In times marked by grand speeches and historic firsts, by mass euphoria and star power it is easy to overlook the quiet heroes of our day. Unless you knew Fred Stoeber, that is, in which case the celebration of the changing of the guard on Capital Hill came both bitter and sweet. Yes, it was real and yes, Fred understood that change was at hand, but his passing on December 19 brought an end to the subtle power this quiet hero wielded. There on the grassy knoll before the Hilo Downtown Post Office on Fridays from 3:30-5 p.m. Fred Stoeber would sit summoning all the stillness he could muster as a counterweight to the rampant aggression in the world. Those who sat or stood with him, those who understand what it takes to turn hype into true change, those who are left to hold Barack Obama to his promises lament the loss of such a vigilant soul. In many ways, we need Fred now more than ever.
As I sit here before my keyboard to write about Fred, to honor him with a few words, I am wanting a cord that attaches to my heart on one end and my laptop’s USB port on the other. I am wanting the feelings I have for this man to stream from my heart and come out on the screen in perfect prose, purely and without effort. Why not, I am thinking. It was that easy to love him.
Before I go any further let me confess that I hardly knew Fred. We had, by any standards, a very limited relationship. I was formally introduced to him when I served as personal assistant to Aitken Roshi. Fred was a student of the venerated Zen master and a frequent participant at the zazen sessions held at Aitken Roshi’s home in Kaimu. During our introduction I recognized him as the guy at Miyo’s and came to know him, first and foremost, in that capacity.
This is how it was between Fred and I: I would walk into the restaurant that bears his partner’s name and if he happened to be working that day I would greet him.
“Hi Fred!”
“Oh, hi, how are you?”
That was, for the most part, the extent of the verbal portion of the exchange. Although over the past two years, while I served as editor of Big Island Weekly, Fred would make sure to credit me for a job well done and complain that it was hard to find a copy of the paper each week. Then came the real substance of our connection — ‘the hug.’
Imagine Santa Claus as a Buddhist — with pure white hair and whiskers, full red lips, beautiful blue eyes and spectacles slipping down his nose, a striped apron tied around a wide middle — who delivers not presents but plates of udon and sushi and tempura, regardless of whether you are naughty or nice. Imagine this because it adds to the description of ‘the hug’ — the incredibly warm ursine embrace that drew you in and took you to a place where peace reigned and the madness of the world simply did not exist. Divine love and the hint of cooking oil, this was what I always found in Fred’s arms.
At Miyo’s his hugs were both appetizer and dessert, I would get one when I came in and another on the way out and no special treatment in between. The fact that I availed myself of his affection did not put me into a special class. His goodwill was there for anyone who had the sense to order it, just like the udon and the sushi and the tempura, and for the same purpose — to nourish body and soul.
If I might make another confession, I sometimes went to Miyo’s in need of ‘the hug’ more than the food. Which is not to say that Fred was any less friendly in other locales. He brought ‘the hug’ with him wherever he went, and sometimes we would perform our little ritual with less than five minutes lapsing from opening to closing, no matter how it appeared to passersby.
This was how I knew Fred, and this was enough to endear him to me forever. I can only imagine what he meant to those who knew him well. My own heart aches in sympathy, especially for his much beloved partner of 40 years, Miyo.
If you could find life’s dial and set it to ‘chill,’ that was Fred. He was a fine-tuned instrument at large in an existence marked most often by chaos, intent on edifying all that is good about humankind. While he is greatly missed and nothing can make up for the loss, I encourage those who knew him to take a quiet moment to reflect on their own memories of Fred Stoeber. I think you will be amazed, however simple these memories may be, at how powerful they remain.
Fred’s remains have been interred at the home he shared with Miyo in Waiakea Uka. He now rests beneath a bodhi tree cultivated from a cutting of the original tree under which the Buddha attained enlightenment.
