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Koichi Mizushima checks his omnipresent hand-held computer as he moves through Kamon restaurant toward the new bar he opened. Up next: Dragonfly, a pan-Asian bistro.

Sacramento Bee/Renée C. Byer

Press Release - A taste for success

Restaurateur Koichi Mizushima seeks harmony between his enterprising spirit and his Buddhist faith

By Bob Sylva -- Bee Staff Writer
Published 2:15 am PST Friday, November 5, 2004
Koichi Mizushima, at 31, is too young, too busy, too brash to indulge in deep soul-searching. But it's his challenge to meld his religion, which is Buddhism, with his business, which is sushi.

The prospect amounts to a gulp of wasabi: blissful incaution. Punishing clarity.

"One of the predominant teachings of Buddhism is the impermanence of all things," he says, sounding ancient. "All things must change. And you must learn to endure your sufferings. Life is suffering. Life is tough. So, savor your triumphs. They are fleeting."

At the moment, Mizushima is in a triumphal phase - in business, in spirit, in his family. Furthermore, his prosperities have enriched the city. Let's count his blessings.

He and his wife, Janet, whom he met at the University of California, Davis, are the happy parents of an infant daughter named Ellie. She is a joy. And, in the wee morning hours, she is not at all passive or ephemeral, but quite apparent.

In business, Mizushima, along with partners Darrell Yee and Gary Wong, owns Kamon, at 2210 16th St. In the bloody knife fight of sushi bars in Sacramento, Kamon is a success. And in late October, Mizushima opened a stylish cocktail lounge at Kamon.

By mid-November, he and partners Glenn and Rosa Lew are planning to loose Dragonfly, a much-anticipated pan-Asian bistro at 18th Street and Capitol Avenue, adjacent to the new Zócalo. "I couldn't say no to this deal," Mizushima says. "It's the hottest corner in Sacramento. This thing (Dragonfly) is going to make tons of money!"

Mizushima is no glib, Godzilla roll wonder. He has worked in sushi bars since he was a kid. There is no part of the industry he doesn't know.

"He's doing pretty good," says Russell Oto, a fish expert in Sacramento whose family owns Oto's Japan Food. "As a restaurant owner, he gets involved in the community. He keeps up with the trends. He knows how to bring people back."

In spirit, Mizushima has been a member of the Sacramento Buddhist Church since he was a boy. He earned his Eagle Scout badge there. At 24, he was the youngest person ever elected to the board of trustees. He is head of the Young Buddhist Association. Teenagers find him hilarious.

"He's an all-around great guy," says Samantha Nitta, 16, president of the association. "He's, like, cool to do anything. He's open-minded."

David Kunisaki, 15, also a member, adds, grinning, "He makes you laugh. He's a good role model."

Mizushima, who devotes a lot of time to the teen members, often hosting meetings at his house and attending youth conventions, says of his role, "I like high school students. It's cool to be with them. But I'm not there to guide them. I'm not their parent. I'm not their peer. I'm just there to be with them. And they know that they can talk to me about anything."

Adults, on the other hand, heed his business advice.

"I think so much of him," says the Rev. Bob Oshita, the temple leader who views Mizushima as a protégé. "I have watched him grow up. He has always been bright, intuitive and possessed of a wonderful maturity beyond his years. I think Koichi is very connected to his cultural and religious roots."

Oshita is so impressed with Mizushima, who often speaks to the congregation and does a wicked imitation of the serene temple leader, that he is trying to persuade him to become a Buddhist priest. (In the Jodo Shinshu sect of Buddhism, priests can marry.)

In his will, which he recently wrote, Oshita, 56, even bequeathed a set of his ceremonial robes to Mizushima. "For his ordination," says Oshita, looking into the future. "I think it (the priesthood) is something he would certainly enjoy. He is not opposed to it. But he has so many things he is trying to do. I encourage him to do it all. But," he laughs, "I also tell him that he doesn't have to swing at every pitch!"

Mizushima, a switch-hitter, effortlessly straddles two seemingly competing worlds. But even draped in the venerable, to say nothing of oversized, robes of the wise Oshita, he would make for a most unusual Buddhist priest.

On a recent late afternoon, cars stream up 16th Street, and the parking lot is puddled with oily rain-water. Mizushima is sitting at a table inside his new bar, which opens in just a few hours.

It's a hip, urban space - concrete floor, hot raspberry and fuchsia walls, recessed lighting, three flat-screen TVs, a periphery of cozy lounge chairs.

Mizushima is held rapt by his PDA/cell phone, a brushed-chrome holy oracle, which seems affixed to his nose. He looks about 15. Vast tracts of his cheeks are beardless. His flattop is gelled into lethal spikes. He is wearing blue jeans, a leather jacket. His gaze is often quizzical. He reeks of raw energy.

Blame his youth, or his schedule, but Mizushima is not an introspective person. Thus, when asked a question, even about something simple, he always sounds amazed, surprised, even incredulous. Every other word is "awesome" or "crazy" or "you're kidding!" Or the latest, teen-inspired lingo.

How's life? "It's crazy, dude!"

One tries to imagine this would-be priest addressing the stoic, elderly nisei at the Buddhist church.

"It's all about the dharma, dudes!"

Though Mizushima is sitting in the bar, he is not a part of it. "I don't drink," he says, adamant. "Really. It's not my thing. I just never got into it." Saying that, he adds, in a practical voice, "But you can't ignore the profitability of a bar."

But that doesn't assuage his misgivings. "I hate, no, I loathe drunk drivers," he says. He concedes the lucrative challenge to his ethical code. But it is a conflict he has managed to reconcile.

Still, in the operation of his business, in the pursuit of greater success and profit, he remains mindful of the venerable tenets of his religion. "I'm not doing this just for money," he says. "It's a sense of accomplishment. You just want to believe that if you do it right, if you treat people right, if you put out a good product, you will be rewarded."

He makes a dubious face. "I know that sounds cheesy," he says. "But it's what I believe."

Mizushima was born in Sacramento and raised in Land Park. He has two younger brothers, Yukio, a college student, and Hiroyuki, a BMW mechanic. Koichi means "first child." His parents, Henry and Fusako Mizushima, operate Henry's Watch Repair on Riverside Boulevard.

The first child hasn't veered too far.

He attended Crocker-Riverside Elementary School, Cal Middle School, and says he was a mediocre student at McClatchy High. The only sniff of glory he obtained was as a wrestler, starting off as a fierce, 105-pound freshman. The sport taught him tenacity. Today, at 5-foot-3, he's a solid 137.

In high school, he started working at Tomaki, a now-defunct sushi bar on Alta Arden. He learned the pros and cons of the business from a Japanese chef named Toshihiko, who had plenty of panache. When the owners of Tomaki suddenly split town, Toshihiko and kid Koichi were briefly running the place. It was crazy.

All during college, he worked at Osaka Sushi in Davis. Upon graduation, in 1995, he somehow persuaded his otherwise sensible parents to co-sign a loan for $60,000. Then, he and two partners, Mike Phaysane and Mark Hayashida, opened up Taiko Sushi in Rancho Cordova.

Asked what he knew about running a business, Mizushima, who was just 23 at the time, cries, "Nothing! We just did it." Eighteen months later, Phaysane and Mizushima sold out to Hayashida and bought Osaka Sushi.

In 1998, Mizushima, with two investors, plus partners Wong and Yee, opened up Kamon, in a 1,500-square-foot space. The business has expanded three times. Earlier this year, the group added Kamon Cafe, at 1015 Ninth St., which is managed by Yee. Both Taiko Sushi and Osaka Sushi (Mizushima sold his interest last year) are doing solid business in the suburbs.

Since Kamon opened, seven more sushi bars have squeezed into the downtown area - Nishiki, Edokko, Sushi Cafe, Zen Toro, Taka, J. Lee's and the biggest tuna of all, Mikuni. That's a lot of fish in a small pond.

For his niche, Mizushima is determined to be the anti-Mikuni. "We're not going to be a 30-something, trendy place," Mizushima says. "I'm on the outskirts of downtown. This is a place for people who want to get out of that scene, who want to have a quiet conversation across the table."

And now lights Dragonfly.

Asked if Randy Paragary's recent closure of Sammy Chu's, a pan-Asian palace that failed to win fans, causes him any concern, Mizushima shrugs. "It rejuvenates me," he says. "I still think pan-Asian is the hottest thing going, if done correctly."

Where does Buddhism fit into all this?

"It's part of my life," Mizushima says. "It's part of my every waking moment. (The church) is a huge sense of community for me. All that business stuff, if you don't have your personal life right, it's all for nothing."

And the beckoning priesthood?

"I would love to do it," he says. "I would find enjoyment in it. But I could never do it like Reverend Bob. He is completely devoted to the temple. It's his life."

So, what's next on his plate?

"What's next!" he cries, astonished. "What's next? We're just trying to survive. There is no next! I'm going to keel over, that's what's next! What's next is that I'm going to raise my daughter."

And savor his triumphs.

Of life, he says, in a fleeting if clear moment of reflection, "It's about truth. It's about seeing things the way they are. It's about finding self."

Koichi Mizushima, left, and executive chef Humberto Alatorre go over résumés as they prepare to open Dragonfly at 18th Street and Capitol Avenue. "It's the hottest corner in Sacramento," Mizushima says. Sacramento Bee/Renée C. Byer

Mizushima, who says Buddhism is "part of my every waking moment," puts great energy into his role as head of the Young Buddhist Association at Sacramento Buddhist Church. Sacramento Bee/Renée C. Byer

Press Release - It's dharma and dance - girls prepare for Obon

A troop rehearses as a local Buddhist church holds its annual festival of joy. In it, the girls find culture, history - and iron-on patches.

By Garance Burke -- Bee Staff Writer
Published 2:15 am PDT Saturday, July 10, 2004

Under the hum of the Capital City Freeway overpass, just blocks from this city's former Japantown, the Girl Scouts of Troop 569 were hashing out some of the basic tenets of Buddhism.

"Buddha stands kind of like this in a lotus flower called a padma," explained 9-year-old Keri Castle as she balanced on one leg under a lantern-strung tent outside the Buddhist Church of Sacramento on Riverside Boulevard.

"Whatever!" shrieked Melissa Shinfuku, also 9, as a line of dancers swept by in flash of rice paper fans. "He stands like this!"

Superficial, maybe, at first glance, the exchange also suggests something more, lessons that have taken hold: These girls are imagining the life of Buddha.

Makenna Huey, 12, of Sacramento, left, and Kindra Ito, 12, of Elk Grove follow the lead of dancers from the Buddhist Church of Sacramento at the church Tuesday. The girls are members of Girl Scout Troop 569, which will take part in the church's annual Obon festival today.
 

For the past two weeks, the troop has been prepping to perform in the Buddhist Church of Sacramento's annual Obon festival, a major ritual in Jodo Shinshu, the largest branch of Japanese Buddhism. Tonight, dozens of Scouts, dressed in cotton kimonos called yukatas, will dance Obon dances to flute music from Japan's mountain prefectures.

Their efforts of the past weeks will bring a variety of rewards, spiritual and material: among the latter, an iron-on patch from the group famous as much for their girl-growing as their Samoas and Do-Si-Dos.

Cities like Sacramento are redefining the Scouts' model of the traditional and intrepid young woman, assimilating customs of local communities to make scouting fresh and relevant to new generations.

In the old days, a Girl Scout might spend weeks learning how to choose a steak to earn a "Matron Housekeeper" patch. Young Brownies who could wave the entire alphabet in semaphore flags in less than a minute could dream of earning a "Signaller" badge.

For the girls of Troop 569, it's become a tradition to earn a lotus-shaped pendant for studying the dharma, or the basic teachings of Buddha.

The Buddhist Church's annual Obon festival is just the beginning of summer scouting activities for the 1,000 families who form the heart of the temple, known by its members as the Sacramento Betsuin.

Next month, more than a hundred Buddhist Boy and Girl Scouts from across the country will descend on California State University, Sacramento, for the Nembutsu Camporee, where they will get to know one another as they deepen their spiritual education.

"A lot of the dharma is inherent in Girl Scout teachings," said Keri's mother, Carol Castle, who grew up meditating in the Buddhist Church's sanctuary. "The dharma has a heavy emphasis on interdependence, and through volunteering their time, they get to experience living for more than just themselves."

With 150 members ranging in age from 5 to 17, Troop 569 is the largest in the 14 counties that comprise the Tierra del Oro Girl Scout Council, the council's director of membership, Joanne Caldwell, said. Being of Japanese descent, or Buddhist, however, is by no means a requirement. Like all troops, this one is open to girls of any ethnic or religious background.

Its size has helped the troop to distinguish itself in other ways. Though it's un-Girl-Scout-like to make comparisons, in cookie terms, Troop 569 for the past several years has outsold every troop from Chico to Tracy. Last year, that translated into $12,000 for troop activities.

"We've blossomed," said Patti Oshita, who co-founded the troop with just six members over a decade ago. Her husband, Bob, is the church's senior minister.

"We don't really look at it as who's Asian or who's not Asian or who's Buddhist or who's not Buddhist. Through obtaining the Obon patch, the girls have an opportunity to touch what Buddhism is about, so they can make a choice in life," Oshita said.

Generations of Japanese American families in the Sacramento region have grown up in scouting. The congregation began sponsoring a Boy Scout troop 60 years ago.

Back then, the church was called a temple. Leaders made the change to "church" to take on some of the outward trappings of Western culture in an effort to blunt the anti-Japanese hysteria of the 1940s.

"During the war, everything was shut down, and everyone here was sent to the camps," said Rachel Nagai, Keri's grandmother, who dances to Obon songs as if made of air.

Now, there's an effort among several families to go back to "temple."

Nagai said Japanese culture and Girl Scouting go hand-in-hand, a point reinforced by the Rev. Oshita as he talked to the girls.

Recounting the history of Obon to Scouts gathered inside the temple's wooden sanctuary, or hondo, he told them the story of how Buddha's disciple Mogalana found the seed to his enlightenment through living selflessly. Obon, or the "gathering of joy," memorializes those who have died and celebrates Mogalana's attainment, he said.

But across the country, at Girl Scouts of the U.S.A.'s Manhattan headquarters, the connections between non-attachment and the Girl Scout Promise aren't as obvious.

"I don't really know about dharma, OK?" said Girl Scouts Media Director Ellen Christie. "But being good citizens probably speaks to many religions of the world."

While the Girl Scouts can't quantify how many of their 2.9 million members are religious, troops have long been sponsored by local faith-based organizations, whether churches, mosques or synagogues.

The organization allows troop leaders to give Scouts awards for participating in spiritual activities in 26 different religions, Christie said. The Islamic Committee on Girl Scouting, for instance, hands out Bismillah Awards, while Jewish cadets can earn a Menorah pin.

Not everyone is so tolerant of the Girl Scouts' broadmindedness. In 1995, a group of Cincinnati mothers founded the Christian-based American Heritage Girls after the Girl Scouts started allowing girls to make substitutions for the word "God" in the oath and accepting lesbians as troop leaders.

Here in the world of Troop 569, the Obon festival's dances and strings of red lanterns have come to symbolize a way for families to pass on cultural gifts and wisdom to the next generation.

"We didn't have all the luxuries that these girls have," said Sandy Lee, a troop mother who hopes dancing Obon will give her daughter Samantha something more. "We're bringing the culture back now, and the girls love it."

Samantha spent much of a recent rehearsal teaching 3-year-old Anna Fukuhara how to hold her tenegui, a towel used in one Obon song.

"If it weren't for this, I don't know if I would have ever bought my daughter a kimono," said Carol Fukuhara, as Anna stepped to the music in miniature rubber flip-flops. "Obon is like a homecoming."

 

Rachel Nagai rehearses a traditional Obon dance. Nagai's granddaughters are also members of Troop 569.

 

Sacramento Bee/ Randall Benton

 

Tim Castle accompanies his daughter Keri, 9, as she practices her Obon dance at the Sacramento Buddhist Church on Tuesday. Keri and her sister Leann are learning about Japanese culture and earning Girl Scout merit badges.

 

 

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The Sacramento Bee

Press Release -Young Buddhists gather to share chosen beliefs

By Christina Jewett -- Bee Staff Writer
Published 2:15 a.m. PST Sunday, February 1, 2004


For Kimberly Mori, Youth Buddhist Association conferences are like road trips. You get to know new people. You learn new things. Traffic jams and Buddhist teachers both remind you that all things are interconnected.

For this trip, Mori, a senior at John F. Kennedy High School, stayed in her hometown at the Buddhist Church of Sacramento Saturday. About 80 other participants from Orange County to San Jose attended services and workshops, laughing and learning.

"Everyone here has the same religion," she said. "We all have something in common; it's unspoken."

In school, she said, other students mistakenly believe that she "worships" Buddha. Instead, she said, Buddhists follow his teachings and life.

She practices Buddhism and teaches Sunday school because she wants to, she said, in contrast to the pressure she says was put on her parents' generation to carry on traditions.

"I think everyone in here came because they want to," she said, looking around at the cafeteria of teens.

Brian Mizushima, 31, YBA adviser at the Sacramento Buddhist Church, said similar conferences drew up to 300 people in the 1950s. Then numbers began to dwindle, and by the time he graduated from UC Davis, the chapter had dissolved. Mizushima said as Japanese Americans assimilate into mainstream American culture, many are joining catch-all organizations.

He revived the YBA chapter seven years ago, and serves as a student adviser, as well as running Kamon Sushi Restaurant on 16th and V Streets.

For Saturday's conference, he chose the theme "Put the 'B' back in YBA," hoping to encourage youths to put Buddhist beliefs into practice.

"When you're young, it's hard to talk about Buddhism, that life is impermanent," he said. "You're young, you just want to meet the girls."

During an opening service, the Rev. Bob Oshita stood before an ornate altar and spoke of the importance of knowing oneself in making choices that will lead to happiness.

Later, as a practice in meditation, he led the youths in a chanting session. Meditation, he said, is about knowing oneself and experiencing the happiness and importance of each moment.

"If you live in each moment, you will look back on a life well lived," he said.

The Rev. Bob Oshita, senior minister at the Buddhist Church of Sacramento, leads a chanting lesson at the youth conference.

Sacramento Bee/Carl Costas

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Press Release - Full steam ahead with rice cakes

 

 

Church volunteers create thousands of mochi -- a traditional Japanese treat -- to raise athletics funds.

By Christina Jewett -- Bee Staff Writer
Published 2:15 a.m. PST Sunday, December 21, 2003

The festive mochi-making event at the Buddhist Church of Sacramento on Saturday drew about 150 volunteers, including Mitzie Muramoto. The crews processed 2,000 pounds of rice into about 20,000 cakes.

Sacramento Bee/Brian Baer

Making mochi -- sticky rice cakes -- is a Japanese holiday tradition which, to Suzanne Nishikawa, means expending a lot of energy to create a treat that in turn invigorates all who eat it on New Year's Day.

Not many at the Buddhist Church of Sacramento were familiar with that particular power of mochi. So on Saturday, about 150 people steamed, pulverized and shaped the cakes as an exercise in the contemporary art of fund raising for the church youth basketball league.

"It's just tradition to me. We just come here and work our buns off," church elder Reiko Kurahara said with a laugh.

Basketball players and their parents formed a bustling assembly line, making about 20,000 mochi from 2,000 pounds of cooked rice. Orders were already in for most of the mochi, and church members sell or donate the rest.

Rodney Kunisaki, who organized the mochi-tsuki, or mochi-making event, said the cakes are toasted and eaten with soy sauce and sugar, or cooked in soup.

The church's ninth mochi-tsuki started Saturday at 4:30 a.m. when Kirby Joe warmed up the commercial steamer. He oversaw the rice cooking, as six 10-pound containers of rice emerged in a cloud of steam every ten minutes.

From there, runners grabbed vats of rice and took off, trailing a streak of steam. The rice went to another kitchen where Neil Tanaka and six others mashed the hot rice through meat grinders -- twice -- to smooth the granules into paste. Sweat trickled down Tanaka's temple as he revealed the secret of efficient grinding: It is important to avoid the kids with the flour.

Jimmy Tsuruoka, 11, grinned impishly. Besides working from 5 a.m. to 9 a.m. and teaching a friend to run rice paste to a small army of mochi-shapers, he plotted covert flour ambushes.

Tsuruoka sifted the powder -- meant to keep the mochi from sticking to hands and equipment -- into the hats and onto shirts of friends and strangers.

"Everyone at the grinding thing," Tsuruoka said proudly, "I put flour on their back so they wouldn't notice it."

Tsuruoka's hijinks aside, church leaders say the mochi-tsukis bring the generations together with a common purpose. Few can attach a folk tale or deep significance to mochi, but like matzo balls or falafel, they're traditional.

"A culture will come to this country and subsequent generations may lose the language ability and their sense of cultural roots," the Rev. Bob Oshita said. "But as long as they're enjoying their food, there is always that tie."

 

Shigeko Tanaka brushes flour from the cakes, which are being sold to benefit the church's youth basketball league.

Sacramento Bee/Brian Baer

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Press Release - California Dreaming

The Rev. Kazuaki Nakata reveres his Japanese culture but embraces a new lifestyle


At just 27 years old and far from home, the Rev. Kazuaki Nakata is a young Buddhist priest taking bold, uncharted steps on his new career path. Contrary to popular thoughts of Buddhist serenity, detachment and contemplativeness, the Rev. Nakata is very much of the world -- and happily attuned to a modern beat.

The Japanese native enjoys baseball, cooking and mountain biking. He loves what he labels "Dixie jazz," and plays a hot trumpet, cornet and trombone. He respects his culture's vaunted subtlety and restraint, but turns almost giddy at the expression of forthright, unnuanced opinion so endemic in America.

Nakata, who has the appearance of a big kid with a toothy grin, has never been away from home before. Aside from his spiritual seasoning, he's bravely grappling with a foreign culture, fiery chili sauce, major-league hitting and loneliness.

In August, Nakata arrived in Sacramento to serve as an assistant minister at the Sacramento Buddhist Church. He will assist the Rev. Bob Oshita, newly elevated Rinban, who takes over head pastoral duties after the recent retirement of the Rev. Kosho Yukawa, a beloved sensei and widely respected leader in the city's Japanese American community.

The Sacramento Buddhist Church, at 2401 Riverside Blvd., is a large (more than 1,000 members), very progressive church with a pioneer heritage and a lively agenda of spiritual and social programs, from Dharma school to sports teams, floral clubs to food festivals. It adheres to the Jodo-Shinsu sect of Buddhism, the largest sect in Japan.

Now well into its fourth generation of membership, the Sacramento Buddhist Church is not just a temple for prayer but is the very focus of community life. Forgive Nakata if he seems overwhelmed by the freeway pace of this Western-styled Buddhist church.

Asked his initial impressions of Sacramento, Nakata seems blessed. "In Japan, the weather in summer is very hot and humid," he sighs. "So, I am very comfortable here." Ever polite, he adds, "Oh, it's very interesting here. It's much cleaner than Japan."

Really? Cleaner? "Oh, yes," he insists. "In Japan, people throw cigarette butts and cans along the roadside." He shakes his head in disapproval. "Americans always think Japan is cleaner. But there are no tickets given (for littering) in Japan."

A devout diner, Nakata recently visited a Mexican restaurant and sampled his first taco.

The verdict? Nirvana, in a tortilla.

"Oh, I like tacos!" he cries, smiling at the zesty jalapeño memory. "Tacos and margaritas!"

Yes, Nakata should do well in California.

On a recent morning, the light cool, the streets clean, Nakata is sitting properly in the church library. Nervous, apprehensive, he appears very much like a student braced for an oral exam.

First, let's dispense with the formalities.

Here, at this church, the Rev. Kazuaki Nakata is simply addressed as "Rev. Kaz." One would love to overhear his first phone call home to his anxious parents, informing them that they can now call their beloved and dutiful son Rev. Kaz.

Tacos, margaritas, jazz. Kaz, what's next?

Since his spoken English is rudimentary, Rev. Kaz is provided interpretation assistance and moral support by longtime church secretary Takako "Tak" Ito. Ito, gracious and silver-haired, her manner doting, clearly regards Rev. Kaz as a long-lost grandson expressly sent here for her care and feeding. And matchmaking.

Before a question is asked, a sentence translated, Ito urgently points out Rev. Kaz's woeful bachelor status.

So, Rev. Kaz, you're not married?

"Married?" he blushes deeply. "Ah, no!"

Just give Tak Ito a little time.

Rev. Kaz is a healthy-sized fellow. "I like to eat," he chuckles, apologetic. "I'm husky!" He has glossy black hair and glasses that give him a scholarly mien. He is wearing a tie, blue shirt, slacks, and polished black dress shoes with white socks.

He is candid, thoughtful and very, very funny. Invariably when asked a question, Rev. Kaz rubs his beardless chin, furrows his smooth brow and repeats even the simplest question as though it were an impenetrable koan. Which is then followed by a pensive "hmmmmmm" of meditative duration.

"What was I like as a boy? Hmmmmmm."

Or, "Who is my favorite baseball player? Hmmmmmm."

Nakata grew up in Kakogawa, Hyogo Prefecture, a town of 200,000 located on the Kakogawa River. His mother, Yuriko, was a homemaker; his father, Toshio, a clerk at an electric company. He has a younger sister, Yuko, who is a social worker -- an unusual occupation in Japan -- working with seniors and disabled people.

"What was I like as a boy? Hmmmmmm."

Finally, he divulges, "I was very sweet and quiet!"

He laughs.

And now?

"Even sweeter!" he quips.

At Ryukoku University in Kyoto, he double-majored in biology and Buddhism. Though his family wasn't especially observant at the temple, he opted to enroll in a seminary to study for the priesthood.

"Why the ministry?" he repeats. This is an especially complex question. So Rev. Kaz folds his arms, double-furrows his brow and peers at his shoes for a reply. Even Ito looks on with grave concern. This is a complicated issue, not easily rendered in English.

"I love humans," he ultimately and simply says. "I want to communicate with the (church) members."

Upon graduation from the seminary, he worked two years at Myogan-ji, a temple in his hometown. Then he passed an overseas examination and applied for a posting in California. His application was favorably received by Bishop Hakuban Watanabe, an official of the Buddhist Church of America in San Francisco.

Watanabe, writing in Wheel of Dharma, a church publication, tells an amusing story of meeting Nakata for the first time, of taking him to lunch at a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco:

The restaurant was at the bottom of a steep hill, not far from the church headquarters. After lunch, and contemplating the ascent back up the hill, Watanabe mentioned his fatigue. To which a solicitous and presumably serious Nakata earnestly replied: "Bishop, please do not worry. I'll be happy to carry you on my back!"

Watanabe was apparently impressed by Nakata's robust offer of humility and helpfulness.

In Sacramento, Rev. Kaz will not be obliged to carry Rev. Bob about the premises. But he will have a burden of responsibilities to shoulder. First, though, he must improve his English skills. Toward that end, he is enrolled in English classes at Sacramento City College.

"He's such a good-hearted person," Oshita says. "We are really fortunate to receive someone with such a good heart. That is something you cannot train. Everything else, we can build upon. We feel he has a wonderful potential. I think the congregation can't help but embrace him."

Currently, Rev. Kaz lives in a three-bedroom house off Riverside Boulevard that is owned by the church. "It's too big for me," he cries. "Too hard to clean!" A church member gave him a mountain bike, which he gladly rides to work every morning.

He shops at Oto's Market, and recently made a batch of green-tea cookies, which he gave as a token of hospitality to his neighbors. He says his favorite dish to cook is okonomiyaki, a kind of Japanese omelet.

But why bother with Japanese food?

Ito and other church members delight in taking Rev. Kaz out to eat, just to sit and marvel at his ecumenical appetite. So far, he's been to Los Jarritos, the Limelight, Eddie's on Broadway, and Round Table Pizza. Rev. Kaz is very fond of pizza.

"What kind of pizza? Hmmmmmm."

He rubs his chin. Waves a hand, tracing the periphery of an imaginary 14-inch pan. "I like the combination," he says, sprinkling the air with toppings.

Though a lifelong Hanshin Tigers fan, the local baseball club from Nishinomiya, Rev. Kaz was treated to a Rivercats game at Raley Field. He liked that. He also follows the outings, and ordeal, of Shigetoshi Hasegawa, a relief pitcher for the Seattle Mariners.

Someday, he hopes to play in a local Dixieland jazz band. Already, he sings in the church choir, and Ito says that Rev. Kaz has a beautiful alto voice. In six months or so, he should be participating in temple services, which are conducted in English.

For now, the happily single Rev. Kaz seems well-fed and well-adjusted to his new life in Sacramento. The only thing that leaves him puzzled is the confounding nature of his familiar yet still odd congregation.

He rubs his chin. Shakes his head.

"Japanese Americans look like Japanese," he says. "But they are not like Japanese. They have opinions. In Japan, people don't have opinions." He considers that cultural anomaly a moment.

"Yes, I like that," he says, smiling.

 

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The Sacramento Bee