When Japan was Occupied

Mother (Belica) had a small ceramic figurine of a gentleman and a lady with “Made in Occupied Japan” stamped on the bottom. This sinister sounding provenance fascinated me, and I always kept track of the figurine’s whereabouts in Mother’s overwhelmingly cluttered home, crammed with objects collected and “rescued” over a lifetime (and according to Mamita “Mucha mierda.”)

After Mother passed away I became the proud owner of this charming pair, and over the years I have collected many pieces bearing the “Occupied Japan” pedigree—paying $2 to $8 or so for each—never more than that. They’re tacky but also quite lovely with a whiff of tragedy in the aftermath of a defeated nation.

“Occupied Japan” figures are a lingering memento to World War II and the period immediately following Japan’s unconditional surrender between August 15 1945 and April 28 1952. Here’s a little background from a website dedicated to the history of “OJ” collectables.

That millions should have paid with their lives in the war against Japan—soldiers in battle, innocent victims of atrocities, and the annihilation of split atoms falling from the sky—only to end up producing cheap souvenirs that would later be collected by people like me.

What’s the value of a ceramic dandy and his gal? Five bucks, ten? But as an artifact that bears the indelible stamp of a holocaust now fading from living memory? Priceless.

Lesson 2: Sometimes the things you own can change the course of your life

When I was 15, I became very upset with Grandma and Grandpa. Don’t ask me why because I don’t remember, but I think it involved grounding me (a rare occurrence in the Rodriguez household–but that’s another story…) In any case, this egregious restriction on my life outraged me so much I decided I would run away from home.

First things first, I started pulling out my clothes from the closet but gave up until I could sneak out several pieces of luggage. Next up, my beloved books. By the time I had piled them all on my bed, I realized I had way too many books to run away from home. I could walk away from my family but never my books. So I put everything back and went on to more pressing issues, like what I would wear to school the next day.

I guess in the long run things turned out for the best, although I still have too many books to run away from home.

I haven’t counted how many books we have, and as you know there are hundreds more scattered all over and hundreds I have purged in the past few years. (I will never need to read Jean Genet again.)

Cheers and Cha Cha Cha

These two champagne cups were wedding gifts Grandma and Grandpa received in 1949. There were probably more pieces to this set, but only these two remain intact, as does the marriage. Don’t these just scream “rumba” and “cha cha cha?” Babaloo anyone? The glass is incredibly thin and fragile, and yet these two pieces traveled from Tampa to Havana to Miami, and like the couple they were intended to toast, remain resilient mementos of a charmed life, full of love, devotion, and bubbly laughter.

As an aside adventure of these glasses, I had read the French claimed the perfect size for a woman’s breast would fit in a champagne glass. Being 12 and incredibly curious, I snuck out one of these cups from the china hutch in the dining room and absconded to the bathroom for the official judging of my own bosom—happily I could claim that my cup runneth over.