Hachi and the lessons he teaches us

About ten years ago I watched this heart-wrenching movie for the first time. It wouldn't be the last. It is a movie that has resonated with me ever since. There are several reasons why.

First off, the movie was filmed in Woonsocket, Rhode Island which is the next town over from where I live. The movie starred Richard Gere. It, simply, blew my mind that Richard Gere once roamed the streets of Woonsocket.

If you'd ever been to Woonsocket, you would know why I am surprised. It is a lower middle class community. Many of the buildings are run down and boarded up. There are areas of Woonsocket I wouldn't advise walking through alone at night.

So it was an odd choice for the site of a movie. I'm not sure if I knew the movie was filmed there when I watched it for the first time. I may have found some of the buildings familiar, but didn't think too much of it.

A lot of times I like to research movies after I am done watching them, especially if things in the movie got me thinking, and especially if they are based on true life. This movie fit both criteria.

Be warned I cannot write this article without providing spoilers for the movie, so if you haven't watched it and want to, I'll wait...

OK, great movie, right?

Richard Gere plays a professor who everyday has to go to the train station to get on a train and go to work. This one day, Gere finds a lost dog, an adorable little Akita. It took some convincing, but, eventually, Gere convinces his wife that they can keep the dog.

One day, the dog gets loose and follows Gere to the train station. Once Gere arrives at the train station, he turns and sees that Hachi has followed him. After hugging and playing a little with the dog, he tells him to go home.

In the afternoon, when Gere returns from work, he exits the train station's doors to see Hachi waiting for him, sitting on a small wall a few feet from the door. Hachi, happily, runs over to meet Gere and the two, jubilantly, walk home together.

This becomes the routine everyday for the next couple of years. That is until one day, gasp, Gere collapses while delivering a lecture at school and dies.

Hachi has no idea and waits and waits for Gere to arrive at the train station so they can walk home together. You watch as Hachi whelps and whimpers as he waits, watching with anticipation every time the doors of the railroad station swing open. You can see the exasperation growing in his eyes as hour after hour goes by and nighttime begins to set in.

Hachi's wife or daughter comes to retrieve Hachi and deliver the bad news.

Here's the heart-wrenching part, Hachi keeps returning to the train station every day at the same time for the next nine years and sits on the same spot on the wall, as he always did, watching the doors to the train station swing open, hoping his master shows up. Nine years! In fact, it was almost ten years – nine years, nine months, and fifteen days.

That, my friends, is loyalty. That is unconditional love. That is also grief.

In many ways, that is how I feel about losing my mother. Unlike Hachi, I haven't done it every day for the last three years since my mother died, but I often find myself sitting on my front steps and looking down the street to where the public transit bus would drop off my mother after work.

I remember as a kid, and even as a young adult, the anticipation when I would see the bus arrive and come to a stop at 3:15 every afternoon. I would only be able to see the top of the bus because where it stopped was at the bottom of a small slope in the street, about three blocks away. Even, being that far away, sometimes I could hear the brakes squeal to a stop. I could barely make out the top of the doors swing open. The bus would then hiss as it pulled away.

It would still be another two or three seconds before I could start seeing my mother's head and then the rest of her tall, slim body coming up over the hill. I would get to my feet and give an enthusiastic wave. She would give me an enthusiastic wave right back.

Those are the moments I miss most. I'm sure that is what Hachi was missing every day for the close to ten years that he waited for his master.

The amazing part of the Hachi story is that it was true. In the 1920's, a professor in Japan named Hidesaburo Ueno found a young Akita and took him home as a pet. He named the dog, Hachiko.

Sadly, Ueno died of a cerebral hemorrhage while at work on May 21, 1925. For almost ten years after that, Hachiko would go to the train station in hopes of seeing his master come back. Hachiko would die on March 8, 1935.

The part of the story the movie left out was the abuse Hachiko would take, initially, from railroad station employees, as well as commuters, as they had to walk past him every day. Many viewed the dog as a nuisance.

That all changed when a newspaper article appeared in October, 1932, which featured this dog which could be seen every day at the Shibuya Station waiting for his deceased master to arrive. After that article was published, Hachiko became a celebrity. People came from all around just to see this loyal dog as it watched the doors of the train station from its perch on a wall. They showered the dog with affection, as well as nourishment.

The most poignant parts of the movie was when Hachi was old and could barely make it up the stairs or onto the wall where he always waited for his owner. Even to the very end, he never held out hope.

Hachiko was still alive to see a bronze statue of him waiting for his master unveiled at Shibuya Station in Tokyo, Japan in October, 1934. In 2015, the university where Ueno worked, unveiled a beautiful statue of Hachiko, gleefully, jumping to be reunited with his master.

Hachiko's cremated remains were buried next to Ueno at Aoyama Cemetery.

Woonsocket erected a replica of Hachi's statue that is found at Shibuya Station at the train station that was used to film the movie. You know I had to go visit the statue and the railroad station as soon as possible after finding out the movie was filmed minutes away from where I lived.

It was a treat when I did visit. I loved sitting next to the statue.It was almost as if the statue was alive. I could almost feel the dog's warmth and love emanating from the lifeless sculpture next to me.

I was disappointed in the surrounding area, though. The train station, itself, appeared deserted. It must have been operational during the filming of the movie. If not, it must have took a lot of work to make it look like it did in the movie.

The same goes for the surrounding neighborhood. The architecture of the buildings is beautiful, but almost all the businesses within them were closed and boarded up. In the movie, there are flourishing businesses like delis, restaurants, and flower shops all along the streets. Not in reality or, at least, not now.

It is amazing how movies can make everything look better. It was sad, really. Why can't real life be like the movies. It is ironic that movies take wonderful stories from real life, but have to edit out and brush over aspects of that reality because the reality of the story is great, but movie companies feel the story needs to be better.

I had arrived here in anticipation of seeing a bustling train station and some of the same vibrant streets I had seen in the movie. Instead, I saw gloom. I could imagine what this place may have once been like and how the passage of time had destroyed its beauty.

I feel the need to correct myself. When people say "the passage of time" destroys things, what it really means is the negligence of people has destroyed things. The passage of time may destroy clothing, books, or photos. The passage of time does not destroy glaciers, relationships, or communities. People do that.

But I digress. Hachi teaches us about loyalty. How many friends and family do you know who would put everything aside and make time for you and wait for you at the "symbolic" train station every day? It doesn't take much time to check in on someone. That ten minute walk home with his master must have been the highlight of Hachi's day. A simple little five minute text exchange with someone could be the highlight of theirs.

I think we can also learn from the abuse the real life Hachiko, initially, took from people in a hurry to catch their trains. Here was a dog just minding his business, not bothering anyone, and people were so self-absorbed in their lives that they would kick or smack this beautiful, loyal dog on their way by. People viewed this dog as beneath them when, in reality, this dog had a kinder, better soul than many of them.

Why did it take a newspaper article to change their attitude towards Hachiko? Again, another lesson to be learned is we never know the story of the people we cross paths with every day. These are the people we snicker at or make fun of.

I had an employee that did maintenance for the restaurant I managed. We worked together, off-and-on (sometimes I would get transferred to another store for an extended period of time), for around twenty years. He was a tall, skinny guy who walked with long strides. He was always a little hunched over. I heard him, often, referred to as "goofy looking." He would stare off into space a lot. He would also stare at people a lot, which was offsetting. He, obviously, had some issues, mentally.

But the guy showed up to work every single day. He was the most reliable employee I had ever worked with in my thirty years. He never called out sick and was always almost a half hour early for his shifts. He would stay later or come in on his days off, always, when I needed someone to cover a shift or if I just needed the extra help.

Not only did he do maintenance – emptying garbage cans, sweeping the parking lot, cleaning restrooms – but he could do the register or make sandwiches in the kitchen, if needed. He wasn't great at those positions, but I had seen far worse.

When new ownership bought the franchise about three years before I had my breakdown, they, almost immediately, took note of this employee and wanted me to fire him. I said I wouldn't do it.

You see, people didn't know that when he was a teenager, he came home one day to find his father had hung himself from a rope in the garage. What kind of an impact would that have on you growing up? How do you think that would stunt your development? Nobody knew. He didn't like to talk about it and he never did, except with me once or twice when I was helping him unload product off a delivery truck.

I think the same thing when I drive past homeless people on the street corners. I have never rolled up my windows and looked at them with disdain. Instead, I have always wondered how did they get to this point. Was it drugs? Was it gambling? Was it a divorce? Did they lose their job?

I know sometimes it wasn't their fault they were in that situation. I also know sometimes it is.

I also always understood that someday that, easily, could be me. Of course, at the time, I had both my parents, a wonderful, loving partner of several years, a secure job that paid well, and a decent amount of money (or so I thought) saved up in the bank. I didn't know what the future might hold and how close I may be to fulfilling that prophecy.

Now, here I am and I have been waiting three years for my Social Security disability case to be decided. I have had no income coming in for almost all that time. I received some benefits in the beginning but that was it. I also have no guarantees I will win my case, despite having seen the evidence and knowing how strong my case is.

If it weren't for the love, support, and patience of my partner and my father, I would be on the streets now. I am confident in saying I wouldn't even allowed myself to get to that point. I would not be walking this earth or writing this article now.

So Hachi teaches us don't ever look down on anyone. Love those who deserve it. Make time for people. Be loyal to your family and friends. And always hold out hope.