When I was a child, I lived with my parents in what is now Kyobashi 1-chome, Chuo Ward. At the time, Takashimaya Nihonbashi was still located in Kyobashi, and my father ran the Takashimaya employee cafeteria. My house was on the west side of Chuo-dori (then the streetcar street), near Tokyo Station, and Takashimaya was on the east side. Every evening, I would take a bath, change into a kimono, and go to the front of Chuo-dori to pick up my father. As an only child, I grew up quite selfish, but my mother was strict, and before I started elementary school, she made me write all 50 hiragana and katakana characters every day.

In 1929, an airship called a Zeppelin arrived from Germany. On August 25th of that year, my father passed away at the age of 44 due to the aftereffects of surgery for sinusitis. It was impossible for my mother and I to live in Tokyo. I was in the fourth grade of elementary school, but we decided to move in with my mother's parents in Fujishiro, Ibaraki Prefecture, and I transferred to Fujishiro Elementary School.

My mother's family in Ibaraki were part-time farmers, and my uncle worked for the Japanese National Railways, while the rest of the family worked in agriculture. My aunt was a very kind person, and she loved me, both in the shade and in the sun. I thought she was such a kind aunt, and I was raised peacefully with my five cousins.

My kind aunt suddenly died of acute heart failure in March of the same year I was in sixth grade, while sleeping next to my infant cousin. I was so saddened by her death that I cried my eyes out. My relatives, uncles and aunts who had gathered at the funeral, saw me and whispered to each other, "After all, our parents are different." Suspicious, I questioned my cousin, and for the first time I learned that when I was little, I had been adopted by my aunt, my father's younger sister.

The person I thought was my mother was actually my aunt, and the kind aunt who had passed away was actually my mother...

The five people I had thought of as cousins were actually my older brothers and sisters. My world became pitch black. I even felt resentful towards my adoptive parents, who had completely ignored my wishes and separated me from my parents and siblings. I wanted to get away from them as soon as possible and become independent.

For this reason, I decided to give up on going to junior high school, which I had planned to attend, and instead consider moving to Tokyo to become independent as soon as I graduated from sixth grade of elementary school. My homeroom teacher at the time was Mr. Haneda Michiru. He enthusiastically encouraged me, saying, "To enter the society of the future, elementary school alone is not enough. If you are not going to junior high school, then at least study two years of upper elementary school." Thanks to Mr. Haneda's enthusiasm, I decided to study for two years of upper elementary school.

Dr. Haneda is the doctor who gave me the first Soken B-type flu vaccine 20 years ago. He used to say, "I have a weak stomach and won't live long," but now, at over 90 years old, he is still thriving and enjoying life. Without this doctor, I don't think I would have the life I have today.

The sudden death of my biological mother completely changed my personality. I went from being an extremely cheerful person to a pensive, introverted child. I often wished I could die and be by my kind mother's side. With a flag in hand, my first-grade teacher at upper elementary school, shown on the far right in the second row from the top, was Mr. Teranishi Ryosetsu, who had been raised as the son of a Buddhist monk. This teacher, who had been watching over me kindly when I was feeling down, took me for a walk along the banks of the Kokai River one day after school.

I told him about the pain I had been harboring and my desire to die. The teacher nodded as he listened to me and said, "You only think about yourself and don't give any thought to the feelings of those around you. Your parents adopted you because they thought you would be happier as an only child with your aunt than with many siblings, so I'm sure your adoptive mother raised you with care. I'm sure your siblings also wished you happiness. It's a huge mistake to think that you're the only one who's unhappy without considering the feelings of those people. There are countless people in the world who are more unfortunate than you. Don't think about dying, think about living. Live, live, and live to the end and devote yourself to others. Live for others rather than for yourself."

I believe that the kind words of my teachers greatly changed the course of my life. I am truly blessed to have such wonderful teachers, Mr. Toru Haneda and Mr. Ryosetsu Teranishi.

Episode 2: Understanding the origins of business

In March 1934, I graduated from Fujishiro's high school.

At that time, I wanted to work in a job that involved creating things.

However, my adoptive mother wanted me to work, so I decided to take the entrance exam for Takashimaya, where my late adoptive father had worked, and moved to Tokyo. When I arrived in Tokyo, I was looked after by a fishmonger called "Tamba-ya" in Narihirabashi, Mukojima, who was a relative of my adoptive father's. There were only a few days until the Takashimaya entrance exam, and I felt bad about relying on them for fun, so I decided to help out at the fishmonger's shop.

The owner's husband was ill and went to recuperate with the children and grandmother, leaving the shop to be run by his wife and the husband's younger brother. The aunt was around 40 years old, and the husband's younger brother (Kane-chan) was 25. He started training at another shop at the age of 15, spent five years training there, and has been back home for five years now. He was at an age where he had confidence in his skills as a fishmonger, and the flounder platters and other dishes he prepared were so beautiful they could be considered works of art.

The division of labor was as follows: Kane-chan would do the early morning shopping and run errands to about 100 houses, while his wife was mainly in charge of the store. When it got busy in the evenings, they would both go out to the store. I was tasked with running errands and helping out in the store. The fishmonger was a cute little guy in a navy blue thigh-high trousers, a belly coat, and a half-length jacket. Kane-chan did the long route of running errands, while I went around the nearby areas. We took orders in the morning, made them, and delivered them from around 3pm. In the evenings, we would deal with customers who came to the store, and at night we would clean up and polish the two large plain wood refrigerators. It was a demanding day and night.

However, during this time, I learned how to cook fish. I think I was able to teach my body that humans can do anything if they put their mind to it.

In September 1934, I was unable to join Takashimaya, so I received leave from the fishmonger I had worked for and returned to Ibaraki. Around that time, a relative living in Kawasaki asked me if I wanted to work as a live-in employee at a sanitary materials factory. I had always wanted to work in a manufacturing job, so I decided to work at the factory. The owner of the sanitary materials factory was the nephew of the former president of Hakujuji, and his wife owned a shop and ran a thread shop. I lived in the thread shop at the president's home and commuted to the sanitary materials factory next door. The factory consisted of three workers. We purchased materials from the parent company, Hakujuji, and made absorbent cotton, gauze, and bandages, which we sold wholesale to pharmacies in the Keihin area. At the factory, I began tasks such as folding and packaging absorbent cotton and gauze, and wrapping, cutting, and packaging bandages.

I was very dexterous and within a month I was able to do the job properly. Everyone in the factory was older than me, so I was well-liked and it was a really fun place to work.

Sales was my husband's specialty. He got sick from cycling around the Keihin area, doing everything from taking orders to making deliveries, so I started helping out with sales two months after joining the company. We rode our bikes to a wide range of locations, from Hakusanshita in Bunkyo Ward in Tokyo to customers in Honmoku in Yokohama. It was tough on rainy or windy days, but after we finished delivering, we would run around taking errands so that the deliveries would arrive early in the morning when the store opened.

The hard part was increasing sales. I would find pharmacies with a lot of customer traffic and help out in the afternoons. I would wait in front of the store and help out if customers needed something that was displayed outside so that the pharmacist wouldn't have to go outside. After about three days of helping out, I received a small order on my way home, like 10 cotton balls or 10 bandages.

Once we received an order, our products were good and our prices were low, so we continued to receive orders. By helping customers in this way, whether it was hot or cold, we expanded our customer base.

What is the customer looking for? Put yourself in their shoes and help them. If you do your job with this mindset and with all your heart, you will touch their heart.

That has always been the case, and I think there will always be a reaction from customers.

Episode 3: The joy of being entrusted with a job

I was in charge of sales at a sanitary materials factory in Kawasaki when a new challenge came my way. The husband I was having breakfast with complained that he couldn't see the bars of the shoji screen very well. His wife took him to a nearby eye doctor, who told him that the problem had something to do with his internal organs and that he should be taken to a larger hospital, so we had him admitted to Keio Hospital in Shinanomachi. I have no way of knowing what was done at the hospital, but the husband passed away on the third day of his hospitalization.

After the funeral, there was a family meeting, and it was decided that his wife's thread shop would remain open, but the sanitary materials factory would be closed and all employees would resign. His wife asked me if I would stay on and help out at the thread shop, but I didn't want to end up just being an apprentice at the shop, so I apologized and declined. When I returned to Fujishiro after a year, my aunt in Ichikawa (my adoptive mother's cousin) asked me if I would like to help out at her stationery shop.

My uncle in Ichikawa had a large stationery store in front of Kokubu Elementary School; he sold textbooks with two employees, while my aunt ran the store by herself. They had no children, and adopted a daughter, so they lived as a family of three with their young child. My aunt said, "I'm exhausted from running the store and raising my child. I'll leave the store to you, so would you mind taking care of it?" There are apparently a thousand students at the elementary school, and there is only one stationery store. I thought this would be a worthwhile job, so I decided to help out. My adoptive mother was against it, saying, "Helping out a private store is a bit much," but she agreed to my earnest request, provided that I could do it for a while.

At the time, Kokubu was located beyond the townscape of Ichikawa Station on the Japan National Railways line, across a rice field, and felt even more remote than my hometown, Fujishiro. My aunt's store was quite large, and in addition to stationery, she sold sweets, bread, rice crackers, kuzumochi (kuzu mochi), and even ramune (sweet soda). During school breaks and after school, children would flock in droves. From the day I arrived at my aunt's house, I began my battle with the throngs of children. There was such a wide variety of stationery items that it was difficult just to remember the prices. Students would flock in during school breaks, and then quickly disappear after recess, each picking up a coin of 1, 2, 5, or 10 sen. Even so, sales were around 10 yen each day, so I was dealing with a huge number of customers.

My aunt gradually stopped helping out at the store, only lending me a hand during her lunch break when the store had the most customers, and she left everything from purchasing to sales management to me. Looking at the daily sales figures and purchase ledger, I saw that despite how busy the store was, the profit margin was low, with profits only reaching 10-20%. At that time, all purchasing was done by delivery. Stationery and sweets were delivered by a delivery man. I guess it couldn't be helped, since my aunt was running the store alone.

When I told my uncle about this, he told me that before he started working on textbooks, he would go to wholesalers in Kuramae for stationery and in Kanaitocho for sweets. I asked him to show me around the stationery and sweets wholesalers. In the afternoons when I had free time, I asked my aunt to look after the store, and I started going around to the wholesalers by bicycle.
Up until now, when I'd had products delivered and purchased, there had never been anything less than 80%. However, when I purchased from the wholesale district, there were only 50% and even some less than 50%. What made me even happier was that there were lots of new products that I thought children would want. Naturally, the profit margin visibly improved, and new and interesting products piqued children's curiosity, leading to a steady increase in sales. With higher profits, I could give them extra gifts, which made the children even happier.

It's fun to be entrusted with a task and given responsibility. I learned that if I put my body into action and proactively give customers what they want, I can make them happy and increase profits.

Episode 4: Become the best engineer in Japan

市川で叔母の文房具屋をお手伝いしていたときは、毎日がとても楽しかったです。商品を仕入れるため、蔵前や錦糸町まで自転車をこいでくのは大変でしたが、商売が面白くて仕方ありませんでした。

そんなある日、叔母さんが改めて話しがあるというのです。藤代にいる養母から手紙があり私をどこか堅いところに、勤めさてほしいということでした。「叔父さんのお兄さんが、逓信省の電話局関係に勤めている。その人にお願いしてみるから、電話局の試験を受けてみないか」と、叔母さんは切り出しました。私は「ようやく、商売の面白さが分かってきたところだから、このまま文房具屋で働かせてもらいたい」とお願いしました。
しかし、私の養母に最初から無理を言ってお願いしたのだから、試験を受けなければ藤代に帰ってもらうというので、昭和11年の6月、東京・赤坂の三会堂（アメリカ大使館前）で逓信省の試験を受けることになりました。紹介してくれた人が良かったのか、まもなく東京逓信局の東京工事局というところから、合格通知が届きました。6月22日から、私に赤坂電話局へ出勤せよとのことです。私は前の晩から「お腹が痛い」と言って、食事もしないで寝ておりました。翌朝早く、叔母がまくらもとにやって来ました。「こうちゃん仮病を使っても駄目。今日出勤しないなら、すぐに藤代へ帰すから」と釘をさされ、私はしぶしぶ赤坂電話局へと出勤しました。腹が痛いと言った手前、晩と朝の食事は、まったく口にしていません。赤坂電話局の近くにあった弁当屋で、2食分まとめて食べたのも、今となっては懐かしい思い出です。

こうして、いやいやながら入社した逓信省でしたが、新しい生活に順応することの早い私は、浅草の菊屋橋にあった富川さん（市川の叔父さんのお兄さん。その当時は浅草電話局の空気調整関係の責任者）のお宅に同居させていただき、赤坂電話局の自動電話交換機の技術者として育っていきました。

給料は日給月給制。1日が85銭、1カ月で25円50銭でしたが、養母からお小遣いをもらわないで、独立した生活ができる日を迎え、生活にも張りが生まれてきました。私が逓信省に入社して、赤坂電話局に技工見習として配属されたころ、担当する機械室は200坪くらいの広さがありました。一般のお客様を収容するＡ型自動交換機と、逓信局の構内自動交換機とで、それぞれ機械室の半分くらいを占めていました。その外に別室があって、逓信局の手動交換台を保守するのが、私の担当業務です。

逓信局工事課から派遣された最高責任者は、赤坂局試験掛担当で、技師の吉川武雄と言いました。そこから試験、機械、電力、線路などの部署に分かれています。私の所属した機械関係を統率する人を取締役といい、星野七次さんがその任についていました。星野さんは人格円満、極めて温厚な方で、私たち見習にも、慈父のように接してくださいました。機械室内の自動交換機や、手動交換台のすべてに精通し、何を聞いても即座に教えて下さいます。私は、何と素晴らしい人なのだろう。おそらく、星野さんこそが日本一の技術者で、神様みたいな人だと思いました。

私は、これからの人生で目標にするのは星野さん、この人から吸収できるものはすべてを吸収し、自動電話交換の技術者として、日本一になろうとひそかに決意しました。

それからの私は、その目標に向かってひたすら努力しました。10代のころ、星野さんのような人に出会えたことが、私を自動電話交換技術者として、大きく育ててくれたのだと思います。

Episode 5: The words that have continued to support me

In 1936, I joined the Ministry of Communications' Construction Bureau and worked at the Akasaka Telephone Office, but I was still an apprentice technician. To be permanently hired, I had to complete the Technical Training School at the Ginza Telephone Office with the recommendation of my superiors. Thanks to my extra effort in my daily work, I was able to enter the Ginza training school in just one year, even though I was the youngest person hired at the same time.

There were 50 other students who entered the training school at the same time. We began our rigorous four-month training. We studied from 8am to 5pm. Excluding a one-hour lunch break, we had a solid eight hours, but we were able to study while still getting paid, so every day was a lot of fun. We learned everything from the basics of electricity to magnetic switching systems, common-power switching systems, and Type A automatic switching systems, and we steadily gained knowledge, like blotting paper absorbing water.

The director of the Technical Training Institute was Engineer Fujii. During the talk, he spoke in a very passionate tone, and there was one thing that stuck in my mind: "Currently, there are many problems with telephones in our country. Applications are collected and only those who are selected by lottery are installed. This is no good. We need to be able to install telephones as soon as an application is made. This is our first goal. My second goal is that my parents live in a remote area of Kyushu, and when they need to call long distance, they can't get through. This makes the telephone useless. We want a telephone that connects immediately when you dial, so that you can say hello to your parents before going to bed each night. This is the ideal telephone we are striving for. We must make sure that these things are implemented in your generation." This was in 1937.

As you know, the current NTT has far surpassed the goals and ideals I had at the time. This is how I took my first steps into the workforce. At the time, I was living in a boarding house in Kasumicho, near Roppongi, and when I graduated from the Technical Training School and was officially hired, my monthly salary was 34.5 yen. I ate my fill in the cafeteria, and my monthly food expenses were about 11 yen, and a custom-made poplin shirt cost 1.5 yen, so I was able to live comfortably on my salary.

At the time, there were many talented seniors at the Akasaka Telephone Office where I worked. Most of them attended night school and made great efforts to improve themselves. Near my boarding house lived a senior named Yamauchi Jiro, who was from Niigata. Yamauchi was an incredibly hard worker, having passed the vocational school qualification exam by himself. Yamauchi took a liking to me, and he often invited me to his boarding house. I received instruction late into the night, treated to treats like mandarin oranges and dried sweet potatoes.

Furthermore, for me, who sought knowledge like blotting paper in the areas of mathematics, physics, and electricity, the books I borrowed from Yamauchi-senpai were as precious as treasures. Whenever I opened the cover of the book I borrowed, there was always the following written on the back: "He who does not overcome himself, how can he not overcome others?" These words left a strong impression on me as a boy. As a self-studying student, Yamauchi-senpai must have sometimes felt sleepy and sometimes wanted to play. I imagine that at those times, he would have glared at the words on the back of the cover, overcoming all temptations and studying diligently.

Yamauchi-senpai eventually contracted tuberculosis, a disease that was said to be incurable. He was hospitalized at Edogawa Hospital, coughing up blood, and passed away while still holding my hand. The words "He who cannot overcome himself, how can he not overcome others?" were deeply engraved in my heart.

I still keep the words of this senior in my heart. It is no exaggeration to say that the words "If you cannot overcome yourself, how can you overcome others?" have always been a great support in my life, whether it was during my time in the military, when I was on the brink of death, my eldest son's battle with an illness from which there was no hope of recovery, my wife's four recovery surgeries, or the long-running clinical trials.

My life from now on will not be smooth either. However difficult the path may be, I want to continue walking forward with these words as my support.

Episode 6: War and My Foster Mother's Smile

After graduating from the technical training center and being hired permanently, I diligently studied Type A automatic switching systems under Director Hoshino at the Akasaka Telephone Office where I worked. I actively attended all available training courses. In the machinery department, I gained a reputation for being second only to Director Hoshino in ability to do anything. My skills as an engineer were so well-recognized that when the Ministry of Communications' switchboard broke down, the switchboard manager nominated me to help. In 1940, at the age of 20, I took the conscription examination in Ibaraki Prefecture, my home state. I passed the first-class examination and was accepted into the Aviation Communications Training Corps, established in Nagaoka Village, outside Mito City, on March 1 of the following year. Five years had passed since I left my adoptive mother's care. I had grown somewhat since I was obsessed with getting away from her and becoming independent as soon as possible. The Sino-Japanese War had also begun, and once I joined the military, I didn't know where I would be sent. My life was probably not guaranteed. If I died like this, I would have failed to do anything for the adoptive mother who raised me. I decided to commute from Ibaraki to Akasaka to live with my adoptive mother, even if it was just for a year before I enlisted. I also wanted to pretend to be a good son before joining the military. With this in mind, I left my boarding house, returned to my childhood home in Fujishiro, Ibaraki Prefecture, and decided to work at the Tokyo telephone office. At the time, the Joban Line had not yet been electrified, and locomotives still belched smoke. I took the train from Fujishiro to Ueno, the national train from Ueno to Shimbashi, and walked from Shimbashi to Akasaka every day. My commute was two and a half hours, and the same on the way home, but she would always skip dinner and have something ready for me. Meals with my adoptive mother were always fun. On weekends, I helped out on the farm with my adoptive mother, and I still remember the taste of the rice balls we ate together as a family. What made me happiest was seeing my adoptive mother's smile every day. Before I knew it, it had become my purpose in life. The day before I was to enlist as an active soldier had finally arrived. After paying my respects at Kumano Shrine in the shrine forest and greeting the local residents who had come to see me off, I headed for Mito. My eldest brother agreed to see me off until I enlisted, and we spent the night at a designated farmhouse in Nagaoka Village. It was my first and last trip with him in 20 years of life. Around the time I was deployed to Burma, he was drafted into the navy and killed in action on Mindanao Island in the Philippines. The cup of sake we shared at the farmhouse in Nagaoka became our farewell cup. The Aviation Communications Training Unit I enlisted in originally originated from the First Aviation Communications Regiment in Xinjing, Manchuria. It was too cold for training in Manchuria, and there was a need to train a large number of aviation communications soldiers to accommodate the expansion of the air force, so a new unit was established in Nagaoka Village, outside Mito City. Although the barracks were new, everyone—from the unit commander, company commander, training instructors, and veteran soldiers—was selected from Manchuria and moved to Mito. The Kwantung Army's spirit was incredible. The regiment commander was Colonel Miyamura Nobuyuki, the commander of the 5th Company was Captain Hama Kinuemon, and the internal affairs squad leader was Sergeant Miki Tadataka. The squad consisted of a squad leader, four veteran soldiers, and 20 new recruits. Only the first two days passed without incident. On the afternoon of the third day, one of us was late to training, and that night, during roll call to confirm the end of the day, everyone was slapped by the squad leader. From that night on, it seemed like a day without a slap wasn't enough, and with each passing day, the inside of our cheeks became thicker than the skin on our heels. At that point, a slap didn't seem like a big deal, and I realized how amazing training is. We were busy with drills, sending and receiving signals, practicing signal tone, taking turns on meal duty, and running around doing everything from gun maintenance to laundry, but we grew stronger and stronger every day.

Episode 7: Crying at the Love of My Foster Mother

He enlisted at the Aviation Communications Training Unit in Mito and was initially scheduled to undergo six months of training.
However, the war escalated rapidly, and it was decided to move forward to Manchuria by about a month. As the final stage of my training, I was scheduled to participate in exercises in Kashiwa City in mid-July. Once the exercises were over and I was transferred to Manchuria, I would never see my adoptive mother again. On the way to Kashiwa, I passed Fujishiro Station, where my parents live. My father works at Fujishiro Station. I somehow managed to get my adoptive mother to come and visit me that I was going to Manchuria through my father, so I wanted to say my final goodbyes. I immediately wrote my adoptive mother a letter. "I'm on my way to exercises in Kashiwa City. After the exercises, I will be leaving for Manchuria at the end of the month. There is no guarantee of survival in Manchuria, so I would like to see you one last time and say goodbye," I wrote, and wrapped it in a white handkerchief along with a stone.
On the day I was heading to training, I passed the familiar Fujishiro Station. As I passed through the station, I dropped the letter I had prepared out the toilet window. When my father found it, I saw him walk over to me. I felt sorry for having done this alone, but at the time, I felt a stronger desire to see my adoptive mother one more time and express my gratitude. On the first Sunday after returning from training in Kashiwa, I received an invitation to a visit. My adoptive mother was waiting for me at the visiting room. She told me that the levee of the Kokai River between Fujishiro Station and the neighboring Sanuki Station had broken, causing water to enter the area and causing a section of the Joban Line to be closed. As a result, my adoptive mother had made the effort to walk to Ushiku Station early in the morning and come to Mito.
Since we didn't know who was listening in the meeting room, we couldn't talk about what we were saying when we got to Manchuria, but we both felt that this might be our last meeting.
The time came and it was time to say goodbye. At that moment, my adoptive mother handed me a paper package, hiding it, saying, "No matter what happens, money will be useful, so sew it into a thousand-stitch bag and take it with you." When the visit was over and I returned to the internal affairs unit and quietly opened the package, I found three 10-yen bills inside. At that time, it was a lot of money. For the time being, I hid the money in my cigarette case. I then put the case in my suitcase and was busy running around attending various events.
Before nighttime roll call, I had a little free time and wanted to sew the money my mother had given me onto a thousand-stitch stitch, so I took my cigarette case out of my pocket and opened it, only to find that the 30 yen was completely gone. What a thing to happen. Among my comrades-in-arms, with whom I was about to go to Manchuria and share life and death, there was someone who would steal the crystallization of my adoptive mother's love... It was a huge shock to me, who had been hoping for pure comradeship in arms. I had been living my daily life in the army with such dedication, but to be betrayed in this way... I didn't care what happened to my army life. I decided to become a more villainous person and live a long and fulfilling life.
The next afternoon, I received word that I had another visitor. My adoptive mother had come the day before, and the people from the farm in Nagaoka Village where I stayed the night before I enlisted often came to visit me, so I thought it might be one of them.
However, when he arrived at the visiting room, his adoptive mother was waiting for him, just like the day before. When he asked her why she had come again, she said, "Last night, when I got home and lay down in bed, you appeared in my dream, sitting by my pillow and staring intently at my adoptive mother's face." In the dream, his adoptive mother shook his knee and asked, "What's wrong?" to which he replied, "You won't have any problems if you go to the battlefield, but it would be a problem if you got sick," and no matter what he asked her, she gave him a nod.
My stepmother asked, "Has anything changed?" I told her about how the money my adoptive mother had given me had been stolen the night before. My adoptive mother listened in silence and said, "I'm glad that happened." She couldn't sleep after having that dream, so she spent the whole night finishing the sweater she had been knitting to keep me warm in Manchuria, and handed it to me.
Then he handed me another 30 yen note from his wallet and said, "If you reveal that something was stolen from you, it will hurt your comrades who are about to go to war. Forget about what was stolen and take this with you."

Episode 8: Landing in Manchuria in Early Winter

The windows were completely closed, the curtains drawn, and we were put on a train that was completely blind to the outside, and we departed Mito Station. It was early August, just after restoration work on the flooded Joban Line had progressed and slow-speed operation was now possible between Fujishiro and Sanuki.
No one knew where the train was going, or how far it was going. From the sound of the train slowly crossing the iron bridge over the Kokai River, I imagined it was traveling around Fujishiro Station in my hometown, and in my heart, I clasped my hands together toward my home and said goodbye to my hometown. The train continued on through the night, arriving in Hiroshima the following evening. After spending the night in Hiroshima, we were loaded onto a ship at Ujina Port the following day and immediately set sail. After crossing the rough Genkai Sea, we landed at Dalian Port on August 17th. At last, we had taken our first steps on the soil of Manchuria.
From there, I took the Manchuria Railway to Xinjing. Manchuria is truly vast. That was my first impression. The apple orchards stretched out endlessly, and the red sunset sank beyond the horizon. The magnificent view made me realize the words of the military song Zhanshi: "Here, hundreds of miles from our homeland, illuminated by the red sunset of distant Manchuria, my friend beneath a stone in the fields."
Our original unit in Xinjing was reorganizing itself to accommodate us 15-year veterans. I was assigned to the 5th Company of the 1st Aviation Communications Regiment, and was immediately transferred to Ning'an in northern Manchuria, near the Soviet-Manchuria border.
This was the start of the full-scale training for new recruits. The 2nd Aviation Communications Regiment was stationed in Ning'an, and the 5th Company of the 1st Aviation Communications Regiment, to which we belonged, was rented part of the barracks and stationed there. It was already September when we left Mito, when it was still hot.
Winter in northern Manchuria comes early. Even in late August, it gets cold. Every morning, we had to shout out loud to practice the dry cloth ritual, or else the chill would bite us. Everyone was provided with winter clothing, and the mountain climbing training at the training ground, Mt. Ando, became even more intense. Nighttime transmissions and receptions using the Ito, Rojohoko, and harmonica tones also became faster and faster each night, and we new recruits became tougher and tougher every day.
One of the instructors in charge of training the new recruits was Lieutenant Tokishita. He was a volunteer soldier from Kyushu and was an excellent speaker. He captured the hearts of the soldiers and often told stories about Takeda Shingen, whom he idolized. "The day will come when you too will be on the front lines. On the front lines, the most important thing is your daily attitude. No matter what happens, you must remain calm. Takeda Shingen said that when faced with various situations, you should be 'as unmoving as a mountain, as quiet as a forest, and as swift as the wind.' You too, on the front lines, no matter what, always remember this attitude..."
When I eventually became a platoon leader commanding soldiers on the front lines in Burma, the wartime mindset that Lieutenant Tokishita taught me was extremely useful... Lieutenant Tokishita is also one of the teachers I will never forget in my life.

Episode 9: Let's die as a shield for the sergeant

He went to Manchuria and was promoted to private first class on September 1st, going from one star to two stars. On the same day, he was issued with a fleece winter coat, and he became even more like a soldier. He was unaffected by being slapped back and forth every day. He felt nothing. The inside of his cheeks became as thick as the skin on his heel, and no matter how many times he was hit, he didn't flinch. Training a human being is truly amazing. Perhaps without this, one could not become a soldier fighting on the front lines.
In late September, when the fire broke out in the stove, the order was given to "move south" as a breakthrough. A veteran soldier told me that most of the elite of the Kwantung Army began to move south. Dressed in full military uniform, with everything from personal belongings to official orders packed into their backpacks, including winter coats, the total weight must have easily weighed 50 kg.
For the time being, it was decided that we would return to the main city of Xinjing. We started heading south from Ning'an in northern Manchuria under the red sunset, and arrived in Xinjing on September 27th. The regiment was about 5km from Xinjing Station, but we were suddenly made to run at a fast pace, still in full military uniform with 50kg of equipment and Type 38 rifles...
Despite the dizzying atmosphere, we somehow managed to arrive safely at the barracks. We later learned that this dash was actually to select the soldiers who would head south and those who would remain. We immediately held a departure ceremony, and on September 29th we left Xinjing, heading for Dalian.
On October 1, 1941, the ship set sail from Dalian Port. No one knew where it was headed, but they could only imagine it was probably somewhere south, and no one knew for sure. They were still wearing the issued fleece winter clothing. On October 7, the ship arrived at Kaohsiung Port in Taiwan. At the time, Taiwan's defense system was treated exactly the same as that of the mainland, so everything from winter clothing to underwear was disinfected with steam on the ship before landing. After disinfection was complete, they put on their steaming winter clothing and marched on foot from Kaohsiung to Pingtung City, under military discipline that required them not to undo even a button without the permission of their superior officer.
In Pingtung, an elementary school was used as a barracks. The army at the time was very tyrannical, so schools were closed and used as military barracks. All training in Pingtung was heat training. There were drills day and night. In particular, there were many drills in which soldiers wore gas masks, as the army was trying to train soldiers who could withstand the heat in preparation for the upcoming southern operations.
One day, the breathing valves on my gas mask were suddenly inspected. To my surprise, my breathing valve was missing. The officer in charge of training (a lieutenant at the time) dragged me into the officer's room and began beating and kicking me. However, the breathing valve had been removed without my knowledge, and I had no idea what had happened. I insisted, "I don't know." I was beaten so badly that my face was disfigured, and I returned to my squad.
My squad leader at the time was Sergeant Nozu Toshio, who is still happily working as a farmer in Matsue City, Shimane Prefecture. Sergeant Nozu held me tightly to his chest and told me, "Even if a million people doubt you, I will believe in you." I thought that if this man was ever in danger on the front lines, I would die as his shield.

第10話　軍隊で学んだ人間の姿

After landing in Taiwan in October 1941, heat training lasted for over a month. Day after day, we underwent exercises to get our bodies used to the heat, which pushed our bodies to their limits, as we had been in Manchuria until the previous month and needed warm clothing. In fact, it was so intense that the trip to the south that followed felt easier.
As training was finally coming to an end, and we were about to depart for Saigon, Sergeant Toshio Nozu, whom I admired, fell ill with dysentery and had to be hospitalized. The squad was temporarily disbanded, and the soldiers were each sent to other units.
My new superior officer was a sergeant named Okumura, and he was a total jerk. He was a really nasty guy. Even new recruits were given an allowance of about 5 yen, but Sergeant Okumura wouldn't give it to me, instead he took it to a brothel and spent it all himself. Being a tough guy myself, I felt I couldn't keep up with a guy like that, and gradually began to rebel. I would ignore orders to be on duty, and I would consciously rebel against him repeatedly.
We left Taiwan on November 15th, and my newly assigned platoon landed in Saigon on the 20th. Saigon was a bustling city at the time, completely different from the vast plains of Manchuria. It was certainly hot, but the drier winds were even more striking than those in Taiwan. This was when my mission to establish an air communications network began in earnest. When a plane was about to take off, advance contact and instructions had to be given over the air. It was the air communications network that allowed planes to fly. My job was to link communications between airfields, and I was in charge of issuing orders such as "we'll arrive at this time, so prepare refueling" and "prepare bombs." We moved from one airfield to another, sometimes accompanying air units, as we headed for the Thai border. Even as I carried out my mission, I continued to resent my platoon leader.
Later, Sergeant Okumura also began to feel annoyed with me, and I was eventually ordered to return to the main unit. At the time, selection for privates was taking place. Normally, there was no way that someone like me would be selected, since I had been forced to return after defying my superiors.
However, just at that time, Sergeant Nozu, whom I admired, was discharged from the hospital and returned to his unit. Sergeant Nozu told me, "That guy is not that kind of guy. If he were to defy me, it would be because my squad leader was a really bad guy," and I was able to become a corporal first class. I was the only one in my company to become a corporal first class within one year of joining the army. It was a great honor.
After that, I was promoted to corporal, corporal, and sergeant, but I was always the first to do any job. After I became a corporal, I had subordinates at an exceptionally young age. The military is just like any other part of society. There are good people and some really bad people. But ultimately, it's a matter of the heart. If you care about someone, they will care about you. If you do your best, they will do their best. That's just how human beings are.
I believe that my understanding of the importance of the heart has been put to good use since I returned to Nippon Telegraph and Telephone Public Corporation, and also in promoting the spread of medical equipment.

Episode 11: The Outbreak of the Pacific War

Shortly after landing in Saigon and beginning full-scale aeronautical communications duties, a major incident occurred. It is an unforgettable event that took place on December 8, 1941.
That night, while I was at the division headquarters, I received a military air telegram. Military air telegrams were important operational orders for the military, and for us signal soldiers, receiving one even once was such a big deal that it was enough to earn us a medal. In fact, I was awarded the Order of the Eighth Class for that night's mission, but I had been receiving military air telegrams all night long. What's more, I was a rookie soldier who had just started full-scale aviation communications. I was completely absorbed in it.
At first, I didn't know who I was communicating with, but gradually I realized the seriousness of the situation. The person I was communicating with was a unit that was about to land on the Malay Peninsula. Having difficulty with enemy attacks and holding out on the cliff edge, they finally found an opportunity to launch a night attack and land. It was during my mission that I learned that the Pacific War had begun.
We were finally going to fight against the United States... When the elite of the Kwantung Army were gathered and they began to advance south, I thought it was going to be a disaster, even though I had expected it to some extent.
The troops that landed that night set the pace, and a furious advance began on the Malay Peninsula. The Japanese army continued to win battle after battle, and finally I found myself deep in the flames of war.
The first New Year's celebration on the battlefield in 1942 was still more relaxed than the worsening war situation that followed. We all made rice cakes together, and got a taste of the New Year's atmosphere.
I found myself on the front lines of the ever-advancing war, fighting repeated day after day. In March of that year, I finally entered Burma. In the end, I ended up moving around Burma for three years until the end of the war.
Bombs rained down from the sky, and when the enemy approached, we would hide in air raid shelters. The whole unit never went in together because if the shelter was damaged, we would all be wiped out. We would dig holes and go in one by one, and when the bomber passed by, we would pop our heads out. If we could see their faces, we knew they were still alive. Conversely, if they had gone into a different hole, they might have died.
Humans are not the only enemy. Once in the jungle, there is the fear of being attacked by wild dogs at night. A fire is lit in the middle and everyone sleeps in a circle with their feet facing it. In the darkness, you can see the wild dogs' eyes shining brightly. We take turns holding guns and keeping watch as we sleep. It was still good when we continued to win, even in such extreme conditions. But the fierce life-or-death battle in Burma had only just begun.

Episode 12: The Young Corporal and His 12 Subordinates

For a while after the outbreak of the Pacific War, the Japanese army continued its unstoppable advance. By the time we crossed Burma and advanced to Mandalay, our unit was renamed the 1st Air Communications Regiment. As we continued to win battles, the importance of air communications increased as our military strength grew, and new units were formed while training soldiers locally.
It was during this time that I contracted dengue fever. It is one of the diseases endemic to the south, and looking back now, I think it greatly influenced my fate. When you have dengue fever, you have a high fever of about 42 degrees Celsius that lasts every day. Malaria is also well known as an endemic disease to the south, but dengue fever causes a high fever to rise all at once, making it extremely painful. In the end, I was hospitalized in a hospital in Rangoon for about a month.
When my high fever finally subsided and I returned to my unit, I was told I was no longer a member of the 1st Air Signal Regiment. I had been transferred to the newly formed 3rd Air Signal Regiment. From the unit's perspective, any soldier who got sick should be sent out. What's more, my superiors were cold towards the newly formed unit, so I was quickly sent to the front lines in northern Burma. If I had stayed with the 1st Air Signal Regiment, I would have been able to stay in the relative safety of southern Burma.
However, this transfer meant that I was constantly moving around dangerous areas of Burma until the end of the war. I also believe that being transferred to the 3rd Aviation Signal Regiment meant that my rank was different. Being a new unit, they didn't have enough talented people. Someone like me who could do everything was highly valued.
As a result, I ended up becoming a sergeant. Those in my rank who joined the military would only reach the rank of corporal at most. I was promoted to corporal and sergeant, which was quite unusual. What's more, I was promoted to each rank in the shortest possible time, thanks to the "one selection" system.
As a result of these experiences, I was promoted to corporal in March 1943. I was also put in charge of a squad of 12 men, and I would serve alongside these 12 men until the end of the war.
These are 12 comrades that I will never forget in my life. Whether these 12 men live or die is up to me. It is not a half-hearted responsibility. It was also unusual for a corporal to serve as a platoon leader. Moreover, I was a young man in my early 20s, and some of my subordinates were older, more experienced soldiers than I was. But they still looked up to me and followed me. I truly connected with my 12 subordinates.
If you think, you will be thought of. If you devote yourself to something, you will be devote to something. Even on the battlefield, we are still human beings.
I have one thing to be proud of. I did not kill any of these 12 people. When I realized that this was a terrible battle to lose, I resolved to protect their lives at all costs. Even if it meant sacrificing myself... I have no regrets because I did not kill any of them.
That is the origin of my humanism.

Episode 13: 12 People Who Shared a Heart

As the youngest and in charge of a large squad with 12 subordinates, I was sent to the front lines in northern Burma, where it was the most dangerous. We were responsible for communications between the airfields, and we traveled around with radios in our cars. We also had wired communications networks, but they became unusable if they were cut off during a bombing raid. Therefore, radios that could be used in any situation were highly valued, and other units often relied on them. In the harsh battle conditions and with increasingly important missions, teamwork with my 12 subordinates was more essential than anything else for survival.
My 12 subordinates were a diverse bunch, including some new recruits still in their teens. As a squad leader, I was also responsible for training them. My own training was brutal. Military training at the time relied on physical training, where you were beaten to learn. The back of my cheeks, hit during training in Japan, Manchuria, and Taiwan, were as hard as the heel of my foot. However, if I were in the opposite position, I would never hit a new recruit. I knew there was no point in doing so.
He called the new recruit over and yelled, "Don't waver! Grit your teeth!" before hitting me hard on the palm of his hand with his slipper. This made a tremendous noise, and the veteran soldiers listening nearby were delighted, saying, "Our new squad leader is determined!" I'll never forget seeing the new recruit, who had expected to be hit, crying tears of joy.
Although my subordinates didn't hit me, they often rebelled against their superiors. One time, our womanizing company commander didn't come to pick us up when we were in danger on the front lines. I barely made it back to company headquarters, yelling, "You have a car to use for leisure, but don't you have a car to use to help the soldiers?" I brandished a sword at the company commander and went on a rampage. Everyone tried to stop me, but I was so hot-headed that I wouldn't tolerate anything unreasonable.
I defy my superiors and love my subordinates. My subordinates love me because they see me like that. And it's not just younger people; I also had subordinates who were much older than me.
He had once been promoted to non-commissioned officer, but was demoted for gambling, so he had a bad reputation, so to speak. Naturally, it was no fun being used by a young superior officer like me. When he went to the front line, he grew his hair out on his own and was called "military employee." Even so, no one said a word to him. In fact, I even informed him when his superior officer from the company was coming, so that he wouldn't be scolded. I thought I should let him do what he liked and that I should take responsibility for it.
Naturally, when he treated his subordinates like this, the older ones noticed that there was something different about the younger squad leader.
However, once the bombing began, this veteran soldier made the most accurate decisions and protected his unit. His vast experience shows his incredible strength in extreme situations.
In short, it's all about individuality. There are all kinds of people. The most important thing for an organization is to accept that and make the most of each other's individuality. And it was because we all connected with each other that we were able to get through that situation and survive.
You can see that they share the same feelings if you go to the front lines. On the front lines of a battle, bullets don't just come from the front. In extreme cases, they can even come from allies in the rear. That's how brutal war is.

Episode 14: This War is All a Lie

In August 1943, I was in charge of a squad and was promoted to corporal. Just five months after becoming a corporal, I was selected as a corporal, which was also the shortest period of time to be promoted. Looking back, it was up until around the time I became a corporal that the Japanese army was in the lead and the war situation was good.
Burma also had many good things. The area near the airport where I was, called Tavoi, was particularly rich in fruit. Take durian, for example. Many people dislike its distinctive smell. But that's before you even try it; there's nothing more delicious. When you enter the village, durians are ripe and the smell fills the air. At first I didn't like them either, but once I started eating them, I became addicted, and eventually the smell even made me hungry. There were also lots of pomelo trees. Large fruits grow on the trees, with drop-like seeds inside a sticky fiber. They're very hard, but when boiled, they're delicious. I think the abundance of fruit saved our lives.
As the war situation worsened, even supplies of necessary goods became scarce. With food not even arriving, the only way to survive was to find and eat what they could find for themselves. To begin with, the Japanese military had little awareness of the need for supplies. They thought they could procure everything locally. It's one thing to say that Japan didn't have any supplies, but they were constantly at risk of losing their lives on the front lines, and they had to secure their own food, even to survive. They were forced into such harsh conditions. It was fine while Japan was still making steady advances and winning. The Burmese people were also cooperative with the Japanese.
However, once the war situation worsened, they became soldiers from another country. Money, not to mention military notes, became unusable. We airborne communications personnel were of high quality among the soldiers, and were, so to speak, gentlemen. However, it is also true that there were soldiers in infantry units who committed crimes such as assault and plunder.
There were many people in the area who held a grudge against the Japanese military. In 1944, the war situation became even more severe. Until then, all they had seen were the corpses of foreigners. However, from around this time, huge numbers of Japanese soldiers began to die. The stench of death was horrible, especially in the hot south, where it was unimaginable. An officer from the company headquarters would come to deliver the changed code sets to the front lines, but he could not bear the stench of death and would leave even though it was night without staying overnight.
We always had radios for communication. Because the frequency range was wide, we could receive not only the Japanese Jiji Press but also radio broadcasts from around the world, so naturally we received a lot of information. The reality was horrific and terrible, but despite this, Japanese broadcasts were still reporting, "We won, we won!"
What did he win? What is happening right in front of his eyes? He's deceiving people and it's all a lie...

The stench of death filled the air, and the battlefield became more and more brutal. Contrary to this, the radio continued to broadcast lies. Soon I became convinced that we were losing the war. Among my subordinates were young men with bright futures. I felt that if I died here, it would be a waste of time.
So I vowed never to kill a single person. War tests the limits of one's vitality and mental strength. If one doesn't have a strong motivation to win, or something to support one's mind, one cannot survive. Anger at a war that was a lie and that one couldn't kill a single person was what sustained me.
The Imphal Operation was carried out despite being forced into such a dire situation. At a frontline airfield where no planes arrived, the soldiers maintained communications despite being bombed every day, and despite being reduced to skin and bones with no food, they managed to protect all lives.

Episode 15: Called the Suicide Squad

In February 1944, we received the order to take part in the Imphal Campaign. At the time, the invasion of India, which was under British occupation, was later criticized as an extremely reckless operation. In fact, what I witnessed was a scene so brutal and hellish that it was almost like we were heading for Imphal without even thinking about resupplying ourselves with food or weapons... When I received the order, I was in Taboi in southern Burma. We were immediately pulled back to our company in Rangoon for a departure ceremony. At that time, we were called the "Suicide Squad."
In other words, no one expected us to return safely after going to a place like that. I was the youngest squad leader, so I guess that's why I was ordered to deploy to such a dangerous location. Since we were going to die anyway, we were treated to alcohol and delicious food the day before. The next day, after being seen off by the entire company, I boarded an Isuzu six-wheel drive vehicle equipped with a radio. Our destination was Indaw Airfield, just outside Imphal. The roads to Mandalay in central Burma were well-maintained and under Japanese control, so we made good progress. The problem lay beyond that. The area near the India-Burma border is mountainous. We made our way north, traveling along uncharted terrain that sometimes took us through jungles, sometimes rice paddies, and even over railroad tracks. To avoid detection by the enemy, we hid in the jungle during the day, and advanced slowly at night with small flashing lights.
Somehow, we finally arrived at Indau Airfield. At the time, this was a frontline airfield for the Japanese military, but it was a shabby facility with only one runway and a bamboo grove. We were ordered to set up a communications station at the airfield, but if we were bombed in a place like this, we'd be finished. I decided to dig a cave into a cliff a short distance away and set up a communications station there.
It could be said that I was disobeying orders, but there was no way to know what was happening on the front lines from hundreds of kilometers away. I had a strong sense of mission that I had to take full responsibility and that I was responsible for the lives of my subordinates. For a while after we arrived at the airfield, things were looking up as the Japanese army was heading towards Imphal.
However, the situation soon began to worsen. First, enemy reconnaissance planes began to fly slowly overhead. This meant that the enemy had lost air superiority. After a slow observation, carpet bombing began. Bombs fell like a storm, enough to blow up an entire town with a single attack.
The infantry division, which was on the verge of Imphal, was pinned down as the rainy season began and its movements slowed down. This operation had not considered supplies at all, so once the loot was gone, there was nothing to eat. We had no choice but to begin retreating, but piles of starving people lay dead, and a hellish scene began to unfold before our eyes. In their mess pans there was only rice covered in dog hairs, and they were washing it as they ate, knowing that it would give them diarrhea.
I had never seen anything so cruel. But even so, the Japanese radio reports kept saying that we had won. I didn't tell my subordinates this because it would have affected their morale, but I was becoming more and more convinced that it was a lie and that we had lost the battle.
As the bombing intensified day by day, the Indau airfield was finally submerged by heavy rain. It was completely unusable, and we were ordered to retreat. It's fine when you're advancing. The most tragic thing is when you're fleeing in a losing battle. This was the moment of truth for us, who were called the suicide squad.

Episode 16: A desperate retreat to the south

At the end of 1944, our squad received an order from the company headquarters to retreat and left the submerged Indaw airfield in northern Burma. We were called the suicide squad and were exposed to bombings on the front lines for over six months after the Battle of Imphal began.
But now began the true retreat, a life-or-death struggle. We passed through northern Burma, where the enemy had lost air superiority, and headed for Mandalay, which was still under Japanese control. However, we couldn't move at all during the day. Anything spotted sneaking about below would be bombed by enemy planes in the sky. We hid our Isuzu six-wheeled truck, carrying a radio, in the jungle, holding our breath. Then, as darkness fell, we began to quietly head south.
Every day was a life-risking experience. There were no food supplies. Of course, the money of a losing army was no good. They stave off hunger by picking mangoes and durians and eating animals in the jungle. One of his subordinates was an expert marksman, and in the evenings, pheasants and wild chickens would return to their roosts. That was their only chance to take a shot. If he hit them in the wrong place, they would run away, but he would hit them in the head with one shot. In this way, they caught prey and shared it amongst themselves to secure food.
As we retreated in the darkness, two conscripted soldiers who were older than me really showed their strength. On the front lines, they had grown their hair long and acted however they wanted, but they had experience of going through many difficult situations. When we decided that we had to retreat to this point, they made sure to do so.
They headed south on a roadless road. They rode in a truck and sometimes drove on railroad tracks, but if the wheels fell between the sleepers, the truck would never move again. So they placed a piece of wood between the sleepers on each side of the truck and drove on top of it. Without their judgment and wisdom for survival, they probably would not have been able to return safely.
In such extreme situations, the trust you have with your subordinates and the individuality of each individual are a great asset. Some are good at shooting, others know how to survive in extreme conditions... I think I learned on the battlefield, where the fine line between life and death means that there are situations where everyone can make use of their abilities.
At first, planes that only flew overhead during the day began bombing the soldiers in trucks at night. The retreating infantry were so malnourished they could barely stand. To make matters worse, a severe malaria outbreak was occurring.
Countless soldiers who had eventually died of starvation or disease lay everywhere. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, and no one could bear to look at this hellish scene. Meanwhile, we were heading for Mandalay, and had sold all our clothes, so we were dressed in shabby clothes, only wearing loincloths and raincoats. But somehow, we managed to protect the lives of all our men.
When we returned to our company headquarters in Rangoon, there were murmurs of surprise: our suicide squad, which should not have survived if it had gone that far, had returned without a single casualty.

Episode 17: The War Ends in Phnom Penh

After returning to our company headquarters in Rangoon, our squad headed for Bangkok, Thailand in February 1945. The enemy army was rapidly advancing south from northern Burma, and Rangoon was coming under frequent bombing raids. At the time, air raid shelters, where people could take refuge during bombing raids, were called one-person shelters, and many people were not allowed to gather in one place. This was because spreading out helped minimize damage. Sometimes, we thought it was strange that a soldier had not emerged from a shelter two or three doors down, only to find that he had been hit by shrapnel and had died. There is always a fine line between life and death on the battlefield.
Thus, the Japanese military airfields were rendered almost non-functional, and those of us working in aeronautical communications were forced to withdraw. Compared to Burma, there was less imminent tension in Bangkok. Soon after arriving, the squad headed to Nha Trang Airfield in French Indochina, where we were to take charge of aeronautical communications. In December of the previous year, I had already become a sergeant and was awarded the Order of the Sacred Treasure, Eighth Class, while there. This was in recognition of my achievements in handling military aircraft telegrams to communicate with troops landing on the Malay Peninsula at the start of the Pacific War.
In August 1945, our squad received new orders. We were to return to Burma once again. At the time, I wasn't afraid of dying. However, it was easy to imagine what would happen if we returned to Burma, where the war situation had worsened.
The squad headed for Burma and stopped off at an airfield in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, on their way to battle. It was August 15th. Just as I was about to say hello to my comrades, I was told to listen to an important broadcast that was about to be made. That's when I heard the famous Emperor's radio broadcast. It was March 1941, more than four years after I joined the training unit in Mito.
After the harsh training in Japan and the harsh winter in Manchuria, they went to Taiwan for heat resistance training, then landed in Saigon, then passed through Thailand and French Indochina, and finally arrived in Burma, where they continued to hover between life and death.
The war is over.
Some soldiers stood there in shock, some cried in frustration, and some collapsed in a daze. The reactions of the soldiers when they heard the end of the war varied. I learned from the radio just how much of a lie this war was. Even though many soldiers were dying right before our eyes and we were continuing to retreat, Japanese radio broadcasts were still saying we had won.
Although I never said a word to my subordinates, I was convinced that we were losing the war. Therefore, I thought that it would be best if the war ended quickly. However, when I heard the news of the end of the war, I was filled with mixed emotions.
I was willing to die, but I didn't want my young subordinates to die in vain. They had supported me and I was able to fulfill my mission of protecting them. What I remember most is the sense of relief that we hadn't killed a single person. The next day, I headed to Bangkok to join up with the company headquarters. It's not that you can lean on a tree, but when I thought about what would happen after the war was over, I thought that operating with a small squad would be inconvenient in many ways. This quick decision turned out to be the right one later.
When the war ended, we were taken prisoner and forced to live as surrenderees in Thailand.

Episode 18: Stepping on Japanese soil for the first time in five years

After the war ended, I continued as a POW for nearly a year. Even though I was a POW, my safety was guaranteed. The war, where lives were at stake, was over, so compared to the hardships of my life as a POW, it was like heaven. In addition, it was the British army that occupied Burma. They treated the POWs with a gentlemanly attitude.

Being in the south, the climate was mild. Compared to the prisoners of war in cold Siberia, I think our lives as prisoners of war were still more fortunate. When the war ended, we returned to the company headquarters, and we ended up working together with over 1,000 Japanese soldiers. Our daily lives were managed by squad, just as they had been during the war. We were not always confined and unable to move about freely, but rather the basic policy was that prisoners were gathered in one place and expected to maintain discipline and fend for themselves.
At the time, I was a sergeant, so my main job was to receive instructions from the British army and relay them to everyone. Many of these instructions were about labor, and I followed orders to do certain tasks and where. The most common job was digging latrines. With over 1,000 prisoners living there, a huge number of people were needed. The British army had strict hygiene management, and we first had to dig holes about 4 to 5 meters deep, and then fill them in with sand after each use. However, thanks to these labors, there were no serious illnesses, even though so many people were crammed into a small space.

As I continued living as a POW, I noticed something strange. Having gone from extreme daily life where they risked their lives to a purposeless life after the end of the war, I felt that many of the soldiers had lost their motivation to live. This was especially acute among the hot-blooded young men. We couldn't continue like this. I began to worry that if we didn't make them do something, they would all go crazy.

One day, while I was receiving instructions from the British Army as usual, I asked if I could build a stage for a play. I explained the real situation of the POWs and said I wanted to put on a play for them. Surprisingly, the British Army readily agreed to my request.

From then on, everyone joined in and became absorbed in theatrical performances. We had plays like Jirocho of Shimizu and Chuji Kunisada. Each squad came up with an elaborate show. It was a large group of over 1,000 people. The group was made up of people from all walks of life, so we were very professional in making the stage props and costumes. There was even one man among us who had actually been an actor. Everyone was happy to use their own special skills and aimed to perform twice a month. I remember very well how our lives changed drastically.

After about six months of being a POW, the demobilization to Japan finally began. Since it was not possible for everyone to return at once, each squad was given orders on which ship to board. The demobilization ship I was to board was the aircraft carrier Katsuragi. The soldiers were housed in what had been an airplane hangar, so it was a huge ship that could accommodate around 10,000 people. It set sail from Bangkok, Thailand on June 7, 1946. Being an aircraft carrier, it was fast, and arrived in Uraga on the 20th.

Thinking back, it had been five years since I last set foot on Japanese soil, since I left Ujina Port in Hiroshima in 1941. My first thought was, of course, my family, whom I had left behind in Fujishiro. The next day, the squad disbanded, and each of us headed home. I said goodbye to each of them, feeling a sense of satisfaction in my heart that we had not killed a single person and had brought them safely back to Japan. On the way, we passed through Tokyo, which had been completely destroyed. Nearly a year had passed since the end of the war, but seeing the capital still with mountains of rubble, I was overcome with anger, wondering why we had fought such a foolish war. After arriving in Ueno, I headed for Fujishiro, where my family would be waiting for me.

Episode 19: Returning to work the day after being demobilized

The day after arriving in Uraga on a demobilization ship and returning to my home in Fujishiro, I went to work at the Akasaka telephone office, where I had worked before enlisting. After demobilization, it was up to each individual to decide when to return to work. However, it was quite unusual for someone to go to work the very next day. I was in good health, and more than anything, I was filled with the desire to get back to work as soon as possible.
The whole area was burnt ruins, but the Akasaka telephone exchange remained intact. Even at that time, communications was an important facility, and any nearby buildings that were likely to burn were forcibly removed, so the building itself was spared. Tokyo, with all the rubble remaining, is very poor, and it is difficult to even obtain food. During the war, a man who worked with me in aeronautical communications was the only one still living in Tokyo. I visited my war comrade on the day I went to work, and it seemed that he had escaped the air raids, and only his house remained.
Apparently my uncle's family had been forced to evacuate their home, so there were a lot of people at the house. The food they took the trouble to serve us was rice bran dumplings. They were made by binding rice bran with American flour, somehow forming them into dumplings, and then adding them to miso soup. I was eating plain rice at home, so the rice bran dumplings got stuck in my throat and I couldn't swallow them. There was so little food in Tokyo that we had no choice but to eat. In that respect, the countryside was a blessing. At least we had something to eat.
Feeling sorry for my comrade in arms, I later arranged for him to find work and a place to live, and invited him to come to Ibaraki. He couldn't survive unless he was in the countryside, where there was food. At the time, my grandmother was still healthy and looked after the chickens she kept at home. I was extremely skinny when I returned from the war, so I remember her secretly giving me eggs and giving me lots of rice to eat.

My older brother was drafted into the navy and killed in action in the Philippines, so it was just my younger brother and I who returned from the war. My grandmother took extra care of us grandchildren, and was especially careful about what we ate. Because of this, I began commuting every day from Fujishiro to the telephone exchange in Akasaka, a journey of over two hours each way.
I took a packed train to Ueno, which only runs about once an hour, then changed to a train and walked more than 20 minutes from Shinbashi to Akasaka. It was also difficult to get home after work. However, it all depends on how you look at it. Since I commute between Tokyo and Fujishiro every day, I started thinking about what I could do.

First, I bought a nice leather bag. I put two sho (approx. 1.5 liters) of rice in it and went to Tokyo every day. There were many people who wanted rice. On the other hand, in the countryside, people were having trouble finding soap. So I exchanged rice for soap in Tokyo and brought it back to Fujishiro.
At the time, two sho of rice could buy four bars of soap, but because it was a valuable commodity in the countryside, they would exchange it for four sho of rice. In other words, if I had two sho of rice in the morning, by the time I got home I had four sho. By repeating this, I increased my rice by two sho each day. This is an anecdote that tells us about a time of food shortage, but I think that the idea of using a little ingenuity to solve problems for others was something that I used in my later work.

Shortly after returning to work, I noticed that the Akasaka telephone exchange had completely changed from the time before I went to war. The best people had gone to war, so the people who were hired were doing whatever they wanted. It was a terrible situation; people would burn ladders to make bonfires because it was cold in the machine room. I had just returned from the army, and I was full of hotheadedness, so I couldn't tolerate such a breakdown in discipline. It would be a big problem now, but I would call each person up to the roof one by one and give them a good scolding.

Those who hadn't gone to war and had been able to do as they pleased quickly became disciplined. Ironically, after a while I was appointed an instructor to train employees. This experience of teaching others at a young age proved to be a great asset to me.

Episode 20: A career in education that has become a treasure

After I returned from the war and began working at a telephone exchange in Akasaka, a turning point came for me. In 1949, when Tokyo was steadily beginning to recover, I was appointed as an instructor at a newly opened training center.

During the war, many people were drafted into the military, and the people they hired without even a basic education were forced to retrain these people and prepare for the increased demand for communications due to reconstruction. I only had four years of work experience before joining the military, but I have been working in the military for six years now.

Around that time, my former boss, Mr. Ida, had been promoted to a higher position at Akasaka Telephone Office. Mr. Ida had always admired my work, and he told me, "If you add your time in the military, you've already been a veteran for ten years," and appointed me as one of his instructors. However, this was an unusual promotion. I was in charge of about 50 students, most of whom were older than me. Some of them had even more experience working at the telephone office than I did. I came to class fully prepared, with material I felt I could speak about. However, towards the end, I found myself running out of things to talk about. At first, I would sometimes get stuck during class.

However, as I continued to speak in front of people, I gradually got the hang of teaching. Little by little, I began to be able to read the students' minds. If they aren't listening to what I'm saying, no matter how serious my talk is, it's no use. I change to a softer tone and get their attention on me. For example, when I told them about my war experiences in Burma, their eyes lit up and they listened. Once I'd attracted their attention, I quickly changed the subject and started talking about what I needed to teach them. This way, the knowledge would stick with the students. If it were a school class, it would be fine to just teach. However, this is internal training, so it's meaningless unless the staff are able to do their jobs. Sometimes, some students' minds were elsewhere throughout the class.
When I called them in and spoke to them privately, they said, "We have to go grocery shopping. We don't have anything to eat as a family." I introduced them to a farm in Fujishiro and even arranged for them to go grocery shopping. Things like that are important in education.

I continued as an instructor for about two years, and during that time I also had the opportunity to have another valuable experience. A large training school was to be built in Suzuka, Mie Prefecture, and I traveled there to help with the preparations before it opened. My job was to create the teaching materials needed for the classes. For example, I created toy-like teaching materials to help students easily understand why electricity occurs and what the difference is between direct current and alternating current. At first, my superiors also made me do this, but thanks to my involvement in this work, I developed the habit of "thinking and creating for myself." As I was given various themes, I began to enjoy thinking and putting things into shape. Looking back now, I realize I was blessed with great superiors who nurtured me well.

Being involved in education at a young age has become a great asset to me, changing the course of my life. Thinking for yourself and creating things is what we call inventive thinking. This habit was extremely useful later when I developed the AC magnetic therapy device. Also, my experience speaking in front of students has been put to good use in health courses to promote the device. How can I get my words to reach people's hearts? The lessons at the training center are the foundation for this.

In fact, it was this educational experience that laid the foundation for the development and popularization of AC magnetic therapy devices.

Episode 21: Marriage and Life in Tokyo

Post-war reconstruction progressed steadily, and the capital, Tokyo, had completely transformed from a burnt-out wasteland covered in mountains of rubble. In 1951, when the San Francisco Peace Treaty was signed and Japan returned to the international community, I got married and started my own home.

I first met my wife on a train commuting from Fujishiro to Tokyo. At the time, she was attending a dressmaking school and would always sit there knitting. She seemed like a quiet woman and I had been interested in her, so through a certain person, someone asked me if I would marry her. It was not a love marriage or an arranged marriage, but we started living together as a family of three, including my adoptive mother, in a house we built in Fujishiro, close to our parents' homes.

However, as the head of the household, I faced a source of worry. My adoptive mother did not like my wife. From the beginning, she treated me like an unwelcome guest, and then one day, she suddenly ran away from home in an attempt to separate them. "Your biological parents might be a different matter, but I owe you my upbringing. That's why I choose your adoptive mother. If you want to be with me, you'll have to be patient," I told my wife. I did everything I could to help the relationship between the two improve. However, even after my adoptive mother returned home, things just didn't work out. In the end, my adoptive mother forced me to decide which one to choose. We later lived together as a family of three again, but I decided it would be best to put some distance between us for a while, so my wife and I moved to Tokyo.

We started our life in Tokyo in an old, six-tatami-mat apartment we rented in Waseda, close to our current headquarters. All of our belongings were in Fujishiro and we couldn't bring them with us, so all we had in our room was a sewing machine. We both worked hard back then. My wife had connections at a department store in Ueno, and made women's and children's clothes based on requests from sales staff. In her spare time, she even made my suits and coats. Thanks to the sewing machine, which was our only household item, we were able to provide for our food and housing needs with my wife's earnings.

My work was going well too. The year after I got married, the Nippon Telegraph and Telephone Public Corporation Act came into effect. Once the company became a public corporation, the atmosphere at work changed completely. Until then, everyone had a bureaucratic attitude, and no matter how hard you worked, there was almost no difference in your salary or raises. From around this time on, I received awards for inventions and innovations almost every year. For example, at the time, there was an employee who wasn't answering the telephone number information desk. To monitor this, my boss was constantly patrolling the workplace, but I invented a device that would light up when the phone was answered. This way, one person could monitor it. It was a simple job, but at the time, there was no thought of improving the workplace. These inventions were recognized, and I was awarded every time Dentsu celebrated its anniversary.

Our life as a couple got on track, and after about a year we decided to buy a house in Tokyo. In Mejiro, close to our current home, there was the site of a former Tokugawa residence, and the land was divided into six plots and ready-built homes were on sale.

However, this property had a terrible reputation. Shortly after we moved in, officials from the Ministry of Justice suddenly arrived and started putting up red papers all over the house announcing seizure. I had no idea what they were talking about. The officials told us, "You are innocent victims." The truth was this: the six houses on the property, including mine, had been built without our consent by a real estate agent, and the land was owned by someone else entirely. Under the law, we could not sue the agent, so we, the owners of the buildings and occupants of the land, were put on trial. Since we bought it without knowing, we were certainly victims as well. They said they would divide it up cheaply and we had to pay for the land.

I learned a lot through this trial. No matter how good you are, even if you say you didn't know and were deceived, in the end you are no match for someone with knowledge.

It made me realise how important it is to have knowledge about anything.

Episode 22: The birth of a son and daughter - a family of five

My wife and I moved to Tokyo and started living there, and we had a long-awaited child. This happened in 1953, two years after we got married. For a while, I lived apart from Fujishiro's adoptive mother, but when the birth of our first grandchild came, I invited her to come to Tokyo. By putting some distance between me and my wife, who I didn't like, the gap between us actually narrowed. Above all, the birth of a grandchild was a great joy for my adoptive mother. This solved one of the problems that had been bothering me since my marriage.

In April, we gave birth to a big baby boy weighing over 4,000g at the Teishin Hospital. Our family now had four children, and we began a normal but happy life. At the time, I was working at the Tokyo Telecommunications Bureau in Takebashi, where I was in charge of overhauling automatic telephone exchanges. The telephone network throughout Tokyo was in a critical state due to the complete lack of maintenance during the war. As the person in charge of planning the restoration work, I was tasked with the major mission of reviving the telephone exchange, and both work and home were going smoothly.

However, their happiness was shattered in an instant when their eldest son, who had seemed to be growing healthily, suddenly developed a high fever and suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. He was just 37 days old. After 40 days in the hospital, our son survived, but was left with paralysis on the left side of his body and speech and intellectual disabilities. Even after returning home, he suffered several seizures every day, and my wife had to be by his side all the time to look after our son.

I have spoken many times in my books and lectures about how deeply this incident affected me and my family. I was truly humbled by my wife, who continued to work as a dressmaker on her sewing machine while going from hospital to hospital in search of the best possible treatment for our child.

It was understandable that she was hesitant to have another child, as she felt immeasurable anxiety about the future of our young son. However, I felt that it would not be good for my wife and I to continue to see only the dark side of our children. In order to see the bright side, we needed a healthy child in our home. Our oldest son was sick, so there was nothing to worry about. I persuaded my hesitant wife to try having another child.

Our eldest daughter, Hiromi, was born in 1955 and was a big baby, weighing over 4,000g. Her healthy growth gave our family hope. Her mother had her hands full looking after her older brother, so she must have caused some inconvenience to Hiromi. However, she was well aware of her brother's illness, so I think she grew up with a strong sense of responsibility to support the family.

Later, after entering university, Hiromi even received a scholarship to study in Germany, where she achieved excellent grades. From an early age, she was a girl with the determination to achieve anything she decided to do. After we adopted a foster mother and had children, our family grew to five, but the focus was always on my eldest son, who was sick.

As the head of this household, I decided to work twice or even three times as hard as other people. I needed money to help this child. If I wanted to save money for the future, I needed to save some money.

I made a firm promise to myself that I would provide my family with a life free of any inconvenience.

Episode 23: What can we learn from failure?

藤代から養母を迎え、長男と長女が誕生し5人で暮らす我が家でしたが、最初から不法占拠で裁判にかけられるなど、因縁つきの土地であったため、私としては長く住み続けたくありませんでした。長男の病気でいろいろな病院へ通っていたので、少しでも便利な場所へ引越し、女房の負担を減らしてやりたいという気持もありました。
そんなとき、以前の裁判でゴタゴタしているうち懇意になった不動産屋から、雑司ケ谷に良い物件があると紹介されました。ほぼ四角い理想的な土地で、山手線の内側にある利便性を考えると、値段も破格と言っていい掘り出し物でした。不動産屋はすぐにでも手付金を打とうと急がしましたが、私はもう少し調べてからにしたいと、その場で返事はしませんでした。何しろ当時住んでいたのは、不動産業者が他人の土地に建てて、勝手に売り出した家です。のちに土地を追加購入させられ、裁判にかけられている間は、十分な知識と情報がなかったこと、騙されるのがいかに惨めかということを嫌というほど味わっていました。
だからどうしても、自分の目で確かめておきたかったのです。売り出している土地に足を運んでみると、私は呆気にとられました。更地で売り出しているはずなのに、奥の方に小さな家が一軒建っていたのです。調べてみると、真相はこういうことでした。売主は印刷業を営んでいた年配の夫婦で、老後に備えて都内に数軒のアパートを持っていました。おそらくこの土地も、新しいアパートを建てようとして購入したようですが、どうしても以前からいた借家の住人が出ていかない。そこで業を煮やして、更地と言い張って売り払ってしまおうという魂胆だったのです。
しかし私は、そこで何も見なかったことにしようと思いました。家が建っているのは知らないふりをして、土地を売り出している印刷業の夫婦のもとへ契約に行ったのです。当時の値段で、土地代は100万円でした。もちろん、私たち家族にとっては大きな買い物です。細かい点まで交渉しながら契約書をつくりました。そして最後に判を押すというとき、私はゆっくりと口を開きました。「ところで、今あそこに建っている家はどうなるのでしょうか？」土地の売主は少し慌てたようですが、決して取り乱すことなく、「あれは、登記の日までに壊しますよ」と答えました。私は「ならば契約書の中にそう書いてください」と要求したうえで、手付金を40万円ほど払いました。さらに、もし登記までに取り壊しができず契約を破棄することになれば、違約金として40万円を払うことも契約書に入れました。
仮に土地が手に入らなくても、40万円の手付金は倍に増えることになります。こんな契約では売主は大損になってしまうので、建っている家は良い条件を出して撤去したのだと思います。結局は、またしても曰くつきの物件だったのですが、今度はしっかりと情報を集め、知恵を絞って交渉し、非常に安い値段で土地を手に入れることができました。
もちろんこれは、裁判にかけられた中で、自分なりにいろんな勉強をした経験が生かされたからです。経験はすべて、一つひとつ活かしていかなければなりません。仮にそれが失敗であったとしても、経験を積んだというのは自分自身の宝物なのです。
経験から何を学ぶか、そしてどう活かしていくかに、その人の真価が問われているのです。

第24話　労働組合を押さえ込め

私は自宅に部下を呼んで、みんなと酒を飲み、一緒に騒ぐのが大好きでした。雑司が谷の新居に移ってからも来客は頻繁で、これは電電公社を辞めるまで続きました。
正月はとくに盛大で、かつて一緒に働いた部署ごとに部屋を分け、梯子しながら飲んでいたほどです。家族はみんな嫌がり、のちに糖尿病を患ったのも酒が原因でした。しかし、裸の人間同士が語り合い、部下に慕われたことが私の仕事にプラスになったことも事実です。
昭和35年、当時は東京のはずれで場末と言われた玉川分局に、機械課長として着任することになります。私には一つの使命が与えられていました。その頃の分局は労働組合の力が強すぎたため、業務にも大きな支障が出ていました。その混乱を沈静化するのが、私に課せられた仕事だったのです。それまで調整課に籍をおき、自動交換機のオーバーホールで責任者を務めていた私には、たくさんの部下がいました。中には熱心な組合員もいましたが、その対応を評価していた上司が、私にならできると見込んで送り出したのです。
玉川分局では、組合活動を押さえつけるため新しい上司が乗り込んでくると、身構えていたのかもしれません。どんな奴がきたのかと、最初は随分と警戒もされていました。しかし実際には、私の仕事ぶりを見て、拍子抜けした組合員が多かったことでしょう。何しろ私のやり方は、組合の要求を徹底的に聞くことから始めたからです。よくよく聞いてみると、当時の彼らが要求していたのは、ほとんど職場の環境改善でした。本来は管理者がやるべきことであるのに、それができていないから不満が募り、組合活動はだんだんと過激になっていきます。もともとの身近な原因を一つずつ取り除いていけば、活動も沈静化し、職場は正常に戻っていくはずです。かつて、オーバーホールの責任者をしていたときもそうでした。部下が職場で要望していたことを、一つずつかなえていったのです。
要はお金さえあれば、実現できることばかりです。お金は頭一つで、知恵さえ絞れば、もらってくることは可能です。以前と違って、今度は予算も十分にありました。何しろ私のバックには、公社のお偉いさんが付いていて、組合を沈静化させるという特別の任務を背負っていたのですから。分局につくと、すぐに私は要望の実現に着手していきました。
ひどく汚ないため、リラックスできない休憩室を、きれいな最新の設備に入れ替えたり、組合の要求をかりて次々と職場の改善に取り組みました。不思議なもので、人間というのは住む世界が快適になると、心のあり方も変わっていくのです。殺伐としていた場末の分局は、徐々に変わっていきました。何しろ予算を持ってきて、組合の要求がどんどん通るのですから、先鋭化して職場を混乱させることは無くなってしまうのです。あとは組合から選ばれる委員のうち、私と意思が通じている職員で過半数を占めてしまえば解決します。
こうして実績をあげた私は、その後も組合の活動が盛んな、混乱している電話局へ送り込まれるようになりました。同僚は大変な仕事だと気遣ってくれましたが、予算も十分に与えられ、次々と職場を改善できるのですから、私は楽しくて仕方ないと思っていました。
組合を押さえ込むといっても、まずは相手の話を聞くことから始めなければなりません。言ってることが理にかなっているなら、それを実現するために努力すればいいのです。成果を積み重ねれば、相手の考えは変わります。
職員は思想や信条よりも、どちらが強いのか、どちらに付けば得なのかを見ているだけなのです。そこを見抜くことができたのが、この仕事から得た一つの財産だったと思います。

第25話　我が家に自動車がやってきた

昭和30年代の後半、敗戦から立ち直った日本は高度経済成長の真っ只中にありました。
当時、多くの大衆が求めたテレビや冷蔵庫、洗濯機といった憧れの製品を、我が家でも一つずつ買い揃えていくことになります。それぞれ最初に買ったときの思い出というのはありますが、他の家でもそうだったように、やはり初めて自家用車を購入にしたときのことは、強く印象に残っています。
我が家に自動車がやってきたのは、昭和37年のことでした。まだ日産のブルーバードが出たばかりの頃で、私が免許をとった3日後に買いました。そのころ電電公社の職員で、マイカーを持っていたのは、私以外に誰もいませんでした。しかし、そんな早い時期に自動車を買わなければならなかったのには、理由がありました。いつも病院に通い続けていた長男は、乗り物が大好きでした。タクシーに乗って病院へ行くと、いつまでも乗っていたいものだから、シートに岩のようにしがみついて、なかなか降りようとしません。タクシーはお客さんが降りないと商売にならないので、いつも大変です。そのうち諦めるまでお金は払うから、しばらく乗せてやってくれと言ったこともありました。
また、ある時は勝手に家を抜け出した上、よその家にあがりこんでしまったため通報されてしまいました。家のものが見つけ出した時はパトカーの中でした。
ふだんから大好きな自動車、その上いつも「うーうー」とあこがれていた車に乗れたものですから本人は有頂天でこれも断固として降りようとしない・・・困りはてたものです。そんな我が子をみるうちに、無理してでも自動車を買ってやろうと決心しました。
それからは、よく長男を車に乗せて、羽田の飛行場へ出掛けました。今とは違って、東京の外れにある埋め立て地は、とても寂れた場所でした。もちろん車に乗って行くのも楽しいのですが、長男はそこで、飛行機を見るのが大好きでした。私が休みの日になると、日が暮れるまで二人で大空を舞う飛行機を眺めていたものでした。
自家用車についてはもう一つ、今思うと笑い話のようですが、忘れられない思い出話があります。買ってまもなくのこと、大枚をはたいて買った車だから事故などあってはいけないと早速成田山までお払いに行きました。当時の道路事情は筆舌に尽くしがたく、6歳の長女などはでこぼこがある度に天井まではずみ、到着することには車酔いとあいまってげんなりしてしまうほどでした。その道中のことです。私も今では年のせいか大分性格がまるくなりましたが、当時は誰かに抜かれると抜き返さずには済まないほどの負けず嫌い、最初の遠出にもかかわらず抜かれた車を追いかけて接触、ナンバープレイトがポーンと何十メートルも飛んでしまいました。お払いの旅が最初の事故になってしまったのです。同上していた部下がナンバープレイトを追いかけて走るは、私は私で相手に平謝りと散々でしたが、幸い誰にもケガがなく相手の許しも得て、これはこれで一つの厄払いかと最後には笑いあったものです。
最近「ものより思い出」という広告がありましたが、思い出すと「もの」に「物語」があった古きよき時代でもありました。

第26話　子供が育つ環境を作ってあげるのが親の務め

雑司が谷に新居を建ててから、しばらくして2階の部屋を貸すことにしました。
公社の給料は公務員に準じたもので、家は建てたものの、家計のやり繰りにゆとりはありませんでした。1階は家族だけのスペースでしたが、玄関や廊下の一部は共用になっていたので、一つ屋根の下に暮らすアットホームな雰囲気です。
小さい頃の弘美は、2階へ行って、芸達者なお姉さんに歌を習ったりしていました。のちに俳優になった役者のたまごもいたり、いろんな人が我が家に住んでくれました。
もちろん、大家になって大変なこともありました。今のアパート経営とは違い、当時は契約といっても、いい加減なものです。保証人などもいませんから、あとから詐欺師と分かった人や、朝鮮半島からの密航者まで、住んでいたこともありました。
一番困ったのは、2回もあった自殺未遂です。一度は睡眠薬でしたが、ガスで死のうとされたときは大変でした。第一発見者が機転をきかせて、窓を開けたからよかったものの、もし先に電気をつけていたら……。おそらく、我が家は吹き飛ばされていたでしょう。今では笑い話になってしまいますが、良いことも悪いことも、すべてはいろんな人がいたからこそ、振り返ると楽しい思い出になるのです。
とても賑やかな家になりましたが、それは2階の住人だけではありません。我が家には、次第に甥や姪もたくさん住むようになりました。
当時は田舎から東京へ出てくるとき、まず最初に親戚の家を頼りにしていたものです。就職や進学で東京にやって来た、女房の兄弟の子供たちを、最も多いときで3人ほど面倒みていました。とはいえ、1階の家族のスペースが、広い訳ではありません。うちの家族が4人で一部屋、もう一部屋に、養母と姪などが4人で寝ていました。現代の住宅事情から考えると、想像もできないほど窮屈ですが、たくさん子供たちがいるのは、賑やかで楽しいものです。
私は弘美のために、こうした環境を作ってあげたいと考えていました。長男の病気があったため、弘美は事実上、一人っ子のようなものでした。そのことを、いつも不憫に思っていました。私自身も子供の頃は、養子に出された家で、一人っ子として育てられています。溺愛してくれた養父が、早く亡くなったこともあって、兄弟のいない寂しさはよく分かっていました。それでも、私には救いがありました。育った環境は一人っ子でも、実際には血を分けた兄弟がたくさんいたからです。その点、甥や姪たちが、我が家を頼って上京してくれたのは、ありがたいことでした。
弘美のために兄弟をつくってあげられなくても、一緒に暮らしていれば、兄弟のように育てることができるからです。私も甥や姪には、我が子と同じように接しました。実際に弘美も、いとこたちを兄弟のように慕い、今でも心の支えになっているはずです。
私の子育ては、どちらかというと自由放任で、子供のやりたいようにさせるというものでした。勉強をしろと言ったこともないですし、厳しく叱ることもありませんでした。

第27話　伊豆の別荘にまつわる思い出と醒めない夢の続き

メキシコオリンピックのあった昭和43年、私は伊豆に別荘を購入しました。渋谷でホテルや、電電公社の社員寮などを経営していた方に紹介され、一目みて気に入りました。
雑司が谷の自宅は、都心にあって便利とはいえ、日々働くための住環境でした。将来は伊豆に移って、長男と一緒に余生を過ごせたらどんなに素晴らしいだろう…。そんな夢を抱きながら、私は別荘を持つことにしました。
伊東の駅から、車で5分くらいの高台にあった別荘は、相模湾を見下ろし、遠くは伊豆大島までを見渡すことができました。1階には家族専用の部屋と食堂など、2階にも3部屋あり眼下に絶景が広がる、とても大きな家でした。温泉の源泉をホースで引き込み、お風呂にも使うなど、そのまま民宿として経営できるほどの設備でした。事実、私はここで何か商売をできないだろうかと、真面目に考えたこともありました。
別荘には、常に20組ほどの布団が用意されていました。ここに公社の部下などを呼んで、飲んで食って大騒ぎをするのです。いま思えば、そこまでして部下と付き合う上司は、私以外に一人もいなかったでしょう。ただ、家族には随分と迷惑をかけたと思います。料理を作るのはもちろん、これだけ大きな別荘ですから、掃除をするだけでも大変です。布団を干すだけでも、20組以上あるのです。女房は今でも、あの別荘には良い思い出がないと嘆くことがあります。
部下と飲んで、本音の付き合いをしたことは、仕事を進めるうえでも有意義なものでした。ただ、自分が好きでないことは、一生懸命にできないものです。私が根っからの親分肌であること、そして心底、お酒を飲んで騒ぐことが好きだったから、別荘に20組も布団が必要だったのです。お銚子では間に合わないので、私はいつも一升瓶を膝に抱え、際限なく酒を飲み続けていました。飲みながら食うのも、ものすごい量です。とくに魚が大好きで、暴飲暴食や不摂生なら、すべてやり尽くしたという自信があります。
そんな生活が体に良い訳はなく、糖尿病になったのも無理ないことです。結婚した頃に60キロだった体重は、10数年で20キロ以上も増えていました。最も太っていたときで83キロ、空腹時の血糖値は400を超えていたのです。別荘を買ったころは、女房の食事療法のおかげもあって、少し落ち着いていましたが、それでも酒をやめて、おとなしくなったりはしませんでした。
このようによく遊ばせてもらった別荘でしたが、いま思うと本当に楽しかったのは、持つまでの間だったと思います。手に入れようと努力しているときが、最も輝いている時間でした。実際に買ってしまうと、あっけないというか、現実に起こる面倒なことの方が気になってしまうのです。夢をかなえてしまったあとに残るもの。夢の向こうに何があるのかを、私に教えてくれたのも、この別荘だったような気がします。
のちに伊豆の別荘は、売りに出すことになりました。交流磁気治療器を開発するために、まとまった資金が必要だったからです。古い夢は、次の新しい夢のために役立ってくれました。
しかし今度の夢は、決して醒めることがありません。どんなに努力し、障害を乗り越えても、飽きることなく夢中になれるものでした。それはきっと、交流磁気治療器を世に送り出し、各家庭に普及することが、私に与えられた、大きな使命だと感じていたからでしょう。
80歳を超えた今もなお、新しい交流磁気治療器の開発に取り組んでいます。こうして挑戦を続けながら、世のため、人のために役立てることを、私は心から誇りに思っています。

第28話　奨学生に選ばれ長女の弘美が西ドイツへ留学

オイルショックに日本中が揺れた昭和49年、長女の弘美は上智大学へ入学しました。将来、心理学を学びたいと言っていた弘美は、高校時代からドイツ語を学んでいました。レベルの高い語学教育を受けるため、自ら選んだ大学にストレートで合格したのですから親として、こんなに嬉しいことはありません。上智を落ちたら大学へは行かず、別のことをやると言っていましたので、とても意思の強い子だと思いました。
私は勉強をしろと言ったこともなく、子供が成長し思春期になっても、放任主義に変わりはありませんでした。受験についてもまったく意見せず、弘美が決めたことを後から聞くだけでした。ただ、子供が選んだことは、精一杯やらせてやりたい。そして将来は、自分の好きな道へ進んで欲しいと願っていました。
大学に入学してから、半年くらい経ったある日、弘美が西ドイツへ留学したいと言いはじめました。話を聞いてみると、産経新聞の財団が後援している奨学生の一次試験に受かったということでした。学費や生活費はすべて支給され、応募者も多く狭き門だが、最終試験までいって合格したら、留学させて欲しいと言いました。これまでもそうだったように、しっかりと考え抜いて、自分で決めてから親に報告するだけですから、駄目と言っても、おそらく聞かなかったでしょう。決めたことは、必ずやり遂げる。それだけ意思の強い子です。自分でやりたいことを見つけたのだから、女房が反対するのはともかく、私だけは応援してやろうと思いました。
アメリカや英国などをあわせ全部で20人、西ドイツはわずか4人でしたが、その後の試験にも合格し、弘美は留学生に選ばれました。新聞に写真入りのインタビュー記事が掲載され、子を持つ親として、これほど誇らしいことはありませんでした。とはいえ、不安もあります。今とは違い海外留学なんて、違う星へ行くようなものです。ましてや女の子を、親の手が届かない異国の地へ、たったひとりで送り出すのです。目の前では平気なふりをしても、内心は穏やかではありませんでした。
女房も説得し、翌年19歳になった弘美は、西ドイツへと旅立ちました。海外電話も当時はコレクトコールしかなく、近況を知らせるのは、ときどき寄こしてくる手紙だけです。当たり障りのない、日常を綴った文章も、そのときは唯一の親子のつながりでした。今でも、西ドイツから届いた手紙は、すべて大切に保存してあります。当初は一年の予定だったものの、もらった奨学金を節約し、少しずつ貯めたお金で、もう半年ほど留学を続けることになりました。
ところが、日本へ戻る日が近付いても、一向に連絡の手紙が届きません。ひょっとして、向こうに永住するつもりじゃないのかと、不安がよぎりました。しびれを切らして、コレクトコールで寮に電話をかけると、本人が電話口に出てきました。怪我で右手の骨を折ってしまい、手紙が書けなかったと言うのです。
帰国予定の日、私は羽田まで迎えに行きました。果たして本当に帰ってくるのか、不安は残っていました。手に包帯を巻いた弘美が、ゲートから出てくるのを見たとき、ようやく安堵しました。一年半ぶりにみる我が子は、親の目にもたくましく映ると同時に自立した大人としてもう親の手の届かないところにあるのも実感しました。
この一年半は、私にとっても大きな変化がありました。そのとき私は伊東の別荘を売り、自宅も抵当に入れて、交流磁気治療器の開発にのめり込んでいました。以前から家族は猛反対で、弘美とは西ドイツへ行く前、絶対に無茶なことはしないと約束させられていました。
空港から自宅へと向かう車の中で、まず私は、約束を破ったことを打ち明けなければなりませんでした。

第29話　苦難の開発を支えた医療不信の原体験について

弘美が西ドイツの留学から帰った頃、中川先生のいすゞ病院の近くで、私は交流磁気治療器の開発にのめり込んでいました。これまでも書いてきたように、家族をはじめ私の周りの人間は、すべて猛反対でした。無理もありません。誰が電電公社を退職した技術者に、治療器の認可がとれるなどと考えたでしょうか。しかも開発には、莫大なお金もかかります。黙っていれば年金を貰え、悠悠自適の隠居生活ができるのに、何を馬鹿なことをやっているのかと言われても、世間の常識では反論できません。

実際、当時の銀行で、定年退職した私のような人間に、金を貸してくれるところなど、一つもありませんでした。今とは違って、医療への信頼感も、まだまだ高かった時代です。難しいことは、お医者さんに任せておけばいいという風潮の中、お前に何ができると笑われても仕方ないことです。

しかし、私にとっての医療とは、家族を幸せにしてくれるものではありませんでした。長男を救ってもらえなかった、私自身も糖尿病の薬害で、塗炭の苦しみを味わいました。そして何よりも、妻の4回にわたる開腹手術が、医療への不信感を高めました。もし、こうした経験がなければ、自らの手で治療器を開発しようなんて、考えなかったかもしれません。

認可を受けるまでの苦しい道のりを支えたのは、医療への不信感と、怒りにも似た気持ちがあったからです。

最初に妻が異常出血を起こしたのは、弘美が小学校六年のときでした。主治医の話では、「このまま放置するとガンになる可能性が高い。速やかに子宮を摘出した方がいい」ということでした。手術は盲腸を切るのと同じくらい、2週間もあれば退院できるという説明で、ガンの恐ろしさに比べれば、医師の指示に従うのも、やむを得ないことだったと思います。

義姉に来てもらい、家の面倒をみてもらいましたが、予定よりも延びて退院したのは35日後でした。ところが家に戻ってからも、一向に妻の体調が優れません。それどころか、小水が膣から漏れると言うのです。何のために手術をしたのか分からぬまま、愕然として再入院することになりました。ここから本当の意味で、病院との戦いが始まることになります。いくら説明を聞いても、執刀した医師の話は、要領を得ないものでした。私は直感的に、何かを隠していると悟りました。しかし、当時の大病院で、手術を失敗したなんて認める訳がありません。むしろ彼らの常識では、ひたすら隠そうとするだけです。このまま婦人科にいては、埒が開かないと思い、泌尿器科へ移すようお願いしました。何も措置を施すことができないのに、それでも「認められない」の一点張りで、妻は婦人科から出してもらえませんでした。

このままでは、妻が殺されてしまう――。私は本当に恐ろしくなりました。まだ子供だって小さいのに、こんなことで死なせる訳にはいかないと焦りました。普通にお願いしても駄目なことは分かっていましたので、こうなったら力づくで奪うしかありません。軍隊時代は上官に斬りかかるほど、理にかなわぬことに対して血の気が多い性分です。細かいことは書けませんが、医者と刺し違えるほどの覚悟で、凄みをきかせ妻を取り戻しました。

泌尿器科へ移ったあとも、結局は3度、手術を繰り返すことになりました。その経緯は本にも書いた通りです。しかし、あのまま婦人科にいたら、助けることはできなかったでしょう。わずか二年足らずのうちに、4度も開腹した妻は、本当に痛々しい姿でした。愚痴も言わずよく耐えましたが、それだけに、いたたまれない気持ちになりました。

こうした経験が、私を駆り立てていました。今では医療過誤という言葉もありますが、あの時の私には、助けてくれない医療に対して、自分がやらねばならぬという強い使命感がありました。

第30話　孤独な時代を支えた人たち
証言者…平瀬トキさん

石渡弘三の自伝「己に克て」は、大森で交流磁気治療器の開発にとりかかった、前号までの原稿が残っていました。残念ながら、厚生省から認可を受けるまでの経緯を、開発者自身の言葉で綴っていませんが、その苦難の道のりを、「己に克て」の続編として、証言者の声をたよりに少しだけでも辿ってみたいと思います。
東京都大田区大森北にあるアパート。2階はアパート、1階は事務所になっていた所の1階で、石渡弘三は交流磁気治療器の開発に取り組んでいました。臨床データをとっていた、中川恭一先生のいすゞ病院にも近く、認可を取得したのちは、治療器の工場になった場所でもあります。現在、大森で開発する姿を、実際にみた人は少なくなっています。その貴重な証言をしてくれる方に、インタビューします。

証言者は、平瀬トキさんです。

平瀬さんと石渡弘三の出会いは、戦前にまでさかのぼります。昭和11年、赤坂電話局で同僚として働き、戦後に再会したあとも、開発の時代にとどまらず、治療器の普及や販売にも尽力してこられました。現在も東京都下の自宅に体験センターを開き、ソーケングループの中では、最も歴史のある販売店の一つです。古くからの友人であると同時に、交流磁気治療器が認可を受ける前から、側面でずっと応援をし続けたのが平瀬さんでした。開発に直接関わった訳ではないものの、その経緯を客観的にみてきた立場から、お話をしていただきます。

最初に、大森時代の石渡弘三についてたずねると、平瀬さんはこう答えてくれました。
「おそらく、大森で開発をはじめた最初の1～2年は、石渡さんの人生の中で、最も孤独なときだったと思います。家族は猛反対で、磁気のことなんか聞きたくもないという状況でした。石渡さんを気の毒に思いましたが、家族の気持ちもよく分かり仕方のないことでした。公社の仕事を辞めたあと、園芸や将棋でもやったらいいと薦められたようですが、石渡さんは『そんなことをしたら、俺は死んでしまう』なんて言っていました。
とにかく、あの頃は情熱だけあって、自分の気持ちに真っ直ぐでした。あまり口数の多い人ではありませんが、みていると自分も何かしなきゃいけないという気持ちにさせる人です。当時から、人を惹きつける魅力があって、それは治療器を世に出すという純粋な気持ちが、みんなの心に響いたからだと思います」

孤独な時代を支えた人々…。平瀬さんの言うように、真っ直ぐな志に対する協力がなければ、交流磁気治療器が世に出ることはなかったのかもしれません。平瀬さんは開発の発端となった、中川恭一先生と石渡弘三の出会いも、よくご存知でした。
「あれは昭和49年だったと思います。第1回の磁気と生体研究会の記事が、東京新聞に掲載されました。知り合いから教えてもらった石渡さんは、その日にすぐ、いすゞ病院へ電話をかけていました。当時、院長だった中川先生は、見ず知らずの技術者に、会うような時間がある人ではありません。そんな多忙な中、実現出来たのは、永久磁石ではなく、交流磁気というのに興味を持たれたこともあったと思います。その頃は、まだ手作りの治療器でしたが、先生の『これは革命的な機械ですな』というお言葉が、ものすごく印象に残っています。これは認可をきちんと受けて、世に出すべきだと助言をいただき、それから石渡さんも、本格的な開発を考えるようになりました」
中川先生に加えて、もう一人、石渡弘三の甥である大澤正明さんの存在が、極めて大きな役割を果たしたと言います。中川先生が試作器を使って臨床データを取る手伝いを大澤さんがする一方、石渡さんは製品の開発や認可に必要な条件を整える。3人がそれぞれの役割を担って、開発へのスクラムを組むことができたのです。中川先生、大澤さん以外にも手を差し出してくれた人がいました。
「佐藤さんは、以前から石渡さんのことをよく知っていて、仕事ぶりや人間性を高く買っていました。だからこそ、大森の事務所を提供し、開発を支援してくれたのだと思います。こうして開発への役割分担ができ、石渡さんは絶対にやるという覚悟を決めたのだと思います。それからは、大森まで毎日通って、コツコツと作業をしていました。ひょうたんの形を工夫して、木の枠でいろいろ作ってみたり、とても几帳面な仕事ぶりでした。ひとりで開発していたとき、2度ほど、あそこで正月を迎えましたが、私も年末になると掃除に行って、正月の飾りつけなどをやっていました。いま思えば、そんなことまでしなくてよかったのかもしれませんが、とにかく情熱を持って、ひとりで頑張っている姿をみると、何かお手伝いしたいという気持ちにさせられるのです」

開発の経緯をつぶさに見てきた平瀬さんは、今でも簡単な修理なら自分でできるほど、治療器の技術的な部分にも精通しています。そんな平瀬さんが、認可を受けて全国に代理店ができたころ、石渡弘三が語った言葉を、今でも大切に心にとどめていると言います。

「あるとき石渡さんが、『俺ひとりでは、ここまで来れなかったなあ』と、本当にしみじみ、言ってくれたことがありました。大森にいた頃は、本当に孤独で辛かったと思います。
治療器の開発は石渡さんの情熱がなければできなかったことです。本当に、よく頑張ったと思います」

第31話　「苦難の道半ばにも喜びの声」
証言者…平瀬トキさん

前話から引き続き、戦前の電電公社時代からの同僚であり、開発を側面から支えた、平瀬トキさんの証言です。

治療器の改良と、認可を受けるために必要だった臨床データの収集を進めていた頃、石渡弘三をはじめ開発に携わっていた人々にとって、忘れられない出来事がありました。ソーケングループの中で、最も歴史のある販売店であり、現在も多くのお客様と接している平瀬さん。その平瀬さんにとっても、この出来事は喜びの声の原点になっていると言います。
「最初におばあさんが、てんかんに悩む孫を連れて、東京に来られたと思います。まだ認可を受ける前でしたが、中川恭一先生の指導に従うということで、石渡さんが試作中の治療器を1台提供しました。これがきっかけで、大きな喜びに広がっていきました。本当に治療器を世に出すことができるのか、不安もあった時期だけに、この出来事は石渡さんにとって、ずいぶんと励みになったと思います」
この経緯は中川先生の著書『続・磁気健康法』の中で、交流磁気治療器を紹介するエピソードの一つとして、取り上げられています。
まずは出来事の端緒について記した部分を、著書の中から引用させていただきます。
「昭和54年4月5日、私を訪ねて北海道から、おばあさんが9歳になる孫の手を引いてやってきた。その少年は4歳半を過ぎてから、てんかんの発作に見舞われるようになったという。薬の副作用で、医師は『あと3年も生きられればいい』と言ったらしい。両親はあきらめているが、おばあさんはあきらめがつかないという。突然、私のところに現れたのであるから、役に立たなくとも致し方ない。といえばそれまでである。しかし、北海道からわざわざ飛行機に乗って孫を連れてきた、おばあさんをそのまま帰すことに哀れさを感じた。そのとき、ふと頭に浮かんだのが、治験中の交流磁気治療器のことであった」
使い方や注意点など、十分に説明を受けたうえで、1台の治療器を北海道に持ち帰りました。それから2カ月後、おばあさんから経過を報告する手紙が届きます。これを契機に、東京と北海道の間で手紙の交換がはじまりました。その内容を読むたび、平瀬さんも勇気づけられたと言います。最初の手紙が、中川先生の本に紹介されていますので、その一部を引用しましょう。
「おばあさんは、それから何度となく治療経過を手紙で知らせてきた。第一報は次のようなものだった。先日、Ａ病院で脳波の検査をしていただきました。病院の先生もちょっと意外そうな顔で、小さい波が2つあるだけで、それもケイレンする波ではないとおっしゃいました。機械を使うようになって、寝つきがとてもよくなりました。そして、朝もバッチリ目があくので、家中大喜びです」
このあと、少年は様子をみながら薬を減らし、発作にも悩まされなくなります。手紙の交換は2年近く続きました。最後に届いた手紙では、5年生になった少年が、ほかの子と同じように外で真っ黒になって遊び、のびのびと育っている姿を、心から喜ぶおばあさんの言葉が綴られています。平瀬さんは少年の出来事から、石渡弘三が得たものを、こんなふうにまとめてくれました。
「開発を進めていた、たった1台の治療器から始まったあの出来事は、石渡さんに大きな力を与えたと思います。どんなに辛い道程でも、今やっている開発は、必ず世のため人のためになることを、確信させてくれました。あれがお客様の喜ぶ声を聞く、原点になったような気がします。認可をとったら、一人でも多くの人に伝えたい。みんながそんな夢をみていた時だったから、余計に嬉しく感じたんでしょうね」
こういった出来事の積み重ねで、今のソーケンメディカルがあります。認可を取った後の我が社の「電気磁気治療器」の活躍は皆さん、ご存知の通りです。
今後もより一層、活躍が期待される、治療器を石渡弘三は創造したのです。。。

開発者の物語…読んでいただきましてありがとうございました。

Developer: Kozo Ishiwata Story Overcome yourself

Episode 1: A turbulent start to life