Tom Matano remains one of the most fascinating people I've ever encountered. We met while driving a prototype together on a publicity junket for a major brand looking to launch a new model somewhere in Northern California many, many years ago. It was Tom‘s turn to drive the prototype, and we were casually talking as we wound along some mountain roads at high speed. I happened to mention that I had just finished shooting the Alfa Romeo B.A.T. 7, and Tom almost ran off the road. Literally. We can to a stop in cloud of dust.

For weeks, I’d been ruminating about this spectacular Alfa that I had finished in the midst of an extremely busy year of assignments. It was one of those stretches in my life where someone else was in charge of my travel logistics, and I was living in a virtual storyboard of dawn and dusk automotive productions with a small team. The advance notice I had received was that I would be photographing three special vehicles for presentation to Bertone at Pebble Beach that year. There were no other details. I was handed the directions with no idea of what models I would be shooting.

When I arrived at the shoot, one of the cars was the B. A. T. 7, which I’ve never seen in person, and it completely blew my mind. I had not stopped talking about it with any of my car friends for a couple of weeks, but none of them knew anything about the car. It really set me on my heels, and I hadn’t had time to do any follow-up research. But as Matano-san and I nearly veered off the highway, his prodigious mind started spewing out facts and penetrating observations about Bertone and the BAT. It was like meeting my virtual twin.

Our relationship continued like this for many, many years. I could ping him about a particular car or something I was wondering about, and he would answer with a unique observation, as if he thought about the same thing before.

Matano-san had a very reflective view of the world and a genuine sense of humor. One of the funniest stories he told me unfolded one evening while we were in West Hollywood. He asked me to drive him to the Greyhound Bus station!

I said sure, are you going somewhere? He said he couldn’t remember where it was and he’d always wanted to go back. I was surprised at that remark, but knew exactly where the modernist bus station was in Hollywood. We pulled up to the curb and walked around a bit inside, and this story unfolded.

The time line facts may not be entirely accurate, but more or less the story has resonated in my mind because it is so poignant.

Of course, any of Tom‘s friends know that he was obsessed with automobiles his entire life. He talked frequently about his childhood and growing up in Japan. His grandmother in particular stands out as a real character in my mind from the mental sketches he painted of her, not unlike a character from Ghibli Studios animated film.

When he was preparing to make the big journey to the United States, his grandmother insisted that he get a permanent wave in his hair so that he would feel more “confident” among Americans. Of course, Tom went along with her advice because he had some trepidations about fitting in with a foreign culture. But he was completely shocked by the chemical beauty parlor smell and the results that ensued. Nevertheless, he arrived in Chicago with a lovely wave in his longish black Asian hair.

Soon thereafter, he boarded a Greyhound bus bound for Los Angeles to satisfy one of the burning ambitions of his life: to visit California. Driving across the Midwest to the Pacific Coast, gazing out the window of the Greyhound, gave him a unique and powerful understanding of America. He was utterly fascinated with the vastness of the landscape.

He arrived at the Hollywood bus station on Vine Street sometime late in the evening, well after dark. His English was very poor, and he left the station to find a place to sleep for the night.

There was a taxi close by who pulled up and opened the door. Tom mimicked to the driver that he wanted to go to sleep, and the driver floored it.

Tom wanted to recreate the journey they took that fateful night, so he directed me to drive south on Vine Street until we reached Wilshire Boulevard. There, we turned left. As I drove slowly, he gazed around and asked me to make a turn onto Western Avenue.

As I recall, Tom arrived in the United States sometime in the late 1960s, a period marked by significant societal upheaval following the Vietnam War. Assuming all Asians were similar and Tom would feel more at ease in this neighborhood, the black taxi driver pulled over and gestured with his fingers for Tom to begin walking. Tom dragged his suitcase for several blocks until he realized he had arrived in a Korean neighborhood, where he encountered considerable racial animosity. Despite his efforts, he couldn't find a hotel sign. Exhausted, he finally entered a small neighborhood grocery store.

The going was rough. He was a foreign man in a foreign country in the wrong part of town late at night. The Koreans he encountered on the street immediately recognized him as Japanese, and they were not happy about it. Some people pushed him, and after a long trudge, he was terribly frightened. He’d seen no place to stay, so he went into a small corner grocery store and tried to communicate with the owner of the store.

As we drove slowly along Western Blvd., retracing his entry to Los Angeles, Tom  remembered exactly where he was and went into the same grocery store! Thirty years or more later, the same owner was behind the counter and they had a long conversation where Tom thanked him.

The grocery store man had understood Tom’s predicament, locked his business door, and took Tom up some back stairs. He woke his wife and convinced her to let Tom sleep in their children’s room.

That’s how the world turns. Anyway, Tom was incredible. He had a force of will, a loving heart, impeccable taste, and a brilliant mind that penetrated any culture. Our common bond was the automobile, and I really admired his work. His lifetime had discipline, tons of talent, and he gave all his attention to everyone he came into contact with. His life was a positive force in this universe, and I miss him terribly, but he left us with an amazing automobile he designed, the Miata. I’d like to think of Tom back on the bus, moving onto his next adventures in Miataville. We are lucky to have known him.

P.S. I have some photos of Tom that I want to give to his brother. If anyone knows how I can send them to him, please get in touch.

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