Japanese Live Long on Little

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 83, Issue 54, 6 March 1939, Page 5

Japanese Live Long on Little

TOKYO—There are many men and women in Japan to-day who "<ia remember the year 1838. They were playing games when Martin Van Buren was President. The-v were married before the California, gold rush of '49. And they were in i heir thirties on that April day when southern shots crashed against the walls of Fort Sumter. In Japan, the centenarian is no curiosity. Sixty persons, all more than JOO years old, recently were honoured by a Tokyo newspaper. They included 41 women, 19 men. The oldest was 114. Seven others—all women—were 110 or older. One was a school-mistress, who ‘.s just 100 and is still teaching school. Unquestionably, there, are many centenarians sprinkled through the islands. The Japanese conception of age is considerably different from the usual opinion in America. To a Japanese, “middle age” means the middle fifties. Not until that, age, is a man considered ripe enough for a responsible post in the Government. Prince Kimmochi Saionjo. the “elder statesman.” is 99 and still molding, in an indirect capacity, the affairs of state. The Japanese lives a long time without half-trying. In his daily life, he upsets virtually every canon of hygiene, dietetics, and health. As a child, he rides around strapped to mother's back, a prey of both wind and rain. After the nursing period, fie drinks little nr no milk, gets I very few fresh vegetables. ; Spinach, in Japan is a dessert, served |i:i thimbleful portions! As an adult, he smokes and drinks to what, would be called excess. Drunkenness, itself, is no shame in .Japan, it is only an amiable weakness like "hewing tobacco. Rice (too much starch), fish (too little protein) and pickles (a stomach irritant) are the staples of his diet. He lives in an unheated room. He would shudder in stark horror over the thought of a cold shower. But—he frequently lives to be 100. A nervous little man entered the chemist’s shop and asked for some weed killer. The chemist eyed him suspiciously. “Oh, i-it’s all r-right,” the little fellow explained. “I'm a b-bachelor. ”