Air Force Colonel Bruce Hollywood always knew he’d been adopted. His Asian features clearly didn’t come from his parents, who were of European descent. They had always been upfront with him about adopting him in Japan in the early 1960s. Despite his adoptive mother’s encouragement, Bruce never felt the desire to meet his biological parents. That all changed after a single event he experienced in his mid‑40s—an event that would trigger a globe‑crossing search and lead to discoveries he never could have imagined.

A Heart Attack and Two Regrets

This is Air Force Colonel Bruce Hollywood’s story, and if it hadn’t really happened, you’d probably say it was unrealistic. It begins with a frightening moment. One early morning in 2005, Bruce was getting out of his car in the Pentagon parking lot, just as he did every day, when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. As he fell to the ground, one thought ran through his mind: *This is where it ends.*

As he lay on a stretcher in an ambulance, sirens blaring as it pushed through traffic toward the hospital, Bruce realized he had only two real regrets. The first was that he wouldn’t be able to help his son get into college. The second was that he had never made the effort to speak to—and thank—the Japanese woman who had given birth to him and then given him up for adoption. That realization would change everything.

—

### A Life He Never Thought Was Missing Anything

Bruce had been adopted as a baby by an American couple stationed in Japan in the early 1960s. They believed they could offer him a better life than his birth mother could. He grew up as their son and didn’t spend much time thinking about his biological parents. Before his heart attack, he said he never felt like something was missing.

“My parents were amazing,” he recalled, “and I never felt like I needed to reflect on my adoption.”

“I always knew I was adopted because I had Asian features, and my father was an Irishman and my mother was a Norwegian lady,” Bruce said in an interview with *The Washington Post*. “They always told me, ‘We picked you out special, so you’re even more special than everyone else.’”

Still, after his heart attack, something shifted. He felt strongly that he should try to find his birth mother. He wanted to tell her that his life had turned out well and to thank her for bringing him into the world. That, however, would prove much more difficult than he expected.

—

### A Search That Goes Nowhere

As soon as Bruce recovered, he began searching for his birth mother. He carefully planned how he would approach her. He wanted to be discreet, assuming she might never have told anyone she’d had a child. His only goal was to tell her, “I’ve lived the best life. I’m a colonel in the United States Air Force. I’ve got beautiful children. Life is really good.”

But, as the saying goes, life is what happens while you’re busy making plans. Bruce’s actual encounter with his mother turned out nothing like he’d imagined.

He first turned to the Japanese Embassy, providing them with the little information he had about his birth mother. They were unable to help. The U.S. Embassy in Tokyo was stumped as well. He hired a private detective, but that, too, led nowhere. After all that effort, Bruce was ready to give up.

“I thought, ‘You know what, I’ve tried. I’ve made all the effort I can make. It’s just unfortunate,’” he told *The Washington Post*.

Then a chance encounter at an airport bar changed everything.

—

### An Admiral at the Bar

A few months after the private investigator said there was nothing more he could do, Bruce found himself at Dulles International Airport, waiting for a flight to Germany for a military conference. He sat down at a bar in the terminal. Across from him sat another military man headed to the same conference. They quickly realized they had something unusual in common.

The other officer was Admiral Harry Harris, whose mother was also Japanese. (Today he’s a former commander of U.S. forces in the Pacific and has been nominated as U.S. ambassador to South Korea.) The two started sharing stories.

“I told him about having the heart attack and wishing I could find my mother,” Bruce recalled. “And he said, ‘Bruce, I can help you.’”

Bruce was skeptical. “I said, ‘You know what, you’re an admiral and all, but you can’t. I’ve been to the embassy. I’ve tried this. You can’t help.’”

But Harris insisted. “Seriously, I can help,” he said.

Bruce gave Admiral Harris what little information he had and then went on his way. He didn’t expect much. Ten days later, sitting at his desk in the Pentagon, he got a phone call that would change his life.

—

### “We Found Your Mother”

On the other end of the line was someone from the Japanese Embassy. “Colonel Hollywood,” the voice said, “I’m really pleased to tell you that we found your mother, Nobu Uchi.”

“I said, ‘Oh my gosh, this is wonderful. You’ve got to help me start writing this letter. I want it to be accurate and culturally sensitive, and you’ve got to help me,’” Bruce remembered.

But the embassy official had other plans. “There’s not going to be a letter,” he said. “She’s going to call you at this phone number in 10 minutes, and she doesn’t speak English. Good luck.”

Bruce was used to working under pressure, but he had never felt so anxious. He sent a flurry of emails and, thankfully, found someone who could interpret for him on a conference call. As soon as he got everything set up, the phone rang.

On the other end of the line was his mother—crying.

—

### “The Gift She Dreamed of Her Whole Life”

Bruce started saying everything he had wanted to say. How happy he was to hear from her. How grateful he was. But then his mother said something in Japanese, and the interpreter cut in: “She’s saying she’s sorry. She doesn’t speak English.”

Bruce listened as his mother and the interpreter spoke in Japanese. He couldn’t understand the words, but he could clearly hear her sobs. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I said, ‘Stop, stop. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on,’” he recalled. The interpreter explained: “Tomorrow is your mother’s 65th birthday, and the birthday present she dreamed of her whole life is that you would come back to her.”

The interpreter went on to explain that Bruce’s birth mother had never married. “She said in her heart there was only room for one man, and it was you, and she knew you would be back,” the interpreter said.

Then came another surprise: his mother owned and ran her own restaurant—and she had named it *Bruce*.

“I thought, this is either the most incredible story I’ve ever heard, or this woman is crazy and these things aren’t true,” Bruce said later.

—

### How She Knew His Name

How did Nobu even know that her baby’s name was Bruce? The answer went back decades. Shortly before leaving Japan to return to America, Bruce’s adoptive mother, Eleanor, had visited Nobu. She brought her a photo of the baby boy, told her they would name him Bruce, and promised that they would give him the best life they could.

Years later, using only that photo and the name Eleanor had given her, Nobu decided to name the restaurant she opened after her son: *Bruce*.

On the phone, Nobu said she wanted to visit him in America. Bruce refused. “I said, ‘No. You’re my mother. I will come see you.’”

Ten days after that first phone call, Bruce landed in Suzuka, Japan—his mother’s hometown. To his amazement, everything she had told him was true, right down to the restaurant named *Bruce*.

—

### The Story of His Birth and Adoption

In Suzuka, Nobu told Bruce the story of how he came into the world. She had become pregnant after a romance with an American soldier from South Carolina. They planned to marry, but before the paperwork went through, he was sent back to the United States. He promised to call right away. He didn’t.

Months later, a call finally came—but by then, feeling abandoned and unable to trust him, Nobu refused to speak to him. He never knew she was pregnant.

Nobu’s father, a fisherman, offered to support both his daughter and her baby. But Nobu understood what life would be like for a mixed‑race child in Japan at the time—painful, difficult, and full of discrimination. She decided the best thing she could do for her son was to give him up for adoption.

Edward and Eleanor Hollywood, both stationed in Japan with the U.S. Air Force, adopted him. As she shared her story, Nobu showed Bruce that old photograph Eleanor had given her—the one she had kept all those years.

—

### Rebuilding 40 Lost Years in Three

When Bruce arrived for his first visit, Nobu seemed determined to make up for all the years she’d missed. On his first evening, he went out for a run. When he returned, she was frantic with worry. He didn’t want to upset her, so the next day he went for his run at 5 a.m., trying to slip out unnoticed.

He came downstairs quietly, only to find Nobu already waiting for him—wearing a tracksuit. Bruce suggested they walk together. “No, you run,” she said. She hopped on a bicycle and rode behind him to keep up. That quickly became their morning ritual whenever he visited.

Over the next three years, Bruce visited Japan often, and Nobu came to see him in Washington as well. He began learning Japanese; she started taking English lessons. In a short time, they became incredibly close.

Then, in 2009—just three years after their reunion—Nobu died of a heart attack. Their time together had been brief, but it changed Bruce forever.

—

### Becoming Japanese American

Finding his mother meant more than personal closure. It gave Bruce an entirely new sense of identity. Growing up, his Japanese roots hadn’t meant much to him. He saw his Asian features but didn’t feel particularly connected to Japanese culture.

After meeting Nobu, that changed. He became extremely active in the Japanese American community. He serves on the boards of the Japanese American Veterans Association and the National Japanese American Memorial to Patriotism in World War II.

“The last 12 years, I finally became a Japanese American,” Bruce said. “Before that, I had no Japanese American identity. I just had Japanese American features. But as I got integrated into this community, I ended up becoming incredibly proud of this heritage that I had. I’ve got to tell you, if I didn’t live it, I almost wouldn’t believe it.”

—

### The Missing Father

While Bruce’s adoptive parents had some documentation and memories related to his birth mother, his American father was another story. Bruce had no way of tracking him down and, at first, no desire to. He felt grateful for his relationship with Nobu, and that seemed enough—especially given that his biological father had, as far as he knew, disappeared from her life and broken his promise to marry her.

The last time Nobu had seen Bruce’s father was around 1959, when he was stationed in Japan. They’d fallen in love and talked about marriage. But when he was ordered back to the U.S., their plans collapsed. He promised to call as soon as he could, but it took months before she heard from him—and by then, she refused to take the call.

At that point, she had discovered she was pregnant. He never knew he was about to become a father. After Bruce and Nobu were reunited decades later, she gave him a slip of paper with two words written in capital letters:

**LUIS BAZAAR**

She told him this was his father’s name, in case he ever wanted to find him. Bruce took the note but had no intention of reaching out to a man who didn’t know he existed and who, as far as he knew, had abandoned his mother.

Out of curiosity, he tried searching U.S. military records. He even looked up a “Lewis Bazal” as well as “Luis Bazaar,” but nothing came up. Eventually he gave up.

—

### DNA, a Wrong Letter, and a Cousin

Several years later, Bruce grew curious about his European ancestry. He decided to send his DNA to Ancestry.com. The results showed what he expected: one half East Asian, the other a mix of Western European, including Irish and Spanish. But then a notification popped up on the site.

It said: *There is a 100% chance this person is your cousin.* The person’s last name was **Bazar**—just one letter off from the name Nobu had written. Suddenly it made sense. In Japanese, the letters “L” and “R” are often confused. His mother had misspelled the name.

Bruce reached out to the match and asked if they had a relative who had served in Japan in the 1950s. The woman replied yes—an uncle. “I think that’s my father,” Bruce said.

The woman told him that her uncle had passed away, but he had a son. She gave Bruce the son’s phone number.

—

### “I Think That’s My Father”

Bruce dialed the number but got no answer and couldn’t leave a message. A few minutes later, his phone rang. The caller identified himself as **Louis Bazar**.

“Was your father named Louis Bazar?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” the man said. “He was Louis Sr., and I’m Louis Jr.”

“I have a story to tell you,” Bruce said, “and you might not believe it.” He told Louis Jr. about his life and his search. When he finished, Louis Jr. revealed something surprising: he was older than Bruce, born before his father ever went to Japan.

Could it be that Bruce’s father hadn’t called Nobu because he was already married? That was Bruce’s first thought. But then Louis Jr. told him that his mother had died in childbirth. By the time Louis Sr. was sent to Japan, he was a widower, not a married man cheating on his wife. He hadn’t been unfaithful after all.

Bruce was saddened for Louis Jr., but relieved that his father hadn’t lied to Nobu. Still, why had it taken him so long to call her after returning to the U.S.—long enough for Nobu to lose trust and refuse his call?

—

### A Life Full of Loss

Bruce believes he knows the answer. “I’m sure it was a couple of things,” he said. “He was trying to prepare his South Carolina family for bringing a Japanese national over. And he was also, I’m sure, getting reacquainted with his son.”

By the time he finally called, months had passed. When Nobu refused to speak to him, he gave up on the idea of marriage altogether.

Louis Jr. told Bruce that his father’s childhood had been harsh. Louis Sr. lost both of his parents at a young age. His sister, who raised him, was later murdered. Then his wife died in childbirth. After that, every woman he loved, he lost.

“I think he had this thing that every woman in his life that he cared about, he lost,” Louis Jr. said. “So he never got close to anyone. He never brought anyone home.”

Still, it seemed Louis Sr. had never forgotten Nobu. As he lay on his deathbed in 2005, he gave his son a photo album filled with pictures of a young Japanese woman. He wouldn’t talk about her, but she clearly meant a great deal to him. After hearing Bruce’s story, Louis Jr. finally understood: the woman in the album was Nobu.

Just like Louis Sr., Nobu had never remarried. It seemed neither of them could move on from the other. They lived their lives apart, each dedicating themselves to their children instead.

—

### “How Would You Like a Younger Brother?”

Louis Jr. hadn’t expected a call from a long‑lost half‑brother. But as they talked, an undeniable connection grew between them. After they pieced together their parents’ story, Bruce was quiet for a moment.

Then he asked, “How would you like to have a younger brother?”

Louis smiled. “I always wanted a sibling,” he replied without hesitation.

Two families, separated by continents, war, and decades of silence, had finally been knit back together. And Bruce Hollywood—a man who once thought his adoption needed no further reflection—had found not just a mother and a heritage, but a brother and an entire side of his family he never knew he had.

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