February 27th marked my thirty-third year of practice. Thank you John Wayne. You see, the first imprint of the Lotus Sutra that I can recall was thanks to a John Wayne movie in 1958. I was a mere lad of seven when our family went to see “The Barbarian and the Geisha.” This movie is about the first American ambassador to Japan and all the obstacles that he faced. Late in the movie, a merchant ship from the west is barred from a Japanese port because of a ship born plague. Panicked, the dying crew swam ashore, and was captured. Many people died once they hit land - others were killed. Their diseased remains were publicly cremated.
The next scene is a procession of priests reciting the Juryo-hon in their slow, hypnotic cadence. The chanting priests left a permanent impression on me. On the ride home from the theatre, I asked my father about those priests. My mom praised me for asking such grown up questions. My older brother poked me in the ribs, giving me a dirty look. My dad went on to explain that while he was in Shanghai during WWII, he learned firsthand the cruelty of the Japanese and he had seen Buddhist priests. As my mom and dad conversed, he mentioned reincarnation. I asked him what “reincarnation” meant. “That’s when you’re born again,” he said. I blurted out, “I believe THAT!” Thanks to the Duke, my Dad, and the imprint of the Life Span chapter of the Lotus Sutra, I began my rebellious quest for some teaching beyond the naïve, dogmatic ravings of the evangelical Lutheran heresy on my dad’s side and the morose, institutional purgatory of my mom’s Catholic family. Much to their chagrin, my parents told me that I was a disbeliever from the age of awareness. All their efforts to put the fear of God into me were like trying to tame a feral cat. Although I was required to go through the confirmation process, my parents just gave up and accepted the fact that I was “different.”
Next came atheism with a vehement disdain for Christianity. I seemed hardwired for all things occult like Ouija boards, tarot cards, witchcraft, and hypnotism. My brother bought a book on hypnotism, and we would work on the techniques of self-hypnosis and hypnotizing each other and later our friends with amazing results. He would sometimes hypnotize me before school basketball games with the suggestion, “shooting baskets is like dropping apples in a basket.” It was terrifically funny at the time to plant post-hypnotic suggestions like having a friend bark like a dog every time I would say a specific word. Once my friend’s alcoholic father gave me a stern lecture (while highly intoxicated) after his kid confessed that I had hypnotized him. I just took the scolding like a naughty boy caught doing wrong, again. Inwardly, I was thrilled to get such comic rise out of the old man. The youthful anarchist in me was inwardly delighted and wanted more.
By my mid-teens, I was getting interested in martial arts, meditation, and magick. By the time I was ready to graduate from high school, I was practicing yoga and getting serious about magick. I remember back in 65’ when this huge, ill-tempered bully picked a fight with a 90-pound weakling. Ha! That was my first real-life experience of someone using martial arts to issue a serious case of whoop ass on someone. It turned out that the 90-pound weakling had been taught karate by his uncle and this kid made that bully look like a damn fool. With a couple of strategically placed punches and a wicked kick, it was all over for the tough guy. He crumpled to the ground, and another big guy, who didn’t like him either, jumped on, and finished the job. Oh, those nasty boys.
Although I had written that the first time I heard about Nam(u)-myoho-renge-kyo was 1970, that was actually the first time I chanted it. A few days later, I saw the inside of a jail cell in Junction City, Kansas, the weekend of the Kent State riots. Apparently, that Army base town didn’t cotton to hippie war protesters. The first time I heard of Nam (u)-myoho-renge-kyo was late in the summer of 1969. The first person to mention chanting to me, was my old friend, Don Steinberg. Donnie, as we used to call him then, had recently returned home from his stint as a medic in Vietnam, in early 1969. He and another mutual pal from the Fox River Valley had hitchhiked across the nation. One night, he and his friend were picked up by an NSA member who invited them to a meeting, telling them that he would put them up for the night if they came. That’s the way we used to do shakubuku in the 70s - we would pick up hitchhikers, hit the shopping malls, lay a rap on dosed hippies, hookers, and anyone who would listen.
Finally, in 1973, I began chanting. In February of 74’, I received my Gohonzon. I had hair down to the middle of my back, a beard, and the aura of a warlock about to cast a spell. In the meantime, my friend Don Steinberg as well as a few friends from my high school basketball team were busy creating what became the largest and most successful pot smuggling empire in the world. There was a momentary temptation for me to become involved with them, get wealthy, and live like a pirate or rock star. Instead, I chose Buddhism.
In 1979, at the peak of their power, Donnie and my pals were bringing in nearly 400 million a year. I, on the other hand was a new dad, working as an assistant production manager at a factory, barely squeaking by financially. I still remember the guidance the legendary Ted Osaki gave me about this situation. He said, “Your path will lead to victory. You won’t have to wait long to see what a bad path your friends chose.” He was right. A few months later, I read in Time Magazine how Donnie Steinberg’s empire was busted by Interpol. Their wealth was staggering, but the government took it all. All my friends went to prison. A year later, author James Mills wrote his epic, The Underground Empire,a book that investigated the inner workings and fall of the world’s largest drug cartels. Around that time, I was appointed Great Lakes chapter chief.
What is amazing is how magnificent life has been because of my decision to turn away from peer pressure, the trap of fast money, and a frivolous lifestyle. The poverty of my twenties and the hard struggle that a father goes through to raise a family may not be as exciting as running from the Coast Guard in a cigarette boat, going full throttle, loaded down with a half ton of weed. But the joys of the dharma far surpassed the superficial lifestyle I had rejected. Ted Osaki had nailed it and I will always love him for that.
Most of all, I want to thank John Wayne and the Life Span chapter. It’s been an amazing life. And special thanks to my old friend Don Steinberg. I know you wanted to plant pot seeds, but you had a lotus seed in your pouch – and it sprouted!