Francis Turner, a reader who has his own substack, has prompted me to write this post with a comment he made. Some of the below I self-plagiarize from a comment I made on his substack.
After serving my 6 years in the US navy the last two and a half homeported in Japan aboard an aircraft carrier, I used the G.I. Bill to pay for college. Not exactly. The reality is that it helped cover the costs of college, but not all. Although it would have more completely done so if I had not studied abroad in Japan for two years leaving me with the then standard $30,000 school loan debt; which, like a chump,I paid off. Errrrrrr.
While I was serving in the navy in Japan, I decided to make the most of my time here and got off base as much as my duty cycle and being underway allowed, which was not much. In the 2 1/2 aboard the USS Independence, I was ashore in Japan a total of 8 months, rarely more than a few weeks at a time. Actually come to think of it, never more than a few weeks at the time. Japanese law at the time provided for all vessels berthed in Japan to be inspected if they are in port more than a certain number of days; around 40 I think. As Japan did not allow nuclear weapons in its territory and the USA navy’s policy at the time was to not disclose which, if any, of it vessels had such weapons aboard, we put to sea before the number of days that would have allowed for the ship to be inspected. Thus, I was in and out of port frequently. Still, I was able to climb Mt. Fuji, study Gaelic and Irish step dancing in Tokyo and get out and about. Had a great time and decided to return to formerly study the language and culture. An introduction to kendo by a shipmate played a huge role in my return. I also learned that the college near my home had a campus in Japan.
Fresh from the navy, I enrolled and immediately began looking into studying at the campus in Japan. Opps. I believe I might have erred in an earlier posting. I may have stated that my time as an exchange student at a Japanese university was my first time here as student. If I did, it was an error of memory. My first time as a student in Japan was in Niigata for a full school year. A full American school year, following the US academic calendar, an important fact for other parts of the story posted elsewhere. Anyway, back to this story which is about my second trip as student in Japan, this time as an exchange student and my first time at a wholly Japanese institution.
Having been interested in studying in Japan since before enrolling in college and having attended class at my school’s campus in Japan, I was working at the Study Abroad Office on campus as I prepared to study as an exchange student at a famous Japanese university. Through this job in addition to my personal interest in the school I was to attend in Japan I met the exchange students from this school. One was a Japanese woman who would become my first fiancé and a male student from China with whom I had a delightful chance meeting with years later in Tokyo. Small world.
I spent a lot of time with the female student as I worked on the paperwork involved in studying abroad. We grew closer as she helped me with the application for the Monbusho scholarship paperwork and to understand the amenities, rules and costs of the dormitory I would eventually be placed in after I was turned down for the scholarship. The scholarship was a full free ride and free accommodations in a brand new dormitory that was little different from a fancy high rise apartment building with fitness center and large common areas for parties and events. The disappointment of missing out on such a lifestyle was greatly softened by the accommodations I was given. According to the information packet, there were private showers, cooking facilities and refrigerators. I asked her if this meant “in room” and she answered yes and was jealous of me for having such a grand pad. Not bad. Not bad at all.
We exchange students were met at the airport by our assigned student life advisors who were students themselves and members of the English speaking club for we who spoke that language or other clubs for those who did not. A total of 6 of a large number of students failed in our bids for the scholarship, 5 men (two Koreans, one Brit, one Canadian who escaped the reversion of Hong Kong to Chinese control when his family was allowed to immigrate to Canada, and myself from the US.), and one woman from Scotland. The Scottish woman flat out refused the accommodations offered her even before seeing them. At the time I thought this rude and inappropriate. I would soon wonder what she knew and how she came to know it for I wished I followed suit.
The dorm this prestigious university contracted with on our behalf was set up for students of senmon gakko, vocational or trade schools. These students included those fresh from high school. Most were underage, which until last year was 20. Thus, it had a curfew, known as Mongen in Japanese (my most dreaded and hated word of the language) of ten pm, 365 days a year. 366 on leap years. A large sign in Japanese in the foyer informed all that infractions of dorm rules would result in fines of unspecified hundreds of thousands of yen, or unspecified thousands of US dollars. Curfew was enforced through a board with each internee’s name and room number on a board and a slider we were to slide to the “out” position when we left and the “In” position upon our return. Needing to know how strictly this was enforced, I volunteered to sneak back in and slide it to the “In” position to see if that was sufficient to be logged in without the front desk eyeballing my return. It was not. Seeing it in the “In”position without observing my return prompted them to call my room shortly before curfew to se if I was indeed there. The doors were locked at the staff left at 10 pm. I was thus prevented from meeting with my student life advisor as he was on the PM shift, meaning he attended classes in the evening, which ended at 9pm. Not enough time to meet and make it back before lockdown.
In an ironic twist, a female friend who is several years younger than I was able to sign me out under her cognizance so that we could go out with friends. She was my first language exchange partner in the States and our families had grown quite close over these years. In Japan being male and older has precedence over female and youth, much more in the 90s than now. Not that I agree with that, but that is how it was and to a larger extent than many will belief, still is. For a younger Japanese woman to have responsibility over an older male at that time was a strange thing, to say the least.
As I have mentioned in past postings, there was no realistic fire escape. All doors were locked. No panic doors like are required in the US. The only fire escape was a single sling like chair, think boatswain’s chair for you nautical (not naughty) types, that allowed only one person at a time to escape from the 5th floor. If the fire was above the 5th floor, tough luck to those who live there. If the fire was on the 5th, we all die. If below the 5th floor we get roasted on the way down as the escape sling passed windows on every floor on the way down. But, as the local like to say, “Japan is safety country!”, so no worries.
Ah, but what about those great accommodations as my girlfriend, a regular student of the university and studying as an exchange student on my home campus was assured of by reading the information packet I received. The “private showers” turned out to be just two shower stalls separated by a curtain for 156 internees to share. The “cooking facilities” were two flameless burners on every other floor that required special pots and pans, not provided, that were prohibitively expensive. The refrigerator was a single tiny one of the size a sport fisherman may have aboard his bass boat that was located in the cafeteria that opened at 6 am and closed at 8 pm.
This being my third time in Japan, second in the Tokyo area I knew of what was then called “Tokyo Classifieds” and now as “Metroplis” and I looked at the “sayonara sales” for a futon to save from the ¥30,000 futon rental the dorm “offered”. Quickly found one and got it on the cheap, laundered it and happy to have saved myself such a large sum of money. Then the warden stops me as I return from my release to school one day. I had to pay the futon rental. Nope, have my own, thanks anyway or some something similar was my response. No matter, says he. I must pay. It’s in the contract. I signed no contract with you, so nope. Really big fight with or over the dorm number one. I won.
All of us participating in the same special language program, we all had class together. Our teacher started each class with “What’s new?”, and each of us had to tell the class in Japanese what we did the previous weekend. We inmates of the minimum security prison got too hear of the parties, clubbing, festivals, shopping and just general regular daily life among the locals we all paid to partake in. Actually, no. Not all were paying to study at the school. Our classmates got free rides and royal accommodations from the government. Only we who had to pay were excluded from society. The very activities we too expected to enjoy but could not due to the accommodations the school found for us, we got to hear about at the being of that weekly class.
Quickly growing tired of answering with, “Nanimonai. Mongen ga aru!”/Nothing, I have a curfew!, I changed my reply each week. One week my reply to “What did you do last weekend?”, or “What’s new?, would be “I stared at the East wall of my dorm room.” The response was “What? Why?” I relied, “Because I got tired of looking at the West wall of my dorm room. I have a curfew.” The following week I replied that I stared at the South wall because I was tired of looking at the East wall. Eventually, my girlfriend contacted her family in Japan and they sent me her TV. Life was a bit better afterwards but still a prison with a school release program and a death trap in the event of a fire. Not a place we were content to remain, especially as we were paying through the nose for the privilege.
So, we went to the foreign student office and complained. They scheduled a meeting that was during our class time. Informed of this conflict, they apologized and said it could not be helped, that was the only time the higher-ups were available. We three Westerners arrived for the appointment to be met by shocked staff. “What are you doing here?” “What do you mean, “What are you doing here?”, you scheduled the meeting?” The scheduling of the meeting to discuss our unacceptable lodgings during class time was a a signal that the Koreans picked up on; we were not to skip class for the meeting. We were to accept our imprisonment and say no more about it and attend class. They made absolutely no preparation for the meeting. The higher-ups they told us we would get to talk to were not available at the time the meeting was scheduled. Tough shit, we were not playing that game.
By some unspoken arrangement, my British and Canadian fellow inmates elected me to make our case once the guy one rung higher up the ladder from the flunky who scheduled the meeting came. After I told of the mongen problem, he called me a liar. Said that was something I must have seen in some monochrome (black and white) movie as the practice died in the 50s. I told him to call the dorm and ask. He left and returned in fury. He had called the managing comping who confirmed his belief that there was no mongen. I reminded him that I told him to call the dorm, and not the managing company. Surprisingly, he had someone do so then. While we waited he continued to insult my low level of understanding of his language and my habit of lying. I brought up the accommodations we were said to have provided to us. He said it was a misunderstanding due to my low level of Japanese reading ability. I asked if he knew the exchange student from his school to mine. He replied that he had. I then asked if her level of understanding the language was sufficient to properly understand the information we were sent. “Of course, she is Japaneses and a third year student of this university.” “It was she, who after reading what you sent, told me that the private showers, cooking facilities and refrigerator were provided in each room. Either what you sent was improperly worded or the school’s level of education as evidenced by her inability to understand written Japanese is less than advertised.” That wiped his smug smile off his face with even more satisfaction than if I had did so with the back handed slap I was struggling to keep myself from giving him. For those who do not know, I went to college after 6 years in the Navy, which I left as a second class machinist mate, the same rank as a sergeant of the army or marines. I have a low tolerance for such bull shit as he found out.
A knock on the door summed him to the hallway where his underling relayed what he learned from his phone call to dorm. The walls being thin, we heard his responses. USO! Maji? ShinjIrarenai. “. /It’s a lie! Seriously? I cannot believe it. He returned to the room red faced and told us to “Ganbate”/Well, just put up with it, and left. We did not just put up with it, though the fight took several months to win.
At one point, the person who scheduled this meeting during class time came to talk to us in our dorm. After listening to us for several hours on a Saturday, he said he understood and offered to take us out for a drink. The three of us looked at each other in despair, ah not another act of theater! It was 9;30 pm, curfew was in 30 minutes, he absorbed nothing of our situation.
I no longer recall how, but we eventually escaped. With the help of my girlfriend who had by that time returned to Japan, I found an apartment that would accept gaijin as tenants. Very difficult in the 90s. She came to help me move out but was not allowed to enter the dormitory, not even to use the restroom. It was a male only facility. The apartment we found was a tiny one way out in Hino under an expressway, a 40 some minute train commute to the school and a 20 minute walk from the station. Our classes were not held every day and I did not make the trip to campus unless I had classes. Japan allowed at the time, I believe they still do but do not know, foreign students to work up to 20 hours a week and I did so, teaching English.
I got a call from the same guy who scheduled the meeting during class time and wasted our Saturday to listen to us describe our situation only to offer to take us out for a drink just before curfew. Let’s say it was on a Tuesday. “Kitsune san, how are you?” “Fine.” I replied. “Will you be home (this was just before cell phones really took off in Japan.) Thursday next week?” “Let me check my schedule….um yes. Why?” We’ll call you at 2 pm on Thursday next week.” “What? Why? Can’t you just tell me now?” “No, we’ll call you next Thursday at 2 pm.” “But I have a private lesson then.” “Can you reschedule it?” “I don’t know, I’ll have to contact the student”. “Please do.” “If what you have to tell me is so important, can’t you just tell me now?” “No. We’ll call you at 2 pm Thursday next week.” “Can’t I stop by the office tomorrow between classes?” “No. We’ll call you 2 pm Thursday next week. Talk to you then.” “WTF” I thought.
I rescheduled the lesson for the telephone appointment and awaited the call. At 2pm, the phone rang. “Good afternoon Kitsune san. How are you?” “I’m fine. What’s up.” “Can you come in to the office next week Tuesday?” “I don’t have university classes on Tuesday but I have my own students Tuesdays. Can’t I just stop by when I am on campus?” “No. We need you to come in on Tuesday.” “Is this really necessary? Why can’t you just say or ask whatever it is over the phone or on a day I am already on campus?” “Sorry, we need you to come in on Tuesday next week.” “Okay, what time?” How about 2 pm?” “Fine, 2 pm next Tuesday.”
I cleared my schedule for the afternoon of the following Tuesday as I had no idea what this is about nor how long it will take. A bit apprehensive, I arrive at the appointed time and am met at the counter by the same individual who called me twice to set up this in person meeting and all the rest. “Thank you for coming in today.” “Okay. What’s this all about?” “Are you well?” “Yes, I’m fine.” “Any problems?” I’m thinking, “You mean apart from having to rearrange my schedule two weeks in a row to answer damned fool questions? No. No problems.”, but only the last three of those words were spoken. “Nothing at all? No problems or issues at all?” “Nope. None”. “Okay, thank you for coming in today. Study hard. Bye.”
The whole exchange was conducted at the counter and was over in less time than either of the previous two phone calls to set up the meeting. I left in a stunned silence. Later on I related the incident to my fellow escapees and learned they had similar experiences. Then the light bulb went on. To look busy, our advisor would call us to schedule another phone call which was made to schedule an in person meeting at the counter so that he was always seen to be on the phone or helping students at the counter. I, we had to rearrange our schedules, miss events and or income just so he could look busy. Pissed off to no small degree, we none-the-less realized we had learned a valuable lesson about life in Japan. Ah, just like the navy I realized. I would experience similar uncountable times since and just like my time in the navy, would just accept it as part of the deal. “Yokoso Nippon” (Welcome to Japan!) became the phrase we used whenever we ran into such nonsense. I still use this, well did before the panic. That school would teach us a great deal about Japanese society and life as did the students I taught at the time, but those lessons, the most valuable were outside the classroom.
I missed this when you posted it. Just saw it. Very glad I didn't have to suffer any of that BS even though it probably would have helped me learn a lot of Japanese :)
I recall my wife saying that she had a similar curfew situation in her first year (2 years?) at her university in Kobe. I recall her saying it was pretty strict but you could get signed permissions from someone to come back late.
Mind you technically I had a similar one at Cambridge, it's just that no one enforced it and the back wall/fence you climbed over was worn by generations of students using it.