By Bob Krauss
Advertiser Columnist

Here's how it begins: "You did a column about ..." That's when I hold my breath. I never know if I'm going to get scolded or praised to the skies. I thought the absolute worst is when I can't even remember writing the column.

But Satoro Isutsu from Kaua'i proved me wrong. He's a professor of public health and psychiatry and senior associate dean at the John A. Burns School of Medicine. He said, "You interviewed me 45 years ago and then told me my story wasn't interesting enough to write about."

How embarrassed can you get? Well, some stories improve with age and this one did. It wasn't quite ready when he told me about it. Forty-five years later, it's much better.

When I interviewed Isutsu in 1959, he was a graduate occupational therapist on his way to go behind the Iron Curtain to Yugoslavia for the American Friends Service Committee. He had come from New York where he was in school to say goodbye to his family. In those days, the Iron Curtain was greatly feared.

Yugoslavia was a Communist country fully staffed with secret police but not under the thumb of Josef Stalin in Russia. Josip Tito had set up an independent regime.

Isutsu said the experience changed his life. In spite of different cultures, political beliefs and languages, he found that people are all part of the world community. Life in Yugoslavia was difficult but he was young and indestructible.

His job was to train occupational therapists to help the many people in Yugoslavia who had lost arms and legs in accidents. The artificial limbs in use were terribly crude.

At that time, there were fewer than 100 Americans in Yugoslavia. When Isutsu took a trip in his beat-up Volkswagen bug to visit his students, at every stop he noticed a fellow in a trench coat and a fedora sitting in a booth in some café with his face buried in a newspaper.

But there were unforgettably human moments. Isutsu made friends with a bunch of artists living under a bridge. They were the top artists in Yugoslavia, supported by the government. When his seven months was up, they decided he should have a gift.

One of them would paint his portrait. In a Communist country, everything had to be done by committee. They appointed a committee to select the artist to do the portrait. Day after day, Isutsu sat for the artist who wanted to get the picture just right.

When it was done, it had to pass the committee. They said it was terrible, too photographic. In a rage, the artist turned the portrait into a cubistic nightmare. Nobody could recognize Isutsu. The committee said the artist had to do it over.

He painted like mad right up until the day Isutsu left. The painting was wet when the artist handed it over. Today it is one of Isutsu's precious possessions.

Reach Bob Krauss at 525-8073.