Moe Berg's Japanese Reflections

1 REFLECTIONS ON MOE BERG'S JAPANESE REFLECTIONS MICHAEL LEWIS MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY For the most part, the people of this country are extremely generous, honest, and sincere. They do not despise foreigners. They trust even those whom they have never seen before. They are also somewhat naive like our provincials who have never been to a big city.2 Nomura lchinoshin Tadazane, member of Japan's first official mission to the United States. 1860 The Japanese are a proud, very proud race, the old people are stately and everybody has good manners and a smile.3 Moe Berg, member of visiting U.S. baseball team, Tokyo, 1932 Japanese and Americans have formed sweeping opinions of each other's “national character” since Commodore Perry's “black ships” steamed into Uraga Bay in 1853. More often than not, the commentary has revealed more about the observer than the observed. What the sojourner has found remarkable speaks not only of his private concerns and values, but also of political relations between Pacific rivals. Moe Berg's writings on Japan in the early 1930s, a sample of which is excerpted at the end of this article, are no exception. Berg was a ho-hum catcher. During his pro career, spanning the years from 1923, when he broke into the majors with the Brooklyn Dodgers, through 1939, when he retired from the Boston Red Sox, his annual batting average fluctuated between .077 and .333.4 Baseball scout Mike Gonzalez once tersely summed up Berg’s abilities as “good field, no hit.”5 He batted best when he played least, a fact that his coaches seemed to have recognized by allowing him to spend many of his pro years riding the bench. During those few fat seasons of .250 batting averages, slowness on the base paths leavened any praise for his other qualities as a ballplayer. 1An earlier version of this article appeared in Baseball History. It is revised here with the editor’s permission. 2Quoted in Masao Miyoshi, As We Saw Them: The First Japanese Embassy to the United States (1860) (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1979): 56. 3From Berg’s letter, reproduced below. 4David S. Neft and Richard M. Cohen, The Sports Encyclopedia: Baseball. (New York: St. Martin’s/Marek, 1985), 139-196 passim. 5 Robert Slater, Great Jews in Sports (New York: Middle Village, 1983), 20. 141 Where Berg demonstrated speed, agility, and even suppleness was in his ability to think. Well-educated, avowedly-intellectual players are unusual in baseball history; a playing intellectual a rarity. Although he consistently, if perhaps with false modesty, tried to downplay his academic accomplishments and scholarly interests, inevitably demanding in interviews and articles to be judged solely on his performance on the field, he was justifiably renowned as “…the best-educated man to ever play in the major leagues.”6 Although he appeared to struggle throughout his life to escape being pegged as a curiosity – a Jewish, intellectual, polyglot ballplayer, his unusual personal background actually yielded benefits that Berg, despite protestations to the contrary, fully enjoyed. His unusual talents brought enabled him to travel, read widely while avoiding a nine-to- five routine, enjoy creature comforts, and meet politically powerful leaders, though these contacts were probably never extensive as he made them out to be. His apparent intellectual strengths also probably had as much to do with his selection as a baseball “goodwill” ambassador as did his rather lackluster playing statistics. But his fine education and wide reading did not fully prepare him for what he was to find during his first visit to Japan in 1932. Berg was not, of course, a naïve provincial in his understanding of his own society. A Princeton undergraduate education, law school at Columbia, a lifelong love of learning, and classical languages suggest that this intellectual ballplayer should have been a keen and critical observer. But something often happens to the first-time visitors to Japan and it happened to Berg. With the other traveler’s essentials, an entire set of values are usually carried along with the luggage. These are characteristically sweepingly judgmental, if at moments charming and occasionally insightful, and usually result in broad and generally unfounded generalizations. Like Lafcadio Hearn decades before him and millions of tourists since, Berg saw Japan as a fairyland. His ride from the port city of Yokohama to Tokyo was “a page out of a dream” and this sense of unreality continues to color his later comments. The unreality of the fairyland image is easy to see if we step back from Berg’s view to a broader perspective on what many Japanese people were going through around the time of his visit. Japan had been hard hit by the worldwide crash of 1929. Its silk market had collapsed and Japanese journalists spoke of the crisis in the countryside. Unemployment rates soared and the press reported starvation in some villages in northeastern Japan. Beyond Japan’s borders, its military forces had invaded Manchuria and were in the process of establishing a puppet regime there. Japanese central officials also viewed with concern the protectionist legislation pending in the U.S., such as the infamous Smoot-Hawley tariff measures. They considered these efforts to ban goods not even produced with American borders to have been racially motivated actions to contain Japan and its growing economic reach. Despite the looming darkness, Berg’s view was decidedly sunny. In a land where starvation was a fact and child-selling to avoid it a recognized social problem, he saw a nation where all worked and not a single beggar despoiled the landscape. Perhaps 6Ibid. Examples of Berg’s modesty, real or assumed, can be seen in the collection of materials on his life in the Moe Berg File, Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown, New York. The paltry statistics that limn his major league baseball career – a handful of major leagues game actually played, a lifetime average of .243, and a reliable place as the team’s ever-present bench rider – suggest that he had much to be modest about. I am grateful to Peter Levine for sharing his notes from the Berg file with me. 142 because he seldom ventured far from Tokyo's Ginza district, a section of the city that even in 1930 more resembled New York's Fifth Avenue than typical Japanese communities, he witnessed only immaculately neat houses, lovingly manicured parks, and department stores where counters overflowed with goods. As for the international developments, Berg was completely silent, which might be explained as dissimulation to cover his later claim of actually serving as a spy. But aside from Berg’s own curiously understated bragging, there is not much hard evidence to suggest that he actually served as an important operative in Japan or, if he did, that his accomplishments proved crucial to the later war effort. As do most visitors to Japan, Berg of course had much to say about the distinctive customs of the “natives.” He found bowing “very intriguing and interesting” and, obviously not realizing that bowing expresses a hierarchical social relationship between those practicing it, immediately adopted the custom as his own. One can imagine the Japanese reaction to his friendly attempts to go native. His indiscriminate bowing to acquaintances of whatever social position and noisy slurping of hot tea to assure his hosts that he really enjoyed their fare probably reinforced the notion that Americans are indeed friendly, albeit naïve, provincials when it comes to understanding Japan. Berg’s desire to please clearly stemmed from a genuine fondness for the Japanese whom he met. Men earned his appreciation by being hardworking, courteous, well- groomed, and capable of producing a passable English-language newspaper. Given the times and notions of what passed as “civilization,” these markers not surprisingly indicated to Berg that Japanese men and the society they were building were making great strides. He was even more impressed with Japanese women. Clad in colorful kimonos, feet wrapped in spotless white tabi, the ladies with the fine black hair all had smilingly good dispositions – a view that may have been reinforced by the inordinate amount of time that the ballplayer spent with geisha, those women whom our observer declared, had been “trained beautifully” in kneeling and tray-lifting. Of course, such praise of life and customs in dreamlike Tokyo, display an undercurrent of racism running throughout Berg’s observations, an undercurrent that has long bedeviled Japanese-American relations. It was not until 1953, exactly one century after Perry’s gunboat-enforced “opening” of Japan, that a federal law that virtually banned Japanese immigration to the United States was rescinded. In trade friction between Japan and the U.S. in postwar decades, one also notices resentments based upon race as well as export levels. Berg reveals this strain in his sense of superiority in what he is surprised at. He is pleasantly shocked to find that the Japanese are in fact a “courteous race.” What's more, the water and milk are as fine as anywhere and the houses actually tidy. And, as if speaking of another species, he observes that “contrary to what is generally believed, the Japanese are a very clean race, especially the women – they bathe in extremely hot water, once or twice every day. ” [Emphasis in original]. As the American-born son of a Ukrainian Jewish family, Berg did his best to fit in, whether on the streets of Newark, where baseball became his passion, or at Princeton, where he shied from joining campus Jewish groups. In his observations of the “Japanese race” he seems to have acclimated himself too well to mainstream values.

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