The Suzukis Claim Fame With No. 1 Japan Name

The pilgrims, all named Suzuki, have traveled from every corner of Japan to attend the annual Suzuki Summit, to hear from Suzukiologists, to wallow in their Suzukiness. No matter that their latest, greatest native son, Seattle Mariner slugger Suzuki, is here only in spirit. (Sure, the rest of the world may call him Ichiro, but in this crowd, he’s first and foremost a Suzuki.)

Suzuki is Japan’s most popular name. Or maybe it’s the second most popular, if you listen to the Satos. Not too many people at the Suzuki Summit do, though. Let the Satos have their own summit.

In fact, Japan can’t easily tell whether Sato or Suzuki wins the popularity contest because birth records are still handwritten and stored in thousands of dusty town halls across the country. Conventional wisdom has it that the two are roughly even, at about 2.2 million each.

At the Suzuki Summit, there’s little doubt about who’s on top.

“I don’t have anything against Satos, but there isn’t really room for them in our history,” says Nobuo Suzuki, 67, a retired truck driver. “Is there a baseball player named Ichiro Sato? Is there a Sato car company?”

The Suzuki name is omnipresent in Japan. Banks use it on sample forms the same way Americans use John Doe. Two Suzukis were prime ministers. Japanese history is littered with famous painters, doctors and scientists of the Suzuki persuasion. And at last count, there were 40 presidents and 345 directors at Japanese public companies bearing the Suzuki name, along with 10,000 chief executives at smaller companies.

“I feel like all the Suzukis at this summit are like a second family,” says Masazo Suzuki, a 69-year-old retiree and one of the 50 or so Suzukis who came together at the Third Annual National Suzuki Summit this month, to compare blood lines, admire antique Suzuki scrolls and visit local festivals.

If it is a family, it’s a pretty motley lot. Old guard Suzukis trace their roots back at least 45 generations to 12th-century samurai Saburo-Shigeie Suzuki. The Suzuki name, which is even older, means “sacred tree” and was bestowed by the emperor on a trusted aide at a time when only the high and mighty were granted last names.

But there are also a lot of Suzuki-come-latelies who popped up after 1870, when the government required all Japanese to follow Western custom and take a second name.

Commoners initially resisted, sensing a nefarious government plot to raise their taxes. Eventually it caught on, however. Legions of peasants grabbed the surname of their local big shot, and the numbers ballooned. One Suzuki expert says the number of Suzuki families soared from 500 to more than 100,000 within a few decades.

“Pfffffttt,” sputters old-timer Takeo Suzuki, a 16th-generation Suzuki. “One hundred and thirty years is nothing. I can almost remember that far back myself.”

But at the summit, Lesser Suzukis report no ill will at the hands of Greater Suzukis. Even some non-Suzukis are welcome. “Hello, my name is Akimoto,” the mistress of ceremonies hired by the Suzukis says in her introductory remarks. “I’m so sorry I’m not a Suzuki.”

That said, an awful lot of chatter in the hallways at the summit--held in a town hall in this picturesque village northwest of Tokyo ringed by deep green rice fields and forested mountains--revolves around how far back a particular Suzuki’s line could be traced. While such conversations go with the territory at genealogical gatherings, many first-time Suzuki Summiteers who come on a lark leave vowing to do more work on their own pedigrees.

“I’ve traced mine back 600 years, and I’m still looking,” says retiree Kazumi Suzuki, 77.

Comments like this understandably make some of the newer Suzukis a bit edgy in a country where elite samurai once lorded over commoners in a big way.

Yoichiro Suzuki, 55, comes from Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost main island, which served the same function that Australia once did for England--i.e., a place where convicts and illegitimate offspring were sent to disappear from proper society. “I only have three generations to worry about,” he says. “I kind of envy these people with all these roots.”

Even within the blueblood Suzuki set, there are divisions. Retiree Kiyomi Suzuki, 71, acknowledges that the main Saburo-Shigeie line of Suzukis has a longer history than his secondary line. But if you consider the mythical origin of Japan, he adds, his family is at least as distinguished and can claim a 2,600-year link. “They’re the main line, but we are, as well,” he says. “We’re just different.”

This doesn’t completely wash with the “real” Suzukis, however, who rely on more orthodox genealogical evidence, namely, birth and death records. They proudly point to their family tree, a scroll 65 feet long that notes in excruciating detail the family line going back centuries and is carefully preserved at the Fujishiro Shrine, a Shinto religious site that is the mecca for mainstream Suzukis.

Despite the absence of baseball star and media darling Ichiro Suzuki, a giant “Go for It, Ichiro!” banner is prominently displayed in front of the stage. During a break, assembled Suzukis sign it and prepare to send it on to Seattle. “Ichiro inspires us to help keep all the Suzukis together,” says Mokunosuke Suzuki, a 45th-generation Suzuki and summit organizer.

Eager to tap into the outfielder’s star power, the blueblood Suzuki line has quickly claimed Ichiro as one of its own. His strength, modesty, drive and endurance are all obvious signs of samurai heritage, says Isao Suzuki, chairman of the Suzuki Society of Fujishiro.

The Suzuki Society claims to have traced Ichiro’s ancestors back to 12th-century warrior Shigeyoshi Suzuki, who broke his leg in Aichi prefecture on his way to visit relatives on the other side of the country and stayed to start a new line. Ichiro grew up in Aichi, and his family still lives there.

Attendees at the summit have suzuki for lunch, the Japanese name for sea bass, although some have second thoughts.

“I don’t eat suzuki,” says Masahiro Suzuki, 74 and a retired salesman. “I feel sort of bad for them, being the same species and all.”

A Common Name, Common Frustrations

In Japan, the sheer number of Suzukis can lead to confusion. Attendee Akira Suzuki, 62, grouses that he’s always getting other Suzukis’ electric bills and bank statements. “It’d be all right if they were rich,” he says. Masato Suzuki, 58, still recalls the shame he felt when another Masato Suzuki in elementary school received an award and he lunged forward to accept it. It is not unusual for classrooms or offices to have several Suzukis.

The solution generally is to fall back on first names--rarely used in Japan--which is how Ichiro came to be popularly known by his given name. But that’s not always a guarantee, either. Ichiro, which means “firstborn,” is also extremely popular.

What are common Suzuki characteristics across the ages? Ask a Suzuki and the list is long: bravery, prosperity, intelligence, good looks, ambition, integrity, modesty.

Surely there must have been a scoundrel or two in more than 800 years of history? “All my reading says no,” says the Suzuki Society’s Suzuki. “Most of those bad Suzuki types came after 1870.”

Last names also tend to be concentrated geographically in Japan, reflecting the country’s rice-growing history, which discouraged mobility. Roughly 91% of all Suzukis are in eastern Japan, according to Ryuichi Akiba, author of the book “Why Are There So Many Suzukis?” A large percentage of Satos are in the north.

With all this history, it’s not surprising that the Suzuki name carries some baggage. Kazuko Suzuki, in her 50s, says she was bullied relentlessly as a child by classmates who accused her ancestors of oppressing the common people. “This happened 400 years ago under the shogun, but they still threw it in my face,” she says. “I’m so jealous of Americans who don’t have such a heavy weight of history.”

A Friendly Competition Between Satos, Suzukis

Suzukis attribute much of their success over the centuries to their great reproductive powers. In past times of disease and high infant mortality, this helped ensure a strong, robust line. And Suzuki women often married emperors to ensure the family’s position close to the seat of power.

“The prosperity of Suzukis is because we’re good at making kids,” says Shigehiro Suzuki, a 32-year-old salesman and a 46th-generation descendant. “My girlfriend is already feeling the pressure even before we get married.”

But many of the same qualities also can be attributed to the Satos, who trace their roots to the Fujiwara clan of the 10th century. Granted, the Satos only have one prime minister in their camp--but he was also Japan’s only Nobel Peace Prize winner, a double bonus. “We really don’t view it as a contest,” says Shinichi Sato, a researcher of Sato family history, who adds that he’s never heard of a Sato summit or society.

Playing up the rivalry, Fuji television station recently staged a “Who Is More Generous, the Satos or the Suzukis?” contest. Two students--a Sato from elite Tokyo University and a Suzuki from archrival Waseda University--had to bicycle 3,600 miles from northern Hokkaido to southern Okinawa without any money to see how well they could mooch food and shelter off others with the same name.

In a race that lasted four months, Sato won by three hours, but Suzuki spent fewer nights outdoors and ate better, gaining 8 pounds along the way.

While Suzukis are clearly loyal to all things Suzuki, there are limits. “Even though I’m a Suzuki, I won’t drive a Suzuki,” Takeo Suzuki says. “They’re too soft and weak. I like my Honda.”

Rie Sasaki in The Times’ Tokyo Bureau contributed to this report.