Reflections shared by Faye Yoshihara at Mil’s Celebration of Life....

I first met Mil in Spring 2000 while facilitating a strategic planning session for the Trillium Artisan Project. Irene and Mil were participating at the request of their Executive Director, Nancy Yuill. As a Kellogg Fellow, I was trying to understand women’s economic empowerment after failing to turn prostitutes into hotel cleaning ladies in Thailand. Mil was one of two men in the room, and after he asked a question, I remember thinking…wow, this MAN is a feminist! In a debrief my co-facilitator Maria and I mulled a question that Irene had asked us – one that broke through the clutter of our own thinking. We vowed to get Irene and Mil’s contact information.

And so we did. I became a regular at the Development Salon. Kevin and I ended up as Mil and Irene’s Pettygrove St neighbors while we remodeled a house nearby. During that year we got to know Irene and Mil better. Kevin shared an interest in hand tools with Mil and appreciated his precise manner of speech and dress. I realized that Mil was in post WWII Japan about the same time as my Nisei uncle, both on parallel tracks serving in military intelligence. After we moved into our remodeled house, we stayed connected by going out to dinner. By this point, Mil did not care to drive at night, so Kevin drove and we’d ask Mil and Irene to choose the restaurant. Both choose the Bombay Cricket Club. Mil’s choices were the Blue Hour, another hot new restaurant he had heard about, or Japanese. Mil’s language capabilities far outstripped mine. He would occasionally try to speak to me in Japanese. I could understand more than I could speak but was unable to carry on a conversation. When we got to a Japanese restaurant, Mil went all in, ordering Kirin Ichiban or Asahi Dorai, bantering with the waitstaff – with luck, a young, Japanese national, waitress - about the nigiri sushi, maki sushi, ebi, hamachi or whatever was fresh. These waitresses surely left wondering why the very polite White man ordered in the formal Japanese of her grandparents, while I ordered in English. Mil and my parents were probably speaking a similar version of Japanese, as I was reminded that I was using old-fashioned terms on work trips to Japan in 1990’s. I was introduced, as Mil would have been, as a gaijin (foreigner) or America-jin.

Mil and our lives also both pass through Corvallis, where Kevin and I currently live and Mil served in the military. When Janet drove Mil and Irene to visit us several years ago it sparked his memories of Camp Adair. He had little nice to say about his days living in what he remembered as a swampy, mosquito infested, war-time encampment. However, his time at Oregon State College and patrolling the Oregon Coast were remembered more fondly. Thank you, Janet for enabling the visit.

The last time Kevin and I saw Mil was on the happy occasion of his 100th birthday celebration and Asian Encounters book signing. It was a delight to see Mil walk in with such energy and spirit, dressed in his beautiful Indonesian batik shirt, the fabric of which he would always remind me he saw being hand printed. I had read an earlier draft of Mil’s memoir, which had left me at the North African coast, wondering how they got back to London. So, I was very happy to learn the rest of the story. 

Kevin and I extend our deepest condolences to Irene and their family. And, as we think Mil would approve, we raise a glass in celebration of a life very well lived.

Reflections shared by Robert (Bob) and Julie Granger at Mil’s memorial service on January 3, 2023.
(Bob)
We first met Mil and Irene at their home in NW Portland at what they called the Development Salon. It was the summer of 2001 and I had just retired from Hewlett Packard, where I had been involved in an international development program focused on helping bridge the “digital divide”. This work rekindled my interest in international development first stimulated when Julie and I were Peace Corp volunteers in West Africa in the late 1960s.
These salons attracted a fascinating group of people, all with some interest or connection with research or development in the global south. The format was simple: a social hour where we could meet and visit with one another, a brief presentation by one of the attendees on a subject of their interest, and a time for questions and dialogue. Mil and Irene were gracious hosts. Mil worked the room; Irene kept us on task.
These gatherings—123 of them over a 14-year period—gave me a chance to witness and appreciate Mil’s keen diplomatic skills. He was always the gregarious senior statesman. He was an easy conversationalist. He was interesting and interested. For me, he was just the kind of person you would want to travel the world representing your country or institution.
(Julie)
After Mil and Irene moved to Mirabella, we continued to periodically get together. On one of our visits, Bob shared with them how we had recently digitized our slides (photos) and how pleased we were with the outcome. Mil and Irene's eyes lit up and jaws dropped. They asked if we would help them do the same thing with their slides. We said yes, unaware of how many slides they had (over 9000). 
For the next year, we spent many a Friday afternoon with them, being introduced to their rich, varied, and incredible life. For us, it was an intimate look at not only their life abroad--the many countries they worked in and visited--but also into their family history. And wow, did they know how to celebrate birthdays! There were Christmas gatherings, ski trips, equestrian lessons and events, participation in marches (ERA) and protests (Vietnam War), the building of their home in Berkeley and their summer home, graduations, their trip to Cameroon to visit Tjip and Mary Beth at their Peace Crops site, and much more.
As we clicked through the trays of slides, Mil and Irene would say “out” or “keep”. In most cases, they would keep the ones that included people. There were a few exceptions. When a slide of Mil and a former girlfriend popped up, Irene said ‘out’ and Mil paused….and then said “let’s keep that one”. When we made our second pass through the slides and came to that photo, Irene didn’t say anything, and Mil said ‘out’. 
What a gift they gave us with that slide project.
I noticed many things about Mil as we went through all those pictures; and these qualities still ring true to me today, having only personally known him for the last quarter of his life.
Mil was a man of many talents, open to adventure and lifelong learning. He knew what commitment was – to his work, his students, his colleagues, and his family. He was humble. He did not seek the limelight. He was present. Whenever I was with Mil, I felt seen, heard, and valued. He was a dear friend.
(Bob)
For me, Mil was a connection to the past. His roots on the east coast intersected with my own family history. His father and my grandfather both worked in the Herrshoff shipyard in Rhode Island; Mil and my father both served in the army during the second world war; Mil and Irene’s work in international development reflected our experience and interests in the 1970s and 80s.
Mil’s life, in many ways, reflected the history of the 20th century. From his expatriate life in Shanghai to his post-war engagement in the political transitions of Japan, India, and Indonesia, to his research and training of international development professionals for work in a globalized world. The backdrop of his life was the evolving world.
On a more personal level, Mil was a model of what Brenè Brown calls “story stewardship”. He honored other people’s stories. He created space for them, respecting their experiences and perspectives. I think this was best exemplified by the way he honored Irene’s story. And he was gentle with his own stories, sharing them when the time and place were right. Fortunately for all of us, he captured many of these stories in his memoirs. These are now available for future generations.
We were blessed to know Mil. He will be part of our story for the rest of our lives.