Chapter 2.3: Farewell to the Self-Made Man

Mr Shintaro Ishihara was the Goethe of Japan. I was his pupil, a person in the same profession, and his escort runner. In this chapter, I have woven together my private recollections, spanning as long as twenty-plus years, and "my unfulfilled promise" to him. ー Shin Ushijima

Chapter 2.3: Farewell to the Self-Made Man

Read other chapters in My Mentor, Shintaro Ishihara

A farewell service was scheduled in memory of Shintaro Ishihara, which his good friend, Mr Toru Kenjo, kindly arranged for me to attend.

If I remember correctly, it was around mid-April when I heard from Mr Kenjo that the farewell service, originally planned for April 29, would be postponed. He explained the postponement in detail and promised to let me know without fail the new date of the service once it was determined.

And it was set for June 9, a Thursday.

June 9, 2022, at the Cerulean Tower Tokyu Hotel in Shibuya, according to the invitation.

By car, I headed to the venue with a heavy heart. During the ride, I was thinking that this must be the so-called "lump in the throat" feeling. It's not that I had palpitations, but I could hear my heart beating. To put the status of my excitement in negative terms, this exactly explained how I was feeling at that time.

It had already been four months since Mr Ishihara had passed away. Nothing would change that. Still, as I approached the venue, I couldn't help feeling a sense of emotion. Soon, I would be put in the situation where I had to face reality and objectively accept the fact of Mr Ishihara's death.

Random thoughts of the past came to mind in circles, but in the end, it kept coming back to my sense of regret for having disappointed Mr Ishihara.

The Hand of Buddha

Arriving at the hotel, I went down to the second basement floor and found a large crowd, as expected. Yet, my recollection remains a blur, perhaps because there were many young people or because I was simply indifferent to the people around me. I met Mr Yasuki Morishita from Gentosha Inc, and I exchanged greetings with Naoki Inose, the former Governor of Tokyo.

Two red and white chairs were displayed in front of the venue. From Mr Ishihara's house, they were designed by Taro Okamoto, a Japanese artist, in the shape of the hand of Buddha. I had seen a photo of Mr Ishihara seated in the red chair, with his hips in the palm and his right hand resting on the "thumb" of the chair. His back rested against the other four fingers. It looked as though Buddha himself was extending his slightly cupped hand.

I recognized at first sight that they were the chairs in the photo and was tempted to sit in one, just as Mr Ishihara had in the picture. There was no sign saying not to sit in them, but there were a lot of people around. I sensed that if I were caught sitting in the chair, others might follow, and I would regret it if the chairs were damaged. That thought deterred me, so I simply admired them for a while.

Setting the Scene

Walking ahead as directed, I passed many paintings by Mr Ishihara on display. It surprised me to learn that Mr Ishihara was quite serious about painting, much more so than people imagined. His personal studio was reproduced. Looking at the chairs and paintbox, I was very much convinced that they were all brought from his personal studio, as his son described: "The Ishiharas' private residence is very large, but my father appropriated most of the space of the residence for his own use, (Father Held Fast to 'His Ego' until the Very End, by Nobuhiro Ishiihara, Bungeishunju, April 2022, pp 103 - 104)

Next, looking up toward the ceiling, I found a large screen with video footage of his house. There was a grand cast-iron gate reminiscent of the mansion in the movie The Godfather. It showed a luxurious staircase at the entrance, a mirrored cupboard which I have seen many times in pictures, Mr Ishihara's very spacious study, his wife's bedroom, and so on. The rooms came into view one after another.

I stood still for a while, looking at the mansion. Of course, beyond the windows stretched Sagami Bay. A caption stated that his wife's bedroom overlooked the sea, too, and was spacious enough to hold beds for their young children.

Evidence of the Self-made Man

Walking further ahead, I found a massive wall seemingly installed for the memorial service. It displayed all of the front covers of Mr Ishihara's books. Roughly counting fifty from side to side, I deduced from my calculation that there might have been about five hundred. I was very surprised.

Come to think of it, I remember Mr Ishihara saying, "I'm a self-made man." It deeply impressed me that he had earned this luxurious mansion and yacht in his own right.

Mr Ishihara once bitterly commented that politics demands money. I remember a passage in one of his books commenting on giving his men the money that he had made through his own blood and sweat by filling words into the spaces of manuscript paper, only to see it instantly disappear into paying off their tabs for their drinking sprees at a Ginza nightclub. 'Ah, Mr Ishihara, you must have been through some tough times,' I thought with compassion.

Into the Memorial Hall

At last, I entered the room for the service and found a floral panorama honoring Mr Ishihara. Its lower half was adorned with white flowers and its upper half with blue flowers ー representing the sea, so everybody guessed. The sails of a yacht were unfurled on the right and left sides of the scene, and Mr Ishihara's photo was displayed in the center in a simple gray frame. He was smiling a little smile as though beginning to talk to us.

Who chose this photograph? Of course, it must have been chosen by his family.

But I felt something was off a bit. The photo of Mr Ishihara should have conveyed a more powerful impression for this service, I thought. No, that would be the selfish thinking of a person who was not aware of his last moments, but just watching him from afar.

The place where the photo was displayed was exactly where, just a few months ago, I had stood giving the keynote speech to as many as 700 attendees as president of the association of Tokyo residents from Hiroshima Prefecture. I recall the microphone standing around the height of Mr Ishihara's face in the photo.

Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but because I had learned from Mr Kenjo that another venue had been considered for the service, I suspected there was an element of fate.

Paying Respects

On this day, well over 700 people stood, waited, and then proceeded slowly to the front to lay a white flower out of respect. The rows of people were inching forward. Every time those at the front laid a flower, they moved to the left, and I inched a little bit forward.

Diagonally to my front right, there was a person in a wheelchair. A man and a woman who were not so young were talking in slightly loud voices directly in front of me. Putting two and two together from the fragments I heard, I figured they were in the publishing business.

After 10 or 15 minutes, I finally reached the front. There were about thirty of us in the row.

Taking in the scene in front of me, I found myself talking to Mr Ishihara despite myself, although not out loud.

"Ishihara-san, can you see what's happening here? It's fine for other people, but I think it looks a bit out of place for someone like you."

Respectfully Out of Place

What attracted my attention first was an envelope for funeral offerings embellished with black and white mizuhiki decorative cords displayed on a stand. A reed-shaped white paper hanging from the stand's tray bore the name of His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor. I had seen this kind of envelope somewhere before, at another funeral.

Just to its right was a framed award certificate, with Emperor Akihito's signature clearly visible. It was the Grand Cordon of the Order of the Rising Sun, bestowed in the year Heisei 27, or 2015. Former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe's signature was also there. And further to the right sat the medal itself, although I refrained from walking closer to verify it.

Back to the funeral offering and looking to the left, I found a plate proclaiming the rank of "正三位" (Shosanmi: third court rank) with the signature of Prime Minister Fumio Kishida.

"Ishihara-san, what's this all about? Where is the Ishihara-san we know?" I wanted to ask him.

Even though I clearly understood that all of this manifested what Japan acknowledged of Mr Ishihara's accomplishments, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Probably, that was because I believed that Mr Ishihara was someone who deserved something more.

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(To read the book in Japanese, please visit the publisher's website.)