Carp Tales Fibber Hirayama
- fitts1951
- 15 minutes ago
- 12 min read
2025 is the 75th anniversary of the Hiroshima Carp. To mark the occasion I decided to interview Americans who have played for the Carp and create an oral history of the team. Sadly, many of the early foreign players have passed away or were not available to be interviewed. Over the 2025 season, I will post sections of interviews I have conducted. I hope to publish the full interviews at a later date.
I will beging with an interview I conducted in 2003 with Satoshi "Fibber" Hirayama. Born in California, Hirayama played for the Carp from 1955 to 1964 and scouted for the team for decades afterwards. He died in 2021. This interview was included in my book, Remembering Japanese baseball: An Oral History of the Game.
Satoshi "Fibber" Hirayama
I was born and raised in a little town called Exeter, California, about 60 miles from Fresno. In 1942, I was relocated to a camp in Poston, Arizona, for about three years. I played a lot of baseball there. Not in a league itself because I was still too young. But I did play a lot. I came back to Exeter as a junior in high school and then went to Fresno State on a football scholarship in 1948. At that point in time, I feared no one, and they had a tough time tackling me because I was so small. I loved football. The only reason that I went out for baseball was that I didn’t like spring football. Once I got involved, I learned to love baseball. I played three years of varsity football and three years of baseball.
Right after college, I signed with the St. Louis Browns and was assigned to Stockton in the California League. It was a Class C league at that time. After playing for the summer, I went in the service in January of 1953. While I was in the Service, Mr. Kenichi Zenimura, who ran a Nisei baseball club in Fresno, contacted me about going to Japan. His son had played in Japan the year before. I talked to my wife-to-be. We had never been to Japan so we thought that it might be a good thing to do. I contacted the Browns, and they were good enough to give me my release. When I got out of the service in 1954, I got married in February, and a few weeks later, we went to Japan.
When we arrived, they paraded us through downtown Hiroshima. Apparently, there were about 100,000 people there. It was just tremendous. I didn’t speak any Japanese, so they told me what to say. But I made a mistake, and I said, “Watashi no namae wa Hirayama Satoshi-san (My name is Mr. Satoshi Hirayama).” I used the word “san (Mr.).” That’s a no-no! So everybody laughed. I was so dumbfounded by the reception; I just couldn’t believe it.
Mr. Zenimura’s son had been living in Japan for a long number of years, so we lived in the upstairs part of his home. A nice situation, except we slept on the floor, and we had non-flushing toilets, so we had to get used to it. It took a couple of years, but I learned Japanese. For quite awhile, even though I understood a little bit, I told people when they asked questions that I didn’t speak Japanese. After about the third year, I became very fluent. The toughest part was the writing. I couldn’t understand the letters at all. I never learned them.
When I first went to training camp, we didn’t pick up a baseball for about a week. All we did was exercise and run. They had this little hill that we ran up. I about died! I never spent a more miserable time in my life. It was really tough. I couldn’t believe it. My new teammates were all so friendly and so nice to me. I can’t remember anyone being unfriendly. I think that was one of the reasons that I enjoyed baseball in Japan so much--everybody was so nice to me.
My first game in Japan was an exhibition game near Hiroshima. There was a big crowd there. I had a pretty good arm and was playing right field. In one of the early innings, I fielded a base hit and threw it home. I didn’t mean to, but I threw it home on the fly and people were so astounded by that. I went 1 for 4 or something like that, and I was amazed at the control of the Japanese pitchers.
When I first got there, we played at this stadium out near the airport. It was a very primitive ballpark. It had no lights. There were no seats in the outfield, everybody sat on the lawn. And the dugouts—that’s what they were—old-fashioned dugouts. There was no exit in the back to go to the restroom. You had to go outside the dugout to go to the restroom. There was also no clubhouse in the stadium. We changed for the games at the dormitory where the unmarried players stayed and took a bus to the ballpark.
The Carp were a city-owned ball club. Consequently, they had a number of barrels at the entrance where people would toss in money, and that was part of the way that the club was run. They also had a number of fan clubs, and the ball players would have to go to these fan clubs and put in appearances. In most cases, they would ask you to sing, and THAT was one of the things I hated to do! I can sing like nothing. We used to go to these fan clubs just to make an appearance and to get money from them to help support the club.
Hiroshima was such a very poor club that when I first got there, we traveled third class. There were no reservations in third class, so the rookies would go in through the windows of the train and grab seats for everybody. The seats were hardback. There were no cushions at all, so the traveling was very, very difficult. But it’s a funny thing, I slept pretty darn well. I think I was tired all the time!
In old Japan, the rookies had to do all the menial things, because they had the peer structure—the sempai-kohai[senior-junior] structure. When I first went over there, I was amazed. The veterans would eat first, and then the younger players would be served. The same thing held true for the bath. The youngsters always took their baths after the veterans, so they always bathed in lukewarm water. I fit in with the veterans because I was a Nisei, but I always used to bathe with the rookies because I couldn’t stand the hot water. The sempai-kohai thing was very, very forceful at that time in everything. The younger players just accepted it. That’s what they understood life to be.
I played a year and a half at the old ballpark, and in the middle of 1955 they built the new stadium. It was like night and day—a beautiful stadium. Of course, it had lights, so we didn’t have to play day games anymore in the summertime and they had a clubhouse.
The new ballpark was built right across from the Peace Memorial Park. I had a funny feeling, especially in the first part of August when so many people would go there. It took me a while to get used to it, because I had a very, very awkward feeling about the atomic bombing. There was a person on the ballclub who had lived in Hiroshima as a child. That day, he was playing with a ball, and it went under the house so he went after it just when the atomic bomb exploded. His parents both passed away and he was saved because he happened to be under the house. I can remember when I first got there, people would show me places where a person had been killed, and you could still see the outline on the sidewalk. It was scary and something I’ll never forget.
The Hiroshima fans were crazy. They were die-hards. They used to have a trumpeter. He would be blowing his trumpet, and they would be waving banners. If you did something wrong or if they felt you did something wrong, they blasted you. They were much louder than the other teams’ fans, no question about it. They would get carried away and just hoot up a storm. One time, the Giants beat us in a very close game. I think they scored a couple runs in the final inning to beat us. Well, after the Giants boarded their bus, the Hiroshima fans started throwing rocks and everything at it! It was something else, I couldn’t believe it!
Another time, when we were playing Hanshin at home, there was an argument, and our manager, Mr. Shiraishi got thrown out of the game. The fans became very, very excited and started coming down out of the stands. It was a funny feeling being in the outfield and seeing fans run by you. They were steaming. They tore up everything in the dugouts, and they went into the radio booth and tore the radio equipment out. The umpires had to call the game, and we couldn’t play at home for a couple days. I wasn’t worried about my own safety because I had become accustomed to Hiroshima fans. They were terrible, and they would get on you, but they really took care of the home team.
The Hiroshima fans really liked my style because I would run out to my position and run back into the dugout. The other Carp players just walked out to their positions, so I was really a novelty, and the fans really enjoyed that. It was just something I learned in college and I've always done. So normally I was back in the dugout before any of the other players. Well, my teammates didn't like that at first, but they sort of got used to it.
I was also a hard slider. I think Wally and I were the two people who introduced breaking up the double play in Japan. Even through Wally had been doing it for years, the Japanese runners still wouldn’t slide hard into second. They would just sort of go out of the baseline standing up. The first time I did it, did I get dirty looks from the second baseman! Some of the second baseman really got wise to me and if they got the ball early enough, they would throw it right my head and make me slide!
Although we often finished in the second division, we had three future Hall of Famers on the Carp. Katsumi Shiraishi was our manager and shortstop. He was a good, solid player—very orthodox and very no nonsense. The same thing held true as a manager. Very orthodox and played for one run all the time. That was the biggest difference between Japanese and American baseball. They played for one run early in the ball game. Even in the first inning, they would bunt the runner a base ahead. I never saw that in the States. After the sixth or seventh innings, then you might play for one run but until then you never saw that.
Shiraishi was very much of a disciplinarian. We had curfews, but off the field as long as you met the curfew, there wasn’t much said. Nonetheless, the Carp were a serious-minded team. Once in a while, you would go out and party a little bit, but we learned that you never did that in Hiroshima. Because if you did and you happened to have a bad day on the field the next day, the fans would get all over you! They’d think, “The reason you’re not doing well is because you were out drinking last night!” They really got on you. We learned not to do anything in Hiroshima.
My first year in Japan, we were playing this game at Hanshin’s Koshien Stadium, and my teammates were trying to teach me a little bit of Japanese. They told me that if the manager says something to you, you answer—and this was in Hiroshima dialect—kabachi tarena. That means “Oh shut up!” but I didn’t know that! I was playing right field, and when I came in between innings, Mr. Shiraishi told me that I should play a little deeper. I told him, “Kabachi tarena!” He looked at me, and I thought that he was going to tear me apart! I looked at the bench, and they were just rolling! All the players were on their backs and just laughing like crazy! I thought, “Aw oh!” After a while, even Mr. Shiraishi started laughing. Thank heavens! That was my most memorable experience in Japan.
Mokoto Kozuru played center field. He was an outstanding ball player and a nice, quiet person. He had the most unique batting stance and stroke of anyone I ever saw. He’d hold the bat on his shoulder, and he would just sort of rotate his hips a little bit inward on his stride. I think that he swung more with his hips than he did with his hands. Very, very odd to watch. It wasn’t a swing that you could imitate. He was a good hitter. Before he came to the Carp, he had a tremendous year with the Shochiku Robins. He was the Most Valuable Player, led the league with 51 home runs, 161 RBIs, and hit .355. But I don’t think he could have played in the Majors. I don’t think he could have handled a really good fastball. He didn’t hit for too much power at Hiroshima.
Our ace Ryohei Hasegawa was an outstanding pitcher. He was a little guy who threw from the side with a very odd delivery. Naturally, throwing from the side, he could throw that slider in, or he could throw the sinker away. He was outstanding at changing speeds. He would always have those hitters out in front, but if they were looking for the change, he’d bust the ball in on them. It seemed like he could pitch every day. Sometimes, Hasegawa would start, pitch a complete game, and the following day they might call him in for relief! That was one of the biggest things that I could not understand about Japanese baseball. Our ballclub didn’t have a rotation! None. Whoever looked good in practice, pitched. They threw every day. I couldn’t believe it.
I was very fortunate to be part of the Japanese club that toured with the New York Yankees in 1955. I was able to travel, meet, and play cards with Billy Martin, Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, and all those folks. I really enjoyed that. The Yankees really enjoyed Japan—especially Billy Martin and Mickey Mantle. They were up most of the night and day. I can remember that in Hiroshima, they asked me to translate an interview with Casey Stengel. I was never so confused in my life! I didn’t know how the hell to translate that stuff! But I really enjoyed it because he was such a nice person.
One of the highlights of any visit to another ball club was seeing the other foreign players. You looked forward to just visiting with them. The first year I was in Hiroshima, Harvey Zenimura was there, so I could speak English. After he left, there was no one to speak English to and I could only speak and hear Japanese, so I really looked forward to seeing the other foreign players. The Giants had Wally Yonamine, Dick Kashiwaeda, Jyun Hirota and Andy Miyamoto, so I really looked forward to that.
Actually, I really enjoyed playing against the Giants. During the time I was there, they had a strong ballclub almost every year. Playing against them was always an adventure. When you played the Giants, there was a full stadium and that really pumped me up. Of course, we didn't win that often. The Giants’ first baseman, Tetsuharu Kawakami, was probably one of the best hitters ever in Japan. He was very much like a robot. At first base, he had the range of maybe three steps, so he wasn't a good first baseman at all, but hitting-wise he knew his zone and would swing the same way at every pitch. He was a master who had studied his swing. I've never seen anyone quite similar to Kawakami.
In 1958, a fellow named Mark Harris, who was living in Hiroshima at the time, wanted to do an article about me and my experience in Japan. He was a writer and wrote Bang the Drum Slowly and other popular baseball books here in the States. We talked for a while. I think it took several days. The article was published in Sports Illustrated (August 4, 1958). I was very, very thrilled. I couldn't believe that was happening to me. Here I am a nobody and to have some sort of article like that. Well, I still have a copy. People can't believe it.
I retired in 1964 because my wife and I wanted the kids to grow up in America. The oldest was going into the second grade, and the middle one was going to start first grade, so we wanted them to go to school in America. I left under good conditions with the ball club. When I returned to the States, I became a teacher near Fresno, then a vice-principal and principal, and finally I went into the district office as the head of personnel. I did that for a long number of years before I finally retired.
During that time, I also scouted for the Hiroshima Carp. When Mr. Takeshi Koba became the manager in 1975, he asked me to find some gaijin ballplayers for him. So that’s how it started, and I've been doing it ever since. One of the first players I sent over there was Adrian Garrett. I went down to Venezuela to watch him play. That was the first time that I went out of the country as a scout.
Mr. Kohei Matsuda, the former owner of the Carp, was a very farsighted person. He wanted to strike out in different directions and possibly tap the Dominican market for ballplayers. He decided to build a Baseball Academy down there. One of our graduates is Alfonso Soriano. He played a few games with the Carp in 1996. I’m mostly involved with baseball operations and the coaching staff. I still go down about six or seven times a year, normally for three weeks the time.
In the Japanese Ballpark: Behind the Scenes of Nippon Professional Baseball
is now available to pre-order
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