Thursday, April 25, 2019

Thirteen Books From the Library of William Stafford, Oregon's Poet

Books sometime come to us in strange ways.  We don't care how they come.  Just as long as they keep on coming.  "Free to good (institutional) home"  These were the first words in the subject line of a thread Lee Kirk, Proprietor of The Prints & the Paper of Eugene, Oregon posted to the ExLibris mailing list on the morning of December 23, 2015.  Lee was offering "free to the first to speak up" 18 issues from 1943 and 1944 of The Wants List, a periodical  about 70 pages long published by Book Trade Weekly, and containing the book wants of WWII-era booksellers, some of whom were Book Row dealers.  I was the first to speak up offlist, and although Lee had institutions in mind, he had read and enjoyed some of my blog posts, was aware of my collecting interests, and knew I would put The Wants List to good use.  Lee said he particularly enjoyed reading my presentation on association copies, and remarked that he had some presentation copies from the library of William Stafford.  He was an avid William Stafford collector, and wrote a brilliant article about collecting Stafford for Biblio.com.  The Stafford association copies, however, he felt were outside of the parameters of his Stafford Collection.

Before I could tell Lee that I was interested in the Stafford association copies as well, someone from an "institution" posted to ExLibris that he'd like the issues of The Wants List if they were still available.  And he even offered to buy them!  But Lee responded that The Wants List was already spoken for.  Mindful, however,  of Lee's original intention to give The Wants List to an institution, I  first persuaded myself (it took some persuading) and then Lee to give The Wants List to the institutionalist, and wish him a "Merry Christmas."  Afterwards, Lee and I reached an agreement on the Stafford association copies. And nine copies of books presented to William Stafford by other authors were  heading my way after Christmas.

I was to acquire another four volumes of books from William Stafford's library just last month, and once again  they were from a bookseller on ExLibris. Yes, lightning does strike twice.  Every Tuesday, booksellers are permitted to advertise on ExLibris.  And on Tuesday, March 5th, Scott Givens, proprietor of Browsers' Bookstore in Oregon, offered hundreds of volumes of poetry from the library of William Stafford.  I chose four volumes of 624 volumes that were listed in a spreadsheet.   I chose from the bottom of the list up. Here is the first one I chose:



Lolette Kuby, one of the editors of this book which was published in 1978, presented a copy to William Stafford in October 1986.



I chose this book specifically for its connection to a member of the Florida Bibliophile Society, Peter Hargitai.  Peter's portrait is the bottom left of portraits on the front cover of Forum: Ten Poets of the Western Reserve.

Peter began teaching at the University of Miami in 1978, became Poet Laureate of Gulfport, Florida in 2015 and joined the Florida Bibliophile Society.  Here is a poem by Lolete Kuby on one side and a poem by Attila József that Peter Hargitai translated, on the other.


Here is Peter Hargitai 39 years later, his beard grayer,  reciting another one of József's poems during the April 30, 2017 (National Poetry Month) meeting of the Florida Bibliophile Society.




I chose the next two books because they included letters to William Stafford from the authors.  The first one is the last of ten editions of the Index of American Periodical Verse that Sander W. Zulauf edited.  Edward M. Cifelli, another member of the Florida Bibliophile Society, helped Zulauf edit at least one earlier editions of this book.




The poem Zuluaf refers to in his note, "Available Light," was published in the Fall 1970 issue of New Letters Magazine.


William Stafford was a prolific writer of poems.  Forty-three of his poems were published in periodicals in 1980.  And 12 of his son's poems were published in periodicals the same year.



R. B. Weber sent Stafford a copy of his book, The Fishing-Print Poems.  A friend of Weber's quoted Stafford on writing: "like fishing – always a nibble."




I chose the next book because of its contemporary bookplate, thinking it might Stafford's. It wasn't, but I was not disappointed.  It was a nicely bound book of poems about Lewis and Clark College where Stafford taught 32 years.  Its author, B. A. Thaxter, was a fervent Birder and many of the poems were about birds. Every word in the book was hand lettered.





The contemporary bookplate belonged to Ruth Ann and Ray Moore.  Ray appear to be a former student athlete (?) of Lewis and Clark College.


The newspaper article about Thaxter gives a brief description of his book, Rhymes of Our College....


Surprisingly, only two of the nine Stafford association copies I acquired from Lee Kirk were books of poetry.  And one of them I gave to Peter Meinke, Poet Laureate of Florida, when he was the guest speaker for the Florida Bibliophile Society in March 2016.  The book was a 1946 edition of A Wordsworth Anthology.  




I thought it would be neat to give the poet laureate of Florida a book from the library of a poet laureate of Oregon.  Peter Meinke enjoyed receiving the gift. In fact, he wrote about it in Tampa Bay's Creative Loafing Magazine.



Poets of Today III was the other book of poetry I received from Lee Kirk.



 Lee Anderson, one of the three poets presented in the book,  gave the book to Stafford in July 1963. Andreson's poem "The Floating World," was twenty-seven pages long. The note to "Vern" at the top of the letter was written by William Stafford's hand and is addressed to his wife Aditha "Vern" Stafford.



Sister Mary Gilbert (Madeline DeFrees) presented William Stafford with copies of two of her books on November 24, 1962.



   The Springs of Silence is a memoir about Sister Mary Gilbert's life in the convent.  Later Thoughts From the Springs of Silence details the relocation of Holy Names College to property that used to be military housing in Washington.

The Springs of Silence was first published in September 1953 and the fifth printing, a copy of which she presented to Stafford was published in July 1962.

Later Thoughts... was first published in 1962.


Inserted in Thoughts From the Springs of Silence was a note with a "P.E.O" letterhead (Philanthropic Educational Organization, an international organization for the advancement of women).


The note was stored in a glassine envelope and was from Jacqueline Harrington (?), Correspondence Secretary of P.E.O.  Chapter E. N. (Michigan?)  Sister Mary Gilbert was a member of P.E.O. and she and other members of the organization were visiting Stafford in November 1962.




Sister Mary Gilbert wrote poems for herself.  One of her poems appears on pages 120 and 121 of The Springs of Silence.  She would later leave the convent and devote herself to writing poetry under her real name, Madeline DeFrees.




Pisces, or the Awakened Female is listed by one book dealer on AbeBooks as a book of poetry. But it is clearly a book of prose.  Although it is signed by "Eagle,"that is a pseudonym. Stafford wrote the name and address of the author below the presentation.



The next book, Wolf That I Am: In Search of the Red Earth People, by Fred McTaggart is the deep story of a white academic who tries to better understand his inner self by learning from the folklore of the Mesquakie (Meskwaki) Indians of Iowa.



The Meskwaki poet Ray A. Young Bear presented this book to William Stafford.



After reading the presentation in the next book, I don't know who visited whom.   I'm guessing that Stafford had a poetry reading in Louisiana and met David Madden during the trip.  Madden would later include Stafford's poem, "Traveling Through the Dark" in his Pocketful of Poems series.



``


Willian Stafford wrote that he met the author of the next novel Charlotte Painter on July 28, 1978, but I can't decipher the name of the person Painter was with....






And finally, William Stafford wrote a jacket blurb for the next author, Andrew Jolly, for his dark novel, Lie Down in Me.







I would be remiss if I didn't include my two books of Stafford's poetry in this post. Only two? One contains 97 poems and the other contains 115 poems!


William Stafford signed this copy of the softcover edition of a Glass Face in the Rain.



And my copy of Stafford's An Oregon Message is an association copy of sorts.  It was formerly owned by the Washington poet and photographer Jean E. Thomson!




I must admit that I have misgivings––not about any of the Stafford books––about giving up the 18 issues of The Wants List! I had believed that the second requester was the librarian of the institution.  To my chagrin, however,  I later researched him and discovered that he was  a professor at the institution, and the 18 copies of The Wants List were for his personal book collection. :-(





Friday, April 12, 2019

Of Jade Flower and Miss Jones
by Don Thompson, Poet Laureate of Kern County


April is National Poetry Month.  And I will publish two posts to My Sentimental Library blog this month.  The first is by a poet laureate, and the second, which I'll publish later this month, will be about the library of a poet laureate.  Today I will post an article by Don Thompson, Poet Laureate of Kern County, California  titled "Of Jade Flower and Miss Jones."  His article was first published in 2017 in the now defunct Levan Humanities Review.

Don Thompson's article is about a book of poetry that he found while book hunting some forty years ago.  William Targ published this book of poetry in 1941.  I found Thompson's article while researching online for my February post about a book collecting periodical that Targ  had published.  And when I read Thompson's article, I discovered that he mentioned me by name in the article.  So I contacted him and we arranged to publish his article in an April post to My Sentimental Library blog:


Of Jade Flower and Miss Jones
  by Don Thompson


     Before you could hold the world in the palm of your hand, before Amazon could locate a copy of almost any book imaginable, bibliophiles used to prowl not only used book stores (so rare now) but musty basement corners of junk shops, yard sales, and even the faux décor of model homes where an odd volume glued to an end table could turn out to be something you’d wanted for years. Not that you’d snatch it, of course, when five bucks and a cup of coffee for the real estate agent along with a shrug and a blushing explanation of your addiction would make that title legally yours.

     Forty years ago on one of those searches, I came across a book that fascinated me—and still does. Every few years I take it from the shelf and wonder about it. Five and a half by eight, a quarter inch thick, it’s the classic “skinny little book” of poems that Karl Shapiro sneered at in The Bourgeois Poet. “Go pulp yourself” was his advice. The cover boards might have been bright originally in 1941, but have now faded to a slightly grimy burnt orange. The title is a pasted-on yellow label—not unusual for a small press edition back when embossing would have been too expensive, long before computer technology made it possible for us to produce at home a book that looks like it was published in New York City. The end papers are saffron and inside the cover there is a penciled price ($2.00) and the author’s autograph.

     Or is it? The name, in orange ink, “Charles Yu,” despite the lightning bolt squiggle underneath and the speed and ease with which it has been scrawled, flattening the letters other than the initials into approximations, may not be an actual signature at all. However, since the author of Poems of a Chinese Student is not a native speaker (though his English is flawlessly idiomatic—something else to bear in mind) we can expect his signature to lack authentic slapdash or elaboration, to seem merely written, for it is, after all, only his student moniker and not his real name. At least Charles isn’t.

     An edition of 250 copies of the book was issued in Chicago by the Black Archer Press. The publisher was William Targ. There’s a photo of Targ that shows anything but a bookish aesthete. We see a darkly handsome, rugged and cleft-jawed man with intense eyes and a fedora pulled down over his brow as if daring anyone to knock it off. More hardboiled private eye than bibliophile, but that he was. A high school dropout hopelessly in love with books, Targ (originally Torgownik) borrowed some money from his mother and opened a used bookstore. He stocked it with odds and ends and a number of damaged volumes purchased at deep discount from MacMillan, where he had already worked first as an office boy and then as a sales rep. He did well enough until the 1929 Crash when he lost everything after his bank failed. In the process of rebuilding, he decided to add publishing to sales and began Black Archer.

     Later he moved to New York and went to work first for World and then G.P. Putnam, rising to the position of editor-in-chief. His claim to fame as an editor is having signed a contract with Mario Puzo for $5000 to write, without chapters or outline in hand, The Godfather. He was also the American editor of Simone de Beauvoir and had many other authors in his stable, both prestigious and prosperous. After retirement, and he lived to 92, Targ published his own Targ Editions out of his home in Greenwich Village—limited editions of works by personal favorites such as Updike, Bellow, and Mailer. His catalog at the original Black Archer Press was also varied and interesting. Primarily, he put out books about books, but there was also an edition of Huysman’s La Bas, a classic of fin-de-siecle decadence; something by William Saroyan, which he admittedly pirated; and of course, Poems of a Chinese Student.

     In Chinese landscape painting, human beings are miniscule figures trudging along down in a lower corner, anything but Byronic. The poetry is much the same, usually making observations of nature or human interaction without attempting to solve our persistently unsolvable problems. I love the direct simplicity of the poems: ‘Well, old friend, the bottle is empty and drifting away with the moon’s reflection in the water, and now I have to sail upriver to the farthest outpost where the emperor has exiled me, and you and I will never drink wine together again…’ An affectionate pastiche, but not far from the truth. For instance, here is “The Fishing Boat” by one of my favorites, Yang Wan Li, of the Sung Dynasty, from Heaven My Blanket, Earth My Pillow (Weatherhill, 1975), translated by Jonathan Chaves:
 It is a tiny fishing boat, light as a leaf;
no voices are heard from the reed cabin. There is no one on board—
  no bamboo hat,
     no raincoat,
         no fishing rod.
The wind blows the boat, and the boat moves.

Easy to dismiss, but deceptively simple with a haunting quality that grows on you and means more than it says—especially since it doesn’t attempt to say anything. Pure Zen.

     The Chinese student’s poems have a simple directness and many elements of Chinese poetry, but a very different mood. We could characterize them as social satire, in fact. Almost playful. They take a tongue-in-cheek attitude toward obvious racial stereotypes. The student’s girlfriend at home is named Jade Flower, after all, which no one could take seriously, and his “co-educational companion” in Chicago is a certain Miss Jones, who drags him away from a museum display of Sung porcelains so they won’t be late for a Ginger Rogers movie. Aching with nostalgia, he imagines Jade Flower back home:
Robed in silk
Purple as the skin of an egg plant,
A red lotus in her hair,
Speaking,
Measured and perfect
As camphor-jade beads strung on gold. 

She has a tortoise shell comb in her hair that he gave her; Miss Jones wears tortoise shell glasses. Jones has ink-stained fingers, opinions about every issue, and never sits still. She exposes him to American life, an easy frame, giving him the opportunity to muse on its weirdness including “gastronomical adventures” and “a skirmish/ At the hosiery counter.” And of course, true to type, the Chinese student is squeaky clean, intelligent but naïve, and as earnest as Charlie Chan’s son. Miss Jones is practical, obsessed with clothes. Jade Flower is far away and mysterious with her “hibiscus-white hands/ Gently folded and waiting.”

     All of this is unacceptable these days, as harmless as it is, utterly un-PC. But even in 1941, we have to wonder. Is this really the mindset of an exchange student whose home country is being ravaged by war: “Fall bombs on Chungking/ Soldiers die and poets weep…” Maybe. He finds nothing in Chicago that he prefers to China, no modern art in the museums “to compare/ With a horse-painting/ By Han Kan…” And Miss Jones is the butt of most jokes. But there’s just something about the language, something too natural, too—well, too much like a native-speaker.

     So… Off to the internet where I discovered an article in Chinese about the CharlesYu book. I pressed the button and received a madcap English translation in which Black Archer Press is rendered—perfectly!—as Black Crossbow Book Bureau. The author, Wang Jianliang, has also picked up a tattered copy from a used bookstore. He’s mystified because so few Chinese poets had published abroad in English in 1941 and because he has never heard of a Yu who might be the author—several ideograms are possible for the surname—let alone a Charles. He turns out to have many of the same questions I have raised along with a certain respect for the poems, which I share. He does note that the “Chinese flavor” seems artificial, though it is done with respect and without “the usual colonial adventures or condescending sense of superiority.” He suspects that Yu isn’t actually the author, but goes on to wonder why a Chicagoan would write such loving homage. Perhaps, he speculates, the author was concerned as many Americans were at the time about the Japanese invasion of China. The Rape of Nanking (1937) was only a foreshadowing of what the world would suffer in the coming years. And obviously, whatever his ethnicity, the author had been an admiring reader of classic Chinese poetry. He concludes that the poems are actually pretty decent work, “fresh and lively” and “skilled in the skills.” However: “The mysterious Charles Yu, really a poet forgotten by the history of modern literature?” the translation wonders in Googlish.

     Wang also cites an online article (which I’ve seen, too) by a Florida bibliophile named Jerry Morris who tells an anecdote. It seems a Chicago women’s club asked Black Archer to have the Chinese student read for them; but when the poet appeared, he didn’t look a bit Chinese. Indeed, he looked pretty much like the photo of the publisher described above. OK. But how can we be sure Morris isn’t just making it all up? In Wang’s copy, along with the signature of the author, there is another signature below it and in parentheses. This is missing from mine. After studying the scrawl, Wang determines that it says—as you know by now: William Targ.

     I confess that for forty years, even until I began writing this, I’ve been all in, completely falling for the hoax. But I’m not offended, not even surprised to discover the truth. It has always been obvious that Jade Flower and Miss Jones were caricatures, almost manikins, each decked out in typical clothing. The student is too much cut from the same cloth to be taken at face value. And the exchange between the two cultures is in no sense a clash nor is it intended to be profound. The mood is fun, charm, an innocent ribbing of everyone concerned. So hoax is too strong a word; prank would be closer. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to know what William Targ had in mind. We never will…

     …Unless. Back to the internet where I located a phone number for William Targ’s son, Russell, someone who may be even more intriguing than his father. At 82, Russell Targ remains very active in the field of ESP, especially remote viewing. A Stanford trained physicist, formerly associated with the Stanford Research Institute, he takes his work very seriously and has been testy when labeled a pseudo-scientist, although he has been a guest on Coast To Coast AM. His wife, Joan, is the sister of chess master Bobby Fischer. “That was a long time ago,” he said when I asked him about Poems of a Chinese Student. He went on to say that his father was a serious scholar of Asian culture, especially fond of woodcuts, which he collected. Original work by Hokusai, Hiroshige, Utamaro and others was displayed on the walls when Russell was growing up. After Pearl Harbor, Targ followed the advice of friends and sold all of his Japanese art—something he always regretted. However, Russell has no idea why his father wrote the Charles Yu poems. “I guess,” he mused, “that my father felt like a Chinese student.” While we were on the phone, Russell opened a copy of William Targ’s autobiography, Indecent Pleasures, published by MacMillan in 1975 [which I’ve since read and used here for a few details], and found Yu in the index, referring to page 59 on which he tells the anecdote of the women’s club reading. So now we know the source of that.

     Not surprisingly, Russell Targ had a “cold read” on me when he answered the phone. He said he had the impression that I had been released from prison. Not bad, really, when you consider that I worked in prison education for many years until I finally paroled—which is to say, I retired.

     Targ or Yu, it’s still interesting work. Here is an example, “White Stones”:

The poet Wei Ying-wu sings
Of the Taoist hermit
Who boiled white stones
Then ate them like potatoes.

From the Orchid Mountain
Which is my home in Kan-su Province
I have journeyed to this
Venerable Peak of learning
In this Great Principal City
Of the Middle West.
And here too
At the feet of my Teachers
I see white stones boiled
And passed among us
As pearls of learning. 

Wei Ying-wu was a Tang Dynasty poet who lived in hard times during civil war. He was one of those administrators sent to the boondocks where he endured loneliness and hunger. The Chinese student poet is also far from home and lonely, despite the companionship of Miss Jones—or because of it, perhaps, if she only makes things worse in comparison with Jade Flower. From Orchid Mountain the student has come to the flatland city of Chicago, which he calls, in ironic upper case, a “Venerable Peak of learning.” This is Sandburg’s “hog butcher for the world,” anything but a fragrant mountain, and neither old nor worthy of the respect he feels for his ancient culture. In Chicago there are “painted women under gas lamps luring farmers” while a Bactrian horse of the Tang Dynasty is ignored in the window of a gallery,

A fierce and bunched animal
Blue glazed and shot with red. 

When he asks a fellow exchange student about what is most impressive in this country, his friend names “the dancing girl/ Gypsy Rose Lee.” It’s no surprise, then, that as far as he is concerned, what he acquires at the feet of his capital T teachers in Chicago is no more “pearls of learning” than white stones are really potatoes. So Charles Yu isn’t quite Charlie Chan’s number One Son after all.

     This brings us to another issue about Poems of a Chinese Student that we might consider briefly. Should Targ’s little book be considered an example of literary yellowface? It’s not just a matter of Swedish Warner Oland being made-up to play a Chinese detective, but the practice of using Caucasian actors to play Asians in leading roles. There have been beautiful and successful actresses from Anna May Wong to Nancy Kwan, who broke through the color barrier once and for all in the early sixties. Nevertheless, Hollywood felt that interracial romance would be accepted only with a white actress. One example I can remember is the casting of Jennifer Jones as Han Suyin in Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing (1955). But only a year later, Glenn Ford starred opposite the great Japanese actress, Machiko Kyo (Kurosawa’s Rashomon) in The Teahouse of the August Moon. That film also featured Brando in yellowface as an Okinawan houseboy. I thought it was excruciating; but others, including Asian critics, have admired the role. On the other hand, everyone concerned who’s still alive remains embarrassed by Mickey Rooney’s bucktoothed Japanese neighbor in Breakfast At Tiffany’s (1961).

     William Targ was a unique man: prominent editor, bibliophile with thousands of rare books in his collection, raconteur, name-dropper, wine aficionado and foodie. He knew everyone who was anyone from Carl Sandburg to Viva, whose novel, Superstar, he published. He also knew many of the characters and oddballs of New York City, of whom he was especially fond. He was a neighbor of the great poet Marianne Moore in Greenwich Village. He might have continued to write poetry himself if not for having so many other interests. In fact, as a teen, he had some poems accepted by Harriet Monroe for Poetry—still a bucket list item for most poets.

     In any case, I’ve got my rare copy of Poems of a Chinese Student, and Wang Jianliang has his. That’s two survivors of the original 250. There are others, but the only one I’m aware of is listed on Amazon for $500. Don’t get excited, though. That copy has been rebound in a clamshell box by a well-known bookbinder in an elaborate and exquisite Japanese style. My copy, like so many other cherished trifles, can be valued at something between the two bucks I paid for it and priceless.
                                    ____________________________________

William Targ, Bibliophile, my Nov 2008 post to my Bibliophiles in My Library blog, was the article that Wang Jianliang and Don Thompson found online.  And here's an image of my copy of Poems of a Chinese Student:





Wednesday, March 13, 2019

About Submarines, Submariners, and Pearl Harbor


I'm not really into submarines.  Airplanes are my thing.  But when I found a second printing of The Hunt for Red October in a local thrift store last month, I just had to have it.



 I've seen the movie, The Hunt for Red October, but I have yet to read the book.  It is now high up on my reading pile.   This particular copy of the book is rather unique.  Its former owner, a submariner by the name of Jim Cochran, extra-illustrated it!   On the front free endpaper, he pasted an image of an American submarine with two sailors standing in the conning tower.


On the verso of the front free endpaper, he pasted an image of a submarine with three crew members standing in its conning tower.


On the title page, he pasted an image of Severodvinsk, the world's largest submarine production yard.


On the dedication page, he pasted a chart depicting the USSR attack submarines.



On the half title page, he pasted an image of the Typhoon Class submarine.


And on the verso, he pasted an image of the ALFA-Class nuclear-powered attack submarine.




Acquiring Tom Clancy's book, The Hunt for Red October, reminded me of another book about submarines that I had in my library:





I have a sentimental attachment to Hawaii and its military bases.  From 1977 to 1982, I fixed airplanes at Hickam Air Base, the navigation and RADAR Systems of C-141 and C-5A aircraft to be exact.  Hickam Air Base is adjacent to Pearl Harbor.  My shop was located in a hangar across the street from Pacific Air Forces (PACAF) Headquarters.  Sometimes when I went to work early in the morning,  I would pause and look at the PACAF building across the street.


 They never repaired the bullet holes and shrapnel damage done to the building, leaving them as reminders of December 7, 1941, the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.






Kazuo Sakamaki was not one of the Japanese Zero pilots who bombed Pearl Harbor.  He was the skipper of one of Japan's top secret weapons: five midget submarines.  The midget submarines were transported across the ocean attached to mother submarines and released several miles from the entrance to Pearl Harbor  (the Harbor was too shallow for the mother submarines). Each midget submarine carried two torpedoes and was manned by a two-man crew.  The mission of the sailors of the midget submarines was to sneak into Pearl Harbor under cover of darkness, remain submerged near the bottom until daylight, and then join the aircraft in attacking the American fleet.

Ensign Kazuo Sakamaki wanted to sink the USS Pennsylvania, the flagship of the Pacific Fleet.  But before he launched his midget submarine, he discovered that his gyrocompass was inoperative.  Nevertheless he and his aide continued on their mission.  Navigating blindly, he never got through the entrance into Pearl Harbor.  Twice his midget submarine got stuck on reefs, damaging a torpedo the first time, and damaging the torpedo release mechanism the second time, rendering the second torpedo useless as well.  Sakamaki was knocked unconscious by depth charges dropped by destroyers protecting the entrance to Pearl Harbor and his midget submarine drifted for hours all the way to the east side of the island, finally getting stuck on a coral reef near Bellows Beach.  He and his aide lit the fuse to destroy the sub and started to swim towards the beach.


Sakamaki's aide drowned trying to reach the beach.  Even worse, there was not an explosion, and his midget submarine was not destroyed.  The next thing Sakamaki remembers is waking up on the beach at Bellows with an Army Sergeant standing over him.  Ensign Kazuo Sakamaki was POW No. 1.

Located on the windward side (east side)of the island of Oahu, Bellows currently serves as a military training station and as a recreation area for active duty and retired members of the armed forces.  The Marines own half of Bellows and practice amphibious landings. The Air Force runs the recreation side of Bellows with cabins and even a motel.   If we weren't vacationing at Bellows and renting a cabin for a week or two, we would be on the beach at Bellows almost every weekend.  Our kids would swim for a few hours, and then my wife and I and our friends Manny and Joyce would grab our boogie boards and ride the waves!

Here's an image of what Bellows Beach looks like nowadays:


Here's an image of what Bellows Beach looked like on December 8, 1941, when they pulled Sakamaki's minisub off the reef and onto the shore.

NH64471 Japanese Type A Midget Submarine HA-19

Most of the remainder of Sakamaki's book is his recollection of his four years as POW No. 1.  He was treated extremely well by his American captives at several camps and in accordance with the Geneva Convention.  Sakamaki soon began to brief new arrivals to the prison camp.  He stressed that the camp was not a battlefield and they were no longer combatants. This philosophy went against Japanese tradition: Do battle to the end.  Commit harakiri instead of surrendering.

The Japanese painting below honors the nine sailors of the midget submarines that attacked Pearl Harbor.  Noticeably absent in the painting is the lone survivor, Ensign Kazuo Sakamaki, POW No. 1.







Sakamaki's book was first published in 1949 by Association Press. And Rollston Press published a softcover edition in 2017.  Sakamaki's book wasn't the first book about the midget submarines and their crews to be published. In 1942 the Japan Times published a memorial volume to the nine sailors who died during the attack on Pearl Harbor.  The book was published in English, most likely for propaganda purposes.



I first heard of this book in 2002.   My bookseller friend David Holloway bragged on the rec.collectingbooks newsgroup that he had acquired a copy.  Dave eventually sold it for close to $1000 dollars (too rich for me).  Rare Book Hub shows three copies sold at auction in the last six years.


Currently, there is a copy listed on eBay for a whopping $8,500!

Earlier I mentioned that I wasn't really into submarines.  But the midget submarine attack on Pearl Harbor was getting all the more interesting the more I researched and read about it.  I wondered what happened to the other four midget submarines.  And I found a book that told me all about them!



Numerous books have been written about the midget submarines and the attack on Pearl Harbor.  This book, The Lost Submarines of Pearl Harbor, first published in 2016, tells all. And with pages and pages of illustrations.  The midget submarines originally received credit for sinking the Arizona.  But that is not the case.  Not one of the midget submarines inflicted any damage to a Navy vessel in Pearl Harbor.  The editors of this book tracked all five of the midget submarines from their launches to when their hulls were finally recovered.  The midget submarine that the USS Ward sank ( "the First Shot of the War,") wasn't recovered until 2002.

Sakamaki's midget submarine HA-19, was restored and dispatched on a War Bonds Tour across the country in 1942 and 1943. It is now in the National Museum of the Pacific War (Admiral Nimitz Foundation) in Fredericksburg, Texas.  Sakamaki visited the museum in 1991, and saw his midget submarine for the first time in fifty years.  As POW No. 1 Sakamaki received much publicity upon his return to Japan.  Japanese men wrote him and said there was still time for him to do honor and commit harakiri.  Women were attracted to him.  He initially shunned publicity, quietly married, and worked in an automobile manufacturing plant.  His book, I Attacked Pearl Harbor, is now joined in my library by The Hunt for Red October and The Lost Submarines of Pearl Harbor.




Finally, I'll end this post with a postscript of memories related to other ex-POWs.  I was stationed at Scott AFB, Illinois from 1970 to 1974.  My wife and I were on the tarmac at Scott AFB to greet the ex-POWs from Vietnam when they returned home on a C-141A Starlifter in 1973. I get tears in my eyes remembering it all now.  And more memories: Three of my four children were born at Scott AFB.  My wife's OB/Gyn nurse Capt. Kazmar and I were singing Polish Christmas Carols in July or August of 1972 while my wife was having contractions with the twins!  I heard later that the Captain switched from OB/Gyn to taking care of the ex-POWs in 1973.  She married one of them!