Yakuza and Pushing Their Buttons
I was going to visit a former yakuza boss in the hospital a few weeks ago. He was dying of lung cancer and the doctor had given him only a few weeks left to live. I called up “Mr. Greenriver,” still a mid-level gang boss, and we agreed to go visit him together since we both were friends with him. I decided I’d go to Mr. Greenriver’s place with Mochizuki-san, a former yakuza boss and my driver and bodyguard.
We drove to Mr. Greenriver’s condominium in a fancy part of Tokyo, parked the car, got past security, and took the elevator up to his place. Of course, Mr. Greenriver was in the middle of having crazy sex with one of his mistresses when we arrived, and we could hear it through the apartment door. So we knocked a couple of times, he grunted out a reply and we waited in the hall. He came out fifteen minutes later, looking very happy and smelling like a bottle of spilled Chanel No.5, sake and sweat. He mumbled an apology, told a couple jokes, and we left.
The three of us got in the elevator and the door closed behind us.
And nothing happened.
Nobody moved.
Mochizuki-san had his back to the wall of the elevator. I was to the left of the door, and Mr. Greenriver was standing close to the elevator button panel.
After about a minute, I cleared my throat.
Mochizuki-san perked up, as if he’d woken from his sleep, and said to Mr. Greenriver, “Hey, push the lobby floor button.”
Mr. Greenriver responded, “Oh, usually my bodyguard presses it for me. Forgot I’m on my own today.”
“Well, I’m not your bodyguard,” said Mochizuki.
“But I’m a yakuza boss and you’re not. Am I supposed to press the button?”
“That’s right, I’m not a yakuza boss. I’m a civilian, now, so you should press the button.”
Mr. Greenriver frowned. “But you used to be a yakuza boss. So isn’t that different?”
“When I was a boss, I out-ranked you. And I’m older than you.”
Mr. Greenriver folded his arms and pondered the statement. The elevator still hadn’t moved.
So I pushed the button.
They both look a little shocked. I had been totally forgotten.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I’m a gaijin. That makes me the lowest ranking person here.”
“Yeah, that’s right!” Mr. Greenriver seemed enormously relieved that the problem had been solved.
Most yakuza groups are very hierarchical societies. Reach a certain level and you never drive your own car, never press the elevator button, never open your own umbrella or carry your own belongings. You don’t even open the car door. So when a yakuza boss is left alone, there’s a tendency for him to just sort of stand there waiting for someone else to do what we would all do normally ourselves.
Here’s a way to understand the state of mind of a big boss: If you’ve lived in Japan long enough, you get used to taxi drivers automatically opening and closing the door for you, as is common here, with a push of the button near the driver’s wheel. In Japan, you almost never open the taxi door yourself or close it yourself. However, when you go back to the United States and get out of a taxi without bothering to close the door after you pay, you’ll find that taxi drivers get very angry. That’s probably the closest we’ll get to experience what it’s like to have been a yakuza boss and then no longer be one. The things you expect others to do for you are not done and it can take some adjusting.
Yakuza bosses don’t retire very well. Maybe, it’s very hard to get used to being ordinary again. The standard retirement plan still seems to be a bullet in the head, self-administered. Or at least made to look that way. Pulling the trigger may be the last thing a yakuza boss is ever expected to do for themselves. Personally, I think I’d rather prefer to learn how to press buttons for myself but then again, I’m not a yakuza boss nor have ever been one.
Addendum to the Elevator Story:
All three of us got out the elevator together. Mochizuki-san, got out first, then Mr. Greenriver, then myself. However, Mr. Greenriver soon took the lead and walked at a brisk pace right into the glass door of the lobby, bumping into it, and almost falling over. He wasn’t upset; he just laughed. “Usually,” he said, “the foot-soliders open the door for me. Forgot about that.” At this point I was laughing and Mochizuki was laughing at him as well.
Of course, Mr. Greenriver then did not proceed to open the door. So I did. And then the car door for him and I got in last. It’s important to know your place in the vertical society.
seems to say so much about the culture in such a subtle, practical way. definitely a scene that should be re-imagined and shoe-horned into the tokyo vice movie.
I just wanted to say that I’ve just finished reading your book, and I really, really enjoyed it. never thought anyone would top Speed Tribes, but you did it. More please…
Good story, even the mundane can be humorous!
I finished reading Tokyo Vice not too long ago. I absolutely loved it. Thank you very much for your hard work and sacrifice for writing such an informative and engrosing story. I wish the best for you, your family, and your friends.
Man, what a great write-up. I’ve never heard of you, this site, or your book, but after reading that I’m hooked. I’ll order the book from Amazon tomorrow. Great work.
A classic anecdote! And more intriguing insight into the yakuza world. Thanks!
That’s why Our Man always takes the stairs.
Is retiring from the Yakuza risky? It seems that many criminal organizations intend membership to be lifelong, since a person leaving the fold would take valuable inside information with them. This would seem an especially delicate situation for Mochizuki-san, since he is now protecting you from the same people to whom he once swore allegiance. Talk about working for the other team!
Great post.
@wunelle Retiring can be very risky if you leave on bad terms. And the most vexing thing can be that the organization will require you to return all the money you earned during your stint in the organization. Mochizuki’s situation is not that delicate. All he does is drive me around and watch my back. It’s not like I’m a cop. I try to maintain a certain amount of respect for his original organization. I don’t need to piss off every yakuza in Japan. Glad you enjoyed the post.
This article reminds me about the 上座/下座 concept of Japanese culture, not only just about positioning of seats but also in an elevator, on a train (I wonder if this is still in practice as I see young healthy looking folks hogging up 優先席 area, pretending to be deep asleep in guise of the the needy), inside a Taxi, a Japanese Restaurant or a Japanese style room. So much thought and consideration for seating, but then again I know that the Chinese also has a very similar concept when it comes to elderly, senior and the opposite.
Good read and I enjoyed the part when the 2 Yakuzas having a go at each other in the elevator. That is classic.
Cheers
@Daruma
Position is everything sometimes. Watch what happens when a yakuza runs into a hearse heading in their direction–pretty funny, unless you’re in the car and they’re driving in heavy traffic.
The codes of who sits where and when are relaxing quite a bit but in traditional Japanese culture it’s still a big deal.
wow haha I love Tokyo Vice
Cool story.
I’ve never known how spoiled the yakuza boss is before read this story.
“So when a yakuza boss is left alone, there’s a tendency for him to just sort of stand there waiting for someone else to do what we would all do normally ourselves.” Seems like a yakuza boss is really weak ‘n can’t do anything. Does that term really occur in anytime we find yakuza gang?
No, he’s not weak. He just gets used to being pampered.
Sehr Geehrter Herr Adelstein,
Greetings from New York Jake-san. You are a pretty decent writer.
However, you have the common and annoying habit of omitting that most essential preposition of our language, “of”, as in: “..told a couple jokes,”
Might you be able to wangle an “of” in such sentences old son? Tell a couple OF jokes and a couple OF stories?
Spent some time in Nippon myself. I always marvelled at the wanted posters in the Koban. I’d think, “Where’s the underbelly of this seemingly model country?” from which these mugs most assuredly spring?
Thanks for your noble work brother.
Hochachtungsvoll,
Helmut Von Macca
New York, NY
Herr Helmut-san,
You are right. I will try to make better use of “of” in the future. I’ve never gotten a comment about it before but I expect a couple of comments agreeing with you sooner or later. Thank you for writing in and pointing that out.
PS. I’d like to blame twitter for my habit of omitting particles, but the fault lies within myself.
best wishes
jake
I disagree; feel free to ignore the enjoinder to begin adding “of” everywhere. The difference between someone using it or not is, in my opinion, idiomatic and/or geographic.
For example, I would never expect to hear anyone say that someone had bought him “a couple of lunches”. My ear would expect to hear that someone had been bought “a couple lunches”.
haha, I love this story. I love how some yakuza can be humorous at times, as oppose to the stern image that they normally have. The conversation between the three yakuza in the article Yakuza 3 game review was very humorous too. It somehow reminds me of Gokusen.
I’ve just finished your book Tokyo Vice and I totally love it. I can’t wait to give this book to my brother who is now overseas at the moment. And he can’t wait to read it too.
A few years ago, I happened to watch a documentary on National Geographic channel about foreign women working in sex industry in Japan, especially covering the case of Lucie Blackman. I didn’t pay much attention of the name back then. But when I reached to the chapter of Lucie Blackman from your book, I realised that it was the same case, except I think I got to know more details after reading it. I was amazed that you, as a reporter, actually contributed in solving the case. For a minute, I would have thought you were the police instead, lol.
After reading your book, I can’t help but to think to myself: what can I do to contribute to the society and the world? will I be able to do it?
I really like Japan. I hope one day I can work and live in Japan. However I’m not yet sure where and how to start.
Once again, thank you for this great book!
I’ve hardly laughed this hard at an article since… I don’t recall when. Amazing. Thank you for sharing the story as well as the curious information.
You’re very welcome. I wanted to laugh at the time but wasn’t sure it would be a wise idea.