About Me
My Purpose in Writing the Biography
Bill Naito was an influential guide for many of the change-makers that reinvigorated Portland, and yet there is no substantive history for anyone to learn about him and his influence on the city. I wanted to fill this void, as 20th century Portland cannot be truly known and understood without knowing and understanding one of its most vocal leaders. This knowledge is especially critical as we currently debate Portland's present and future.
It was very important to me to make it known that the son of Japanese immigrants was vital to Portland's history. Bill referred to his life as "A Little Japanese Boy Comes Good," and he was driven by the severe racism of World War II and the expulsion of his family and all Japanese Americans from the West Coast after Pearl Harbor. His story is an important counter-balance for most of the Portland's told history, which is decidedly white, but also a reminder that omission is a form of oppression.
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My Grandfather and Me
The biography is told as independently as possible, with thorough research and the removal of my own personal stories and feelings about my grandpa Bill. I was his first born grandchild, and he often called me Pumpkin. He was a deeply flawed man and father, but as my grandfather, he was unfailingly supportive and loving to me. It remains one of the most difficult experiences of my life, to have lost him so suddenly and unexpectedly at 15 years old. I never got to know him as an adult, and it has been a privilege to hear from others their experiences with him. I hope this book has done him justice, describing his complexity, his failures and successes, his motivations and caprices, with fullness and understanding.
In Loving Memory of My Grandmother, Millicent "Micki" Naito
I was fortunate that my grandmother supported me and gave me many documents, letters, and photos, as well as her memories. I only wish that she had lived long enough to read the final version of the book.
I wrote and read the following poem at her memorial in 2021 and post it here to honor a woman whose life was worthy of a book of its own:
Millicent
Purple.
Purple as in regal and refined, meaning beyond reproach and somehow above.
Purple as in deep and rich, a complex mixture of primary colors made to reveal something greater than themselves alone.
Purple as in the color of bruises between black and green, indicating a hurt that penetrates beyond a mere inconvenience or fleeting tenderness.
Purple and yet brown, like a song sparrow.
Not with the flash of a peacock, but the inviting patterns of brown streaks,
Starting around the crown and eyes, slipping down into its cream feathers on the chest.
Calls that begin with quiet chirps and lead to trills, capturing attention with its power and pitch.
Sparrows that you see every day,
A comforting sight every morning, reminding us that beauty need not be loud.
That beauty need not be rare.
That sometimes the beauty is in just being there.
Like a cat on a kitchen counter,
Sitting atop a bed made of yesterday’s New York Times
Watching, always watching.
Perceiving all but hidden behind diamond sharp eyes.
And judging, too.
Not from cruelty, not from spite.
But discerning, assessing, understanding – perpetually learning.
All the while purring.
Humming along like a mythical engine that defies the ironclad laws of physics.
Never runs out of gas.
Never turns off.
Never stops.
Never.
Never is purple.
Never is brown.
Never is never true and always right.
Because she’ll never be gone, and she’ll never be here.
Because she was both purple and brown.
A cat and a bird.
A grandmother and a friend.
A flawed human being and a perfect creature.
Holding my breath for it not to be true and breathing all the same.
Because she was never going to be here forever, but I thought it just the same.
All of this held within a black and white name.
Millicent.
