By Ferd Lewis
Advertiser Staff Writer

Even when they pulled his hair so taut that he squinted in pain, there was not a murmur of protest from Chad Rowan.

A FOUR-PART SERIES

YESTERDAY: Akebono's role and a primer on sumo

TODAY: Akebono's long road to glory

TOMORROW: With Akebono's retirement, only one active sumotori from Hawai'i remains

FRIDAY: What does Akebono do now?

Anything else would have been unbecoming of a sumotori and, above all, the 18-year-old fresh off the plane from Hawai'i wanted to be considered a full-fledged member of Japan's national sport.

For that, he needed the traditional topknot, the most visible symbol of membership, but no easy task when his naturally wavy hair had not yet grown to the necessary length and had to be stretched and straightened by the stable's hairdresser before it could be fashioned and tied.

"When you first join, the hair isn't long enough yet, so they really have to pull it back ... tight," Rowan said, grimacing at the recollection years later.

On Saturday, in the time-honored tradition of his sport, the 6-foot-8, 515-pound Waimanalo native will climb into the ring in Tokyo's Ryogoku Kokugikan for the last time as a sumotori in a career cut short by debilitating knee injuries.

This time, at age 32, it will be to have his topknot snipped off in a nationally televised ceremony that officially marks his departure from the active ranks after 13 years and a 566-198 record with 11 championships.

Beginning with U. S. Ambassador Howard Baker, who is scheduled to be the first one to receive the ceremonial scissors from the referee, nearly 300 of Rowan's sumo contemporaries, patrons, guests and dignitaries — by sumo tradition all men — will take their turns snipping his hair.

Akebono lifts Takanohana out of the ring in a match at the Blaisdell Arena. Akebono had a great rivalry with Takanohana and brother Wakanohana during his 13-year career.

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Thus, in what is likely to be a torrent of tears that will begin to flow long before his stablemaster Jesse Kuhaulua makes the final cut, will end the reign of the first foreign-born grand champion in the centuries-old history of the sport.

The topknot, a throwback to a style worn by men in the 17th century, is as much functional as esthetic, helping cushion the back of the head during a fall to the hard-packed clay ring.

But for a sumotori, the knot and the sweet-smelling pomade that is used to hold it, comprise a badge of distinction, a visible reminder that, even more than their girth, instantly sets them apart in a society that otherwise prizes uniformity.

"The first time they put your hair up in that, you feel special," Rowan says.

"You feel like you're somebody. When you go out, you feel like everybody is looking at you."

The Maui-born Kuhaulua, recalling his own top knot that came off in 1985 ceremonies, said, "when you first get the topknot it is hard to learn to sleep with it. But it meant so much to me that I didn't care if I slept or not. Just having one meant I finally arrived as a sumo wrestler."

'It looked easy'

In a sport where no foreigner had ever reached the pinnacle, Rowan, a recruit who seemingly had more against him than in his favor, hardly portended greatness.

Akebono performs a ring-entering ceremony during the 1998 Olympics.

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Indeed, Rowan had only glimpsed the sport occasionally on television, was unfamiliar with the basics of sumo and was trapped in the most atypical of sumo bodies.

In a sport where a lower center of gravity and well-developed lower body is prized, Rowan was a 6-foot-8 giraffe among 5-foot-11 rhinos.

"When I used to see it on TV, it looked easy; just run into somebody and try to push them out," Rowan said.

As a potential recruit, he wasn't even the most promising candidate from his family. Larry Aweau, a cousin of Kuhaulua and a former judo instructor, first approached Rowan's younger brother George after meeting the brothers at a family funeral.

But George was still in high school and so Aweau turned his attention to Akebono who had been more noted as a basketball player at Kaiser High.

Akebono, at first, turned Aweau down, too. But after one semester at Hawai'i Pacific University, Akebono reconsidered.

Not that anybody was forecasting greatness when he was first fitted for a mawashi.

"When he first went to Japan, I didn't think he'd last more than seven, eight months — a year at the most — because to me, I didn't know if he was tough enough," recalled Jan Rowan, his mother.

Kuhaulua remembers: "I thought maybe I made a mistake at first. He was getting pushed around by younger, smaller guys. I remember the first time he put on a belt and wrestled. He didn't look very good. To tell you the truth, for a while I was afraid I made a big mistake bringing him into sumo. I asked myself, 'Why did you take a chance on this guy?'

"Smaller people — a lot smaller people — were just throwing him around in practice," Kuhaulua said.

Gradually, Akebono began to get the hang of sumo. The long hours in the training ring and dedication began to pay off. He used his long arms to his advantage, keeping opponents at bay. Powerful piston-like hand thrusts and four-wheel drive leg action became his trademarks as he sent opponents sprawling.

Mostly, however, it was a matter of maturing and an understanding that going anywhere in sumo is predicated not on survival of the fattest, but of the most determined that fueled his drive.

Suddenly, Akebono developed an attitude in training and in the ring that matched his size.

"People here (in Japan) are surprised when I tell them how mellow he was before," recalled George Kalima, a boyhood friend from Waimanalo who followed Akebono into sumo.

"When I first got to Japan, I was surprised, too, to see how much he had changed. It was like, 'can it be him?' "

Rivalry with two brothers

Sumo is a strict meritocracy where those who win rise in the ranks and those who don't, serve at the pleasure of their overlords without regard to age or education. For Akebono, an 18-year-old with a high school diploma and some college to be ordered to scrub toilets by a 16-year-old who had barely graduated from junior high, was an awakening.

Akebono and others celebrate a tournament victory in 1993.

Associated Press

"It (sumo) made me grow up and work hard to be something," Akebono said. "Sumo brought it out. It gives you determination. In sumo, the only thing you can do is get strong and win. If you don't get strong, you do the dishes and wash the clothes."

"That's the thing you have to admire about Chad: He works very, very hard," Kuhaulua said. "He has made himself a good wrestler by working so hard in practice. It is what the Japanese admire most about him and what has a lot to do with where he is now."

If the rough and tumble of sumo life gave Akebono focus, it was the Hanada brothers who gave him purpose. Koji (Takanohana) and Masaru (Wakanohana), who would become his arch rivals, couldn't have been more different from Akebono.

Both were born in Tokyo and of a lineage that, for sumo, smacked of royalty. Their uncle, the original Wakanohana, was a yokozuna in his time (1950s-1960s) and, eventually, the head of the Japan Sumo Association. Their father, the original Takanohana, reached ozeki, the sport's second-highest rank, and was one of the most popular performers in the 1970s.

They were raised in a sumo environment with their father becoming stablemaster and when they joined the sport after graduating from high school, it was the stuff of media hype.

Since the Hanada brothers entered sumo at the same time, March of 1988, as Akebono, they became classmates, attending the sumo school required of new aspirants, and in short order, rivals.

"Their pictures were always in the newspapers and magazines," Akebono said. "Everywhere they went there were cameras.

"I used to hang their pictures up where I slept and just stare at them every day," Akebono said.

They would, Akebono decided, be the stick by which he measured himself and, thus, a rivalry was born. It was in a practice session between the two stables, that Akebono first began to show promise. "Chad did real well against the brothers, and their father told me afterward, "He (Akebono) is going to be a good one," Kuhaulua recalls.

A swift rise up the ranks

In a run up the sumo rankings that was bullet train-swift, Akebono set the pace with winning records in his first 18 tournaments. Within three years of entering sumo, he reached the salaried ranks (only performers in the top two divisions receive salaries), an unheard of rise to a point that most of the 700 or so in sumo at any one time will never see in their careers.

Chad Rowan played basketball in high school and college before his sumo career.

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In just 26 tournaments Akebono reached ozeki rank, the fastest such climb in history to that point.

Meanwhile, close behind came the Hanadas. In the summer of 1988, Akebono defeated Takanohana in their first official meeting and, suddenly, sumo had a human drama that would help assure sold-out arenas for 666 consecutive tournament nights between November 1989 and May 1997.

Their January 1993 showdown, one that would be won by Akebono and earn him the historic promotion to yokozuna, was seen on television by 62 percent of Japan's households.

Akebono's promotion also restored a sense of leadership to the sport after it had gone without a yokozuna for nearly a year, the longest absence of an active grand champion in 60 years.

Eight and a half years later, Akebono will retire from the ring seventh on the all-time championship list, and to a secure place in sumo history.

"To me, he had an exceptional career," said Toshiharu Kyosu, one of Japan's most prominent sumo journalists. "What he did was remarkable."

And his topknot will be preserved in a glass case in the living room of his new Tokyo home, a reminder of the days he ruled the sport of emperors