The aviation history firmament lost a star this
month: Henry Sakaida, a valued friend and colleague of nearly fifty years.
He died after an extremely short illness of seizures caused by
glioblastoma.
Henry's grandparents emigrated from Japan and his
parents began a prosperous nursery near LA. He took over the business on
behalf of the family and ran with it. But
Henry was one of the most American of all Americans I've known. He said
that if his son wanted to learn Japanese, he'd have to do it on his own because
only English was spoken in the House of Sakaida. He liked to drive fast
(his Toyota had a Mitsubishi Zero gunsight) and twirl six-shooters.
I met Henry in the early 70s as a mutual friend of
Marine Corps Medal of Honor ace Ken Walsh. Henry had helped Ken locate
the family inscribed on a Japanese flag captured on Okinawa, beginning a long
friendship between them. Their relationship extended to me during a visit
with Ken in Santa Ana near Los Angeles.
(Sidebar: no sooner had I parked in Ken’s driveway
than he emerged from the shop, wiping his hands and asking, “Do you need a
tuneup?” He’d entered Marine Corps
aviation as a slick-sleeve private, combined mechanic and radioman.)
As a self-taught historian, Henry was a bulldog of
a researcher. He ferreted out the 22nd Bomb Group mission report of June
1942 showing that Lyndon Johnson lied about his reputed heroism in the
self-serving 1964 book by Martin Caidin.
Titled The Mission, it
capitalized on the reputed drama of the Democrat presidential incumbent in a
desperate aerial battle with a leading enemy ace. Almost none of it was true: Johnson’s
aircraft aborted with engine trouble far short of the target.
Henry found the relevant document in the Australian
War Memorial when it was "unavailable" in the U.S. Our Naval History article became the basis
of a CNN special report.
Mainly Henry reveled in putting former enemies in
touch with one another, most notably Sakai with the Dauntless gunner who hosed
him at Guadalcanal in ‘42, and the P-47 Thunderbolt pilot who ventilated
General Adolf Galland's Me-262 in '45.
Henry's book count topped 15, frequently with
Osprey in the UK. His hardcover tomes on
the I-400 class submarines and Captain Minoru Genda's fighter wing remain
landmarks. I published his Saburo Sakai volume at Champlin Press mid
80s, and it's become highly collectible.
https://www.amazon.com/Henry-Sakaida/e/B001JP0J1A/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1
Like many of us in the naval and/or aviation
history fields, Henry succeeded without benefit of letters behind his
name. Several years ago when I spoke at
the Naval War College, the PhD head of academics conceded that much, perhaps most,
of the cutting-edge work was accomplished by outsiders. He could have been talking about Henry, who
by diligence and enthusiasm became one of our most accomplished insiders.
I enjoyed knowing Henry so much that I put him in
two of my novels: Hiroyoshi Sakaida, a recon floatplane pilot in Dauntless and Rufe/Zeke aviator in Hellcats. Actually, Henry’s middle
name was Hiroshi, as many Japanese-American parents give children an ancestral
middle name. Unlike many novelists’
friends who appear as partial characters, my
Sakaida was cut from whole cloth. Hiroyoshi was
Henry, the Imperial Navy’s extroverted wild and crazy guy with no shades of
gray. He's still pending as a MiG driver
in Sabrejet, if that ever gets
finished.
Henry was one of the most generous people ever.
He spent more time, effort, and money than I could guess, tracking down
families of foreign KIAs (often Russians) and returning their relatives' medals
or artifacts. Henry's travels took him as far afield as Mongolia.
He and a colleague went there at least twice seeking relics of the 1939
war, and became known to the border guards. "Oh, those crazy
Americans again."
My wife Sally got acquainted with Henry during two or three of his
visits. She summarized, "What a cool guy." On the first
trip he arrived at the door with three steaks for us to share for dinner.
Secondly he attended our 2016 post-election Deplorables Party (wearing a
Soviet winter hat) and enjoyed conversing with Sergei Sikorsky--in Russian.
My bookshelf displays a color photo of Henry beaming from the cockpit of
a Zero, wearing Imperial Navy helmet and goggles. The 1981 inscription: “Anytime, anywhere but
only on my terms!”
That was my friend Henry, who really did live life on
his own terms.
