Memories of Chuck in June 2009:
After missing my dear friend and mentor, Chuck Nakamura, for a year, I feel I can finally write about some of my memories of him.
Let’s start at the beginning. In 1965 when I was a senior psychology major at UCLA, I won a research award and was assigned to work with Dr. Nakamura. That fantastic stroke of luck changed my life forever. He patiently guided me to develop a research idea (that was really his) and implement it. He encouraged me to apply to UCLA graduate school at a time when it was rare for girls to do so (we weren’t women yet), and he defended my application when the admissions committee wanted to reject me because I was married and would “just go have a baby.” Thus my life path was determined.
The research we started when I was an undergraduate continued into graduate school. We submitted the first study to APA, and it was accepted and put into a session with three other papers. Chuck said he didn’t want to go to San Francisco, and he insisted that I could read the paper by myself. He told me to practice reading it within 12 minutes, but I said that wasn’t necessary since the paper session was at 8 a.m. and no one would come. He made me practice reading it to him several times anyway (he could be stern). When I arrived in the conference room at 7:50 am, I was shocked to find about 400 people there, and was I glad he made me practice!
We did two follow-up studies, and I wrote up all three, incorporating his editorial changes, and submitted it to Child Development, a respected peer reviewed journal. Chuck generously made me first author. The paper was immediately accepted, and the editor asked us to change just one word. I was in my third year of grad school, and I assumed that this was how papers always got published. Needless to say, this never happened again in my life! Though I published regularly in the following decades, papers were almost always first rejected and then accepted after much revision, and some were never accepted. Each time I would call Chuck to ask what I was doing wrong, and he would always say that’s just how publishing worked.
As this story suggests, I was bright academically (3.88 GPA), but I was clueless about life and especially clueless about the ropes of academic life. Chuck carefully taught me about both, without ever making me feel bad about or even aware of my ignorance. When Chuck began at UCLA, the field of psychology was almost completely male. He worked to increase the number of women in the field, but then he would have to show us how it was all done. Since he had experienced severe prejudice, he was able to teach us women how to deal with it. He also helped us figure out how much our difficulties were due to our own behavior and how much were due to prejudice or other situational or societal constraints.
For the rest of my life Chuck was always there to give encouragement and sound advice at every crisis, personal or professional. He also shared in my joys. He wrote very long, thorough, persuasive letters of recommendation (before the days of word processors), and he helped me get all my jobs. In many profound ways, I owe my life to him.
There are so many memories. We both loved chocolate, and I would always give him some of my grandmother’s handmade fudge when she sent it to me. He would give me vegetables he’d grown. Every year I gave him a shirt for Christmas, and he gave me a day-planner. Whenever we got together, he’d wear one of my shirts, and I certainly hope he liked them, because I thought he looked great in them so I kept getting them for him. There were so many parties and dinners, some weddings, and the births of my two daughters. Oh, I forgot to mention his excellent parenting advice. There were all the deep conversations about social injustice and how best to change society. In later years he said that even though human nature determines that society will never improve much, we still had to try. Through it all, we shared much laughter, including a couple of complete giggling fits.
For my entire adult life, I knew I could call Chuck any time with a trouble or just to chat about current events. This past year, there were many times I thought to myself, “Oh, I’ll have to tell Chuck that.” Just today (June 6, 2009) there was an article in the LA Times about a group Japanese Americans who had been sent to the internment camps and then been helped to go to college now helping to send refugees from Southeast Asia to college, and I wonder what he’d think of that. He came to my older daughter’s wedding in 2004, and he got to see my younger daughter straighten her life out, but I so wish he had been able to see my new granddaughter. I also wish he had lived to see the election of President Obama. Well, I just wish he were still alive.
It seemed to me that Chuck lived his life as much like a saint as it is possible to do. He was always kind, caring, and giving. He gave much more than he ever accepted in return. He thought more about the welfare of others than of his own. He took care of so many people, from students to friends and family members. He never asked for anything. He did everything he could to improve the field of psychology, and he worked to improve society as well. His patience was immense. He maintained an inner peace and grace under pressure that was both reassuring and inspiring. His last generous act was showing us how to face death and still try to live each day fully. He has left an amazing legacy.
References for the research story:
Nakamura, C., & Todd, J. (1968). Informational and affective components of social and nonsocial reinforcers in children's learning. Paper presented at 76th annual convention of the American Psychological Association, San Francisco, California.
Todd, J., & Nakamura, C. (1970). Interactive effects of informational and affective components of social and nonsocial reinforcers on independent and dependent children. Child Development, 41, 365-376.
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