to go to Jones Beach on Long Island with church friends. From my home at the time, it took about 40 minutes by car to get to the bakery in Jersey, which was southwest, while Jones Beach was about an hour southeast. Completely different directions. Going from the bakery to the beach would take about an hour through Manhattan, which would be a hassle.
If I were to join my friends later, I could have managed to go to both places, but somehow, I didn’t feel right about waking up early on a Saturday morning and interrupting Mr. S’s meeting with his guest, only so that I could say “I finally met him”. The guy with whom Mr. S was meeting was such an important figure to me. I thought that if we really had a fateful connection or something, there should be another opportunity to meet and talk in the future. So I decided not to go.
However, on the morning of that day, my wife, who is quite curious, tried to persuade me to go to Jersey. I responded, “I’m the one who’s a fan, not you…” but she persisted, so I said, “Fine, you drive from the halfway point then.” Reluctantly, I agreed to go, and I didn’t bring a camera or any paper for autographs.
Though it was a bakery, the main store had several tables and was basically a café. As we parked and approached the glass-covered store, I could see four men sitting at a table, and one of them was unusually big. He stood out.
When we entered the store, Mr. S noticed us and came over, saying, “Please come and greet him.” Mr. S introduced me to the big man and another person associated with the bakery, as well as another guest from Japan who was also involved with the new product.
Since they were in the middle of a business meeting, I didn’t want to disturb them, so I just briefly greeted them, and my wife and I decided to have breakfast there. The area is basically like Koreatown, with many Korean signs, but there are also many Japanese people living there. Despite being in the middle of a meeting, the big man would wave to people who noticed and greeted him from outside the store.
By the time we finished eating, their meeting was over, and everyone stood up. He was indeed quite big, just as I thought. He turned in our direction and seemed like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t have a smile on his face and seemed hesitant to approach us. He didn’t have that aura I used to see on TV during my childhood; he was just a big man. Despite having retired for some time, I was impressed by how well-toned he still looked.
We happened to have eye contact, so I nodded, and I approached him to start a conversation.
“Actually, my wife and I know Dory Funk Jr.,” I said.
* In April 1999, Dory and his wife used to come from Florida to Connecticut to teach WWF wrestlers, and he found this website and reached out to me, and the four of us had dinner together in Stamford. It’s possible Dory has forgotten about it, but I’m sure his wife remembers.
When I told him that, he suddenly smiled, and we were able to talk for a few minutes.
After that, my wife and I rushed to go to Jones Beach. We didn’t take any photos together, and I didn’t get an autograph. But for some reason, I have no regrets.
Last night, on the way back home with my family, I received sad news. I started talking to my wife about what happened over 20 years ago, and I was in tears as I shared my feelings. I also thanked her for persistently persuading me to go to Jersey that morning, despite my initial refusal.
“I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to have a deep conversation, and I felt like we might meet again someday anyway, so I wasn’t too interested in going that time.”
“But maybe it’s good that you had just that one chance.”
After returning home, I sat on the sofa for a while, feeling exhausted. My child was next to me. Perhaps out of sadness, I blurted out, “Hey, let me give you a hug.”
I thought it might be uncomfortable for an 11-year-old approaching puberty if his father asked for a hug, so I tried to explain why I said that, holding back my tears. But my child willingly came over and hugged me.
While hugging him, I told him, “Find your hero while you’re still a kid. It could be a musician, an actor, a sports player, Jesus, a teacher at school, or anyone else you like.” I couldn’t bring myself to say, “Even your dad is fine,” though…
After all, I only saw his match live once and met him in person once. There’s no photo or autograph; all I have is the memory of that only face-to-face meeting which was brought by the “tofu bread”.
I feel like the word “charisma” has been excessively misused in Japan. I sometimes wonder if there are actually very few individuals who truly embody this term.
But Antonio Inoki is someone who truly fits that description.
He was going to be 80 in a few months.
This year is the 50th anniversary of New Japan Pro-Wrestling.
It was the day after his debut anniversary.
It may be insensitive, but there’s something about him that exudes “ism” in various ways.
Thanks to him for his numerous achievements.
Rest in peace…
