A Drumbeat of Personal Tie-ins

Lots of personal tie-in stuff to write about today:

Not sure how proud I should be of this item, but the lead lawyer who argued in the U.S. Supreme Court Wednesday against upholding the University of Texas’ affirmative action guidelines for admission is a cousin on my father’s side of the family. Bert Rein is a second or third cousin (I can never figure out how you figure out cousin relationships beyond first cousins). Bert’s father, Moe, was my father’s first cousin. They grew up in the same small Polish town, Ottynia. 

Bert’s a founding partner of the well-connected Washington law firm of Wiley Rein LLP. Sad to say, he’s pretty conservative. He often advocates for business interests. Though he’s previously appeared before the Supreme justices, it’s no small matter to have our family represented before the nation’s highest court. 

The Real Thing: Speaking of my father, I’ve written before about his factory on lower Broadway. One of the pleasures of visiting him there was the chance to raid the Coca-Cola vending machine. It was fire-engine red. A favorite job was filling it up. I’d stick the key into the lock on the right side of the refrigerator-sized machine and pull back the heavy door to reveal vertical serpentine rows of grey tubes ready for replenishment. My reward usually was a cold one. Often, at the end of the day, my father would hand out sodas to his workers. The rest of the time, for 10¢, you’d push down on a brushed steel lever, open a door on the left front of the machine and pull out a cold 6.5 oz. glass bottle of Coke. 

Sadly, I read Wednesday the last manufacturer of 6.5 oz. returnable bottles has stopped production http://m.apnews.com/ap/db_289563/contentdetail.htm?contentguid=0ZDf8lmB. Not sure what ever happened to that old Coke machine. My brother and I, maybe my sister as well, always regret we didn’t salvage it when our father closed down his factory in the 1980s.

The Survey Says: Among the many polls being cited in this nail-biting electoral season is one from America’s Research Group. For many years I worked with ARG and its founder, C. Britt Beemer. My magazine had been using several research firms to track consumer spending and lifestyle trends when Britt sent me an unsolicited offer I could hardly refuse. He said he’d provide free research. I didn’t chuck the other research firms, but I did incorporate ARG into a meaningful part of our coverage of the retail industry. 

Speaking of polls, one of the weirder ones is taking place daily at 7-Eleven stores throughout the country. As it has since the 2000 presidential election, the convenience store chain has given customers a choice of self-service coffee cups imprinted with the names of the two major party candidates. It also color codes the cups, blue for Democrat, red for Republican. Undecided voters can pour their java into plain cups. Don’t discount this poll—it’s picked the winner every time.

To date, Barack Obama is swamping Mitt Romney by a 60-40 margin. In Ohio, after undecideds are removed from the count, Obama leads 57-43.

There might be an explanation as to why the 7-Eleven coffee cup poll is not as close as almost all other national surveys. “There’s a bias on 7-Eleven because their entire poll has a margin of error of plus or minus Mormons can’t drink coffee,” according to Stephen Colbert. 

Magic and Mystique: There may be some truth to the claim Yankee Stadium is enveloped by some supernatural force, especially after Raul Ibanez, pinch-hitting for Alex Rodriguez no less, stroked a ninth inning home run to tie Wednesday night’s game and then capped that feat by blasting a game winning four-bagger in the 12th. Everyone who witnessed his extraordinary heroics was stunned, doubly stunned. Those weren’t cheap, short-porch Yankee Stadium shots. The first one was estimated to have traveled 403 feet; the game winner 390 feet. 

Was it magic? Am I the only one who sees the resemblance between Ibanez and Voldemort as portrayed by Ralph Fiennes in the Harry Potter movies? Could they have been brothers separated at birth? Is Ibanez really a wizard? Yankee fans and muggles the world over don’t really care. We just want Ibanez to continue his magical streak, and hope it is contagious to the rest of the team.

By the way, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you loyal readers that I semi-predicted Ibanez’s ride to the rescue. I wrote he would pinch-hit for Nick Swisher, but as it happened, Swisher was scheduled to be the fifth batter in the bottom of the ninth. Manager Joe Girardi realized he might not get a chance to use Ibanez if A-Rod and then Cano made out to end the game, so it was pull Rodriguez or let the opportunity pass by. 

Further by the way, over post-tennis pizza I actually suggested to a friend Ibanez might hit for A-Rod. He thought I was crazy but sent me a congratulatory e-mail this morning.

Japan Through a Long Lens

The unfolding catastrophe in Japan has me thinking about our family trip there in October 1991 when Dan was 13 and Ellie 10. We turned one of my business trips into a lifelong memory, made all the more vibrant by the tragedy of recent days.

While I interviewed executives of Ito-Yokado, one of the country’s largest diversified retailers whose holdings include 7-Eleven, Gilda and the kids toured Tokyo, Mount Fuji, Disney World Japan, and other areas around Tokyo.

It’s hard to believe 20 years have passed. No doubt much has changed in Japan, but here are some reflections that are still relevant, or at least, interesting from a historical perspective:

Twenty years ago, if not still today, the sight of Western children captivated Japanese, especially Japanese children. They’d often approach dirty-blonde-haired Ellie to touch her head and giggle.

Tokyo addresses are randomly numbered—4 could be next to 160 next to 89. I can’t remember why, just that it was confusing. Only by associating a location with a distinctive landmark could you find a destination. You couldn’t rely on signs, unless you read Japanese. Shortly after our visit, English was added to some subway stop signs. Nor could you rely on taxi drivers. If you handed one a piece of paper with your destination written in Japanese, there was a strong possibility you’d still be stalemated because the driver was illiterate.

Crossing a street on foot was a challenge. With red lights stopping traffic in all directions, pedestrians crossed in traditional fashion and diagonally as well. It doesn’t sound imposing until you realize that at major intersections thousands of pedestrians crossed at the same time. Only a firm grasp on Ellie’s hand prevented her from being swept away by the surge.

Back then, only the finest restaurants or those in hotels had English menus. In most places you more or less knew what you were ordering by pointing to either a picture or a plastic representation of a prepared meal. A favorite bagged snack food, comparable to our potato chips, was dried squid. Married women and children ate a mostly fish and rice diet at home, while businessmen feasted on Western-style food for lunch and dinner, usually purchased on expense accounts equal to their salaries.

Japanese women craved more fulfillment and independence. They deferred marriage for careers and, frankly, because the men were immature. The men had four passions: sumo wrestling, playing pachinko (a vertical pinball game), reading comic books and drinking. Delaying marriage contributed to the country’s negative birth rate.

Women’s status was so stunted that even if the highest executive at a meeting was female she was still expected to serve tea to all the men. Men did not defer to women, or children, when entering an elevator. They would push Gilda, Dan and Ellie aside to scramble in first.

Japanese are prodigious smokers. Yet you rarely saw butts on the street. Instead, they crushed their discarded cigarettes in vertical ashtrays hung every few yards along the sidewalk. Their fastidiousness extended as well to graffiti. Over two weeks’ time we saw just one graffiti display, inside a lighthouse stairwell outside Osaka.

Back in 1991 Japan was a full employment economy. That meant department stores hired women to stand in front of elevators to bow to customers when the doors opened. It also meant distribution of labor at the cash register. One person rung up your purchase, another wrapped it, a third took your payment and returned any change, and a fourth handed you your purchase and bowed in appreciation. Full employment also meant no one could be laid off. Our joint-venture publishing company, for example, could not dismiss an incompetent editor. We simply moved him to a non-editorial position, such as circulation manager.

During Japan’s supercharged economic era, continuing even to today, overworking was a danger, so much so that people literally used to die in their tracks, while walking. An article in a paper at the time of our visit explained how other pedestrians would pass a stricken victim and whisper, “ ah, karoshi.” The word means “exhaustion death.” According to the Associated Press, “In the fiscal year ending in March 2010, the Japanese government found about 100 karoshi deaths (caused by a heart attack or stroke). It also ruled that 63 suicides were caused by overwork.” Last month, AP reported, Mazda was ordered by a court to pay $770,000 in damages to the parents of an employee ruled to have committed suicide over depression from being overworked.