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My best friend and sponsor, Jinan LeDoux, passed away October 31 after a seven month battle with cancer.

My experience with Jinan started back in Los Angeles, in February 1991, the day before I would start a new life in Japan. A brief stop in a book store led to a coversation with the book store owner who I happend to mention about my travel plans where he in turn
happen to have a regular customer from Japan who frequented shop Janice LeDoux was the name he produced after scrambling around in the back room for a while.

Two days later, after my Osaka ride failed to show up, I called Jinan and told her who I was and how I got her number. She graciously directed me to a youth hostel and we would meet up for coffee later in the week. Within a few weeks, she floated my name around her circle of friends and before I knew it I was offered what turned out to
be an extremely plum job teaching at a college. Salary: 340.000 Yen per month, for sixteen hours of teaching over three days a week. Three months paid vacation. This job lead to countless other opportunities which eventually lead to me starting my own small teaching business which developed into a national chain of schools called Wisdom21.

Through out the pain and struggle of building a business enterprise, which entails being in an almost constant state of war with knuckleheads of all shades, sizes and colors, Jinan remained one of the steady voices of calm that I came to reply on over the years.

Whenever we got together, or talked on the phone, I was amazed at how non-judgemental she was.

As I stare down the road while this new chapter unfolds, I can’t help but wonder sometimes what the point of the whole journey is all about.

Oh well. Life must goes on I guess.

In February of 1991, I arrived in Osaka Japan somewhat disoriented and confused; not knowing anyone or anything; and certainly not knowing my way around. Obviously, I was oblivious to the language and the culture as even adjusting to life in the Ryukuchi Koen Youth Hostel was proving to be a major endeavor (10:00 p.m. curfew?). It would be a week or so before I dared to brave the world outside this little nursury center where I was staying.

As fate would have it, me and a couple of other hostelers would find our way to Shinsaibashi on a Saturday night; first to the Pig and Whistle in Canadian mura. The P&W, not unlike what it is today, was overflowing with people to the point where you could not really make it past the front door. I did manage to peek inside however, and I was somewhat delighted to see all the “action” inside.

Standing in front of the door were two black buys, “G” and “Tyquan” both of New York City. We promptly ensued the customary multi-handshake greetings and of course, I informed them of my newly minted tourist status and they likewise told me that they had been in Japan for more than a year. Tyquan described himself as a boxer which I found a bit puzzling.

After a few minutes of chatter, the two young gentlemen, both in their early twenties, invited me to join them on a tour of the local club scene for which I hastily agreed.

Departing the Pig and Whistle we bristled down the stairs and began to snake around the back streets of the entertainment district of Osaka and it didn’t take me but one or two turns of the corner to realize that in this jungle amazon, I was absolutely and completely lost. I began kicking myself for not bringing those bread crumbs I left at the hostel.

Before I knew it, we landed at this pit of a place located in a back alley somewhere, with tired looking ladies and an assorted cast of shady characters manning the fronts of every building of this crowded street, apparently try to leur people to come inside for drink.

We strode right past everyone, and proceeded to the B-1 level of this flimsy, narrow and otherwise dilapidated looking building.

Inside, though, was a pleasant enough surprise.

A cozy and quaint little nook, there were rafters and monkey bars where you could climb on top, have a seat and look down upon the patrons standing at the bar or walking in the door. It was a little box of a place that could fix about 30 or 40 people at best.

What really struck me about this club was the familiarity of the staff and how they knew everyone, or certainly seem to. And after barely making through the door myself, they quickly got to know me too.

The patrons, in many ways, mirrored myself: Foreigners (and Japanese) who were looking to make a personal connection, and as you looked around the room, you could see that everyone was doing just that.

The music was rich, fresh and innovative as John manned the CD’s and would turn me on to some to the best music I had every heard in my life, most of which was not the traditional black music that I grew up to and had naturally preferred. No. This joint was /truly/ special and for the next several months became the center of my world.

While I was looking for a job, and had no money, the bar staff did not hesitate to keep a cold glass of beer in my hand. I didn’t have to ask.

And when some shady fellow in dark glasses asked me if I wanted a to make a quick buck or two, Yuki behind the bar, not speaking a word of English, let me know to stay away. In fact, it was Yuki who introduced me to my first private English student in Japan. John Haggerty (FM Cocoro fame) was the other bar tender.

And when the bar closed some two years later, I came to realise that there was indeed a magic to this place that only comes around once or twice a generation. The passion and excitement of the atmosphere; the way and manner in which everyone connected reminded me more of a spiritual transformation than anything else.

This was the original bar Sam and Dave.

As I witness the early growth and development of Savannah bar and grill, I can see our guests experiencing the same elements and traits that take me back to those early years.