The essay, written in pencil in the neat handwriting of a Japanese 6th-grader, spells out his boyhood ambitions:
“Once I become a top player, I want to give away tickets to those who have taken care of me, so they can come see me play. My biggest dream is to be a professional baseball player.”
The student was Ichiro Suzuki. The essay is under spotless glass, housed in a museum filled with a stunning array of artifacts and awards owned by the Seattle Mariners’ most recognizable player.
Part of the 3,000-piece collection displays the expected–the bats, balls, gloves, caps and uniforms from Suzuki’s stardom with the Orix Blue Wave in Japan to his history-making run with the Mariners.
But it’s the personal items from Suzuki’s childhood here near Nagoya–his Bruce Lee action figures, “Dragon Quest” Nintendo game, Transformers toys, hand-sewn banner, Little League memorabilia, school photos and so on–that give visitors the sense that they’re peering into his parents’ attic.
For fans who can’t get up close to Suzuki, this might be the next best thing.
“I wanted to see the things that had to do with the world’s No. 1 baseball player,” said Atsushi Togo, 34, a Tokyo resident who recently visited the museum twice in 24 hours. “As a baseball player myself, I was inspired a lot by him.”
Togo wore a white cap with an “S” (for Suzuki) logo, designed by Suzuki’s brother and sold at the museum’s gift shop for 1,890 yen, about $17.80.
The museum, officially the Ichiro Exhibition Room, covers two floors of a four-story building a few houses away from the player’s boyhood home in Toyoyama, a town about 160 miles west of Tokyo.
Suzuki’s father, Nobuyuki Suzuki, dubbed “Chichiro”–chichi is Japanese for “father”–opened the museum in November 2002. It draws 30 to 50 visitors daily, with 1,234 people streaming through on a single day in October, shortly after Suzuki shattered the major-league record for hits in one season.
Admission is 900 yen, about $8.50. No photography is allowed inside.
“He’s my hero,” said Yasushi Orito, 39, a Nagoya resident who recently made his fourth trip to the museum. “Ichiro’s success helped us understand we caught up with America.”
Fans gaze upon Suzuki’s seven Mitsui Golden Glove awards won in Japan–the four Gold Gloves he’s won in the United States haven’t been shipped home, nor have some other major-league awards–and his 2001 Silver Slugger award.
In the corner is his silver bicycle with a scraped handlebar, a reminder of the time he was struck by a car when he was 17.
A mannequin sits at the desk Suzuki used as a student, along with his abacus and pianica, a combination piano and harmonica.
A video screen shows endless game highlights of Suzuki.
A set of gleaming workout equipment fills a room on the first floor that is closed to the public but used by Suzuki during the off season. Next door is a spacious brick house that Suzuki had built for his parents to replace his small childhood home.
Suzuki’s father was known for his zeal in training his son about baseball and life, and for seeming to put his son’s career ahead of his own.
“Behind his [father’s] back, people said, `This was a stupid guy.’ Ichiro’s father knew it,” said Kazuya Kinoshita, museum manager. “He told Ichiro, `You’re going to be successful. That’s going to prove that we are right.”‘
More Top Picks Best Asics Shoes With Good
Of course, Suzuki’s 6th-grade teacher knew that.
“It is great to have a big dream,” the teacher wrote in red ink on his essay. “As long as you are sure that you have made enough effort, I’m sure your dream will come true. Good luck.”