When I was first in Japan, a long time ago, I heard the legend of the 1,000 cranes: to have your fondest wish come true, one must fold 1,000 origami cranes. I’ve folded flocks of them, and I’m still waiting. On the other hand, practicing the simple art form helped bring focus to my early years. I later learned that “Senbazuru,” or a thousand paper cranes, is a symbol of blessing, good fortune, and long life. One often sees them hung in temples and other memorials all over Japan.
I cycled through many interests in my Navy life (guitar playing, bird watching, clock making, language study) trying to find something productive to fill the long hours off watch at sea. When the ship is running “port and starboard” duty sections, you are either on watch or in your rack sleeping. During more relaxed underway periods, with three or four section watches, most often when your ship is not providing “plane guard” for an aircraft carrier, you have some “down” time to fill productively or just waste according to your inclinations.
Loneliness is a terrible thing. When everyone is tired and off watch, especially at night, it’s the emotion you see in everyone’s faces. Up to that point, early in my career, my life had been a total jail break. I always wanted to get ahead but didn’t know particularly how to go about it. You might say that I had the “want to,” but I wasn’t too up to speed on the “how to” when I was a kid. Consequently, I tried a little of everything over the early years to make the best of my time.
For example, I looked around our berthing compartment on my light cruiser, assigned to the Mediterranean station in the early 1960s, and noticed that many of my shipmates spent their off hours writing letters. That seemed like a good thing: you kept in touch with the people you knew; they told you what was going on in the outside world; and, who knows, you might strike up a correspondence with someone new and interesting, maybe even a girl.
We didn’t get much mail underway overseas. About the only time was when we were sailing in company with a “bird farm” (aircraft carrier). Their COD (Carrier Onboard Delivery) flights would bring mail in from the nearest foreign civilian airfield, and then their helicopters would distribute it to the small boys. That was about the only positive thing about being close to an aircraft carrier. Otherwise, they went so fast it was hard to keep up, and our engines required so much steam that we went on water rationing hours; they hardly ever stopped for liberty; and when they did, their huge crew flooded the liberty ports with 5,000 sailors, leaving little room for anyone else.
Anyway, I went down to the ship’s store and bought some neat stationary with the ship’s logo embossed at the top; stopped at the post office and bought some stamps (not yet like Vietnam where Uncle Sam paid the postage) and proceeded to write everybody I knew. Probably three or four people. Predictably, nobody wrote me back. It was ok with me because I always hated mail calls, anyway; but I had to look for another productive activity.
That’s when I got interested in “DXing.” Frankly, I never knew what “DXing” stood for, but it involved listening to shortwave radio and keeping a log of the stations you picked up, the more exotic and far away the better. If you sent them a post card with the time and location you were at when you heard their signal, many of them would send you a colorful and collectable “station card,” – finally letting me hear my name at mail call a few times.
I started off with a cheap, Chinese-made portable that I picked up at a souk in Tunis, Tunisia. I ran my antenna wire out of the nearest porthole, and often when someone closed it for “darken ship” it would clip my wire, disabling my radio. I eventually built myself a Hallicrafter tube short wave receiver from a kit I ordered from Chicago. That bad boy allowed me to eavesdrop easily on Deutsche Welle, in Cologne, Germany, Radio Taipei International in Taiwan, the Voice of America, etc. I must have missed a few hot circuits with my soldering iron, however, because it had a bad habit of giving off serious electrical shocks in damp weather, especially when you touched it.
Perhaps looking for something a little less dangerous and having ended up by that time on a ship posted to the Far East, I decided to try origami. When I first considered origami as something productive to do, it seemed a rather “lame” pastime. I equated it with something like knitting, not exactly in keeping with my macho self-concept. In fact, I would have rated it about as useless as pachinko machines, which are the upright pinball machines found in “parlors” all over Japanese cities. Patrons pay to watch their pachinko ball fall through a random maze of obstacles, gaining points, and there’s not even flippers on the machine to control the ball. It just falls, and people stand watching the ball drop, mesmerized.
Once I got into origami, however, I discovered that it was an “art,” as rewarding and redemptive as many other creative pursuits, such as painting, but with a very low entry level. A few pieces of paper and you are in business. Also, being “all thumbs” might even be an advantage in origami. It forces you to slow down, to be in the moment, to think, to “be” the paper you are folding. All of which contributes to your peace of mind and contemplative attitude. “Easy, Peasy, Japanesy.”
My disadvantage was that I don’t think spatially. When tested for the Navy in Jackson, I didn’t do well on sections of the exam dealing with placing round blocks in round holes. On the other hand, when I got to boot camp in San Diego, I won the academic award with the highest-class average for the entire 16-week training cycle. You can learn a lot, sitting on the back row. I sent my award certificate to my folks back in Mississippi, and when I got home a couple years later, someone remembered writing a grocery list on the back of it. But, practice makes perfect.
In Japanese, the literal meaning of origami is fold (“ori”) and paper (‘gami”). Long used in Japan for decorative and ceremonial purposes, its origins can be traced back to ancient China where it is called “zhezhi,” or “fold paper.” It is not known who invented it, but religious monks, along with Buddhist teaching and the writing system, brought the idea of paper folding from China to Japan in the 6th century A.D. Origami was used to make sacred objects at shrines, using paper which was so rare and expensive that only the wealthy could use and enjoy the art form.
Records show that origami was used for Shinto religious practices as early as the 5th century A.D. The paper streamers used to mark religious sites are still in use today. In ancient Japan, a pair of origami butterflies would be displayed at Shinto weddings to signify a beautiful life for the couple. It wasn’t until the Edo period of the 17th century when the capitol was moved to Tokyo that common folks began to have access to paper. When Commodore Perry of the U.S. Navy “opened up” Japan in 1853, this led to the end of the country’s isolationist policy and origami practitioners began to incorporate western napkin-folding patterns, patenbriefs (folded certificates) and German Kindergarten paper folding techniques. Today, origami principles have expanded into furniture design, home décor, architecture, robotics design, and engineering, including bridge building.
Only a few months ago (April 21, 2023), Prime Minister Fumio Kishida caused a stir in Japan when he donated Shinto religious objects to a Tokyo shrine that many, including the governments of China and Korea, consider a symbol of Japan’s World War II militarism. The objects, called “masasaki,” often include origami creations, and were given to the Yasukuni Shrine which honors about 2.5 million Japanese war dead, including many convicted war criminals. Victims of Japanese aggression during the war see the shrine as a symbol of Japanese militarism, and they see visits by lawmakers to the shrine as signs of their lack of remorse over Japan’s wartime actions.
Shinto includes the belief in “Bushido,” or the Samurai “Warrior’s Code,” which can loosely be interpreted as “fight to the finish” or “never give up.” I happened to be on the island of Guam back in 1972 when the last Japanese soldier was captured by two fishermen. He resisted as best he could but being 57 years old and in a weakened condition, he could not get away. He asked to be killed, because he “had disgraced the emperor,” but he was treated with kindness instead, and returned to Japan for a hero’s welcome. He had been in hiding for 28 years, living off the land, true to his Shinto beliefs.
There are origami societies all over the world, most importantly the Japan Origami Academic Society, also called “Tranteidan,” which translates as “detective,” with the aim of “unfolding” the mysteries and secrets of the art form. With this somewhat “mystical” aura, perhaps it is understandable that the practice of origami lends itself to self-searching, contemplation, and even meditation. But, to paraphrase the late, great Kenny Rogers, you must know “HOW to hold them and when to FOLD them.” One must study and practice. Origami is an art.
You do hear some strange things in origami circles. For example, there’s the so-called “Seven-fold theory.” It is commonly accepted that you can’t fold a single sheet of paper in half more than 7 times. Try it yourself. To be honest, it depends on the paper’s size, finish, and weight. Every time you fold the sheet, you reduce the total surface area by half, so eventually you run out of anything to fold, and it gets too thick. If you work it out exponentially, when a piece of paper is folded 7 times, you have 128 layers of paper. A California high school student, however, surpassed the 7-fold limit for extra credit in her high school math class. She folded a sheet 12 times, but she used a sheet of toilet paper nearly three fourths of a mile long.
I wish I was an origami “master.” I’m not. In fact, if someone gave out black belts in paper folding, I’d be lucky to merit a green belt. I do know “what I know,” however, and I’m always looking to learn something new. It just so happens that November 11th, next month, is worldwide “Happy Origami Day.” This just might be a hobby that you would consider, especially if you are stressed out, overworked, and out of focus.
In that regard, my wife and I are conducting a two-hour origami workshop (“Fold Your Stress Away with Origami) at USM’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) on Thursday, 28 September, from 2:30 P.M. until 4:30 P.M. The cost is minimal ($10), as we are volunteers; however, you must be a member of OLLI to enroll. I think you must be at least 50 years old, and membership costs $50 per year. The new fall catalogue is out, and it contains dozens of interesting courses, much better than ours. OLLI is one of the best things going on in Hattiesburg.
In the Chinese zodiac, 2023 is the Year of the Rabbit; consequently, the first origami model that we will make at the OLLI workshop is a rabbit. In fact, we will make two, an “easy” one, and a “hard” one. We will fold our rabbits and, hopefully, watch our stress and troubles “hop” away.
Light a candle for me.
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Benny Hornsby of Oak Grove is a retired U.S. Navy captain. Visit his website, bennyhornsby.com, or email him: villefranche60@yahoo.com.
