ACU Today - Winter 2001 Second Glance

A Legendary Love

BY RON HADFIELD

I love you. I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you.

The words spilled as easily from Anne Ramsey's lips and into the phone as if spoken in 1943, back when she was a coed from East Texas, betrothed to a popular young man on campus.

Only this is March 23, 2000, some 57 years since last hearing the voice of her beloved Ishi.

Fifty-seven years. Long enough to earn a degree, marry and lose two spouses to death. Long enough to rear a family spanning three generations, age gracefully and realize what really matters in life: love.

On an early spring day in DeSoto, Texas, Anne's tearful words defined the hope with which she lived since losing Masaaki R. "Ishi" Ishiguro to the effects of prejudice fueled by a war half a world away.

His presence on campus was more than fortuitous; it was downright providential. The son of a Japanese immigrant who earned an ACU Bible degree in 1921 and moved to Los Angeles to plant a church, Masaaki enrolled at Pepperdine University. But not long after World War II broke out, he found himself forced to either leave California or join his father in a Japanese internment camp.

Americans feared the armies of the Land of the Rising Sun would invade the West Coast and Japanese-Americans living there would be supportive of the attackers. Asians of that heritage were asked to voluntarily evacuate, taking but a single suitcase with them. One assembly station was the Santa Anita Racetrack, where stables were cleaned and converted to holding areas where people waited for transportation to barracks in camps in places such as Arizona, New Mexico and Wyoming.

Pepperdine's then-president Hugh M. Tiner arranged for Masaaki to transfer to Abilene Christian. He received a scholarship and began working on a science degree. The chemistry between him and Anne, an art major, proved just right; the two became quick friends, dated and fell in love.

"We were so much alike," Anne says. "It was almost uncanny. We would finish each other's sentences. We began to think there was a kind of thought-transfer occurring. We were just made for each other."

Unfortunately, as World War II tensions built, there were those who didn't see this relationship as a match made in heaven.

Anti-Japanese sentiment was high, and although Masaaki says he was made to feel at home by most friendly West Texans, his and Anne's impending inter-racial marriage was viewed strongly by some on campus as improper. Masaaki was advised to break off the new engagement, which he reluctantly agreed to do.

"It was strange. We (the United States) were at war," he says. "But I felt very American. I would have fought for the U.S. if needed."

He left Abilene with a degree in 1944, and pursued graduate studies in chemistry at Chicago's DePaul University. Anne remained in school at ACU, finishing her art degree. When Masaaki didn't write, she worried and waited for letters that never arrived.

Anne's classmates hinted that his letters were being intercepted on campus by misguided patriots. A malicious person sent a note to Masaaki, pretending to be Anne and asking that he return her photo.

Someone wrote him to say that Anne had begun dating someone else. It was not true.

I love you. I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you.

For almost 60 years, the chapters in their love story became a blur. Masaaki studied at the University of Texas in Austin for a year, but moved to L.A. when his father left the internment camp in ill health. A manufacturing chemist for Lever Brothers, Masaaki married in 1959. He retired at age 70 in 1989, and his wife passed away 10 years later. Anne married in 1946. Her husband died in 1973. She remarried in 1980, and her second husband passed away in 1987.

Anne was unsuccessful in a 1995 attempt to contact Masaaki. He found her phone number following an Internet search this past spring. She remembers the exact moment in March when he called.

"This is Ishi," he said. Anne began to weep.

They talked several times a day and after receiving a $1,000 phone bill, decided it would be less expensive to talk in person. They met in April at the DFW airport. He returned to California to sell his house. It only took one day. He gave away his furniture and moved to Texas to resume the life they once planned with each other. Anne, 76, and Masaaki, 81, married June 11.

Along the way, Masaaki also learned just how much larger than life he has grown over the past five decades in the eyes of more than 1,000 Frater Sodalis men with whom he shares a unique bond.

He was founding president of the men's social club at ACU in 1943. Pledges since then have been indoctrinated with the legend of Ishiguro, the mild-mannered, humble son of a Japanese preacher dedicated to helping forge a unique brotherhood of young men such as himself. But he had not returned to campus since 1944.

Club leaders discovered Masaaki's whereabouts soon after he married Anne. Tim Yandell ('85) and Steve Reynolds ('98) met the Ishiguros for dinner in DeSoto, and learned first-hand the history of their brotherhood's beginnings from The Man himself.

The Ishiguros were honored in October during Homecoming at the club's annual breakfast. The young men sang "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" to the newlyweds, and older alums posed with their sons, standing next to Masaaki for a photograph with a Frat icon.

"They were wonderful. We were treated like royalty," Masaaki says. "I could never have dreamed…I have a lot of brothers there."

The day before, the Ishiguros walked across campus together for the first time in more than half a century, marveling at new buildings, and reflecting on the lives they might have led together.

I love you. I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you.

"I have forgiven," Anne says through tears, "but I still hurt. The Bible teaches that our steps are led by the Lord, and sometimes He takes you where you don't want to go. When I try to come to terms with how many years I could have been with Ishi, it hurts. Perhaps ours is the only way this could have worked out. The odds were certainly not in our favor."

"We missed a lot of years…But I'm thankful because it could have ended differently," says Masaaki. He can tell you a few things about irony, having preserved a bittersweet romance as enduring as the other campus legend he once helped create.

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Last Update: Feb. 9, 2001
Page maintained by Jeremy Parish, parishj@acu.edu
Questions to Ron Hadfield, hadfieldr@acu.edu
http://www.acu.edu/alumni/inside-acu/winter2001/second-glance.html


		A Legendary Love BY RON HADFIELD I love you. I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you. The words spilled as easily from Anne Ramsey's lips and into the phone as if spoken in 1943, back when she was a coed from East Texas, betrothed to a popular young man on campus. Only this is March 23, 2000, some 57 years since last hearing the voice of her beloved Ishi. Fifty-seven years. Long enough to earn a degree, marry and lose two spouses to death. Long enough to rear a family spanning three generations, age gracefully and realize what really matters in life: love. On an early spring day in DeSoto, Texas, Anne's tearful words defined the hope with which she lived since losing Masaaki R. "Ishi" Ishiguro to the effects of prejudice fueled by a war half a world away. His presence on campus was more than fortuitous; it was downright providential. The son of a Japanese immigrant who earned an ACU Bible degree in 1921 and moved to Los Angeles to plant a church, Masaaki enrolled at Pepperdine University. But not long after World War II broke out, he found himself forced to either leave California or join his father in a Japanese internment camp. Americans feared the armies of the Land of the Rising Sun would invade the West Coast and Japanese-Americans living there would be supportive of the attackers. Asians of that heritage were asked to voluntarily evacuate, taking but a single suitcase with them. One assembly station was the Santa Anita Racetrack, where stables were cleaned and converted to holding areas where people waited for transportation to barracks in camps in places such as Arizona, New Mexico and Wyoming. Pepperdine's then-president Hugh M. Tiner arranged for Masaaki to transfer to Abilene Christian. He received a scholarship and began working on a science degree. The chemistry between him and Anne, an art major, proved just right; the two became quick friends, dated and fell in love. "We were so much alike," Anne says. "It was almost uncanny. We would finish each other's sentences. We began to think there was a kind of thought-transfer occurring. We were just made for each other." Unfortunately, as World War II tensions built, there were those who didn't see this relationship as a match made in heaven. Anti-Japanese sentiment was high, and although Masaaki says he was made to feel at home by most friendly West Texans, his and Anne's impending inter-racial marriage was viewed strongly by some on campus as improper. Masaaki was advised to break off the new engagement, which he reluctantly agreed to do. "It was strange. We (the United States) were at war," he says. "But I felt very American. I would have fought for the U.S. if needed." He left Abilene with a degree in 1944, and pursued graduate studies in chemistry at Chicago's DePaul University. Anne remained in school at ACU, finishing her art degree. When Masaaki didn't write, she worried and waited for letters that never arrived. Anne's classmates hinted that his letters were being intercepted on campus by misguided patriots. A malicious person sent a note to Masaaki, pretending to be Anne and asking that he return her photo. Someone wrote him to say that Anne had begun dating someone else. It was not true. I love you. I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you. For almost 60 years, the chapters in their love story became a blur. Masaaki studied at the University of Texas in Austin for a year, but moved to L.A. when his father left the internment camp in ill health. A manufacturing chemist for Lever Brothers, Masaaki married in 1959. He retired at age 70 in 1989, and his wife passed away 10 years later. Anne married in 1946. Her husband died in 1973. She remarried in 1980, and her second husband passed away in 1987. Anne was unsuccessful in a 1995 attempt to contact Masaaki. He found her phone number following an Internet search this past spring. She remembers the exact moment in March when he called. "This is Ishi," he said. Anne began to weep. They talked several times a day and after receiving a $1,000 phone bill, decided it would be less expensive to talk in person. They met in April at the DFW airport. He returned to California to sell his house. It only took one day. He gave away his furniture and moved to Texas to resume the life they once planned with each other. Anne, 76, and Masaaki, 81, married June 11. Along the way, Masaaki also learned just how much larger than life he has grown over the past five decades in the eyes of more than 1,000 Frater Sodalis men with whom he shares a unique bond. He was founding president of the men's social club at ACU in 1943. Pledges since then have been indoctrinated with the legend of Ishiguro, the mild-mannered, humble son of a Japanese preacher dedicated to helping forge a unique brotherhood of young men such as himself. But he had not returned to campus since 1944. Club leaders discovered Masaaki's whereabouts soon after he married Anne. Tim Yandell ('85) and Steve Reynolds ('98) met the Ishiguros for dinner in DeSoto, and learned first-hand the history of their brotherhood's beginnings from The Man himself. The Ishiguros were honored in October during Homecoming at the club's annual breakfast. The young men sang "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" to the newlyweds, and older alums posed with their sons, standing next to Masaaki for a photograph with a Frat icon. "They were wonderful. We were treated like royalty," Masaaki says. "I could never have dreamed…I have a lot of brothers there." The day before, the Ishiguros walked across campus together for the first time in more than half a century, marveling at new buildings, and reflecting on the lives they might have led together. I love you. I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you. "I have forgiven," Anne says through tears, "but I still hurt. The Bible teaches that our steps are led by the Lord, and sometimes He takes you where you don't want to go. When I try to come to terms with how many years I could have been with Ishi, it hurts. Perhaps ours is the only way this could have worked out. The odds were certainly not in our favor." "We missed a lot of years…But I'm thankful because it could have ended differently," says Masaaki. He can tell you a few things about irony, having preserved a bittersweet romance as enduring as the other campus legend he once helped create.

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		Last Update: Feb. 9, 2001 Page maintained by Jeremy Parish, parishj@acu.edu Questions to Ron Hadfield, hadfieldr@acu.edu http://www.acu.edu/alumni/inside-acu/winter2001/second-glance.html