Hi.
Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
This page celebrates the life of my dad, Sumifusa Fujimoto. Below are parts of the memorial service:
a brief life history
comments I made at the memorial service
You can also view the program.
Sonata in c minor, Op. 13 (Pathétique), Adagio cantabile. Ludwig van Beethoven
Arabesque No. 1, Andantino con moto, Claude Debussy
Frank Fujimoto (2024)
Sumi Fujimoto was born in 1926 to Masao and Matsu Fujimoto. He was the second youngest of eight children and grew up on various strawberry farms. Sumi and his family were sent to the Gila River internment camp during World War II, interrupting his time at high school. In 2004, he received his high school diploma in a special ceremony during the Downey High School graduation.
After the war, Sumi earned a degree in chemistry from UCLA. This led to a 30-year career as a chemist working for companies such as Flintkote and Douglas Oil, eventually specializing in road surfaces.
Not one to rest on his laurels, Sumi embarked on a second career as a picture framer at Lyon Supply for a quarter of a century. His craftsmanship and eye for detail earned him repeat business from many customers.
Sumi generously shared produce from his garden, especially avocados. People were also excited to try his latest cookie creations. His preferred vacation was a road trip, whether it be to Las Vegas, the Sierras, or even Seattle.
In 1958, Sumi married Kiyo Anne Ishii and built a life in Downey with our dad. When Kiyo’s health declined, Sumi was her caregiver for nearly 15 years, showing true devotion.
Sumi was dedicated to his larger families, too. Fujimoto, Ishii, Scouts, bowling, art, friends; he was generous and compassionate. He made a lasting impact with everyone.
Sumi moved to assisted living last year where, with amazing help from his caregivers, he maintained his humor and love of storytelling until the very end. While he may be gone, his spirit will forever be alive within our family.
My dad was a man of many talents. You may know most or all of these talents, you may know a few. Many seem incongruous with each other, but that’s what made him unique.
Dad would run across the field as a child to learn to make pies from Mrs. Chamberlain. That sparked a lifelong love of baking, and my love of eating his creations. I got good at cutting what I thought were imperceptible slivers from leftover pumpkin pie. He later started making apple strudel, one of his most-asked-for pastries.
We would talk baking on the phone, geeking out like I do with my sons about computers.
Sometimes the things Dad cooked in the kitchen weren’t meant for us. Their roof used to be tar and gravel, so my dad tried liquifying the tar on the stove. He started using the propane grill once Mom saw that happening.
Dad spent decades as a chemist in the petroleum business. He was extremely confident in the lab; I remember him deftly maneuvering small weights on the balance scale.
There was a period of time when all of our vacations were a series of short trips around Southern California. Before we actually did anything, though, we would watch pavement being laid on one road or another. I think we have as many home movies of that as we do of me.
At home, he had various gallon cans of different solvents. One time I was cleaning my bike, and he handed me a can to use. Seeing that it wasn't working very quickly, he did a quick sniff of another, unlabeled can, then handed it to me. He said to not get it on my hands, nonchalantly adding, "it's a carcinogen."
My parents had a side business where they would gather scores from the different bowling league games, tabulate standings and statistics, then print a summary sheet, with enough copies for everyone. This would happen every week for dozens of leagues. It was enough of a business that they built a dedicated office in the backyard.
All the calculations were done by hand, and my dad typed every master page. You’d be hard pressed to find someone faster at accurately typing columns of numbers.
My dad's second career was as a picture framer. It combined two skills he was confident he could learn, precise woodworking and choosing colors and styles of moulding and mats. He got very good, and had a loyal following. He did framing in the backyard office when the store moved to a smaller location.
Gardening was a passion for my dad. In addition to the normal home gardening staples, he had a mini orchard with citrus, persimmons, pomegranates, avocados, kiwis, and grapes. Raised beds made a maze in the plot. The first time Melody saw the garden, she said it looked like an engineer designed it.
People meeting my dad would think he's pretty quiet. Then they learned that he had a story for every occasion. At first blush, some of them didn’t seem credible, but many were just embellishments of what actually happened.
Some of the stories he would tell just because he liked to laugh at old memories. As family was gathering for Aunt Tosh’s funeral, he talked about when she went on a date. Why did that stick in his memory? Because he and Aunt Aiko were told to go in the rumble seat as chaperones.
Dad loved to drive all over. He was always confident at how to get to places. Very confident. One night we were returning to Cleveland from Niagara Falls and we got off the freeway. Next thing I knew, we were on the same stretch of freeway again. "Weren't we just here?" "I wanted to see the skyline again."
He and my mom would drive to Las Vegas a couple of times each year to gamble with other family members. As he got older, no one could get him to accept a ride. One time I flew down to go with them, planning on driving. I was relegated to the back seat.
The last road trip he and my mom took went through Las Vegas to Phoenix, Arches National Park, Salt Lake City, Yellowstone, Spokane, then to Seattle. For all those miles, that wasn't the amazing part. They left Seattle on I-5, cut over to the Bay Area to visit friends, then drove back home. All of that in less than two days. He was 92.
My dad had many siblings, and while his relationship with each of them differed, he admired things about them all. Whether it be cooking, bowling, gardening, or anything else, he knew which sibling was better than he was. Granted, he would never say that out loud, but he did give hints in private. I'll never tell.
As an uncle, the older nieces and nephews knew how stern and stubborn he used to be. They also saw the sternness soften over the years. The stubbornness? Nope.
When my sons were little, Dad would read to them, play with them, and even secretly try out their toys when they were asleep. If the kids wanted to try a new amusement park, he made sure we went, even if it was busy season. Later, nothing was too trivial to take to the shop to frame. And all through, he would make sure they were well-fed.
Given that I can only vouch for my parents' relationship after they were married, I do know they were head over heels for each other. My dad would drive from Southern to Northern California to court my mom at Stanford on alternate weekends. She would just say they would eat at Ricky's. My dad would say, "She would always order the most expensive steak on the menu." But you know he loved that.
When I was young, my mom would say we were doing something, "Because your dad wants to." All these years, I knew that meant she wanted to do those things, but couldn't figure out why my dad would go along. Not long ago, it occurred to me that she probably told him, "Because your son wants to."
When my mom was asked why she would sit among snow, bundled up, looking at a fishing pole on her birthday, she would tell you she liked fishing. I understood that to mean she liked how happy it made my dad. That, and he would bait and cast for her.
For the fourteen years from her cancer diagnosis to her passing, my dad was my mom’s primary caregiver. He wouldn't ask for help, saying that he was doing fine. Not long before she died, he told me that he was getting tired, but would still refuse help. I think he saw it not only as a responsibility, but as a way to repay the love she showed him.
My dad treated me not like a little kid, rather a very young adult. For example, he dug out one of his college books to start teaching me calculus well before I was in high school. But the best example? He was showing me how to use a circular saw, until my mom burst into the garage. I want you to imagine her voice as she said, "He's only 3!"
While Dad did go to all my piano competitions and performances, he was often not home from work during my lessons. He did go to some, but first, a slight diversion.
Dad could sleep at any time, anywhere, for any amount of time. He would come home from work for lunch, eat, and then nap just until he needed to return. It didn't matter when he started the nap, he always got up at the right time.
So back to piano lessons. At one point Mr. Voorhies said something in Dad's direction. Not hearing a reply, Mr. Voorhies said in a sing-song voice, "Mr. Fujimoto? Are you awake?" "Mmm hmm."
In addition to volunteering with the Scout troop, he went on many camping and backpacking trips. One hike was leaving all of us out of breath because of altitude and steepness, so he put another scout's backpack on top of his own for a while.
Before scouting, I was part of the YMCA's Indian Guides. We shared names that we wanted to be called, like, "Little Bear and Big Bear", or, "Little Eagle and Big Eagle". My mom had suggested "Little Tiger", since Dad and I are both the year of the tiger. I said that, then my dad piped up with, "Old Tiger".
Many people are impressed with all the things my dad would be able to do well. That was a life lesson I learned from him; you need to get over the hump of "I can't do that" and just give things a try. Some stick, like picture framing or baking. Some don't, like sewing and making snowshoes. I have no idea when he planned on actually using snowshoes.
Most importantly, he taught me that actions speak louder than words. For each time he used words to say he loved me, there were hundreds of times he backed it up with what he did.
