Baker Company
MIS
Date of Birth: March 1, 1920
Date of Death: September 3, 2009
Spouse: Katherine Toshie (née Kujubu) Muramatsu
My father had a wonderfully humorous way of telling stories, especially the one about how he met my mother. When we were young, he used to tell my siblings and me that he had found her “under a rock.” The tale was so outrageous that my sister and I never believed a word of it—my brother doesn’t remember it at all. The real story, as my mother eventually explained, was far less dramatic but every bit as charming. They met on a “shimpai” effort—a blind date. At the time, my mother was working at Goodwear dress shop in downtown Honolulu when her co-worker and friend, Norma Nanbara, suggested she meet a young man who worked at a grocery store in Kalihi. They went out, and although the courtship stretched on for about five years, they married in April 1950.
My father grew up working in his own father’s grocery store at the corner of McNeil and Dillingham Boulevard. The store catered largely to a Japanese neighborhood, which allowed him to become fluent in the language. Remarkably, he not only spoke Japanese well but could also write it. Letters from Japan would arrive from time to time, and he would write back in Japanese—occasionally consulting a dictionary to get the kanji just right.
Eventually, seeking a new path, he took both the fireman’s and post office examinations. He passed the post office test and began a long and fulfilling career with the U.S. Postal Service, retiring at age 65. He started as a Special Delivery mailman, later became a regular carrier, and eventually rose to supervisor. I always admired his incredible sense of direction—something I imagined came naturally from being a mailman, though I’m sure I exaggerated it in childhood.
My father adored his four granddaughters—Nicole, Erika, Megan, and Natalie. Megan and Natalie, who lived nearby, were especially fortunate to be babysat by my parents and enjoyed beach outings with them. Natalie even remembers the time they left their sand toys on the sand, only for another child to refuse to give them back—until Grandpa marched over and scared the boy away. Grandpa could definitely sound intimidating when he yelled!
He also had an undeniable sweet tooth. My daughter Nicole recalls him sneaking her and her cousins candy or ice cream—mostly as a way to indulge himself, despite his diabetes. My mother, of course, would scold him every time. The same thing happened with his fondness for beer and oysters, which often triggered his gout but brought him such satisfaction that he’d finish with a long, contented “ahhh.”
One of Nicole’s most treasured memories came years later, when she chose to give her first child her great-grandfather’s name as a middle name. He never said outright how touched he was, but we all remember how proudly he bragged at the Clubhouse that his great-grandchild carried the name Joichi.
My father seldom spoke about his Army service to me. He told us only that he had done his basic training on the Mainland with the 100th Infantry Battalion before being transferred to the Military Intelligence Service (MIS) because he could read and speak Japanese. I never knew whether he felt disappointed not to remain with his Baker Company friends or relieved that he did not have to go to Europe. He occasionally spoke fondly of the families in the towns where he was stationed, and beyond that, he kept most details to himself.
My brother, however, did hear a few stories. Dad once told him that he trained on an 82mm mortar at Makapuʻu Lookout, practicing by firing toward Rabbit Island. His partner, a man from Hilo, later went to war and was killed. He also remembered standing guard at Schofield just after December 7th, when a visiting general saw him and asked, “Did we get invaded?” He spent time stationed in Washington, D.C.—where a kind lady once cooked him breakfast—and also had assignments in Los Angeles and somewhere in the South.
My father’s loyalty to his 100th Infantry Battalion buddies lasted throughout his life. He served for several years as president of the club and worked tirelessly to help it fulfill its mission of continuing service. Like many men of his era, he did not speak often about his feelings, but his actions made it clear how proud he was to belong to this brotherhood. My husband once told me how moved he was to see my father’s emotional reaction when General Eric Shinseki presented him with a lei at a function held to honor these heroes.
Joe Muramatsu’s life was shaped by service, dedication, and quiet accomplishment—devotion to family, pride in community, and loyalty to his fellow veterans. His humor, intelligence, and resilience left a lasting mark on those who knew him. He was a beloved husband, father, grandfather, and veteran, and his memory continues to live on in the stories we share.
Submitted by daughter Joyce Doi