Janeen Berger Borders TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | OCT 2017 25 A Japanese Typhoon Story: Starring Diamond Dave & The Apple Club By J. Beebs I grew up with one ambition: to be the best fishermen ever. I spent my days fishing. If I wasn’t in a river or a stream, I was headed to one. I read up on what baits to use, the best times to fish, basically all the tricks of the trade. And I realized one inescapable truth about all serious fishermen. If they ain’t fishing, they are telling stories about fishing. And here’s another truth. After a hurricane, if you ain’t dealing with the hurricane, you’re telling hurricane stories. So here’s mine: I was a young Airman, fresh out of boot camp, with orders to report to Kadena Air Base, JA. Sadly, I found out, the JA did not stand for Jamaica, where I had visions of smoking big bowls of ganja, but instead, the JA stood for Japan. As in Kadena Air Base, Okinawa, Japan. And I knew nothing of Okinawa, Japan, except that Mr. Miyagi from Karate Kid had grown up there. Okinawa turned out to be a great thing, and I have many fond memories of Okinawa, the people and their culture. Okinawa taught me a lot of things. And one of the most important things I learned in Okinawa is that when you travel, travel with the Natives. Don’t be a tourist or just stay on the base. That’s boring. Go Native. In Okinawa, they don’t have hurricanes, they have typhoons. Which I think is the same thing, but remember, we are going native here. And here’s what I learned after my first typhoon: Airmen are restricted to base, and as I have pointed out earlier, this is a boring place to be. I’m guessing it’s worse for those of us with one tiny stripe on their shoulder, because there is always a lot of work to do on a military base, and when you only have one stripe on your arm, practically everyone on the base can tell you to go do it. So after spending three days bored out of my mind during my first typhoon, I knew exactly what to do when the next typhoon was coming. I did not report to the barracks and instead ran off base as fast as I could (“Sir, I never heard any orders to report to the barracks”). It was on the outside of the base I made another amazing discovery. During a typhoon, they lock the gates of the Air Base. In other words, I was locked off base. So during Typhoon Number Two, my buddy John and I found ourselves locked off base (“Honest mistake Sir”), and with things starting to get a little windy, we sought protection from the elements at The Apple Club (“Secure structure, Sir”), which was located in Naha, Okinawa, which is a pretty big city with a lot of universities and very attractive college females (“Safety in numbers, Sir”). Normally The Apple Club is a swanky disco-tech bar, with loud lights and music over a very busy dance floor, with a few rows of tables and booths on the edge of the floor. It’s a known hot spot that blends rich businessmen, hot island women, and a few Air Force guys who know the doorman and aren’t afraid to tip their way into the club. So when John and I ducked out of the growing winds and rain of Typhoon #2, it wasn’t my first visit. But it was my first visit where I didn’t have to tip the doorman, because there was no doorman. He was inside, sitting at a table with a few friends. John and I entered the bar, and he nodded, raised a shot glass and waved us in. This time there wasn’t blaring music, strobe lights or sweaty dancing people. But there were a lot of people, and they sat huddled in groups at tables and sitting in groups on the dance floor. Everyone was casually drinking, so we sort of blended in as best as two Americans can in a room full of Japanese, making our way through the people, high-fiving and saying Hello and Kon’nichiwa. There was sort of a low buzz over the whole place, with the exception of one group of girls and guys who were drinking hard and yelling loud at a round booth in the corner. They were doing multiple rounds, and each taking turns running to the bar to get the next group of shots, beers, and mixed drinks. They were all smoking cigarettes and having a good time. It was a live scene, with lots of yelling and hollering things in Japanese, followed by more whiskey shots and drinking. The ring leader of the group was an older gentlemen, probably mid 50’s. In a suit. During a typhoon. Sharp dresser. Dapper guy. He was talking a lot, and the group was laughing and screaming. I don’t speak Japanese, so I had no idea what it was all about. But it looked fun and so naturally, we headed to that group. Oddly, the group went silent as we approached. I wondered what our next move was, but my buddy John smiled, looked at the older gentlemen, and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. “Wanna smoke?” he asked with a big smile. That was it. The entire table erupted as if we were rock stars performing on stage. They laughed and hollered, and the girls pushed the guys farther into the booth so there was room for us. They say that smoking is not a good habit, but honestly, I was pretty impressed by the response. Any rate, we joined our new friends, and spent an hour or so trying to talk to each other in a mix of alcohol, broken English and very very little Japanese. But from what I could gather, most of the group were students at the local university. And the dapper gentleman that kept our glasses full was some sort of speaker or something from the mainland and went by the name of Dave. Things were going very lovely, when the group started chanting at Dave. John and I joined in and I had no idea what we were yelling, but it was fun, and I was numb, so we yelled. And after a minute or two of yelling, Dave, with no warning at all, stood up on the table, dropped his pants and displayed an enormous tally whacker. I have to say … it was amazing. Not because of the size, which was impressive. But the jewelry. This older gentlemen, who will forever be known as Diamond Dave, had a giant diamond implanted on his tally and a row of diamonds on his whacker. The girls screamed. The guys screamed. We all toasted Diamond Dave and laughed. Diamond Dave took a bow, asserted his will across the room, and then zipped his junk up and had a seat. We immediately high-fived him and everyone else. In hindsight I have no idea what we were thinking. But it was good fun. I woke up later the next afternoon and the storm had blown itself out. John and I limped back to base with headaches and a few more stories to tell our friends. So here’s to embracing your hurricane stories. And remember: the Go Native lesson still holds true to any travel you do. Beachcombers, when you travel, Go Native! Tybee has lost a wonderful soul far too soon. Janeen Berger Borders passed away on September 5, 2017. Janeen was a sweetheart with a beautiful smile and infectious laughter. She will be missed dearly by a large circle of friends that she loved and enjoyed spending time with, especially if it involved listening to live music at one of her favorite Tybee spots. Janeen loved the Baltimore Ravens, Orioles, and Clemson football, and she would often have parties at her home during games. She was an excellent hostess and she loved to cook, which she was extremely talented at. Her cakes were epic. Seriously... Like “Cake Boss” epic. She loved her friends with all her heart, and that love was awesome. First and foremost in her heart and mind were her family, especially her son Ty, and her fur-babies Jeter and Brinkley. You will live on in our hearts and we’ll see you on the other side!
20591TB
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