Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

I’ve been waiting since 1971 for a fast food craze to make its way across the Pacific Ocean to California and from the Golden State east over the Rockies to the Great Plains.
Thus far my watchful eye has met with nothing but disappointment for there is not one Yakitori Stand in sight.
Do you remember the Herbie Hancock jazz composition “Watermelon Man?” If you do, prepare to meet “Yakitori Man” and “Roland Yamamoto.”
My seventh, eighth and ninth grade years were spent living in Tokyo, Japan near Narimasu. My high school was Narimasu and we were the Narimasu Dragons. Our colors were buff and blue (go figure). We basically stunk at football but had the All-Far East wrestling team in 1970.
Our family lived on a dependent base called Grant Heights. Anyhow, Narimasu High School was located at the end of a long street lined on both sides by cherry blossom trees. The post exchange was several blocks from the school, located right next to the dispensary, movie theater, shuttle bus stop and ... the Yakitori Stand.
For us high-schoolers, lunch was either military style cafeteria food (which was thick and filling), NCO Club fare (the joint was nearby),  roach coach dining (as we so glibly called it) or the Yakitori Stand, located a few blocks away.
Yakitori was (and I suppose is) yummy. Yakitori was small pieces of chicken, which I think had been marinated in teriyaki sauce, loaded onto a bamboo skewer and grilled over hot coals. These sold at three for 50 cents (remember it was 1970).
The Yakitori Stand was a small blue and white metal building about the size of a Suburban. At night when the stand was closed, the opening, which ran the entire length of the building, was shut down. During the day, the large aluminum panels were held open with metal rods much as the hood of a 1955 Chevy would have been.
Since we were in class, us kids were never there to witness the opening of the Yakitori Stand. We could only suppose, which is what I am about to do. I suppose the Yakitori Stand was operated by a small Japanese man who peddled to work on his bicycle. That said, I have no clue where the chicken came from or where it was stored. Maybe the yakitori man had a fridge in the Yakitori Stand. Anyway, I suppose he arrived, parked the bicycle with the rack on the back, checked in at the PX, let himself in and began preparing for the day. First I suppose the yakitori man would loosen the metal coverings over the windows ... propping them up with iron rods. Then I suppose he would have lined up at least a dozen small hibachi grills, filled them with charcoal, squirted lighter fluid, added a match and created a short-lived bonfire. This would have all occurred prior to 11 a.m. because by 11:30 a.m. the yakitori man had so much smoke rolling out the screenless front windows it was impossible to see inside. In fact, my friends and I never confirmed there was a yakitori man ... there could have been a yakitori woman or an entire yakitori family.
With smoke rolling off the hibachis and the smell of teriyaki in the air, the lunch crowd (which included me and my friends) would arrive. One by one the hungry would yell their orders into the smoke, “Three please,” “Six please.” A few sizzles and a bit of rustling later an arm would extend out from billowing clouds offering up a plate of yakitori.
“Pay here,” a voice would say in broken English, “one dollar.”
After grabbing the dollar, which really wasn’t a dollar at all, but MPC (military payment certificates), the arm would retreat.
“Sank-you” the voice would say and off we’d go to eat our lunch.
We used to sing “Yakitori Man” to the tune of “Watermelon Man.” If you know the Herbie Hancock classic, try it ... see, it works. “Yakitori Man, da, da, da, da, da.”
Imagine, my girlfriend Denise asking, “Where are you going for lunch today?,” my response, “Yakitori Man, da, da, da, da, da.”
The only song better than “Yakitori Man” was “Roland Yamamoto” which we sang to Ike and Tina Turner’s “Rolling on the River” lyric ... try that one too, “Roland, Roland, Roland Yamamoto.” It was funny, and Roland, who rode to work on a motorcycle, didn’t mind at all.
By the way, if you see a Yakitori Stand anywhere give me a call.