Gene Kunitomi Tribute

Gene Kunitomi
In Memoriam

Deer Shadow lived his life out loud,

Without compromise, without excuses, without the kind of concern for others’ feelings that turns men into overly sensitive new age wusses.

But oh, he was sensitive.

He wore his T-shirts inside out, he said, because he didn’t like the feeling of seams on his skin.

Sensitive enough to navigate dangerous whitewater rapids “just so” and come out unscathed.

Sensitive to any form of domination, authority, or unfairness, which he pushed back on with equal force.

And sensitive to others’ needs and pain, wherever he felt like being sensitive.

He had the drive of a Mack truck; pushing through barriers and limitations in the same way he pushed oars in the supply boat – with confidence, certainty, and clarity of goal.

Gene knew.

You couldn’t tell him anything that he didn’t already know or that contradicted what he already knew.

Stubborn? No, he wasn’t arbitrary in his firm stance. More like the certainty of a perfectionist, a concert pianist, a master at his craft, or a religious zealot that believes so strongly in one thing that others’ opinions are not merely wrong, but irrelevant, even non-existent.

And Gene was a lover. He loved women – as much as I do. We shared that obvious secret, belonged to the same club – the one in which men are out of control with their love of the goddess in all of her forms. We shared the secret handshake, and the sly wink, talking about females as if we were using a secret decoder ring to understand messages slipped under the desk in front of the teacher. He loved well and long, rarely giving up on a woman – or man – who could respond to his power, who could meet him in the ring of honest clarity, emotional battle, and intellectual courage.

Gene respected those who could stand up to his internal power.

One day at a men’s retreat, we confronted each other on a ropes course, as if all our history of working together and exploring together was brought all at once into sharp relief. Twenty feet above the ground, on a thin platform leading to a rope bridge, he told me that he should go first, even though I had arrived before him. There was something about fairness involved, how I was a selfish asshole, and he was, of course, right, and good, and deserving of his place ahead of me.

I wouldn’t have it. We confronted each other like two snorting bulls, face to face, nostrils flaring, yelling full force into the others’ face.

I was nervous, legs shaking, heart beating wildly. He was a force to reckon with. But I held my ground instead of giving way. The men around us were shaking, as well, uncertain what to do to avoid a fistfight there, twenty feet above the ground, on a thin wooden platform. Surely one of us would die that day.

That moment, painted with such sharp relief and clarity, was a turning point in our friendship. He respected me for confronting him, and, as I recall, later apologized for being wrong, and being an asshole himself. It may have been the only time he apologized to me, and it was a precious moment.

So this is how he lived, this Deer Shadow.

He was more than mere shadow. He was a big buck, confident of his prowess and masculine presence, the alpha male in a harem of females, snorting wildly and tossing his antlers, ensuring that everyone knew…. He was the Master, the One, the Only, the Clear, the Certain, the Deserving, the Center of All That Happened Around Him.

Deer Shadow. Gene Kunitomi. My friend.

Bien’ Viaje, my brother.

Good Journey to you.

Fly in the Heavens and Ride the Rapids on the other side of this world. I love you, Gene.


Lion