Sofubi Sifu
Martial arts has been part of my life for about a decade. I have a sifu whom I owe much to. Someone who has shown me a path to better myself, and how to interact with others.
There is another though, that has simply through his consistent goodness and never ending exuberance, shown me the way.
Boomerang in T minus 10…9…8
“Uncle” Warren, the bright eyed, platnium curl and pepper haired, captain of the perverbial ship of gokin, vinyl, and tin.
The silent, spiritual sentinal who blazed a path from which our toy DNA spirals outward and onward, talks with a quiet and steady cadence.
“Josh, hold up, I have something for you”.
You can’t fake this, buy it, or manufacture it.
Warren Schwartz’s grace is not in how large his collection is, or how long he has been acquiring. Likely more than any of us on both counts anyway.
It is in the kindness of a heart that wishes to not only share his love and knowledge of the Japanese toy foodgroups, and ultimately the care and respect he shows his fellow collector.
Warren runs upstairs and reappears with a Popy box in hand. He seems almost child-like in his excitement. It is a thing I had lusted for when first seeing it not an hour previous. One I know all too well. One up until this point, I never thought I would ever have.
…7…6…5
My first meeting with Warren was the fateful week that Day Old Antiques had closed its doors for the final time.
Like my first meeting with Alen, I was not only impressed by Warren’s nature but the resulting feeling I had known him for years.
Deciding that another meet up should be in the works, we met for sushi and then took a trip to his house to see the famed collection.
It has been written about before, so I certainly will not go into detail, but suffice to say I was speechless at the magnitude and the care in which he quietly stored everything. Row upon row of brown paper bags and boxes, complete with hand written description cards of each one’s content. Each one describing entire runs of toys.
This is Zen. This is what love looks like physically condensed.
…4…3…2
When at Day Old, I had with me one of the many custom containers used for transporting Popy GA 51’s. Shyly I spoke to my new acquaintance about my goofy desire in locating the perfect box one day.
Um, your OCD is showing.
Ironically, up until that point, I only had a Shogun Warrior box, that would be worthy of such a container, as it seemed that in the early days of seeking out these treasures, A Popy version seemed few and far between in any condition above a c8.
Warren hands me the Ark. It is gem mint. It has a sheen and a glow I rarely see on vintage.
I don’t get truly emotional over toys, but this was a moment where choking up a bit did not seem unwarranted.
…1
“I think you should have this. Just when you get a chance, send me your box in the mail.”
I nod.
What do you say in such a moment?
I look up, throat tight, and a sting at the corner of each eye.
Hold steady son.
Warren stands there, his Buddha smile seems to clarify everything for me. A thought begins to crystalize. I have a boomerang in my back pocket and a desire to throw it hard.
My heart is beating fast, and I realize I am in the presence of true benevolence.
Thank you sifu.
