The first time I saw Soka University of America dead link, on October 31, 1997, it was nothing more than a 103-acre tract of graded clay dust. I was working as an intern at the World Tribune. The editor sent me down to Aliso Viejo, which is just east of Laguna Beach, Calif., to see the construction site and meet with Eric Hauber, SUA's vice president for enrollment services and long range planning.
Dr. Hauber told me that in the early planning phase of the campus, founder Daisaku Ikeda had offered one directive: "This should be a place that people long for." Dr. Hauber showed me blueprints and renderings of a campus with classical ambiance. "Cool," I thought, and didn't think much more about SUA.
When I was invited to attend the May 3, 2001, SUA dedication ceremony, I figured that there had been a mistake. I'm not -- and never have been -- a leader in the SGI, and this type of big-deal ceremonial stuff is just for leaders, right? But I wanted to see how the campus had turned out, so I accepted the invitation.
I put the two admission tickets on my altar and chanted that my girlfriend would miraculously want to attend with me. I knew that she didn't want to go. In fact, I didn't really want to go -- I hate big-deal ceremonial stuff. I felt a little guilty thinking that there were probably lots of people who wanted to go and deserved the opportunity more than I did.
On the morning of May 3, my girlfriend went to work and I lollygagged around the house. By the time I got down to Aliso Viejo, I had pretty much decided that I would just drive by the campus, give it a glance and come home. I was late for the ceremony anyway. I drove past the entrance to SUA's lower parking lot and skipped the main entrance. I wasn't even going to stop.
But then I saw a young man standing by the side of the road. He was Japanese, probably in his early twenties, wearing brand-new running shoes, jeans and a scraggly goatee. His hands were clasped behind his back as he looked down at the campus. It's hard for me to convey how powerful his attitude was and how it seized me. The whole atmosphere around him was full of reverence and longing.
I whipped a U-turn and pulled up behind him. When I got out of the car I could hear a choir singing Ode to Joy on the campus below. "I have an extra ticket," I said to the guy. "Want to go?"
He didn't speak much English but he said "thank you" five times. I don't remember his name -- Hiro-something -- and he was from Osaka. From that point, I was having fun because it felt as if Hiro and I were crashing the ceremony.
We sat way in the back. Congratulatory proclamations from various government officials were read. The crowd cheered loudest after the message from George W. Bush, reminding me that I was in deep, deep Orange County. The first freshman class was introduced. Renowned educators praised SUA and its pedagogy of peace. I loved the husky enthusiasm of the athletic director: "It's a great day to be a Lion. Go Lions!" The Dean of Faculty said that one role of a university is to temper the dogmatism of religion and openly inquire into religious questions. I was glad he said that.
After the ceremony, Hiro wanted to take a photo of us together. We found a woman who took the shot. I said hi to a few people and good-bye to Hiro. Then I got on a shuttle bus to go back to the parking lot. As the bus was pulling out, a flock of doves was released into the sky.
The two things that I'll probably always remember about that day are: first, the palpable longing that radiated from Hiro when I saw him on the road; and, second, the soaring cloud of doves, dancing like a joyful prayer over Soka University of America.
Click here to see the SUA campus webcam. dead link
Click here to watch streaming video of the dedication ceremony. dead link