William. Slipping through our fingertips are the penultimate memories of the war and what Japan was prior to that. My prior neighbor, who we called “tonari no ojisan,” had been stranded on a southeast-Asian island and was forced to eat insects to survive (he was an accountant, not a fighter; he taught my children how to use the abacus); later, he became a captain in the Imperial Guard (those who protect the emperor), but he died, alone except for us, here in Kumamoto. In our harried, modern world, most have forgotten those who buttressed the previous generation. I had planned to interview tonari no ojisan on tape for posterity but postponed it, and now it is too late. An historical lapse. But if you are a Kumamoto resident, nothing will benefit you more than befriending an elderly citizen who will gladly impart what it was. It’s a one stone, two birds thing: they have a listener, and you can listen. Kumanichi reports on the finding of some wartime material and the importance of direct communication with the person who provided it. Be proactive in this. It is up to all of us to ensure the past does not slip through our fingertips.