TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/042991/0429170.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 7.9 KB | 160 lines

                                                                                AMERICAN SCENE, Page 17

Dillon, Montana

The Rising Sun Meets the Big Sky


After buying a U.S. cattle ranch, a Japanese meat company sends
its managers to train in the saddle alongside American cowpokes

By TODD BREWSTER


    At the Lazy 8 ranch outside Dillon, Mont., a handful of
tired cowboys shuffle into the calving barn for lunch. Troy
Seilbach hangs up his spurs. Charlie Carpenter opens a thermos
of coffee, and Blue, a dirty mixed-breed dog with a heavy pant,
positions himself for a fallen crumb from one of the cowboys'
Baggies-wrapped sandwiches. Emblazoned on the lunchroom's white
wall is a hastily drawn map of Japan.

    The map is the remnant of the previous week's spontaneous
noontime discussion, during which the two newest cowboys -- who
hail not from Bozeman or Butte but from Tokyo and Ehime
prefecture -- attempted to explain the geography of their native
country. "Damn! 120 million people in a place the size of
Montana," says Dillon native Jim Cherney, 28, as he looks at the
map. "That's a lot of people."

    "Lot of people," repeats Hidehisa Mori, 29. Mori, who says
he grew up watching dubbed Clint Eastwood and John Wayne
movies, proudly tugs at his black Stetson and sticks his thumbs
over his rattlesnake-buckle belt. Only the Japanese-English
dictionary sticking out of his shirt pocket spoils a perfect
Marlboro-man look.

    When the news came two years ago that the Lazy 8, a
77,000-acre property that stretches 40 miles south of Dillon to
within roping distance of the Idaho border, had been bought for
$12.3 million by a Japanese meat company called Zenchiku, there
was much the same outcry that has accompanied more visible
Japanese acquisitions like CBS Records, Columbia Pictures and
Rockefeller Center. What made things worse was that the purchase
was Zenchiku's way of capitalizing on a relaxation of trade
barriers that was meant to help American cattle companies. For
a while, as word of the sale passed through town, dark clouds
of xenophobia hung over Dillon. But now that East has met West,
cowboy to cowboy, tensions have eased. "Anyone want a rice
cookie?" asks Mori as he and his co-workers begin to eat. "I'll
trade some Hershey's Kisses," says Seilbach.

    Mori and his compatriot, Kazuhiru Soma, are here as part
of an apprenticeship program established by Zenchiku. In order
to better understand how American ranches work, and for their
American ranchers to better understand the kind of beef that
Japanese consumers will buy, the company has begun sending over
young sales managers to work for two years each as American
cowboys. Beef is a delicacy in Japan -- selling for as much as
$180 a pound. Since it is used in small amounts, the consumer
prefers a high-quality, marbled meat filled with the
intermuscular fat that America's health-conscious buyers avoid.
Teaching breeders at the Lazy 8 about Japanese preferences is
Mori's and Soma's job. Teaching "Harry" and "Kaz," as they are
called here, about roping calves and herding bulls is the job
of cowpunchers like Cherney, Carpenter, Seilbach and Dick
Chaffin.

    "The first thing that struck me about Montana was the
sky," says Kaz, between spoonfuls of rice and seaweed. "There's
so much of it, much more than Japan. For days after I arrived, I
would wander out onto the ranch late at night and look up at the
stars. So many stars!" The next thing that struck Kaz hit a
little harder. Assigned to wrestle his first calf, the newcomer
resorted to the only technique he knew -- judo -- and landed in
the dirt. "I tried leg sweeps," he says, "only I had forgotten
that they have four legs -- two too many."

    Never having traveled out of Japan before, both men were
taken aback by American casualness. "I was puzzled by the name
Lazy 8," says Harry. "To us `lazy' means only `lazy,' as in
sleeping off the saki. Now I know that `lazy' can also mean
`laid-back.' " Kaz, for his part, found the relationship between
boss and worker hard to fathom. Used to bowing when meeting a
superior, he now greets John Morse, the third-generation
Montanan hired to run the Lazy 8, by shouting "Hi, John!" "Yeah,
Kaz, you guys gotta get rid of that junk," says Chaffin,
offering a lesson in American egalitarianism between bites of
a roast beef sandwich. "People who run things aren't any better
than us. They just make more money."

    Harry has become enamored of the American way of life,
sporting a bumper sticker on his Ford Bronco II that reads HAVE
A NICE DAY in Japanese, and dreaming of staying on in Montana
beyond his two-year stint. While they have become proficient at
roping calves, building fences, pitching hay and loading oats,
both men say the best part of their experience has been the
horseback riding. "Out on the plains, galloping along, I feel
like a real cowboy," says Kaz. "But you sure as hell don't look
like one!" jokes Chaffin as the room resounds with laughter.

    "We've had our problems," says Carpenter, loading a plate
of spaghetti and meatballs into the microwave. "But they mostly
relate to language. These guys know some English, but they
don't know American slang, and cowboys use a lot of slang, much
of it unprintable." There was, for instance, some
misunderstanding involving the word bull. Kaz and Harry arrived
thinking it meant the male bovine, but when Carpenter and others
say "that's a lot of bull," they may not be referring to cattle.
"I don't always want to look everything up," admits Harry, who
attends English classes at nearby Western Montana College. "So
sometimes I pretend to understand when I don't."

    While some people still express resentment at the ranch's
sale, most have accepted Zenchiku as a friendly presence. Morse
feels that any remaining suspicion toward the company is similar
to the feelings townspeople would have had about any outsider.
"They're as worried about Californians," he says, noting that
the previous owner, the Metropolitan Life Insurance Co., is
based in New York City -- a place hardly more familiar to
Montanans than Tokyo.

    One factor in the change of mood was Zenchiku's
willingness to invest locally. The company gave $10,000 to the
hospital, and buys much of its farm machinery from the local
John Deere outlet. Jackets and hats sporting the Zenchiku logo
were given to each of the employees, who sometimes wear them out
to the local saloons. Zenchiku has even sponsored their own
bowling team, though neither of the Japanese ranchers
participates. "I prefer martial arts," says Kaz, who teaches
judo to a handful of Montanans in town.

    Still, not all of Zenchiku's decisions have been greeted
warmly. Attempts by Morse to introduce Japanese
consensus-management principles to the Lazy 8 were met with a
less than enthusiastic response from the American cowboys. A
"cowboy forum," in which the group met weekly to air their
grievances and offer opinions on how the ranch might be better
managed, quickly dissolved. "We move cattle," shrugs Seilbach.
"How much is there to talk about?" Attempts to computerize the
operation -- tagging each animal with a different number to
follow their progress from birth through slaughter -- did catch
on, despite the cowboys' grumbling. "An experienced cowboy knows
much more than any computer," says Seilbach, "but that's the
future. It's not just the Japanese either -- everybody's taking
the cowboy skills away from the cowboy."

    The crisp cold of a Montana winter afternoon creeps
through the doorway as the cowboys prepare to go out and sort
some more cattle. "Yeah, I hope to get to Japan someday," says
Chaffin, donning his spurs. "Not me," says Seilbach. "I don't
think I could take all those crowds." The group listens silently
as Harry and Kaz tell horror stories about sardine-packed
subway cars and hotel rooms the size of cots. "Lot of people,"
concludes Harry, to heads nodding in agreement. "Here? A lot of
sky."