He was quite the philosopher, and disdained competitive sparring, but I wouldn't say he was eccentric.....hell, he struggled with several serious health issues over the years, and I can tell you-that makes people kinda weird.....
You dont need health issues to make you weird. I'm healthy as an ox. Many folks know me as a pretty darned odd duck.
But then again my dad was very weird.
He flew a type writer in the airforce.
A little known fact...the IIbaru Bijuru is located in a wooded area just off Douglas Boulevard, close to the post office.
Shinto practioners used to pilgrimage to pray before a sacred stone placed there by their ancestors.
It was part was once known as Iibaru Gumi, a tiny village settled by the Uehara clan in the early 1800s. After World War II, the area was appropriated by the U.S. military.
The Futenma Shrine was a previous shinto shrine... but it was far away. They eventually built their own “bijuru,” or prayer site, around sacred stones brought from Futenma.
My dad was assigned to Kadena AFB.
He spent a lot of time at that shrine. Offering incense. Praying...
He came back a mix of Shinto and Zen Buddhist. I grew up listening to him reading from a very large library of Okinawan and Japanese books and translating into English stories of the Bushi... noble retainers to lords and ladies.
Dashing tales fights for honor. Bandits and war. Of retainer's failure to protect a Lord, the shame of being a ronin...and revenge... righting a wrong.
I watched my father work a zen pebble garden and meditate there, fail miserably at flower arrangements (ikebana) and do lots of shodo calligraphy... and chado.... zen green tea ceremony.
My dad read D.T. Suzuki aloud every day...
And how reconciled this with his eastern orthodox faith....
I will never know. But it worked for him.
Until the Buddhist monks of South Vietnam started burning themselves mid'60s. In about a decade later He would do as they did in solidarity. He died in the Burn Ward of Brooke Army Medical Center.
He took 6 weeks to die. A staph infection in his lungs killed him. He wasn't wanting to die. But he was convinced that he had a duty to do. He had giri to perform because of the crimes of the Air Force in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. And because the US supported the South Vietnamese Government as it was brutally oppressing its own people.
He felt a karmic bond of responsibility.
That it was his duty to fix this.
My dad wasnt a martial artist. His way was a non violence way.
He was given a matched set of pre-war gendaito wakasashi and tsubagatana. The man who gave it to him said it was a poor gift as it was. (This man lost 4 sons and his wife his home and his hearing in the battle of Okinaiwa from bombing and disease)
The makers mark signature was one of four Satsuma armorers on Okinaiwa.
The man said it was a poor gift that much higher quality weapons were made. He said he gave it to my father because my father was a man of great Wa. And it (his wa) allegedly caused peace where he went on the island.
There were two drunk men from fighting beside a wall and for no apparent reason they stopped. On the other side of the wall, unbeknownst to them, my father had just walked by. No one missed a thing. It was seen. Spoken of and believed.
I am inclined to think it mere chance that they grew tired of fighting. But not these simple okinaiwans.
He never drew either blade except to clean them once a year.
They are in his casket.
"People are strange.." -Jim Morrison