Terminal Island Project Summary

This collection of twenty-five oral history interviews and personal memoirs capture the voices of the prominent Japanese American community on Terminal Island. Located in San Pedro Bay, the island had a substantial Japanese American population, situated in the southwestern region of California, known as Fish Harbor, prior to World War II. These interviews and memoirs reveal multi-faceted aspects of Fish Harbor such as the role of Japanese Americans in the fishing industry as well as the strong sense of solidarity in the community. Unlike other Japanese American communities, these interviews and personal accounts disclose how their community was unable to return to Terminal Island after the war.

Interviewers: Fusaye Hashimoto, Mary Hashimoto, Toshiro Izumi, Kaoru Oguri, Mary Tamura, Dorothy Yamashita

                                                     

Interviewees:	Date Interviewed	No. of Pages
Kimiye Okuno Takeuchi Araiga	June 1994	10
Sadaichi Asai	1994	7
Frank Endo	1994	15
George and Ben Fukuzaki	1994	4
Charlie Hamasaki	March 2, 1994	25
Min Hara	1994	26
Fusaye Hashimoto	1994	19
Hideyo Ono Ikemoto	February 8, 1994	5
Yoshio Iwamae	May 1994	4
Kuichi Izumi	February 6, 1994	12
Yurao Kobata	February 15, 1994	4
Frank Manaka and Mitsuyo Manaka	April 5, 1994	35
John Marumoto	1994	5
Tomitaro Marumoto	March 10, 1994	13
Orie Mio	February 3, 1994	8
Eiichi Miyagishima	May 1994	5
Yutaka Dave Nakagawa	1994	13
S. John Nitta	June 7, 1994	16
Teruko Miyoshi Okimoto	June 2, 1994	8
Thomas Takeshi Okimoto	June 2, 1994	16
Joe Ozaki	May 3, 1994	4
Takao Shintani	1994	3
Frank Takeuchi and Nakako Takeuchi	April 18, 1994	21
Mas Tanibata	March 2, 1994	27
Total		305

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Kimiye Okuno Takeuchi Ariga
• Date:
•     June 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

My father's name is Tomekichi Takeuchi. He came from Shima-gun, Mieken, Japan. He landed in San Francisco in 1902, at the age of twenty-two years old. He worked as a cook in a restaurant for couple of years. Heard him mention how he threw a pie at a customer and got fired. He moved to Los Angeles, Little Tokyo, and got a job as a private chauffeur driver, off and on. Meantime, he moved to Terminal Island, called his wife from Japan. He and his friend, Mr. Heizaburo Hamaguchi, leased a fishing boat called Amazon from French Cannery. They carried, including them, thirteen crew members. They fished from near the lighthouse, to the north and also much later toward Mexico.

To me, father was a very kind and a quiet person. I loved him very, much, especially when we used to go watch our Skipper baseball games. He always bought me ice cream cones at the game. I remember when I was a nine or ten years old—I was passing between two houses near the Izumi residence. Ichiro Izumi and one of the Hayashi boys (Bunkichi?) were playing catch ball. Somebody missed the ball cause I caught it between my eyes—knocked me down—I really got a shiner that time. Knocked some sense in me—not to go too close when someone is playing catch.

Father always encouraged me to draw, since that was the only thing I seemed to like as a child. He was proud whenever my paintings or drawings got selected to be displayed in our school showcase. My mother (Shika Takeuchi) never had a child in U.S.A. I was adopted to them (Japanese way), while I was still in my diapers. My parents were married in Japan before arriving here. Mother was a very lovable person, very neat in all ways. She hated anything cooked in oil, never ate meat nor drank milk. Father and I ate anything and drank milk, too. Mother worked in the cannery whenever the whistle blew. Even late in the nights. I used to feel so guilty whenever she had to work at night. When I got old enough to get a work permit from school, I too decided to help her out.

One day when I was about three years old, my parents had to go to Japan. I remember going to the Hugh boat and went to the room where they had beds. I got into one jumping with joy, thinking this trip was really neat, because I knew what was happening. My real father (Okuno no Ojisan) picked me up to take me ashore. I cried, screamed, kicked, scratched at him. I couldn't get loose, when I finally did, I was ashore. I could still hear the chang-chang warning for everyone to get off the boat. There were lots of adults crying, not because of farewells or good-byes, but at me, because of my attachment to my foster parents. I stayed at Okuno's; I felt unwanted, not loved and so lonesome. When my parents came back, I rushed over, hugged them both, and moved back into their home. I entered East San Pedro Kindergarten because my childhood best friend, Mary Izumi Tamura insisted I go and start school with her. This also happened to me when she made me attend Japanese School with her. Me, being naive about such things, followed her to school. Trouble started at school since I had no one to tell me who I really was. I insisted my last name to be Takeuchi. But at the Principal's office my cousin (Chieko Okuno) was standing there, and claimed my last name to be Okuno. Wow, no one can get away with this—I didn't believe my ear! I didn't cry then, but did much later. I got two diplomas—one with Okuno and another with Takeuchi, from my Japanese school.

My friends were everyone in Terminal Island. Everyone watched over each other. We didn't need babysitters. My hobby was to paint on my new easel. Mr. Takeda made this easel as a Christmas gift to me. He also worked on the Amazon as a crew. Mary's father, Mr. Kuichiro Izumi, was a cook on the Amazon. I used to sketch pictures of boats docked near the cannery, and also drop by Kiyo Mio's since we were good friends and classmates. So was Setsuko Takeuchi. Kiyo and Setsuko lived on Tuna Street. Setsuko's grandfather was related to my Mother's mother. By the way, my Grandmother lived to be ninety-two years old. I saw her when I went to Japan. In fact, both (Okuno) before my mother married, Sugimoto no Oba-a-san, and Takeuchi no Oba-a-san.

I remember our Girl's Day Kimono dancing 3-3. The whole school participated in this event. We all looked so lovely and so gorgeous, like little Japanese dolls. Just like those displayed in the school auditorium. During Boy's Day, May 5th, anyone who had a son displayed paper cloth crepe high in the air supported by a bamboo pole. The boys competed in (undo-kai) races, kendo and judo demonstrations. On Tencho Setsu, our Japanese school got our students together at the fisherman hall to pay tribute and honor the Emperor's birthday. Found out who the Emperor was. As I grew older, I attended Dana Junior High and then to San Pedro High. School was a fun place, made lots of new friends. One day, a special friend Marion Glen, invited just her Japanese American friends over to her house. I was with her then. She used to pick me up at the ferry landing to take me to school. I sure was lucky, otherwise, I would have taken the bus or walked. The latter most often. Back to the gathering at Marion's house, we, the Japanese Americans, were very quiet, cause we didn't want her parents to think we were bad mannered. Come to think of it now, maybe we could of at least sang some songs (Japanese/English) as long as it sounded cheerful.

I attended the Southern Baptist Church since kindergarten. I joined the choir and the Girl's club. I was baptized when I was sixteen, by Reverend Jitsui Morikawa. I remember I stopped going to church for about a month. My mother worried about my actions. I told her I felt like I was wasting my time in the church. A month later, I returned back to church with a very guilty conscious. As a child, New Year's Days were very special. Mother and Father completely cleaned the already clean house. Cooked New Year's food late into the night. Mochitsuki was fun—I got a chance to roll my mochi and eat it too! The adults did all the hard work for the New Year preparation. On New Year's Day I received lots of (otoshidama) spending money, from relatives and friends who dropped over to my house. While Father was doing the same thing, visiting and paying our respects to various houses, Mother and I stayed home to greet our visitors. I loved New Year in Terminal Island.

The Issei from all over Japan used to have picnics. Ours were called Mie-Kenjinkai Picnic. Since Mother and Father both came from Mie-Ken, we were participants. Mother made wonderful lunches (Japanese style) sushi, nigiri, teriyaki chicken, nishime, etc. I raced in running and did receive prizes, so did Fumiko Okumura. I remember when I was only twelve or thirteen, we used to go dancing at the Buddhist Temple hall. The music was live and very noisy. Life in Terminal Island before WWII was very much secured, hardly any crimes were committed. The only crime was people always talking about who you were with—if it happens to be a boy and a girl walking together. Me, I think was a tomboy. Used to jump off the roof of some garage or climb up the tree. Always tore my pretty dresses and got scolded for being so mischievous.

Dr. Fujikawa made house calls and found I had a case of acute appendicitis. They took me to Long Beach, Seaside Memorial Hospital. There I had an appendectomy. At the hospital, I called for my Mother—who do you suppose came to my bedside? Chieko Okuno's Mother who I used to call Okuno no Obasan. I told her I wanted my Mother and not Okuno no Obasan. Don't blame me, I think I made her cry. Well, I went home in good condition, not knowing how much I must have hurt my real Mother's feelings. Time passed. I moved from Terminal Way to Cannery Street, near Fumio and Mary Takahashi's. It was a new housing by French Cannery ownership. We lived between Fumiko Oka and Kazumi Shono's until the evacuation.

On December 7, 1941, Sunday twelve o'clock noon, I was by Mr. Justus Sato's barge watching for my Father's boat Amazon to come into the harbor. About then, a whole slew of boats came rushing into the harbor. Someone was yelling "Japan bombed Pearl Harbor?" Where's Pearl Harbor? Why did Japan just do that? My God—I got to get home, see if Mother is okay. Wonder what happened to Father? Got home, and found Mother had a heart attack. I called Dr. Fujikawa and he made a house call to examine mother. She was given some medication and seemed to have settled down.

The next day was school, so off I went feeling guilty as sin, for something I didn't do! When I got to school, my friends told me their fathers were taken away by the F.B.I. I really got scared for my Father's well being. I rushed home without getting any permission from school, only to find Mother by herself. The rooms were upside down and no longer a neat place. I was so angry of the mess those F.B.I. made, I was just sick to my stomach. Someone same my Father was taken to Terminal Island Prison (Women's Prison) on Deadmen's Island. I ran all the way there. Since we weren't allowed to enter, I just yelled out "Papa" until I heard someone recognize my voice, and called back "Kimiye." I cried all the way home. Told Mother where he was. Later, heard one of Dr. I— was killed in there?

Later, Father was sent to North Dakota, and to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Meantime, my real Mother came to take me back. How cruel can one's destiny be—no way would I go to the Okuno's, leaving my poor helpless Mother who cared and loved me all these tender years. Due to curfew, I dare not leave Mother by herself. My Father's relative, in Orange County, came to pick us up. It was from there I went to Anaheim High School for two or three months before going to Poston Arizona Camp I. From Orange County in Stanton, we stayed in a chicken coop that was converted into a living quarter. No bath, no toilet, no gas heater, very bad—no privacy! For dinner, bath and toilet, we had to go to the main house. The feeling of being an outsider—by the relatives it was very cold and I felt helpless and sad.

Mother had to go see a doctor near the house. One of the boys took her and I went along. She was doing relatively good. Meantime, I had to go buy a loaf of bread near the house. People driving by used to throw rocks and called me "Jap." I just grit my teeth and ignored them. I couldn't do a thing. When March 15, 1942, came I had to hire an ambulance to take Mother with me to Poston, Arizona. Otherwise, she would have been left behind to enter (what hospital?). I figure if we die, we die together! From the beginning, I had no idea where we were headed. The ambulance driver picked up another Japanese lady and her sick mother on our ambulance. I paid in full for one ambulance and they put two sick people in one—we got cheated. It was an agonizing trip for all of us.

The uncertainty of what the expect cut deeply into my mind. At last, we reached our destination near dusk. When they opened the door of the ambulance, I saw Kaye Nakasaki, a familiar face, and a whole bunch of Japanese. The feeling of relief overwhelmed my feelings of anger. We were assigned to block number six, end of the camp near the water tower. Next, I had to take Mother to the hospital where she stayed almost three and a half years. Off and on, when she was released, the heat was too much for her to endure, so back she went into the hospital. Naturally we with her constant heart attacks, I had to be closer with her. I felt the only way for me to be worthy, is to join the nurse's aide, although I didn't have a high school diploma. The Nurse Supervisor, Ms. Vickers allowed me as a special case. I was very fortunate to be taken under her kind wing. She helped me a lot in more ways than one. We had our classes to attend. One day a year later, we were the first group in all the internment camp to graduate. We got out caps and diploma, just like high school graduation. Then we worked hard and also helped train the next group of nurse's aides. By the way, Ms. Vickers tried real hard for us to get a special nurse's certificate, but it didn't clear through the bureaucrats. Anyway, she really tried for all of us and I highly respect her. Mrs. Bruner helped fix special food for my Mother. So many people were so good to us. One day, a patient needed a Christian priest. I dropped over to see Ms. Vickers to get her permission to have a priest visit the wards. She okayed the deal. So, that same day, I sought Dr. J. Morikawa whose bungalow was just across from the hospital. He was free to come and go see patients anytime. One day Ms. Vickers asked me to take care of Mrs. Mills. Mrs. Mills was our camp director. I did her house work and also learned to bake upside-down cake. Learned to hang up towels just perfectly. I never knew house work was so tough. Mom used to do them with such ease! After a couple of years in here, I had to write to my former teacher Ms. Burbank for help. I had to get my father to join us in this camp. When my Father finally came, I was taken to Crystal City. This is for preparation for deportation to Japan. At Crystal City, a friend of my Father, Mr. Uzuhashi and the Yonekura helped me. On December 7, 1945, I did sail from Portland Oregon to Japan. While on the boat, I saw Kotomi Honda and her little baby. I felt so sorry for poor Kotomi and the baby, I prayed that they were survive this terrible hardship. When I finally came ashore in Japan, I didn't register at all. I didn't understand what was going on. I separated from the Uzuhashi's and went with the Yonekura's to Mie-Ken. My brother-in-law Kyunoske Takeuchi came for me and we went to his home, or rather Kyo omoya. I did not feel welcome at all, but a burden to them. Food was scarce and I lacked vitamins and became malnutritioned. I had to go see a doctor who gave me a vitamin B shot. That didn't correct my walking sideways. My foster sister was raised by her real grandmother Takeuchi. But she treated her grandmother so mean. Since grandmother was unable to walk any more, she became an invalid. Whenever she urinated or had a bowel movement, she rationed her food. So I felt really bad. I was brought up a good Christian! I couldn't stand her (oyafuko) treatment to her. I volunteered to wash her sheets, diapers and gown. Even on cold days, I went to a small stream and did the laundry. Family laundries were done near the house (well). I even went diving for wakame, in February. I had put my two piece bathing suit and over that had put the white shirt and (koshimaki) sarong. While diving, it bothered me so much I just took them off and dived in my two piece. Rumors ran in the small village that I swam naked. That sure was a big laugh!

I finally moved out of there to my real parent's place and stayed with my real grandmother Sugimoto. My brother Kazuo Okuno found me a job at Tokyo, so off I went. It was a beginning of a second chance in life for me. I met my handsome hubby at the place of work and we married September 1, 1947. I left for another job. Meantime, someone announce over the radio (tazunebeto) for me. It was Mrs. Glen Bruner, the dietitian from Poston Hospital. She was a wife of the American Executive Consular and my future boss. I worked at the American Consulate in Tokyo as a visa clerk. Due to the advise by Mr. Bruner, I was able to return to the U.S.A. with my husband and my daughter. This happened December 12, 1953.

Once we got here, there was another problem of resettlement. My Father lived in Riverside and we were in Los Angeles. I needed a babysitter so I could go to work. My friend, Miyoko Hamaguchi and Satoru Nanae Kohigashi helped us out, in more ways than one. After six months passed, I had my Father come live with us. He helped my husband with the gardening route, 'til he got ill with bone cancer. Meantime, I had a son and a daughter born in the U.S.A. We used to joke to new friends that my hubby and first daughter were made in Japan and the rest of us are made in U.S.A. That used to melt the icy conversation to a more relaxing atmosphere. It's strange, but wherever I worked, I felt no discrimination. That's because I worked real hard. I learned many ways to advance in my field at the office. I think my bosses were all very kind people. I worked in one place for twenty years and another for ten years, until I retired.

During the many years, my feeling of getting together bi-annually was a wonderful thing. It brings a feeling of returning to my birthplace (umare kokyo). Just seeing all our former Terminal Island friends and their families.

The future Terminal Islanders are very unpredictable. After the Nisei are gone, I doubt if the Sansei will keep it up. Remember it's only those who were born and lived on the island will and have up to now. Therefore, the former habitants of Terminal Island became a legend, and the Sansei were only maybe a handful.

Currently, I'm very busy tending to my grandchildren and my husband. Every morning before everyone gets up, I'm up and walking two and a half miles. Back home, I do daily housework and cooking for two families, my working daughter and hubby, my grandchildren and us. No time for myself. Unless I make a reservation. Someday I hope to do some sketching and drawings. I hope everyone will be happy and be healthy, and my children and grandchildren will have a full and happy life!

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Sadaichi Asai
• Date:
•     December 12, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Vesper message delivered on Thursday, December 12, 7:00-7:30 p.m. in Decker Hall at Pilgrim Place

From Infamy to Incarceration

"We interrupt this program to bring to you the following bulletin: The Japanese have attacked the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor." Most of us remember hearing that radio report on December 7, 1941 or seeing the headline in the local newspapers the following morning. We were told that 2,403 people were killed and 987 were wounded. It was indeed a Black Sunday in the life of our nation and our world.

Last Thursday Dr. William Bray shared the events that led to World War II from the Japanese perspective. Tonight I would like to share how the day of infamy became the turning point in my life. In order to do so, I need to relate briefly a little of my background.

I was born and reared in Little Tokyo, Los Angeles, which was like a transplanted Japan. Most of our neighbors were Japanese, and most of the stores were Japanese-owned. My father, together with two other men, formed a partnership and ran dry goods stores in three different locations.

Little Tokyo had Japanese schools, Buddhist temples, Shinto shrine, Japanese Christian churches, Japanese hospital, and community auditorium for Japanese movies and dramas. At home we conversed in Japanese, and we usually had Japanese meals except for breakfast. My sister and I, together with hundreds of others, attended Japanese school after the regular public school everyday.

When I was ten years old, our family moved to Tenth and San Pedro Streets to run the other dry goods store. That store was located across the street from the Ninth Street Wholesale Fruit and Vegetable Market, the second largest of its kind in Los Angeles. Farmers brought their produce from their farms in Southern California at midnight to either sell to the wholesale stores or to the retail merchants who came to buy fruits and vegetables for their stores. Our store catered mainly to the Japanese farmers and to the Japanese residents living in that area.

Our next move was to Terminal Island, which is also known as East San Pedro, where the Los Angeles Harbor is located. On the east side of Terminal Island was Fish Harbor where Van Camp, French Sardines, Star Kist, and other companies were located. These canneries had built houses for some 3,000 Japanese fishermen and their families in an area of four to five square blocks. They were a grade better than the army barracks built at the ten relocation camps for the Japanese interned during World War II.

Next to the relocation camps, Fish Harbor was undoubtedly the most concentrated Japanese ghetto in existence in America. My parents ran a dry goods store, catering to these fisherfolk. In addition to some twenty stores of different kinds at Fish Harbor there were an elementary school, composed of 99+ Japanese students, a community hall where kendo (Japanese fencing), Japanese movies and dramas were staged, a Buddhist temple, a Shinto shrine, a Japanese Baptist Church, and two Japanese schools. My sister and I were brought up in that community for ten years.

Then the December 7, 1941 episode erupted. Since Terminal Island is an island, there were two ways of entering and exiting: 1) By the two ferryboats which connected with San Pedro and 2) By the drawbridge on the other end of the island which connected with Wilmington. From December 7, sentries were posted at both the ferry landings and the bridge that questioned all Japanese arriving and leaving the island. Military men patrolled the streets of Fish Harbor, day and night, for almost three months.

The FBI immediately came on December 7 and corralled the community leaders of first generation or issei, taking them to unknown destinations. A few days later, Buddhist and Shinto priests and many Japanese school teachers were taken by the FBI. The biggest round-up took place when all issei fishermen were taken as political prisoners on February 9, 1942.

On February 17 we residents received an edict from the U.S. Government, stating that we had to leave Terminal Island in four weeks. By this time, most of the husbands/fathers were taken away from the family, so this left decisions to the wives and to the oldest offsprings to make, regarding the disposal of fishing boats, nets, and other equipment, and the big job of finding a place to live and moving all family household possessions.

Ten hectic days followed and suddenly another order came on February 26, stating that we all had to leave Terminal Island in fortyeight hours. This edict included all resident Japanese, as well as Caucasians and Filipinos who lived on the west side of Terminal Island. Imagine the turmoil we all underwent. The Asai's had a store. From February 17, when the first government order came, we had a closing-out sale; the wholesalers bought back whatever they could sell; and on February 26 the exploiters invaded, purchasing whatever we had left for a pittance. On February 27, the second day of our four hour edict, we packed and moved our six-room household goods.

Most of you have heard or read about the mass exodus of the Japanese from the West Coast in 1942, but we who lived on Terminal Island underwent an additional eviction.

One of the saddest moments in my life was experienced on the drawbridge near the Ford Plant in Wilmington when we were leaving Terminal Island on that dark February day in 1942. Being evicted from our business place was in itself a great financial loss, but to be torn asunder from our home, our church, and our community was a cataclysmic emotional experience.

Our second expulsion from Los Angeles to the Poston Relocation Center in Arizona was even more of a catastrophic experience. This event meant that our U.S. government and the American people no longer trusted us nor wanted us. We were made prisoners of our own country, though we had committed no crime.

Looking back today, fifty years later, I can say that the exodus from California became a pivotal point in my life. I met Marian in Poston, and two years later we were married in Chicago. Both my mother and my wife became Christians and were baptized in Poston. While I was living at the camp, I was asked to be assistant pastor of Parish I under the Reverend Jitsuo Morikawa, and that experience eventually led me to enter the Christian ministry as my life's vocation. When I left the Poston Relocation Center, I entered a new lifestyle. For the first time I was cut off from the parochial life of the Japanese ghetto and was thrusted into a wider America.

Let me digress a little at this point to explain further what ghetto living meant, since most of you have not experienced it. There were two factors involved in a ghetto set-up. First, the immigrant Japanese, by choice, preferred to live close to the other Japanese because of language, food, and social relationships, plus cheaper rent. Second, it was what the government and society imposed upon the Japanese residents. The federal government said no Japanese could become a naturalized citizen. California then passed a law stating that no aliens could own land. Marian had to attend a segregated school in Brawley where only Mexicans and Japanese attended. Senator Daniel Inouye was denied a haircut in Oakland.

At Fish Harbor, the elementary school had practically all Japanese students, but all the teachers were Caucasians. The only Japanese American hired at that school was the janitor. At the fish canneries no Japanese worked in the office, but only where the fishes were being canned. The Los Angeles Harbor, the three shipyards, and the oil companies on Terminal Island had no Japanese employees.

This is what ghetto living was like as I grew up, so leaving Poston Relocation Center opened up a new horizon in living I never experienced before. For the first time I became fully assimilated and became a part of the American mainstream.

Eventually, I was called to be pastor of a historic church in Vermont, most of whose members had never seen a person of Japanese ancestry before. In Vermont we served two parishes, consisting of five churches. Later, we went to Kansas. We were the only Japanese Americans in those communities.

Coincidentally, on December 7, 1976, exactly thirty-five years after the Pearl Harbor holocaust, Marian and I moved to Pilgrim Place. As most of you know, last year George and Misaki Aki and I received $20,000 each from the U.S. Government as a reparation payment for evacuating us. Marian did not receive the redress money in 1990, because she missed the cut-off age by a few months. However, she has received it this October.

Since receiving my share, we have enjoyed giving most of it away—to all the churches and conferences where we had once served and to the different eleemosynary organizations dedicated to helping the poor, to propagating justice, and to promoting peace. Thus, this past year we have reached one of the culminations of our lives when we were able to incarnate the love of Christ and to fulfill the divine mandate: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." December 7 coming so close to December 25, I have chosen to entitle tonight's message: "From Infamy to Incarnation."

In closing, let me tie in with the Scripture lesson read by Marian. As you may recall, it is the story of Joseph and his brothers. Their father had just died and Joseph's brothers now trembled that Joseph might punish them for having sold him in slavery. I would like to lift one quotation from Joseph's statement which expresses my deep feeling, "As for you, you meant evil against me; but God meant it for good."

Uprooting a group of people from their homes, jobs, and communities, mainly due to racial and economic reasons, was definitely wrong, cruel, and evil. But now, looking back fifty years after the Day of Infamy, I can say as Joseph said to his brothers, "You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good."

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Frank Koo Endo
• Date:
•     1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

The life in time of my memoir took place over fifty years ago on Terminal Island, located just east of San Pedro, California. It was sometime early in 1935 that my parents moved to Terminal Island with me and my twin brother, after spending five years in Los Angeles operating a chop suey restaurant.

My parents are of Japanese decent and immigrated to Wilmington, California in 1919 to work in the fishing industry. My father, Matsukichi Endo, was born in a small fishing village in Shimizu City and my mother, Reiko (Iketani) Endo was born in Iwabuchi City. Both of these cities are located in Shizuoka Prefecture, near Mt. Fuji, about 100 miles southwest of Tokyo. My twin brother and I came into the world in April 1923; our parents named me Frank Koo Endo and my brother James Chu Endo.

Fish Harbor on Terminal Island was located on the southwestern part of the island and consisted of a fishing fleet, canneries, and 5,000 Japanese men, women and children. The adults were the first generation Issei from Japan, and their children who were born in America are the Nisei like myself. The fishermen working out of Fish Harbor visited the local waters of Catalina, Santa Barbara and San Diego to catch sardines, mackerel, skipjack and tuna throughout the year (see exhibit # 1 & 2). My father was captain of a small fishing boat and had several men working for him. My mother worked in the fish cannery of which they were part owners. Each cannery had a very loud whistle which was sounded when a ship came into the harbor with a catch, signaling that it was time to go to work. Most of the ladies knew what cannery was calling for work by its distinctive whistle. At times I recall hearing the loud whistles from the various canneries being blown one after another. This meant that many ships had come back full with fish. My mother, like all of the ladies, had her work clothes ready at all times, because there was no definite schedule as to when the ships would be coming in. Most of the ships did not have a radio or other communications equipment. Upon hearing the sound of the whistle, my mother would drop whatever she was doing, change clothes and run to work along with many others in the neighborhood. Four of the largest canneries were French Sardine, Van Camp, Franco Italian and Southern California.

We moved into a wooden structure home built by the fish canneries that was already occupied by two other families (see exhibit #3). Our home was located in the north end of Fish Harbor and was called "Hokkaido" by the locals, because in Japan, Hokkaido is the northernmost island. We only had two bedrooms and a kitchen. We shared two toilets and only one bathtub with the other families. The bathtub was constructed of wood, Japanese-style. Every evening, on a rotation system, one family would fill the tub with fresh water and then heat it with firewood until it was hot. It was customary for each person to wash their body prior to entering the tub, since everyone residing there utilized the same hot water.

The street that I lived on was called Pilchard. Pilchard is the name of a fish. In fact, most of the streets were named after fish such as Tuna, Albacore, Sardine, Barracuda or other related names such as Cannery, Wharf, Terminal Way, etc. Most of us lived on unpaved dirt streets. The main street that extended from one end of the island to the other is called Seaside Avenue, and still exists today. Near our home, at the corner of Pilchard and Seaside Ave. was a fire station, and it, too, is still in use. There was also a fireboat station house located on the westside of the harbor along with the petroleum companies that catered to the fishing fleet. During the first few years, I spent my summers going to Brighton Beach, which was a very popular swim spot.

I entered East San Pedro Grammar School, and started in the 5th grade with 30 other Nisei students. The teachers were all Caucasian (see E.L.A. School paper, exhibit #4). Prior to moving to Terminal Island, my brother and I had been attending an all Caucasian public elementary school. I was eleven years old when all of a sudden I was residing among many young Japanese kids my age who were speaking a lot of Japanese to each other. I was amazed! Consequently, my parents made my brother and I attended Japanese language class twice a week after school. I really hated it because it was so different from the English language. This turned out to be an asset later in life, as I served as an interpreter in the U.S. Military Service during World War II.

The Issei women living on Terminal Island had almost no need to learn English since they could speak Japanese for all their daily activities. The grocery store person, drug store owner, doctors, dentists, etc. all spoke Japanese. When leaving the island, the men usually accompanied their spouses. Since the men made trips off of the island more frequently into the American society, they had some knowledge of the English language, like my father did. I admired my father for that and it enabled him operate his chop suey restaurant before moving to Terminal Island.

My lifestyle changed after graduating from grammar school. I had to cross the Los Angeles channel on a ferryboat to San Pedro to attend Dana Junior High School, which is approximately two miles from the ferryboat landing (see ferry, exhibit #5 & Dana, exhibit 10 & 11). There was a public bus, but it cost five cents, so the majority of us walked. Most of us made our own sandwich for lunch at school because our parents were too busy. When my mother had time, she made bento (Japanese-style lunch) with rice because we got tired of eating the same sandwich all the time!

While at Dana Junior High School I learned how to build a crystal radio set, and enjoyed listening to it in the evening before going to bed. Personal radios were too expensive. I built an antenna about 100 feet long. Some of my neighbors had similar antennas, too. When the war broke out, the FBI looked for all radios connected to those antennas.

Every summer, my folks gathered with their friends from Shizuoka Prefecture. Several buses were hired so that everyone could attend the annual Kenjinkai (Prefecture Association) picnic, held at Banning Park in Wilmington. During those years no one had their own automobile. There was no need for one. Furthermore, it was prohibitively expensive. On the picnic grounds a stage would be set up, and various people would get up to sing and dance. They had a drawing and gave away lots and lots of prizes. The children would participate in all kinds of races to win toys. We would spend our time eating bento, talking with our friends, and enjoying the entire day there. The same kind of picnics were conducted by the other Kenjinkai such as Hiroshima and Wakayama, but they had larger groups than Shizuoka. I remember having a great time at those picnics. It brought family, friends, and relatives together.

Just before Christmas, which we all celebrated (even if you were Buddhist), the annual mochitsuki or the pounding of the special rice for the New Year celebration could be seen throughout fish harbor. The pounding of the rice was done outdoors. Many families would jointly organize the cooking of the rice, pounding, and the hand shaping of the mochi. The men used special mallets to pound the mochigome (steamed rice) into a large depression carved out of a stone block. Two or three men would take turns pounding the rice until it became sticky or pastelike. It would be then be placed on a table with rice flour and the ladies would make domed shaped rice cake mochi of various sizes. I participated in this festivity by pounding rice. It was lots of work, but I felt it was worth it when we were able to enjoy the finished rice cake.

I attended the local Baptist Christian Church and became a Christian at the age of 13. My brother and I continued to attend this church until we were no longer able to when World War II was declared (see exhibit #6 & 7).

In the summer of 1938, I was 15 years old and was offered work picking grapes for two months in the city of Arvin, near Bakersfield. It was the Kawasaki Farm. I worked side by side with other Japanese farm workers twice my age and older. It was the hardest I had ever worked in my life. Each day, I learned to become better in picking and boxing grapes in the hot sun. I was really glad when summer ended and got back to Terminal Island.

We had kendo and judo in our community. At the suggestion of my father, I took judo classes twice a week. Several months later, I went to an Open House at San Pedro High School, the school where I would be attending the next year. There were gymnasts working out in the gym. I noticed a gymnast doing a handstand on the parallel bars. I had never seen this before and it impressed me so much that I vowed to work on a handstand everyday during gym class so that by the time I got to high school I would be able to perform that same skill.

In the summer of 1939, the canneries were so busy that my mother suggested that I work along with her at the cannery cleaning mackerel. I applied for my Social Security number and started working there at sixty cents an hour, the same wage as my mother. It was a great feeling to earn so much money!

About that time, many of the parents on Terminal Island that had children going to school in Japan, started to bring them to America. San Pedro High School set up a special English class to accommodate the new students from Japan. I noted that their math and art skills were far superior to us Americans, whether Nisei or Caucasian. However, because of the cultural differences, we didn't socialize with them very much in school. They were born in America, taken to Japan and left with relatives, schooled there, and eventually brought back to the United States. They were called Kibei-Nisei (see Japanese garden, exhibit #8).

I began working out at home, lifting weights with my neighborhood friends in the early evenings. All of our weights were actually iron wheels from the fish canneries. I read Strength & Health magazine, which inspired and helped me in the lifting techniques. I continued lifting weights for many years to come.

We had a great baseball team on Terminal Island called the Skippers. They were fully outfitted, just like the pros. During the summer, the Skippers played other Japanese American teams in Southern California. We were the best. In fact, some of the semi-pro Caucasian teams came and played with us and we had some great games. Many of our top players were Kibei-Nisei.

The most popular entertainment event on the island was an occasional Japanese movie shown at the fishermen's hall. Once in a while I went to see them and learned a great deal about life in Japan as well as the language. There was also a pool hall there, but I was too young, and wasn't interested in billiards.

Finally in 1940, I began attending San Pedro High School which was located on the hilltop adjacent to Dana Junior High School (see school paper, exhibit 12). I immediately made a point to sign up for gymnastics. As a tenth grader, it appeared that it would be difficult to get into gymnastics because it was so popular and the class was full. However, I told the coach how enthusiastic I was, so he reluctantly accepted me in the class. I had worked hard on my handstand during the past year at Dana so that I could do my handstand just as good as anyone in the gym. I then decided to work out and familiarize myself on the various apparatus, because the gymnastics competition would begin in six months. Soon, I was selected on the varsity team, given a uniform and began competing in the Marine League. I started to compete on floor exercise and the parallel bars, the apparatus that impressed me so much when I first saw it. After a couple of competitions, placing seconds and thirds, I finally won both events my third time out. That season, I finished among the top four on the team (see gymnast, exhibit #9).

In the summer of 1940, I had an offer to work at a produce stand in San Pedro, which I gladly accepted. It was much cleaner than grape picking or working in the fish cannery. I really began to appreciate the produce business and did so well that I was asked to work the following summer. I knew that my schooling at San Pedro High would soon be over and that I would need to decide what I wanted to do after graduation. Would it be fishing like my father?

Early in 1941, my father was called back to Japan to his dying father who was operating a rice distribution store in Shizuoka. My father was the oldest of five sons in the famiIy and was responsible for the business after the death of his father. So, he remained in Japan.

My gymnastics kept me so busy, that I dropped the sport of judo. My brother and I were still attending Japanese school twice a week. It was still difficult learning the Japanese language but, by this time, I felt more comfortable with the lifestyle of Fish Harbor.

At San Pedro High, I was asked to be one of the two yell leaders for the coming football season. I accepted the offer, and we started to practice toss somersaults as well as familiarize ourselves with the school cheers and songs. Our team went all the way to the finals at Los Angeles Coliseum. It was a great season! (see cheerleaders, exhibit #13).

Gymnastics season began. I learned a lot from watching those who I lost to last season. I picked up new skills and added two more events— the side horse and the horizontal bar. Right from my first competition, I was placing first on the parallel bars and floor exercise and second or third on the other events. At the Marine League finals, I won on parallel bars and floor exercise, and ended up as the top scorer of the team. I went on to the City Finals. This was the most exciting time of my life. I was doing fine at school and looked forward to attend junior college and more gymnastics competition.

On December 7, 1991, I was in the twelfth grade, my father was still working the rice business in Japan, and soon I was going to graduate with the class of summer 1942. I heard on the radio that morning that Pearl Harbor had been attacked by the Japanese. I really didn't know where Pearl Harbor was, but was shocked by the news. I wondered if this would have any effect on me. Early that afternoon I decided to go see a movie in San Pedro. I boarded the ferryboat that I took daily to school. Upon docking in San Pedro, I was taken into custody along with other Japanese Americans by armed soldiers. We were put into a temporary barbed wire enclosure. I told them that I was an American citizen, but they stated that they had orders to stop all Japanese (see newspaper photo, exhibit #14). After being detained a couple of hours, we were told to return to the island.

Attending school became difficult because other students started to look at us differently. One day, all of the Japanese American students were told to assemble in the auditorium. The school principal advised us not to speak in Japanese nor gather in groups. With this hate and discrimination, I couldn't work out or perform in gymnastics very well. I had only four months to go before graduation.

The Japanese American Citizen's League (JACL) made each person an identification badge at the fisherman's hall. Mine had my photograph along with verification that I was a student and an American citizen (see photo exhibit #15).

Soon, many FBI agents came to the island and started searching our homes to look for anything that may connect us with Japan. They wanted to know what my long antenna was used for. I showed them the crystal radio set and told them that I listened to music at night. The agents searched everybody's home and looked everywhere, and asked lots of questions. One day, without notice, all of the Issei men were gathered in trucks and taken away to an unknown destination.

A curfew was in effect starting from December 7. Brand new P-38 fighter planes began appearing over Terminal Island, and jeeps carrying Military Police patrolled fish harbor. Everyone feared for their lives. People started moving out to Los Angeles and anywhere where friends or relatives lived. We moved to my uncle and aunt's house in Los Angeles. However, within three months, all Californians of Japanese descent were ordered to designated locations for evacuation (see evacuation order, exhibits #16 & #17). My mother, brother and I were sent to the Santa Anita Assembly Center in Arcadia, California on April 24, 1942 (see Assembly newspaper, exhibit #18).

We lived in wooden barracks built on the parking lot of the Santa Anita Racetrack. The barracks were hastily built for temporary use with wide wooden cracks between rooms. To have some privacy, we taped up newspapers on the wall. The three of us shared a room, probably only twenty feet wide by twenty feet long. The bathrooms and showers were shared by the community. We ate our meals at a designated mess hall within our area. There were more than 10,000 Japanese internees from all parts of California. Many people worked making camouflage nets for the war. I volunteered to work at a mess hall located by the horse stables (see mess hall arm band & War Relocation Work Corp., exhibits #19 & 20). I also worked as a gymnastics instructor in the recreation department below the grandstands. My assistant was Tak Kawagoe who was Los Angeles City tumbling champion. During our short stay in Santa Anita, we put on a gymnastics exhibition as a part of a variety show. During the exhibition, I saw the hundreds of private vehicles that belonged to the internees parked inside of the race track. I don't know whatever happened to those vehicles, since our stay there was for only a few months. We were then ordered to leave by train for an unknown destination (see newspaper photos, exhibits #21 & #22). Due to military orders, we were not permitted to look where we were going and shades were pulled down. After an overnight trip, we arrived at a newly constructed relocation center in Granada, Colorado (see Granada newspaper, exhibit #23). The camp was called Amache. About 7,600 evacuees spent several years there. The wooden barracks were better constructed than those at Santa Anita. They had to be able to withstand the blowing desert sand and cold climate. Our room was a little bit bigger, too. We had a coal stove to keep warm in winter. I applied to teach gymnastics at the junior high school, and was asked to coach basketball as well. I was paid the professional wage of $19.00 a month while most of the others received $16.00 (see driver's license, exhibit 24). After six months of teaching, my brother and I were offered a job through my mother's friend to work on a railroad at the open pit copper mine in Bingham Canyon, Utah (see leave permit, exhibit #25). This was a job related to the war effort. The amazing thing I learned was that my grandfather had worked at the same copper mine as a cook at the turn of the century. Later, he brought my father to work there around 1917. My brother and I worked six months and returned to our mother at Amache Relocation Center.

In May 1943, the War Relocation Authority in Washington D.C. ended the internment program. They handed out a guide book to all residents in relocation centers to help prepare for moving out. There were three choices concerning leaving the centers: (1) Short-term; (2) Seasonal; and (3) Indefinitely (see Relocation Program, exhibit #26).

The younger people were among the first to permanently leave the center to attend educational institutions or to look for a place to reside and work. However, in the beginning, we were not permitted to return to the West Coast, so many people ventured to the Mid-West and East Coast.

In the summer of 1944, my brother decided to go to Chicago to resettle. The Government gave him a rail ticket, $3 per day for meals, and $50.00 for financial assistance. After waiting anxiously several weeks, my mother and I received a letter from him stating that he had found a home and asked if we would come to Chicago. We immediately requested permission to leave Amache Relocation Center permanently. My mother and I received our train fare, etc. and headed for Chicago. We had been interned for two years and four months. We were finally FREED AT LAST.

After moving to Chicago in 1944, I continued to pursue my gymnastics career, and worked out at the Hyde Park YMCA. That year, I won the Illinois Junior All-Around Gymnastics Championships held at the University of Chicago. I also wondered how I would do in weightlifting, because I started this sport at Terminal Island. That same year, I competed in the 136 lb. Class in the City, State and Tri-State Weightlifting Championships. I took second place in each of these competitions. There was another Japanese by the name of Iwakiri who always took first.

On February 6, 1945, I reported for induction into the Military Service. I took my basic training at Camp Gordon in Georgia. There were about thirty other Nisei in our Company. After basic training, I was transferred to Fort Snelling Military Language School in Minnesota, where I was accepted to study the Japanese language for the next six months. While at Fort Snelling, World War II ended. We finished our schooling, and were shipped to Tokyo, Japan. I was assigned to war criminal investigations and served as chief clerk and interpreter. Learning to type at San Pedro High School and my parents sending me to Japanese School started to pay off. I was excited to work for America overseas. I spent two and a half years with war criminal investigation work. The Americans that spoke Japanese were in demand there in all phases of work. I remained in Japan after being discharged from the Army, and worked for the U.S. Air Force Intelligence Service as an interrogator for two more years.

The Japanese noticed my gymnastics skills while I was working out one day at the Osaka YMCA. Because of that, I was asked to be their advisor to the Japan Gymnastics Association. In 1950, I made arrangements for the United States National men's gymnastics team to come to Japan for an international competition and to do several exhibitions in various cities throughout Japan. My gymnastics experience at San Pedro High School and in Chicago became very useful. General Douglas MacArthur invited me into his Tokyo Military Headquarters with the U S. Gymnastics Team, and we talked for twenty-seven minutes (see photo exhibit #27).

During my time in Japan, I fell in love with a Japanese girl. Although the war was over between Japan and the United States, no Peace Treaty had been signed yet. Therefore, Americans like myself were not allowed to marry a Japanese national. I read in the Tokyo Stars and Stripes newspaper that honorably discharged veterans in Europe were being granted permission to marry German girls under a Private Bill in Congress. This was in 1948. I pursued this route and after two and a half years, I was probably the first American to be granted permission, in Japan, to marry a Japanese and bring her to America (see Congress bill, exhibit #28). My wife and I drove around the United States for two and a half months, and then settled in Los Angeles.

On April 21, 1988, the U.S. Senate voted to pay $20,000.00 to each World War II internee for the act of forcibly removing persons of Japanese ancestry from their homes and putting them into internment camps (see L.A. Times, exhibit #29). Then, on August 10, 1988, President Reagan signed Bill H.R. 442 which put the financial reparation into effect. I received my check for $20,000.00 in September, 1991. Those who have passed away such as my twin brother and my mother, received nothing. Only 60,000 out of the 120,000 internees survived to receive payments (see Rafu Shimpo, exhibit #30).

It is now May, 1994. I have been a certified gymnastics judge for both National and International competitions for more than twenty-five years. I've served as an official at several notable gymnastics events such as the 1984 Olympic Games in Los Angeles and the 1991 World Gymnastics Championships (see newspaper exhibit #31). I have two sons experienced in gymnastics. They both competed for California State University at Long Beach and now jointly operate a gymnastics supply business in Gardena, California, that I established 35 years ago. I have been honored with the Ko-ro-sho (Hall-of-Fame) award from the Japan Gymnastics Association for assisting their many tours to America, introducing trampolinging to Japan in 1959, and obtaining gymnastics coaching positions for top gymnasts from Japan at American colleges and universities (see Rafu, exhibit #32).

There were thirty six Nisei, including myself, that attended San Pedro High School in 1942 and should have graduated that summer. We received a high school diploma while we were in the relocation centers. Recently, with the help of a San Pedro councilman and the current principal of SPHS, we will finally receive our true high school diploma! Our belated "graduation" ceremony will take place on June 8, 1994, fifty two years afterward. We haven't been forgotten!

I am now seventy-one years old, but I can still kick up to a handstand, the feat that inspired me to take up gymnastics while I was only a kid in junior high school (see photo, exhibit #33).

All of the cannery homes in fish harbor are long gone. So are the church, elementary school, judo dojo, and the stores I went to. Children don't go swimming in the harbor. There isn't the same fishing industry there used to be. The ferry boats are a part of history now, replaced by a large, modern bridge which connects the island with San Pedro.

Terminal Island was an island in Time.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Charlie O. Hamasaki
• Interviewer:
•     Toshiro Izumi
• Date:
•     March 2, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Izumi

Where were you born?

Hamasaki

I was born on Oct. 7, 1922, Wakayama-ken, Shimotara, Japan. But there's a catch to it, like I was telling you. I was made over here in March, 1922 in mama's stomach and then we took our family to Japan—my brothers and sister. My mother and father they left them there because of the hardship that they were going to have when they came back. I was still in mama's stomach. Then my older brother got measles so she overstayed in Japan for a month. During that time I was born. So I was born in Japan but actually I was made over here. If I go to court, I'd probably win that case. Now if you kill a fetus, it's considered murder today. So April I came back when I was one or two months old I came here to Terminal Island, California.

Izumi

Can I get your brothers' and sisters' names?

Hamasaki

My oldest sister Emiko, next is brother Tamikazu, next Futomi, next sister Shizuka, brother Uzuhiko and I'm the last one in the family.

Izumi

You said you were one month when your mother brought you back to the U.S. Actually you had no educational background in Japan.

Hamasaki

Yes, that's right.

Izumi

What can you recall about Terminal Island—earliest time?

Hamasaki

You know at two or three years old, nobody is going to remember nothing, you know. Actually the first thing I remember is kindergarten. My teachers' names were Ms. Burbank and Ms. Overstreet. Two teachers. The thing I recall the most, me and my buddy, Tetsuya Ryono. He and I was one of the rowdy kind of kid. She always use to put us under the piano while they were playing the piano. We were put under the piano. We talked too much. One day, me and Tetsuya said, "We gotta do something about this. Hey, Tetsuya, why don't you bite one side of the teacher's leg and I bite on the other side." So that's what we did. "One, two, three, go!" We bite one time. Man, you ought to see the teacher scream. She jumped up and you know what she did? She took us to the bathroom and put soap in our mouth! That's the one thing I recall when I was little boy, little brat. The report card those day use to have gold stars—five gold stars means you're A plus. When we got our report card we had silver star—one only. I can still remember that.

Izumi

Aside from that incident, what was your childhood like, at home, at school playground?

Hamasaki

I can remember my childhood days because like other families had lots of brothers and sisters. Like I said earlier, my mother and father left the kids in Japan so when I came back I was by myself. I was a lonely, little kid. If I recall, Terminal Island was a community that we all knew each other. So I use to have a lots of playmates so I wasn't too lonely. But night time I was lonely and scared because my father was out fishing, my mother was working at cannery and I hardly see them and I couldn't go home to sleep after seeing especially a scary movie. I use to go to the cannery where my mother was working. I use to sleep in the empty, big boxes which the tin cans use to come in. I use to sleep until my mother finished the job. Then I'd come home and sleep. That's the loneliest part of my childhood life. But during the day time or night time we'd have lot of fun cuz there were lots of kids playing around. But that's when I missed my brothers and sisters.

Izumi

Briefly, what was your educational background in U.S.?

Hamasaki

Walizar or East San Pedro was the grammar school, Richard Dana Junior High School and San Pedro High School and I graduated in 1941, right before the war. After that I went to Military Intelligence Service (M.I.S.). I went in 1948 to Los Angeles Technical Junior College where I learned a trade. Actually I had a four years college education coming to me through the G.I. Bill of Rights. But I'm a "blue collar" type of guy. That's why I learned the automotive business which is body and fender work.

Izumi

While you were in Terminal Island did you go to Japanese School? Baptist Church?

Hamasaki

Speaking of churches, we had two churches—one Buddhist and Christian, Baptist Church. But to me I like story that Miss Swanson, our teacher use to tell when we were little boys—the story of Jesus Christ. Fascinating. So I stuck to Christian, Baptist Church. Meanwhile, I was one of the first guy to be baptized. I volunteered. Cuz I feel sorry for Miss Swanson. They wanted to baptize a lot of guys but they say, "I don't want to take a bath." But I got baptized there.

We had two Japanese schools. One was Sokei Gakuen (Buddhist) and Seisho Gakuen (Christian). We attended two hours after school Monday through Friday but actually we weren't too interested in learning Japanese and I wasn't a studious guy anyway.

Izumi

Some of the activities you had after school... Did you play marbles, go fishing, or what did you do?

Hamasaki

Terminal Island many a time, you can't beat that community of people like Terminal Island. There were so many young people running around so we organized something like the Olympic Games. Tuna Street people had their own team, Cannery Street people, Albacore Street people had another one, and Hokkaido area another team and we use to organize games. We had like Olympic games—all different types and on top of that had one of the best kendo team, a judo team and swimming team, baseball team. We took everything. It use to be J.A.U. long time ago. I don't want to brag about it but Terminal Island we had more to pick from. That's why we had better athlete than any other community in California. We won so many championship! You name it, we took everything. One thing we're proud of. And when we were growing up, we use to play marbles. And Marble King was my buddy, Bill Nakasaki. He passed away. He was a champion marble player. He use to challenge everybody with dirty apron pant we use to call it. Wore no shoes and hole in trouser and walk around with full of marbles in the pocket. He use to challenge everybody and clean us all the time. That was a lot of fun. We use to play "Kick the Can," "Lost and Found," cowboy games and I forgot others. To me, Terminal Island was a fascinating, fantastic dreamland, I call it. "Enchanted Island" like I said before. We had everything. We could go to the mountain which is not too far; we had the ocean, all to ourselves—ocean and the beach and camping ground without any advisors. If we had advisors, we would have had more fun probably. But when I reached junior high, I joined the YMCA and that was something I never experienced. I went to Mt. Baldy camp, snow hike, Sequoia National Park trip and few other places. One thing I regret today, my mother did not let me into the Boy Scout because we had to pay $10.00 dues. I think we never had that ten bucks. Man, ten bucks. That's why Terminal Island was real good!

Izumi

At San Pedro High School, what was your major?

Hamasaki

At San Pedro High, my major was automotive. I took industrial courses. I learned auto mechanic courses and I was a one of the hot-rod guy. I use to put in the Model A, a V 8 engine. That's what we called a V 8 engine and we use to race in the home made racing ground at First Beach and Brighton Beach so I was interested in automotive at that time. Actually I didn't learn too much cuz we use to fool around too much. They use to call us the "P" boys cuz teacher named us that because we use to pray a lot.

Izumi

Did you participate in any High School sports?

Hamasaki

Yes. I had Letters in three years of football and three years of track, two years of varsity swimming. I don't want to brag but I came in last in the city final. Out of ten guys, I was the last guy. But I represented the Marine League. But we were the weakest.

Izumi

I often heard you were never without spending money while going to High School. How did you earn the money?

Hamasaki

I don't want to go into detail because there might be a bad story in it but the good part, I worked my butt too like anybody else. We use to ditch high school and work in the cannery during flu season. You know when you get the flu, you get to stay home. So before we get to school we use to put the thermometer by the steam heater, warm it up and then put it in the mouth so the temperature went up. We use to give it to the doctor and he let us go. So when we come home, we use to work in the cannery, cutting the fish or getting the fish duck. And we use to get twenty-five cents a can. So in one hour we made $1.00. That's one thing. Another thing I use to skin dive off Palos Verdes and get couple of sack of abalone and sell them twenty-five cents a piece at Dominguez Hills, Lomita, Narbonne, Gardena, Torrance. All where the Japanese farmers were. So I use to go with my mother and sell abalone for twenty-five cents a piece. Then I didn't know any rules and regulations, Fish & Games. We didn't know what Fish & Games was. So I made my money. During the lean times, I use to come and harvest corn, lima bean, top onion at Dominguez Hills. I use to go on the bicycle with four to five guys. I would make fifty cents and come home. There was always money to be made at Terminal Island. So I always had hot-dog money, hamburger money, movie money and maybe date money sometimes and gas money.

Izumi

I guess you went into fishing after high school or did you do something else?

Hamasaki

In 1941 you graduate from high school. What are you going to do? Your father and mother are so poor you don't get to go to college anywhere. A few guys went to college and even if they graduated, hey, them days... Discrimination. We can't get no city job. civil service job, firemen job. You can't work any kind of dealership—discrimination, discriminated. That's why we all turned to be fisherman, you know. So I told my father and mother let me take a vacation after I graduate. "Hell with you. You go to work right now." So my father got me a job the next day on the ship making a few bucks. That's why if you had college education, today, it might help us but at that time, neh, almost impossible. Maybe out of the thirty-five guys that graduated, one went to college but he couldn't find no job so he came back fishing. Same thing.

Izumi

Do you recall the boat that you worked on?

Hamasaki

Name of the boat. Soon as I graduated from high school I got on boat called "Aloha." That's Kazuo Okuno's boat. It was a little boat and I didn't make any money. Then I jumped on "Naruto" mackerel scooping boat and I didn't make too much money. So I went on "New Bow"—Kinoshita boat and he was so-so. That boat was little small so I jumped to boat "Mari"—Kadonaka boat and I made few bucks. In 1941 I graduated and sardine season came and during the sardine season I was on the boat "Mari" from September, October, November I made the most money. The first paycheck I ever got was $500.00. Can you imagine that! Then I bought my mother a refrigerator and a stove with an oven. Then the war came so you know what happened after that.

Izumi

Who was the captain of this boat? How large was the boat?

Hamasaki

Kiyoshi Kadonaka. Boat was seventy footer and carried eighty tons, maybe.

Izumi

What was your duties aboard this boat?

Hamasaki

I was abakuri means cork handler. On a net, there's a sinker and cork. So I handled the cork part of the net. It's pursing the net. So that was my duty. And being an apprentice fisherman, you know, your duties included all the dirty work. Wash the dishes, clean up the boat and that's the beginner's duties so that's all we did. That's the old Issei style. That's how they start you out.

Izumi

You went directly into purse seiner fishing then?

Hamasaki

Like I said small boat like "Aloha" and "Naruto that was not a pursing boat. That's what you call lampara—half pursing type of boat.

Izumi

Then it's mostly pole fishing?

Hamasaki

No, lampara means you pull by hand. You make a circle and pull by hand. Pursing mean you have a ring around on the bottom of the net and you pull the ring with the wrench and you purse the thing up. That's the difference between the hand pulling and the purser.

Izumi

During this time, what was some of the most pleasant experience on the boat as a fisherman?

Hamasaki

I don't know whether you call it pleasant or not pleasant, the most feeling, the good feeling you have is actually the bay fishing. Because night fishing is cold and damp and rainy time, it's miserable fishing. Yet you had to fish. The most pleasant way of fishing was day time, fishing, looking for sardine season. We use to go the Santa Cruz, Dana Point and all the way south to La Jolla. Day fishing was sardine season and that time was the most satisfying fishing when we load up. Boy, when you load up fish, everybody work hard cuz all you see is the money in the net. There's no lazy fisherman! Everybody has to work together and if someone screwed up, that's it. You lose the fish. The money is slipping thru your finger. Same thing, we try to work hard and save the fish, then we load up and the coming home—that was the most sensational feeling, I should say. Cuz we know we got it made. The money. The money was there compared to these guys working on the land for $15.00 a week. Hey, I use to make $500.00 a month. That's why there's no comparison. That was the most pleasant feeling.

Izumi

What was the most frightful fishing experience?

Hamasaki

Before the war, the most frightful thing I experienced was when the boat, "Cleopatra" my buddy's boat sank and we were right behind them. They ran into a reef because of the terrific fog that came to that area. At that time we really had to slow down and you could hear the sound of the wave against the reef or big steam ship's fog horn and actually we didn't know where we were going. We don't have any radar. We had nothing, modern equipments. That part was the most frightful. Otherwise fishing wasn't that bad. The money was there. Me, I like fishing—where the money was.

Izumi

While you were fishing, what was you major catch? Tuna, sardine?

Hamasaki

Sardine was the best fishing and we were making the money cuz it was most abundant them days. All over the island. I can't imagine August, 1941, just before September opening season, I went to Santa Cruz Island and the whole island was surrounded by thousand and thousand tons of fish. You'll be surprised. You call that akami —means the fish is so thick, close together that it turning water to an certain color. That's where there's a lot of fish. The ocean changes color. That's the experience I look as there's a lot of fish. That was an amazing thing I've seen in the ocean. So much fish in one place. Actually we fish out sardine by 1952 and it was all gone. Sardine fishing one of the biggest industry, money making commercial fishing. There wasn't too much tuna during those days. There was tuna but sardine was the major fishing.

Izumi

Of course, it wasn't all fishing. You had slack time when you had to do lots of work on the boat, the net and things like that too.

Hamasaki

Actually, sardine fishing we worked from September, October, November, December and some part of January That's five months. During the five months we could fish sardine mostly night-fishing and during September, day fishing. After that, all night fishing. When it comes to night fishing we work only three weeks cuz it's full moon, once a week in every month. So when the night is dark you could see the fish better due to the phosphorus in the water. When the fish swim, it makes this color in water and from the mast, you can see where the fish is. So it was mostly night fishing. So one week we rest and during rest time we're working on the boat, mending the net or something. There's always some kind of work. But at least night time you get to go out wherever you want.

Izumi

That was your...

Hamasaki

Tanoshimi like. Once a week. We look forward to that.

Izumi

One week at night was your social life, then?

Hamasaki

Right.

Izumi

That's when some guys went drinking, some guys gambling, etc?

Hamasaki

Right, right. At evening , go see the evening girls. Remember we had dances at Terminal Island. Of course I was only eighteen so you know I still think I'm in high school and we had a lot of high school activities too. Wrong way pillow us guys and we use to join them. That was one thing good about Terminal Island. community.

Izumi

Always something to do?

Hamasaki

Always something to do. Some kind of activity. Never a dull moment.

Izumi

Fishing came to an end with the start of war on December 7. What happened after that?

Hamasaki

December 7 when I woke up, went outside, radio everything, got-dam-it, it was war. Naturally you can't go no place. You can't fish. All these guys who went fishing December 6, they couldn't come in. They closed the lighthouse place. They put a net across and they couldn't come in. All the boat who couldn't come, in. Arrested all the Issei. They took them to detention place in Saugus, California. I still remember. Saugus use to be a Boys' Camp. They stuck them in there, you know. From December 7 we couldn't go anyplace. Even the students were stopped then. That's the thing—unconstitutional comes right there and of course from December 7 to February 2, 1942, we didn't do nothing. February 2 President Franklin Roosevelt signed the Executive Order 9066. All enemy aliens that's registered on the fishing license, they got a fishing license from the Fish & Game got arrested. Every one of them. They took us, even me, to Eagle Beach. I went too. They said, "Hey, we got a young one here!" I still remember that. "Get your coat, shoes and everything." "It's too hot." "No, put your coat." So they took us to immigration in San Pedro and I was the interpreter there. You know who was there? My friend, Jimmie Kasserov, Andy Kasserov. They asked me why the hell I'm doing there. "I'm an enemy alien." You know, I was an interpreter too there, helping them out. One day you know what I did? I came out of the place. I said, "I'm going home." "Oh sure, go back. Thanks a lot for helping out." I was going out. I was sneaking out actually. You know that guy said, "Stop the guy! He don't belong out there. He belong in here." Ha! Ha! He caught me so I went back again so from here if I go into detail it will be a long story so I'll stop here.

Izumi

You were sent to detention camp, not relocation camp?

Hamasaki

I don't call it detention camp. It was a real prisoner-of-war camp cuz there were German prisoner-of-war with us guys. That's one of the topic I said in the redress deal.

Izumi

How many different camps did you go to?

Hamasaki

Well, after I came out of North Dakota, they released me. They said I was harmless. They released me so I went to Santa Anita. From Santa Anita to Rowher, Arkansas. From Rowher, they let me out on seasonal furlough. Then I relocated to Minidoka, Topaz and Manzanar. Three camps. Of course to Jerome too. So actually five camps I went, visiting all of them.

Izumi

You weren't with your folks then?

Hamasaki

Only in Rowher I was. When I went to camp, I'd tell them, "You guys put me out. I have no job so put me up." So they let me stay one month or something at each camp. When I came to Manzanar, they found out that I was from Rowher and I got folks over there. They kick me out right away. I told them, "Give me at least ten days as I didn't see my aunt and uncle in Manzanar." So ten days, then they gave me $60.00. I didn't have any money so with that $60 they put me out and sent me to Salt Lake City, Utah. When it get into detail, I'll be talking forever. That's good enough. Get the high points.

Izumi

You were out of camp now and you went to Utah. Relocated?

Hamasaki

No, I went to Kalamazoo, Michigan. I was the head bus boy, head bar tender. I was head of, head of everything over there. Of course, there was a shortage—man shortage. I use to head the parking lot too. I had a room there, a nice country, beautiful scenic place in Michigan—northern part of Michigan, you know, north-central. That was my first relocation. After that I went every place. You name it. I went to every place. All by myself. Nobody wants to go with me.

Izumi

So as a hind-sight, what do you think about your life on Terminal Island?

Hamasaki

My life on Terminal Island like I was saying, Terminal Island,even to this day everyone says, "Boy, I wish I was back in Terminal Island!" You never can find a place like Terminal Island. They all say that. Terminal Island, one, big, happy community, people help each other. One thing they talk about thief right now. We didn't even know what thief was. You don't have to lock your door or steal anything. You could put your bicycle anyplace, car you don't have to lock. Man, people know each other, help each other and I don't know helping each other but everybody know each other. Everybody was brothers and sisters. One big family, I think. You don't find that kind of community anyplace, I think. I think this place called Hood River similar to Terminal Island. After I read about Hood River I didn't know there was such a place existed. They don't know where Terminal Island is. I talked to a lot of people and told them where Terminal Island is. They say where in the hell is that place. They don't know. Now we write a lot of articles about Terminal Island so now people start finding out. That's one good thing about Terminal Island I could say. When I went to Cleveland, I was in a room and in the next room was another Terminal Island guy. This guy he heard me talking so he banged on the wall and said, "Who is that? You're from Terminal Island heh?" I went next door and it was Seiji Hirami. Maybe I didn't see Terminal Island people for four or five years, maybe ten years or twenty years. There's no invisible barrier between the Terminal Island people. If I see them fifty years from now, I feel I can just talk as though I didn't see you for one day. That's the difference of Terminal Island people. Feeling is there. That's why Terminal Islanders stick together too much. They say I hear people say when we go to Las Vegas.

Izumi

Before we go any further, I want to go back to your job as a fisherman. In a normal job, we get paid by the hour, or so much salary. What kind of pay did the fisherman have?

Hamasaki

Before the war and after the war, we got the same way of getting paid. Like if there were ten men on a boat, ten men get each share. Out of ten working fishermen, you have to add three shares on the boat. Makes thirteen shares. Now add captain's share, two shares, net share too. Boat's owner gets six to seven shares, mast man get one and a half shares, engineer gets one and a half shares, rest of crew get one share. Add them shares all together and divide it. That's the way it was to work before and we get paid end of the season. End of three weeks of one dark. We talk like dark moon to dark moon and lots of people did not understand us but it's from one full moon to the next full moon. I think we were making the most money compared to any wage people working on the land - wage people. No, Of course there were lean time, good time makes up for the lean time. And during the depression we never seem to suffer any. We always had food on the table. See, that's the amazing part. When I was in Chicago, we had soup plant. We were eating all the time and we didn't know what the depression was. We're lucky.

Izumi

We're going forward. You came out of camp and said you went to Kalamazoo. When you return west again did you go back to fishing or what did you do?

Hamasaki

No, I went traveling all over. There's a lot of details but jumping from my first relocation, I traveled all over the country. I went into the service. Two years, mostly at Monterey Presidio (M.I.S.),

Izumi

What was your duties there?

Hamasaki

After I finished the school, I couldn't go. I had to sign up one more year—extension. You had to have eleven months oversea duties or you can't go. You had to extend one more month. Then you got to go. So that General asked, "Mr. Hamasaki, you want to go to Japan? You can stay one more year." One more year! One more year seemed a long time. I didn't sign up. I told the Lt. Colonel, "See all those fishing boat. My father won't fight from Southern California. I'm going to fish after I get discharged from the service." That was in 1948. Then I came to Los Angeles. I got the traveling money. I came from Chicago as I was inducted from Chicago at Fort Sheridan. Then I came here for my basic training at Fort Ord, then to Presidio. Then after I graduated. Then I was the head of that thing over there. The sport arena. [Unable to read name] was one of my helper there. The football player.

Izumi

this was at the Presidio?

Hamasaki

Yes, it was at the Presidio. Man I had a good job there. Man, I didn't do nothing over there. Cuz I was in a special team, swimming and boxing. I did in M.I.S. Travel all over.

Izumi

At that time you trained for the Olympic, didn't you?

Hamasaki

Yeah, I represented the Sixth Army in swimming. The first heat, the college guys were too good. Too good, man. That first place they chop me the trophy there.

Izumi

You're out of the army now. I hear you had quite an experience fishing in South America.

Hamasaki

Boy, South America!

Izumi

They claim that's the highlight of your life.

Hamasaki

Yeah, I guess you could call it that.

Izumi

Give us some of the highlights there.

Hamasaki

To me, I traveled all the way from Mexico to Guatemala to El Salvador to Honduras to Nicaragua to Costa Rica to Panama to Columbia, Equador and Peru. I went that far all the way up and down for four years, fishing. You know where is the most fascinating country? Costa Rica. Nice, clean, people are friendly. The people and Costa Rica are well known among the Central America nations cuz they don't have any graft and they do not have revolution and stuff like that. Costa Rica was one of the best country in Central America. The home port was Puntarenas. That's the place you know Van Camp Company, Chicken of the Sea. They had cannery over there. There was our home port. So all of the neighbors went to fish the country up and down all the way to Panama to maybe Nicaragua, that area. We use to unload in Costa Rica but otherwise, some other place we set in the Grace Line. You know the Banana boat that goes down the coast. They stop at Panama. They have refrigeration so whatever we catch in Peru or Equador or Columbia we use to come to Panama and wait for the ship. We use to unload the fish and then go out. The most experiencing thing is the crisis at the Church of Cartago and (coca cinder deal?). Those things they have history. Cococinder got big history about the Morgan, the pirate burning the church in Panama and the Panamanians Indians painted the wall all black. They painted that wall. And underneath was pure gold wall. The Church of Panama. That's the number one church in the whole Western Hemisphere. And the second one, third one is in Mexico and one in Costa Rica. Costa Rica church that's where the angel suppose to be sitting on the rock. They saw the image of the angel and that's where they built the Church of Cartago and put the gold. They made a Madonna out of that angel. That Madonna was worth $1 million. It had all the emeralds, jewels and everything. These guys from the United States, New York, I heard they stole that thing. They stole that darn thing. Sold that thing. I was sleeping on the boat and I heard all the noise. Went outside and asked what happened. The whole country is closed. They closed the whole country, business and all. You know what these people did? They all donated their money to the church to make this new thing. And every different part of the country they had their own flag—own town flag. They got their thing, march up that hill to the Church Cartago. They walked. From Costa Rica. From Puntarenas. San Jose is the capital. How many miles from San Jose? I don't know. Some people walked two days but you can reach over there, you know. I could see from the airplane, I needed to fly. You can go up and come down as Costa Rica is a small country. You should have seen the people. Then I went to the church, under the church, downstair. People go there just like the Japan's Kan no san —the smoke thing. They're doing the same thing, washing their feet, injured place, everywhere. I asked what they were doing. They explain it to me it's the healing power. That one of the thing I bet most of the guys have never seen a real church. A real church like St. Paul, something like that. It's amazing! It's beautiful! That's the first time I saw a church. That's where the Father ordained my St. Christopher. I still have the St. Christopher. You know what a St. Christopher is? It's Sea God. Protects the fisherman. I still got it.

Izumi

You know, I read this article about your trip to Central America in the Rafu Shimpo. I think you talked a lot about the young kids, didn't you?

Hamasaki

You befriend the kids. I always tell everyone. Treat the young kids good. They always remember you. You know, if you treat the young kids well, they can't forget you. Maybe if some one was generous to you when you were little, you gonna never forget that guy. You know all these poor guys around here when they say, "Give me a quarter" I always give them a quarter or something but I always say, "Remember I'm a Japanese and I'm giving you this. When you get to be a mayor or governor, remember I gave you this. Will you?" "Oh yes, man. Yeah, yeah, yeah!" I still got the image. I still remember those things. When you treat a guy like Togi. Togi treated me real good. He came on that kinda ship over here on the "Kantai," training ship from Japan. He became captain of the ship, training vessel. He told me. Saburo Kuramoto say they called him up and he went to meet him and he was the captain of the vessel already. That's why I say always treat these small, little kids good. I did. You know, I rent an apartment. I sleep over there ten days. This was forty-five years ago I'm talking about. Everything cheap then. Americans are rich so I use to have an apartment to live with somebody. Everytime I come be sure nobody is in there but I let all these poor kids sleep there. Shoeshine boys. I had about a dozen shoeshine boys with me. Everytime they run an errand for me, "Are you hungry?" I use to feed them arroz con pollo. That's steak, number one steak in Costa Rica. It was cheap though, twenty-five cents. Arroz con pollo. That's the country's most popular food. I didn't know what it was before. When you go to a foreign country, you don't want to eat nothing. I drink nothing, especially water that kind of place. I always use to drink juice over there so did these little boys. I treat them good. Few of them came to this country. They look me up. Yeah, they came. They still remember. Oh, that was the most amazing thing and they brought me fish. Yeah, they brought me fish and I had the other old lady, heh. The black guy in the harpu(?). Who is that guy who brought the fish? It can't be that guy I was thinking. By golly, it was that guy! "What the heck are you doing in America?" He was a helper on the boat and was ten or eleven years old and use to wash dishes on our boat. Our captain was a good guy too. He hired those guys to come help every time we needed to feed them all the time— errand boys. We lived in Puntarenas for two months without working, you know. I felt like a native over there. That's why I got to know everybody over there. That's why before the war, they had four fishing fleets over there, boats from Japan. The Japanese treat the natives good. Not like the shinajins (Chinese). They're clannish. Japanese fisherman married too and had little kids growing too. Call Hiroshi, Kiyoshi, they come. "Yeah, here's $1. Go buy something." One dollar means twelve colon so you get to eat for one week—eat good. Everything was real cheap. Mexico was ten peso to $1. Here twelve colon to $1. You could buy a lot of stuff. I use to bring home bunch of alligator purse and perfumes. I use to go to Panama and free-duty port over there and I use to bring all kinds of things over here. Cheap like hell, everything. That was the good part of it. That's why I know the whole town. I had all kinds of kids following me around. That's why they never worked.

Izumi

Well, that's one of your highlight then?

Hamasaki

I don't know if you call them highlight but I had lots of fun in that town though. I never had that kind of fun. You know, money talks and I was young. That's why when you're old and have money, it's a different kind of fun again. But when you're young and have money, baby, you got the town by the finger, man! You can do anything. You even know the mayor and the chief-of-police over there. That's why you can do anything and get away. Hey, man I never saw any place like that.

Izumi

You were famous there. Now you were also famous, I guess when the Congressional Committee was here listening to the redress. I heard you were one of the "star" person that testified in front of the Congressional Committee. Give us a little bit of that.

Hamasaki

Actually, everybody, you know, were you at the Terminal Island meeting at University Avenue when the Long Beach guy came?

Izumi

No.

Hamasaki

You weren't there. University of Long Beach, UCLA and USC. They came to me and say, "We need a guy like you." "Okay" I don't give a darn. I say, "What do you want me to say? I'll say anything if you want me to say anything." They say, "No, we'll write you something so this is the way you say it at the redress." This is the redress time now, you know. I went through a lot of stuff. This and that, too much trouble. You gonna end up this and that everything. "How is it going to be?" I told them.

When the time came five at a time we go redress time. And five guys sit in front. One guy finish, then another bunch come and like that. By the time I came on, they gave me the paper to read. I look at it. What the hell is this darn thing I'm saying. One of them, I forgot her name, Sue Embrey, I think said, "Read this." "Nah. I told you what I'm going to do. I told you guys I'm going to say whatever I want to say, not what you guys want to say." "Sure?" "Sure. If you don't like it whatever I want to say why did you call me over up here for?" So when they call my name, you're suppose to sit down and talk but I like to stand up and talk. I don't know why. That's my habit. You know what I did? The committee keep on hearing the same old story, repetitious thing. They're tired of this thing. "Hey!" I went like this. "Hey!" I went like this. They all jump up like that. Then I put my punch line, "Unconstitutional!" I told them. "Why?" That guy said. Then I went to the story what happened—cruelty to the people, no trial, you get arrested. So I went through all that thing. If I get into detail the story will be long. That's why I explained it to them all what was wrong. One thing I said that nobody said. Hayakawa was there. I told Mr. Hayakawa, he's a semanticist. He know how to talk and this and that but he's not an American citizen and he's a Canadian. Now that Canadian man got lots of money and everything. But he don't know the experience that we went through. So if we get $25,000 it'll be a shame to collect $25,000 from the government. You know what I told him that time? He say, but I say all the audience listening over here are probably going to agree with me because when you put $25,000 cash here and when you take the Japanese pride and put pride over here, Japanese people pride, which will we grab first? One thing I say, other thing is irrelevant but naturally if I was me or you, I'll take the twenty-five grand and hell with the pride. PRIDE. To hell with it. I put it down. I take the money. All the hardship and trauma we went through we'll take the money. I say to everybody. I told them that and other things the people didn't say nothing. There's other kind of things I said but then I put down the only white lady, the one that fight against the redress, Lillian Baker. I told her. You know what I say about Baker? "Baker, you're a faker."

From Washington D.C. they sent me the whole testimony—paper. I still got it somewhere in the house. And when they went to the Washington thing, M.I.S. guy they all went to the Smithsonian Institute, they got all the stuff over there. Remember Minoru Hara? He sent me the whole thing again. Did you see that? So what? He always write letters that guy and send me that kind of thing. Redress time. And then Mr.— asked me what I wanted is $25,000. I said, "No. I want $50,000 for what I went through." Everybody woke up though by that time. I was making all kind of noise. I was yelling and I was like that. I told you I was going to express my feelings. But you know what I found out after that? I got hate letter. These guys they're smart. They send hate letter to this house. They want me to bitch and cry to the JACL or redress committee and Rafu Shimpo. See, they try to do that, I know. I told these guy, "Hey, see what I told you guys. This kind of thing is going to happen?" Sure enough it happened. See, I knew it already before I went. If you testify strongly, then you'll get hate letter. I got three of them. "Freedom Avenue" one of them said. "If you don't like the country, go back where you come from." That kind of thing they wrote. Yeah man, I knew it. You know what another thing. F.B.I. was on my tail. Did you know that? I never told this to anybody. F.B.I. Do you know what the F.B.I. do? At work they call me, "Are you Charlie Hamasaki?" "Yeah, what do you want?" They didn't say F.B.I. "We like to make a movie about a person that is Japanese background and these two girls coming back from the East and they want to join you but they get raped or get into certain kind of trouble so that's why you're going to be in that thing." I went couple of times you know to interview. They take me out to dinner and everything and go to the house and talk about the movie script and that. You know what I start thinking? These guys are bull-shitting me. I know. These kinda movie thing or he's from Canada or he's from New York, they're telling me but they said, "Bring a picture of you." What are you going to do with the picture? Where are you doing something. So they want this is me. Shinnenkai song I was singing, that kind. I sent it to you. They were testing me out. Yeah, I went through the whole script just The Karate Kid. That was the same plot it was. Amazing, man, I didn't tell anybody that because nobody is going to believe me. I went to high-tone restaurant with them too. These three guys. They came to check me out—whether I was an activist or not. See, they came to check me out and because I did that some guy say, "We need a guy like you. Why don't you come work for us?" They told me that. I didn't get mad. What the hell did I want to get involved for? Like I said from the beginning this is the way it's going to be and it got that way. These college students guys smart in books and stuff like that but they're not smart in street language. That's the difference between the college guy and me. Yeah, that's a lot of difference. Experience it, everything in life. So you meet all different kind of people. You learn a lot of darn things. So you gotta know who to talk to smart people, mediocre people and bums. You know you have to be versatile.

Izumi

What eventually came from the script they were trying?

Hamasaki

That was it. They found out I was a regular guy. That's what I thought. And that was it. They forgot and dropped everything. After that I never heard from them. They just drop "Bump," just like that. "I don't want to disrupt your family life and work and everything." They start talking like that. To me it was bull-shit. It was a check up. You remember, sure, movie star, Hula Hula and dumb goddamn, what do you think I am! Those young punks, they think I don't know nothing. If you lead certain type of life you find out about these things. A guy who is in too much books they're the most dumbest guy. They're smart in book only. They're not knowledgeable in lot of things. That's why I'm glad I fool around here and there and everywhere and learned a lot of thing, good things and bad things. You gotta learn the bad thing then you know what's good and bad. No sense learning everything good. You gotta learn the bad things too. That's why oya baka comes out.

Izumi

So even from Terminal Island after you left Terminal Island you had quite a colorful life, heh?

Hamasaki

To me, I tell you. I always tell everybody I don't care if I die because I led a ten men's life. I tell them. You know, I led a ten men's life so I think I did everything possible that I want to do. But I want to see the world one time. I was thinking the older you get you don't wanna go no place. That's why I was lucky I did everything myself without anybody coming with me. That's one thing I regret. I didn't have no partner to go around every place. I did everything by myself. No body wanted to do anything. They were scared, especially during the war time. They don't want to go no place. But I remember when I was in Bismark, North Dakota, one old man told me, "When you're young, do everything possible." He said. "Or you'll never regret it if you do everything. And when you get old and if you didn't do it, then you'll never know what was good." It's too late already. That why my philosphy in life, have fun and do anything you want. That way you won't regret it afterwards. With experience, I think. I don't regret nothing. Man, that's why I'm satisfied today. I'm real satisfied I did, even if I'm not rich or anything. Yeah, sometimes I don't envy these rich guys. You know I envy, but I envy myself. You do everything you want then you're free. You're never tied down. Lots of guys are tied down, one chain is tied down to the house. Lots of guys like that. Real free, yeah, do anything, enjoy your life. One guy told me when you're dead you be dead for eons. Thousands and thousands of years, you know. When you're alive you got only thirty years of good time. Its even the thirty years is kinda too long. Cuz up to ten years old you don't know nothing. From ten to maybe thirty years, you enjoy a little bit. From thirty to forty you enjoy the most. So enjoy the most. Cuz when you're dead, you're dead for a thousand year. So out of all this million year this world existed, heh, what's twenty years of your life? That's a real short boot. Just a snap on your finger and your life is gone. So you gotta squash everything into this years that's most important thing, I think. My mom use to say that. That's why I try to put everything inside. Man, there's a lot of bad thing involved too. But there's a lot of good things involved too. If I say about the bad thing, the story grow more. Exciting things I should say.

Izumi

Well, you got anything to add on about the state Terminal Island or your life? You gave us a lot of your...

Hamasaki

Number one. I love Terminal Island. Lots of other guys do too. Lot of guys my age or maybe five years younger than I am or five to ten years older. That's the center nucleus of the Terminal Island life. That's the guy that really know Terminal Island not the guys that was ten years below cuz they don't have too much to talk about. They don't have lots of things cuz they see just their family. Like us guys we know we live over there nineteen years so we just remember maybe fifteen years of Terminal Island which is real short but Terminal Island people still, we even today, stick together. Amazing part of thing. We don't seem to have the trouble in our organization. That's why I think, we get along real good. Whenever we have problem we gotta speak up. Cuz I remember one time we had a meeting at Kyoto Sukiyaki and I was telling those guys, "Hey, you guys community this and that you're getting something but you know, what's going to happen. You gotta get a lawyer afterward. Because you got few technical kinda things." Sure enough it happened. When you collect money here and there where is the money going to go? You gotta put it in the bank and take that tax thing and all that. That's the way it got. I told them. This was long time ago. See, I think about those thing. Terminal Island, I'm glad we had these guys who put all their effort into Terminal Island organization. If it wasn't for these guys, it would be nothing. Pretty soon everything's going to die away. Eventually, it's going to die away. Eventually. Cuz these other Sansei and Yonsei they aren't going to take interest. Cuz we gotta have something left over, for to talk about. "Once upon a time there was a community like Terminal Island" We won't let it die. Just simply just die. We gotta leave some legacy or thing like that. That's the thing. Even today I say, all these Terminal Islanders when I married first time I took my wife over there. "This is the place where I grew up—almost born and raised" and I took my present wife over there too. I'm not the only one that's doing that. There's whole bunch of other guys doing that same thing. Nostalgia. They just go and just look around, smell the smelly air or whatever, which got lots of vitamin cuz it comes from fish smell—vitamin E. I say lots of time the air. The air is not smog air. It's vitamin air coming from the fish smell. But that was one good community. Even today the old Issei that's left over, "Gee, nothing like Terminal Island." They all say that. They all say that. There gotta be some meaning to that. Even today, they all think like that. What the hell. Well ,I'm glad actually there was a war cuz if it wasn't for the war, we'd still probably live in Terminal Island maybe, leading a simple life. Now we're more educated. We know what the hell outside look like now. If it wasn't for the war, you would have never made your life. You would have never met her. Look at all these Imperial Valley guys. They had to live in a hot place in Imperial Valley. Do you think they want to go back? Nah. No because of the war, we have reunions, we have parties and things like that. If it wasn't for the war, it'll be boring. See ,we don't have this redress. This war became for all different people to mingle and know each other and find out about each other—from Washington all the way to Arizona. So actually the war did the Japanese American a great favor. That's what I say one time when I made a speech at Cultural Center. I told in front of lots of people what the war meant.

Now getting back to Terminal Island, I had lots of people fascinated by Terminal Island that they had a place like that. They can't believe it. All my neighbors from all different place, they don't know. That's why Terminal Island people got lots of friends. You gotta treasure your friends. Even you got your brothers and sisters but your friends are real important too, you know. If you have no friend, you're a lost soul.

Izumi

Even after sixty years, heh?

Hamasaki

Sure. Sixty years of friends. They tell me to join this club, that club around our neighborhood. Be friendly with your neighbor and go out with your neighbor and do a lot of things with them. Hey, if I do that I don't got any time for my other friends. So that's why I'm just sociable with my neighbor and around Seinan community. But actually whenever Terminal Island get together or something, that's number one on my list. My agenda number one is Terminal Island activity. That's one thing. I'm not the only one that feel that way. Lots of guys feel that way—just like me. Of course everybody not like me. There's few once-in-a-while kind. Some ninety percent they don't come. Some of them one hundred percent don't want to mingle no more. Too much trouble for them. Actually deep in their soul, I bet, one of these day they're going to say, "I'm going to come to the picnic or thing like that to meet my old friends." And few of them are doing that. That's the difference. They still want to remember their childhood. They still want to remember their childhood. That's why when they see their old friends. they get tears in their eyes. I know cuz I can tell by looking. They're happy. They're happy. They have to treasure that one thing. It's amazing. It's not friends you made couple of years ago and this friendship have to treasure for the rest of your life kind. It follows you any place. That's how it is. That's why you can talk to Terminal Islanders. You go cut them down or anything, they don't get mad. You talk like this to somebody you just met, they don't speak to you until you die. That's what I call Terminal Islander. The real Terminal Islander. Whoever listening to this thing, it's coming from the bottom of my heart.

Izumi

O.K. Charlie, that was wonderful! Charlie was known as, I guess, one of the most colorful character, I shouldn't say character but personality that came out of Terminal Island. And as Japanese would say, he's like a green bamboo. When you split a green bamboo, it splits right down the center, straight and that's what our friend here is—a straight person that doesn't hold anything back, with a golden heart. Thank you!

Hamasaki

That's a compliment.

Izumi

As an after thought, Charlie has one to two more items he wants to put into this tape.

Hamasaki

Listening to my, I don't call it essay, anything like that. Listening to my interview, a lot of peopl gotta think what kind of English is this guy talking about. He got an education from kindergarten all the way to Technical Junior College, I went to Los Angeles Technical. That's me. This guy's English—what kind of English is this? He sounds like a Kibei, sounds maybe Hawaiian, a Japanese but he got certain kind of accent. Well, let me tell you from the basic standpoint. The thing is, the school was ninety-nine percent Japanese and one percent Caucasian so we all talk Japanese until the sixth grade. We talk nothing but Japanese. This Russian-Caucasian they knew only how to talk Russian and Japanese. They were fluent in Japanese. When we went to junior high school, we all got taken into this auditorium. You know, what the teacher says, "Since you're here in San Pedro Junior High School you all have to learn how to talk English." That's how bad we were. See that's where my English came out. Out of this Japanese accent, a certain type of Japanese accent, we turn into English. That's why there's certain English accent have Japanese accent or Terminal Island accent I should say. So when we went to camp, lot of Nisei young girls and guys say, "Look at all the Kibei group." That was us. They thought we was educated in Japan. Came just up the boat. No, I tell them. I explained to few people but I been explaining it over and over. I got tired of explaining so I finally say, "We're all Kibei." We told them. Then they understood. But actually we weren't. The way we talk it's similar to each other but one or few of them talk pretty good but most of them talk like me. Maybe a little bit better. That's a point I want to say because of this interview you might think this guy is from Japan. He don't know nothing. That's the way. So I hope you people understand, whoever listens. Thank you!

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Min Hara
• Date:
•     July 31, 1990
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

I am a Nisei, born in 1922 at Terminal Island, California, a part of Los Angeles Harbor; a family of two boys and two girls. My father came to the west coast before the turn of the century, 1895 as an immigrant hoping to become a permanent citizen. He helped lay the ties and rails of the Santa Fe Railways all the way from Sacramento to Bakersfield area. My mother was a "picture bride" from the same tiny fishing village as my father's, Tahara, Wakayama Prefecture, Japan. Although my parents never had an education beyond the sixth grade, my father knew the importance of knowledge. He was always boasting to us that he was able to read and write our English language before he ever set foot on our land. Although it was a prerequisite to have $50 before landing, he had only $49.00, but being able to speak for himself the immigration officer allowed him to pass. All others with less than $50 were turned back. His Japanese-English dictionaries were still on my bookshelves when the evacuation started, but unfortunately I had to dump it during our hasty "exile" from Terminal Island. I still cannot forget the day a Marine Corporal came knocking on our door, pointing an Automatic Forty-Five (which wasn't necessary) and saying, you people of Japanese Ancestry have forty-eight hours to get off this island." My father's family ran a small freight shipping business to Tokyo-Yokohama area, but their business failed when my grandfather died, my father was six months old. My widowed grandmother who also had two sons and two daughters could not support them so the two boys decided to immigrate to Africa and make a better living for themselves. My uncle immigrated ten years prior to my father. This village of Tahara has a sub-division called Sabe. While working for Santa Fe Railways, about 200 of this villagers were among this railroad gang, majority being from Tahara and a few from Sabe. A foreman was showing one of my father's villagers how to drive in the spikes. Upon finishing his demonstration, he asked, "You sabe?" Not being able to fully understand English nor Spanish, my father's friend replied, "No! Me Tahara." This accidental pun made my father laugh so much he repeatedly told it to us whenever we asked about the "old days." He was mighty proud that he was selected to clean the Presidential Car during an election stop at that time. I used to wonder why he kept a gold $5 piece on his watch fob, this was one of the coins he earned for eleven back-breaking hours of work for $1 a day. They got paid only in gold coins in those days. He saw several cowboys holding up a payroll train while working on this railroad. Samurai era was over when he was a child, but he remembered seeing two renegade samurai with swords being chased by "modern" police of that time. I wonder if any Isseis could lay claim to seeing an end of two eras like he did. After quitting the railroad, he tried strawberry farming, running a boarding house, houseboy-handyman for a bank president in San Diego and he finally settled down on Terminal Island. He was a Captain of a fishing vessel with a twelve to fourteen men crew when he retired. Not being eligible for the Social Security payments, he decided to return to his native village in 1938. Being able to speak our language as well as his own, he always wanted to become a citizen, but he saw no hope of becoming one so one of his final statements to me was, "Your country's in big trouble if they keep up this discrimination business."

My father's one and only advise was, "Start your own enterprise and be your own boss." I never heeded my father's good advise so to this day I'm still working for someone else.

1938 - During my first year in high school, my parents retired and suddenly decided to go back to Japan. And like a damn fool I dropped out of school to tag along with them. To me it was a hellish ten months of misery. I couldn't speak or read their language and there was a shortage of food in general due to the heavy export of foodstuff to their invading troops in China and Manchuria. The Principal of the local grammar school made fun of us Niseis since we wouldn't conform to their way of thinking. I resolved never to come back to such a militaristic state; especially when the Secret Police picked me up for couple hours of interrogation right before I boarded a ship at Kobe, Japan.

1939 - I felt like kissing the ground upon landing at Wilmington, California. I re-entered San Pedro High; that ten months of folly set me back a year in school.

1941 - The morning of Sunday, December 7th, I was listening to the radio while still in bed when suddenly I heard the noise of bombs exploding and the newscaster shouting that this is the real thing, I knew right away that we were already in a shooting war. My first thought was about my high school classmates who dropped out during that year to join the Navy. I felt sick in the stomach when I read the list of dead published in the Life magazine. My San Pedro High School classmates were among them. I continued going to school until we got the evacuation notice, but it sure was a trying time since some of the teachers just didn't care to have us in their classes.

1942 - All Terminal Islanders moved off the island. Where to, I don't know; but we moved to San Pedro for a few days and ended up in Boyle Heights, Los Angeles in a hostel run by the American Friends Committee. We will never forget the assistance and kindness shown us by their members such as Ms. Esther Rhoades, Mr. & Mrs. Herbert Nicholson, David Thurston Griggs and many others. The Boyle Heights group was evacuated to Poston, Arizona in May with a spiel from an Army Officer stating that a Company of Military Police will accompany us to guard us from outside harm. Upon reaching our train stop, Parker, Arizona, I set foot on my first American desert. While viewing this wonderful panoramic sight, I unknowingly walked toward the opposite direction from the crowd `til I walked into the muzzle of a Tommy Gun in my stomach. The M.P. waved me to go toward the other direction. It suddenly dawned upon me that we were going into a concentration camp, being treated as a Prisoner Of War. However, this shabby treatment never made me waiver from my resolve which I made while I was in Kobe, Japan. Upon entering camp, Poston Relocation Center, we were forced to sign a card once we put our thumb print upon it. I tried to read the content when my brother got angry for holding up the line. My predecessor was refusing to sign so they told him that he could not enter this camp. I saw him the next day in the very same Block I was assigned to so I asked him about the content. He told me that I signed a card stating that we won't hold the U.S. government responsible for illegal detention during the war. To this day, I still wonder. Although my detention in camp was for a mere seven months, being a finicky eater, I lost fifteen to twenty pounds. I just couldn't stand food that I have never eaten before, such as catfish, hominy, rutabaga, liver, etc. All I can say is that my life in camp was nightmarish. I know the Jews in Germany had it rougher, but ours was no picnic either. The gall of our government was to call it a "Relocation Camp." The monthly wages in camp was $19.00 for professionals, $16.00 for semi-skilled and $12.00 for general laborer. I applied for an electrician's job, but they had no such category so I volunteered to try out as a hospital orderly. A Caucasian male nurse taught me the first few weeks, but he eventually left so I was left with his duties too. Due to shortage of qualified personnel, I started to prepare patients for the operating table and subsequently got to witness scores of surgeries. I worked in the General Ward, Isolation and Maternity. During late summer of '42, rumors of Army Recruiters were coming to look for volunteers for Military Intelligence School. Eventually, Sgts. Jerry Shibata (formerly from Frisco Bay area) and Paul Uno (formerly from Seattle) showed up so I went to sign up. I heard about sixty signed up, but only eight showed on the day they came to ask us to enlist. The reason for this small turnout from America's largest concentration camp was that the entire Poston Camp I was on strike. The camp was so huge, it was divided into three sections, two miles apart. I hitch-hiked to Camp II one morning, but due to the intense desert heat (anywhere from 125 to 135 degrees F.) in the afternoon, I couldn't walk back. The strike demand was for better pay, food and some sort of a clothing allowance, I believe. But, I don't think they ever got it. I volunteered for Camp Savage, Minnesota on this very day and left that night with seven others. Volunteers were James Sasano, Yumiji Higashi, Juichi Nick Nishi, Tom Tsuyuki, Roy Takai, Sam Rokutani, Pat Nagano and myself.

Staff Sergeant Min Hara RA 18184273 20 November 42 to 4 January 47

20 November 42 - Volunteered at Poston Relocation Center, Arizona for U.S. Army (Colorado River Indian Reservation) Military Intelligence School at Camp Savage, Minnesota. Experienced 135 plus degree heat in the barren desert of Arizona, then a record breaking minus forty-two degree bitter cold winter in the "Land of 10,000 Lakes," Minnesota. Only eight of us enlisted from America's largest concentration camp due to strike action at that time. We went through twenty-six weeks of intensified course while trying to learn to read and write the Japanese language.

July-August 43 - Shipped down to Camp Shelby, Mississippi for accelerated Basic Training Course. We got temporarily attached to 442nd Regimental Combat Team as Company S. Although there are no Company S in the whole U.S. Army, Captain Crowley the new C.O. gave us this designation to indicate Savage. One of the best Captains I have met during my four years of service. I hoped he lived through the war to see better times.

August 43 - Returned to Fort Snelling, Minnesota temporarily `til more new barracks were constructed at Camp Savage. Held daily translation practice `til the day of departure for oversea assignment. Language Teams of ten men each was formed. Our Team was headed by a veteran of the Attu-Kiska Campaigns, Aleutian Islands, Alaska. Staff Sergeant George T. Hayashida participated in the annihilation of the 2,000 men Attu Garrison. He saw the remains of the Base C.O. Colonel Yamasaki on the battlefield. He interrogated some of the first radar technicians (civilians) captured there. His mother or a girl friend sent him a chocolate cake while he was stationed here, caught up with him at Cape Sansapor, Dutch New Guinea. The cake was hard as a concrete block. Our Table of Organization when we departed for oversea duty.

                   

Team Leader:	S/Sgt.	George T. Hayashida
Translator:	T/4	Soshiro Baba
Translator:	T/4	Kiyoshi Fujimura
Translator:	T/4	Minoru Hara
Translator:	T/4	Tom Matsumura
Translator:	T/4	Hiroshi Onishi
Interpreter:	T/5	Shizuo Kunihiro
Interpreter:	T/5	Theodore Takano
Interpreter:	T/5	Nobuo Yamashita

January 44 - Departed with two other Teams from the Camp Savage Railroad Station on a cold winter night for Oakland, California. Scores of G.I. friends and instructors came to see us off. Got stationed on Angel Island (next to Alcatraz Island) in San Francisco Bay. Made it very inconvenient for us to visit San Francisco on weekends. No place to visit on this bleak island so we volunteered for K.P. duty since the chow was so delicious.

5 February 44 - Departed Oakland unescorted for unknown destination on a brand new 10,000 ton "Liberty Ship" named Ada Rehan. Zigzagged through the mine fields outside the Golden Gate Bridge. I got seasick when we were still within sight of land, while laying down on the bare deck with no barriers, the huge land swells started to rock our ship, Tom Matsumura came running over admonishing me, "Min, you're going to fall off so I'll tie this rope around your waist." And how I wished that I could so I can swim for shore. We continued zigzagging all the way to the South Pacific. After two days out, we saw an overloaded oil tanker, deck awash, with fighter planes tied down on her deck. But no other ships were to be seen for the next twenty-eight days! To my buddies, this voyage must have been an experience of boredom, but to me, it was thirty-one days of agony. Me, an exfisherman's son getting seasick till we sighted land, the south-western tip of British New Guinea. As we neared the combat zone in the South Pacific, our Merchant Marine Captain asked us to take day and night watches for enemy submarines and aircrafts. Not a gripe was heard from any of the twenty-two G.I. "passengers." The reason for this request was that he was torpedoed two days out of Brisbane, Australia on his previous maiden voyage. As we approached Coral Sea, we suddenly hit a terrible storm which lasted for two whole days. The Captain told us that we've been drifting back all during this time in spite of the engine churning full speed ahead. The swells were so big it towered over the superstructure of our ship. The ship rode on some of these swells and the propeller was grinding in free air. Imagine! Our all metal ship was creaking and bouncing like a ball. A few of the sailors on board had a similar experience while they were up in the Aleutian waters and you can imagine how we felt when they said that their ship cracked in half. Probably this was the only time I did not feel my seasickness. When the calm returned, the night watch was a pleasure being able to see the Southern Cross and millions of other stars due to the clear pollution free atmosphere. It seemed as though you can see four to five times more stars here than in the Northern Hemisphere. I believe this was the most enjoyable part of our thirty-one days voyage.

8 March 44 - Arrived in Milne Bay, British New Guinea (now called, Papua). We had a submarine scare right before entering this bay, but found it to be a tree trunk floating vertically like a periscope. I saw a black marlin larger than any I have ever seen in any record book of fishing or in a museum, following the garbage we were dumping from the fantail of our ship. Islands off shores looked more beautiful than any Hollywood movies I have ever seen, but found it to be hell after we landed. Slimy mud up to our knees, hot and humid and plenty of mosquitoes. After visiting the base hospital, found out more of our troops were falling victim to malaria and dengue fever than from enemy bullets. Not only out of curiosity, but being typical American souvenir hungry G.I.s, we went to see a battleground where the Australian forces had fought off a Japanese landing in the previous year. The wreckage of Japanese wooden landing crafts were jutting out from the sandy beach all over the area, the stench of human deads were still there, as we dug in the sand for souvenirs. I was appalled at the sight of seeing thousands of coconut palm trunks, half a mile deep, two to three miles wide, lopped off at the height of seven to eight feet by naval gun fire. It looked as if a giant scythe went through the whole beachhead. After taking Atabrine tablets for a month, all the G.I.s' complexion started to turn yellow. G.I.s coming down with malaria were usually the ones that avoided taking these bitter pills nor were using their mosquito nettings which was issued to all the troops. They started to put the Atabrine tablets into the bread which made it come out yellow. What a nasty tasting bread! We took all these precautions, but some of us still came down with fever of some sort. After several weeks of waiting, we finally got attached to the Sixty Infantry Division as the 169th Language Detachment, G-2 Section (Intelligence). The troops were mostly from the mid-West and quite a number of Minnesotans. We formed a two men team and went to each of our three Regiments while four men stayed with the Division Headquarters. The Division consisted of First Infantry, Twentieth Infantry and the Sixty-Third Infantry Regiments and other supporting units. We gave orientation lectures to each and every one of our units, on how to identify enemy documents, about the enemy we were going to face and what our objective will be once we got into combat.

May 44 - We sailed north-westerly several hundred miles to re-enforce an independent regiment commanded by Brigadier General Edwin D. Patrick (later to command our Sixth Infantry Division) at Maffin Bay, Wakde-Sarmi Sector, Dutch New Guinea (now called, Irian). We had a wonderful reunion with couple of Savage grads T/Sgt. Terry Mizutari and Harry Fukuhara. I still can't forget the delicious lunch Harry gave us in the middle of the jungle, rice with cans of beef, captured, of course. And to this day, I feel bad for our bad manners, leaving all those mess kits for Harry to wash. I interrogated my first of many hundreds of Prisoner of War, remnants of the Japanese Tenth Air Force from Hollandia, Dutch New Guinea. Most of them were on the verge of starvation since they were all skin and bones. We made them nigiri meshi (rice balls) and told them to go easy since they haven't eaten for over a month, but some just didn't listen. I saw one of them gulp down three rice balls (bigger than our baseball) in a few minutes and I heard he died the following morning. I remember making a bath tub out of a fifty gallon drum so we could clean up one of the P.O.W. His physical condition was in such a poor state, from malnutrition and skin infections, wash cloth could not be used since his skin peeled off and blood poured out. Fortunately for the prisoner, our Field Hospital received their first supply of penicillin so I believe he survived. T/4 Sosh Baba and Hiroshi Onishi landed here with the First Infantry Regiment prior to our arrival so we did not see them for several days. I heard that General Patrick's Regiment was almost about to be pushed back into the sea when the First Infantry landed. Our Division Command Post moved up to a forward Sector a few days later when the Japanese Forces started to lob artillery shells so we had to immediately evacuate to a safer ground. Battle of Lone Tree Hill commenced when T/4 Tom Matsumura and T/5 Ted Takano went forward to join the 20th Infantry Regiment. Enemy opposition was so intense, taking prisoners was out of the question. Besides they fought till the last man. Tom and Ted were more busy dodging enemy artillery and mortar barrages than getting a chance to interrogate prisoners. They took shelter under an ambulance when the mortar barrages began and they told me that they bounced like a ping pong balls. Good thing they had their steel helmet on. T/5 Shiz Kunihiro and I got assigned to the Sixty-Third Infantry Regiment. We moved into the sector adjacent to the Twentieth Infantry since they advanced a few thousand yards. Heard later from Tom that we dugged in exactly where they got clobbered a few days before. We were fortunate in not receiving any more barrages, but the enemy left plenty of kesshitai (suicide squads) so we were constantly on the lookout for sniper fire. Every helmet I picked up and examined had a bullet hole right by the temple. Shiz and I were kept busy interrogating the trickle of prisoners that finally started to come in. Mind you, not voluntarily, they were shell shocked or badly wounded. We worked till sunset so Shiz and I were the last to dig our fox holes. I spent the longest night of my life here. Our fox holes were about five yards from the shoreline, water started to seep in from the sea when the tide came up, tropical rain came down in torrent, had to keep our rifle and ammo above water so I held it on top of my helmet all night. We couldn't afford to stick our heads up for fear of a sniper putting a bullet between our eyes. We had to jiggle our helmets on top of our rifle barrels before standing up in the mornings. Took us over a month to over-run Hill 225 for this Battle of Lone Tree Hill. Due to this stiff opposition we hardly took any prisoners. In most cases, the enemy was annihilated or pushed inland while we occupied the shoreline area anywhere from a quarter to half mile deep. Our backs were to the sea so all units had a front line, even our Division Headquarters. We were all recalled to Division C.P. where S/Sgt. George Hayashida headed his Team of T/4 Kiyo Fujimura, T/5 George Nakamura and T/5 Nob Yamashita. We experienced constant harassment from enemy infiltrators and snipers all along the front. One day, three ATIS men showed up from Brisbane, Australia, Sgts. J. Tanikawa (Veteran of WWI), Hugh Tsuneishi and another fellow (can't remember his name). They were eventually assigned to an outfit on Biak or Noemfor Island. I interrogated a prisoner captured by our paratroopers when they surprised the whole Noemfor Garrison sound asleep. Prisoner had a big gash on his stomach so I asked him for an explanation and this was his statement: "We heard of the rapid advance of the American Forces along the New Guinea coast so we held a flag burning ceremony (Regimental Color) a month before so it would not fall into enemy hands. Our forces were resigned to their fate, to fight to the death. The sounds of gunfire awaken me when I realized that our garrison was under attack. I immediately ran into my pillbox and started to fire my machine gun. However, your forces advanced right in front of my machine gun slot and commenced shooting their flame throwers so I immediately closed my steel door (machine gun slot). The slimy flame came seeping in, our oxygen was being exhausted so I tried committing hara kiri, but it was so painful, I stopped and decided to come out with my hands up." The prisoner's ears were signed and his stomach wound was superficial. But like many prisoners, he asked, "Am I the first Japanese prisoner?". While accompanying a prisoner back to our "rear lines," we saw all the tanks, half tracks, tank destroyers and other armored vehicles parked on the sandy beachhead which was useless in jungle warfare. The prisoner seeing all this said, "I'm positive we can win every battle if we had just half your equipment." And I said to myself, "I'm sure they can." We were fighting a decimated Regiment (223rd Infantry) with a whole Division. Must have been a helpless feeling for the Japanese infantrymen to fight a modern warfare with a bolt action rifle used in the Russo-Japanese War while we carried semiautomatic rifles. As we (Shiz Kunihiro and I) were returning from the front I we saw over a dozen trucks loaded down with our deads heading for our cemetery further down the coast. A G.I. came by and said, "I think I saw one of your boys (meaning Nisei) among them." Of course, our immediate thought was, "It can't be!" Upon reaching Division C.P., to our sorrow, we found it to be true. Heard a sniper got into our C.P. area, T/Sgt. Terry Mizutari was about to return fire when he got hit on the chest and staggered back into the arms of Kiyo Fujimura. Must have been an awful shock to Kiyo, seeing one of our comrades die in his arms. Captured documents started to roll in when we over-ran some enemy C.P.s four to five miles up the coast. I was interrogating a prisoner when the documents were unloaded by my feet and swarms of G.I.s milled around the pile so I asked everyone to move back and give us some space to work. However, one G.I. didn't move back so I yelled at him, "Get your ass back" or something to that effect. He said, "Okay! okay!" and I looked up to see my Commanding General Charles E. Hurdis smiling at me. The prisoner later asked me who I was yelling at because he noticed the two stars on his lapel. I told him that he was my C.G. and was he shocked. He said he would have been shot if he spoke like that even to his Sergeant. Losing Terry Mizutari the previous night, all of us were a bit shaken and jittery. T/4 Tom Matsumura and myself were to share a pyramidal tent that night, so fortunately for me, we decided to lay our rifles and bayonets in the far corner of the tent. Tropical heat was so unbearable we both slept on canvas cot with only our shorts on. Nature called during the night so I quietly crawled out hoping not to awaken Tom. Suddenly as I was about to crawl into my cot, I felt a body hit me with full force on my back and he started choking me with all his might. I immediately realized that the naked body was Tom's, but he was choking me so hard, I just could not call out. I kept on slapping his thigh till he finally released his hold realizing that it was me. "Min, is that you? Min, is that you?" "Tom, Tom, it's me!" We mutually shivered while we chain smoked till sunrise. Our first words in the morning was, "Boy! Good thing we left our arms in the far corner." In late August, the Thirty-First Infantry Division landed and took over our whole Sector. Then we started on our preparation for our next landing.

September 44 - We sailed for our next beachhead on LSTs. Aerial photography showed no enemy troop concentrations so the few escorting destroyers did not have to bombard the beaches. Our landing at Cape Sansapor, Dutch New Guinea was unopposed. We landed too far south of our objective so we had to walk about two more miles north-westerly. We saw some trees loaded down with black objects so I fired into it, turned out to be giant fruit bats with five to six feet wing span. Hundreds flew up, but this was the first and last sight I was to see of these huge bats. Not having any fresh fruits or vegetables for several month, Tom and I immediately went into the jungle in search of it. We ran across plenty of banana and papaya plants, but none of the fruits were large enough to eat. We swam in a water hole right next to the ocean not knowing the dangers of strange water, heard they shot a huge ocean going crocodile in this water hole the very next day. Later, prisoners told us of seeing their comrades devoured by crocodiles while they were swimming across some river. We picked a spot in a clearing which looked like a former Japanese outpost since they had a small grass hut with a garden along side of it. We found some lime trees loaded down with fruits and what a treat! Limeade for the next couple of days. The trees were picked clean by the third day, even the one inch diameter ones were gone. All the G.I.s that went wading into the jungle that day caught near fatal fever. Luckily, Tom and I were spared and we felt no ill effects. The garden was full of egg plants and konnyaku bulbs (vegetable) left drying all over the ground. Since we were all sick and tired of C-ration and dehydrated food, all the G.I.s were eagerly searching for something fresh. I told a few of our troops to try some of those Japanese "spuds" (konnyaku dama )while I explained to my Nisei teammates of its bitterness. This bulb is highly acidic so it must have been like biting into a green persimmon, we all had a good laugh when we saw all the G.I.s make nasty faces after taking a bite. Prisoners from the remnants of the Tenth Japanese Air Division, totally destroyed on the ground at Hollandia, Dutch New Guinea started to come in by the hundreds. Taiwan and Korean Labor Force prisoners came in willingly, but the die-hard Japanese had to be captured with the force of arms. We were kept busy for several weeks, interrogating and processing. The Labor Forces were being used by the Japanese Army to construct their airfields throughout the Southwest Pacific. A prisoner seeing our landing strip made in a little over two days, using bull dozers, steel landing mats, etc. said, "It would have taken us over half a year since we only had picks and shovels." Due to the life or death situation, cannibalism was practiced by the Japanese troops during their 500 mile trek through the dense jungles. Whenever a large group of prisoners came in, I was able to pick each and every Japanese that practiced cannibalism by just looking at their eyes. Their fierce looking eyes reminded me of a hungry Bengal Tiger. Upon interrogation, their only comment was, "Its a matter of survival." I asked several of their combat veterans if it's true that all dying soldiers shouted, "Tenno heika banzai!" (Long live the Emperor!) and their snickering answer was, maybe one soldier in 10,000. Another interjected, one in 20,000 is too high! They said all they ever heard was the word, "Okasan" (mother) on their dying lips. Most of them being veterans of North China Campaigns were apologetic for being captured, but like any human, some didn't give a damn. In fact, one didn't even care if he never got to see his wife and kid. We started to experience nightly air raids by two or three enemy bombers at exactly eight o'clock P.M. I always wondered why they never bothered to change their time. Anti-Aircraft Battery (claiming they were veterans of Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands) came to our assistance with their new radar controlled guns, but they couldn't knock one plane out of the sky. Meanwhile, our bomber and fighter strips got plastered. Our Division C.P. was hit one night and several of our comrades died in their sleep. George Hayashida, George Nakamura and I spent two days digging a bomb shelter, laying logs on top and sand bagging the roof and sides. However, when the bombs came down, I was sleeping right next to the entrance, but I couldn't get my whole body into our shelter since it was jammed pack with my nine other teammates. The other seven neglected to dig their own. We counted over 100 shrapnel holes in our roof of our pyramidal tent the next morning. Surprisingly, none of us got hit. Especially me with my butt sticking up in the air. All I got for my trouble was "strawberries" all over my legs, hitting the logs as I tried to dive for cover. Since we lived through these bombings, I would like to insert couple of humorous stories. During our search for souvenirs, Nob Yamashita came up with forty to fifty Japanese records and a wind-up victrola. While we were under one of these bombing attacks, Kiyo Fujimura plays, "Rabaru Kokutai" (Rabaul Air Force) and some of the G.I.s in other bomb shelters started to shout out, "Cut out that crap!" And laughingly, we were commenting, if they only understood the words, they'll probably come and throw a grenade in here.

Our Issei parents knowing that they'll never have the chance to become a U.S. citizen constantly dreamt of their homeland. Any Japanese government request or appeal for monetary assistance was gladly met. The appeal during the Manchurian Incident was for cigarette "tinfoil" for construction of part for their aikokuki (airplane). My folks used to make me get up early every weekend to go pick up empty cigarette packs. Then we had to dip it in a wash tub and peel off the foil and roll it up into a ball. Took me over two years to make a ten pound ball. A dozen years later, their beloved aikokuki is laying their eggs every night over my head. I don't know how my parents would have felt if I was to get killed like this, but I sure felt like kicking myself in the butt.

October 44 - George Hayashida and I flew down to Sixth Army Headquarters, then situated at Hollandia, Dutch New Guinea. We were met by seven to eight Japanese Zero Fighters and what a scare, but they turned out to be our flyboys who fixed it up for their joy ride by painting our insignias upon them. We landed on a former Japanese fighter-bomber strip near Lake Sentani. Mountain piles of Zero Fighters and Betty Bombers were bull dozed to one end of the airfield. We met a team of first Savage grads attached to our Air Force, crating captured planes to be shipped stateside instead of doing intelligence work. Guess the Air Force didn't know how to make better use of them. We ferried across Humboldt Bay to the Sixth Army Headquarters and met several Savage grads who we haven't seen since we parted at Camp Savage, Minnesota. Sgts. Cap Tsuneo Harada, William Toriumi, Harry Akune, Peter Nakahara and few others were here. Peter Nakahara and I had a nice long chat since we both went to the same high school and had lots of mutual friends. Sixth Army's G-2 Colonel understanding the value of Savage grads immediately gave us a promotion in grade with a new Table of Organization.

Promoted to:

• T/Sgt. G. Hayashida
• S/Sgt. K. Fujimura
• S/Sgt. M. Hara
• S/Sgt. H. Onishi
• T/3 S. Baba
• T/3 T. Matsumura
• Sgt. G. Nakamura
• T/4 S. Kunihiro
• T/4 T. Takano
• T/4 N. Yamashita

Cap Harada and Harry Akune took George Hayashida and me that afternoon to their P.O.W. stockade across the bay. Over 600 prisoners were interned here and we've noticed that quite a few were the ones we sent down from the front. Some came forward to thank us for the humane treatment we afforded them when they first came into our lines. The prisoners were feasting on their native dishes since our forces captured their entire food dump intact. Cap took us to see the food dump, cases of canned goods, row after row, stacked five to six feet high. He claimed there were enough food there to feed them for over ten years. George and I were supposed to fly back to Cape Sansapor that afternoon so Cap had the stockade cook make us a huge box of sushi. We went to the airfield hoping to take off immediately, but to our dismay there was no flight to our area that day. Consequently, we had to return back to Sixth Army Headquarters. All the Savage grads here helped us dispose of the box of sushi before it spoiled in the tropical heat. Our teammates at Cape Sansapor was greatly disappointed when we told them what happened. Visited Second Lt. Kim Hatashita (my hometowner) attached to a Signal Corp outfit nearby Lake Sentani. Their listening post was situated on top of a hill so we had to hike up a steep dirt road for couple of miles. Humidity being so high, we were drenching wet from our perspiration when Kim gave us a bottle of icy cold beer. Was it a treat! Kim was one of the few Niseis that escaped ATIS (Allied Translator & Interpreter Service) and got a job best suited for him. He said his superior officers were formerly his students when he taught Morse Code at Fort Ord, California. We returned to Cape Sansapor after spending two days in the Hollandia area.

October 44 - Several of us Niseis got the chance to go on a patrol on our Navy's PT Boats based at Amsterdam Island. We went deep into enemy held waters, northwestern tip of New Guinea, but to our disappointment, we did not get to see any action. Maybe we were lucky cause we heard one of our PT Boats got chased all over the ocean by some Zero Fighters the very next day. The other off-shore island was called Middleburg where we had our B-24 Liberator Bombers. Adjacent to our Headquarters area, on the mainland, were mostly B-25 Mitchell Medium Bombers, P-38 Lightning Fighters and a few P-51 Mustang Fighters. Met Lt. McGuire here when he had only two Japanese Zeroes to his credit. (McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey is named in memory of him.) I heard he had over thirty enemy planes to his credit before he himself got shot down somewhere over the Philippines. During combat, I was never discriminated by our infantrymen or officers due to my ancestry, but of all people, my own Language Officer. While we were discussing the injustice of our government interning us in a concentration camp, he made this stupid remark, "Min, you should be glad you had this chance to fight for my country." Naturally, I saw RED and told him in no uncertain term what a white trash of an officer he was and how unfortunate that we had to have a guy like him in command.

25 December 44 - We spent our Christmas Eve on board a troop transport. I remember the Christmas dinner of turkey, three inch sliver of fresh celery, ice cream and other trimmings. Comments made by the G.I.s, "They're fattening us for the kill!" We all knew that we were heading for the Philippines since we were briefed with detailed maps and topographic models of our next landing sight. About a dozen Navy Destroyers came offshore to escort us to the Philippines and they, not the Guadalcanal veterans, shot down the first and only enemy bomber on our final night in New Guinea. All the G.I.s were running up to top side, but we never shot one down during our eight month here so I didn't believe it. By the time I got out to top deck, all I saw was airplane gas burning on the surface of the sea. Sailed the next morning, December 29th, toward our next destination. Our convoy increased in size as we neared the Philippines, ships from horizon to horizon, over 100,000 G.I.s were slated to participate in this landing.

9 January 45 - As the dawn light was brightening the sky, I saw my first massive naval bombardment at close range and was amazed to see our warships (battleships, cruisers, destroyers, etc.) move sideways each time they laid down a salvo from all their guns. The whole Gulf was full of floating brass shells which reminded me of a timberland cut down with nothing but tree stumps. Landing on Lingayen Gulf, Luzon, Philippines was accomplished with hardly any opposition. I saw a few Japanese aircrafts trying to bomb our ships without any success. Being unable to accomplish their mission, they started to crash-dive (kamikazes) on our ships. Due to some snafu by our high command, our fighter air cover did not show up in time. Thousands of antiaircraft fire turned the morning dawn into night by smoke cover. Our over-due fighters arrived, but we had to tell them to get away before some of our ack acks took care of them. We landed two to three miles west of our assigned beach, ground was pockmarked with holes large enough for a house to fall in from our naval bombardments. We hiked eastward to our assigned area and established our new C.P. Within the hour, I interrogated my first prisoner dressed in a civilian white shirt and his khaki pants. The prisoner was wounded with bullet holes clean through his thigh, arm and shoulder. I was called back to Army Headquarters as a witness for a general court martial a month later in the trial of this prisoner. The court sentenced him to be hanged as a spy. I interrogated my second prisoner the next day, an Air Force pilot (from Kyoto area) at Santa Barbara, Pangasinan Province. He claimed our ack ack fire was so intense that he could not get down low enough for an accurate bomb run. I asked him how it looked from the air, "It's just like bucking a fired up steel wall!" Consequently, he tried to crash-dive on our ship, but he was shot down in his attempt. None of the Japanese prisoners ever knew we were Japanese Americans, nor did I tell them, but this prisoner said, "I'm positive you're from the Kansai area." My parents came from Wakayama, a part of Kansai (central Japan). Found very few observant prisoner like this pilot. I spoke to several survivors of the Bataan Death March rescued by our Sixth Ranger Battalion from the Japanese Prison Camp at Cabanatuan. They claimed the brutal guards were mostly from Taiwan (Formosa). They were the Takasagos (Taiwan aborigines). Our Division tangled with the only Japanese Armored Division on the Luzon Plains. Steel Force—Second Armored Division (Tetsu Butai—Dai Ni Shenshya Shidan). I participated in a bayonet charge at Munoz, February '45, my mission was to try talking a Japanese Colonel into surrendering. But to no avail since they all fought to their death.

Another humorous incident: As we were advancing with fixed bayonets through this small country town of Munoz, I noticed that the farmers had their corn stalks stacked up in a pyramid shape like our founding fathers in the New England states. Japanese soldiers were behind every stalk waiting for us to engage them in hand to hand combat. Due to our abundance of ammo, we shot them instead of engaging them in such dangerous maneuvers. A G.I. along side me shot a charging Japanese soldier and he started to go down clutching his stomach, our G.I. immediately dropped his M-1 rifle and drew his knife from his belt and rushed up to him, I thought he was going to stab him, but no, he grabbed the collar of the wounded and commenced to cut off his rank insignia. Our Infantry Colonel's shouting, "No! Boys, no! It's too dangerous!" but this G.I. was still nonchalantly cutting away as I passed him by. Taking a human life is no laughing matter, but this incident amused me. I was wondering to myself, how souvenir hungry can a guy get! Risking his life for a mere souvenir. T/4 Shiz Kunihiro and I got assigned to the First Infantry Regiment situated at San Narciso-San Marcellino Sector, Zambales Province. We stopped by at Bataan Peninsula, walked into the hills and saw a portion of our trenches and found ammo and hand grenades in front of their positions just as they left it when they were told to surrender by Lt. General Jonathan-Wainwright in 1942. Later on, I asked a Japanese infantryman who initially landed on Bataan why they fought so fanatically. He said, "You might say that now, but you should have seen your forces. They too fought bravely and fanatically when we cut-off Bataan in 1941-1942." I participated in three reconnaissance patrol. While bringing back a prisoner through a remote village, the Filipino natives started to throw baseball size rocks at the prisoner sitting alongside me in a jeep, yelling. "Kora dorobo!" (Hey! You crook!). I too was in danger of being hit so I emptied a few rounds over their heads and you should have seen them scatter. The prisoner had tears in his eyes saying, "I'm quite sure the initial invasion forces must have treated these people terribly." I was more amazed that they spoke in Japanese! Due to constant interrogations, we found out the survivors of the Japanese super battleship, Musashi was running loose in the jungles of Zambales Province. My motive in volunteering for these patrols was to capture a high ranking officer in the Japanese Army or Navy. To this date I never interrogated an officer beyond the rank of First Lieutenant. A prisoner came in one day stating that he saw about fifty Navy personnel all laid up with dysentery in the jungle. Maybe a capture of an Admiral might be possible so our Regimental C.O. gave me the okay to accompany our patrol. It was possible to take a jeep into the jungle so three of us plus the prisoner headed out ahead of our accompanying troops on the truck. After going inland about five to six miles, we ran into a Japanese patrol, fifteen to twenty of them, armed to their teeth, I didn't have time to call out to them to surrender and they lowered their rifles to engage us in a fire fight. We immediately opened up with a few rounds and I told my prisoner (hastily, of course) if you want to get back to Japan alive, don't you leave the jeep and I pursued the scattering enemy patrol. To my surprise, the prisoner was calmly sitting in our jeep when I returned from the skirmish. Due to our superior automatic weapons, it saved my life, but this was my closest shave from death. As I was firing ahead at the scattering patrol, I sensed someone was behind me so I hit the ground, rolled over and saw a Japanese soldier about twenty yards away with his rifle trained right toward my back. Saw my whole life flash by in a split second. I emptied three to four rounds into him before he could drive his bolt forward. First Infantry Headquarters moved to Bacolor, Pampanga Province from San Narciso, Zambales Province. I saw scores of grave markers, victim of the Bataan Death March alongside the highway as we came into Bacolor. My most interesting interrogation of the war happened here when seven to eight Naval Officer from the battleship, Musashi came in as prisoners. The Senior Officer, Commander Yoshioka was carrying the Navy Log with him which contained the battle accounts of Pearl Harbor, Midway, etc. MacArthur Headquarters (now at Manila) sent words asking us to forward the Log as soon as possible. I did not get a chance to thoroughly examine it, but what I read was very interesting. Commander Yoshioka was the only Japanese prisoner who asked me for permission if he could speak. Upon giving him an okay, he said, "I am positive that you are a Nisei." Out of hundreds of P.O.W.s that I interrogated, he was the only one who knew we were Niseis. I asked him how he came to that conclusion, he said he read an article about the 442nd R.C.T. fighting in Italy in a newspaper that came from Switzerland through the Red Cross. He figured we (Niseis) might be stationed in Australia, but he was surprised to see us in this combat zone. He had been to our east and west coast in one of their training ship cruise (renshu kantai) in 1936. We returned to Division C.P. in the foothills of the Sierra Madre Range right outside of Marakina (outskirt of Quezon City). The enemy set up a defense positions called the Shimbu Line with their usual Infantry plus a newly formed Rocket Battalion. Fighting was so fierce hardly any prisoners came in for us to interrogate. In fact, some companies were offering bounty for bringing in prisoners. During the lull of this battle, we were able to take turns going into Manila for sightseeing. Met scores of ATIS men up from Brisbane, Australia and Hollandia, Dutch New Guinea, who were now stationed at the Manila Race Track. After cracking the enemy forces of the Shimbu Line, our whole Sixth Infantry Division moved up to Northern Luzon to participate in the encirclement of General Tomoyuki Yamashita's Forces. I was back with the First Infantry Regiment up in Nueva Vizcaya Province when I received my order to return to Division C.P. Usually we said our good-byes to all our teammates, knowing the ferocity of battle up front, but my replacement, Sgt. George Nakamura left that day without a word. One hour later, I got a call from First Infantry C.P. saying that George just got killed by a sniper. Our first thought, can't be, because he did not come around to say good-bye to any of us, but once again to our regret it was true. War came to an end, but the Japanese Forces under Yamashita's Command did not surrender so S/Sgt. Kiyo Fujimura lead a patrol into enemy held territory to negotiate their unconditional surrender. But, before they could reach any Japanese Command Post, they ran into a thirty men Japanese patrol, Kiyo boldly approached them and informed them of the cessation of hostilities while his men watched from a distance. However, due to lack of radio communication with Japan, they were skeptical and unconvinced so Kiyo returned and told his men that he'll have to bring them over so he can convince them thoroughly. His patrol would not trust the Japanese coming in fully armed so he went back again, did some fast talking and got them to come in without their weapons. Kiyo said that he finally convinced them when he threatened to wire Japan and bring one of their Princes. For bringing this mission to a successful conclusion, S/Sgt. Kiyoshi Fujimura was awarded the Silver Star. General Yamashita and his men came in to surrender a few days later to our adjacent unit about a 1,000 yards away, but I personally did not see him. I thought surely he would commit hara kiri (disembowelment). Our whole Division moved out of the Cordillera Mountains, to the China Sea coast, San Fernando, La Union Province and prepared for the Occupation of Japan. How we griped upon learning that our Sixth Infantry Division was to occupy Tsuruga, Fukui Province, Japan. All our Niseis claimed the Tokaido Line (railway) was too far away for convenient travel.

10 October 45 - Surprise of surprises, next day our order changed to Inchon (Jinsen), Korea. The Korean people did not welcome us G.I.s with open arms like the Filipinos, claiming that we came to occupy their land after booting out their former oppressors, the Japanese. Our 169th Language Detachment was disbanded at Chonju, Zenra Hokudo, Korea. Kiyo Fujimura and I re-enlisted for another year in the regular army to serve in the Army of Occupation, ATIS, GHQ, Tokyo. We visited our parents during our three month "bonus" furlough offered by MacArthur Headquarters to all G.I.s volunteering for the Army of Occupation. Kiyo going to Iwakuni, Yamaguchi Prefecture and I went to Tahara, Wakayama Prefecture. We served mostly at ATIS, but we had temporary duty under Lt. Colonel Paul F. Rusch translating the new Japanese Constitution, personal diaries of Prince Fumimaro Konoye, Saionji, General Hideki Tojo and other "war criminals" of that time. Don't know how Kiyo made out on his accrued time when he got discharged, but I received two days when I got my discharge at Fort Dix, New Jersey. I left the service with a sour taste in my mouth for their blundering "bureaucracy." Two days of furlough after thirty-five month of overseas duty!

Sixth Infantry Division
Casualties

Sixth Infantry Division
Casualties
• 1,174 Dead
• 3,876 Wounded
• 9 Missing

Enemy Losses

Enemy Losses
• 23,000+ Dead
• 1,700 Captured

September, 1985

Forty-three years have gone by, but I still cannot forget the shame, anger and feeling of helplessness that resulted from our government's edict, Executive Order 9066.

My name is Min Hara, a Nisei born on Terminal Island, California, interned in America's largest concentration camp (18,000), in Poston, Arizona during World War II. I spent seven long months in this hot, arid desert before I obtained my freedom by joining the U.S. Army's Intelligence Corps.

It began early one morning in the spring of 1942, hundreds of F.B.I. agents, probably deputized for the occasion, raided our hometown of Terminal Island, California. They entered our homes without any search warrant and turned everything we owned upside-down. One of the agents that came into our house took my telegraph key for Morse code I'd made in high school before the war and several of my brother's amateur radio components. I asked him to give me a receipt and he refused saying the items were contraband so he had the right to confiscate them. My feelings then and now, is that he acted like a thief, not a representative of our federal government.

In May, 1942, we were herded into a coach and transported to Parker, Arizona. Before boarding this train, a Captain of the Military Police gave us a spiel concerning why a company of M.P.s were accompanying us:

• To protect us from outside harm. A lie.
• Once we got into the concentration camp, the guns were facing us instead of toward outside. Another lie.

In a dingy and dark wooden barracks, we were told to sign a small card, or we would not be allowed into the camp. We weren't given time to read the fine print, which stated that we would not sue the federal government for illegal detention after the war. A potential inmate ahead of me refused to sign after deliberately taking time to read the content. They told him he must sign, otherwise he couldn't stay. He argued that he should be sent back to Los Angeles since he didn't sign, but I saw him the next day assigned to the same block I was in.

The forced evacuation from my place of birth and now the long, secretive train ride (the window shades were drawn so we couldn't see out) to an unknown destination took all the fight out of me. I guess I must have felt like the Holocaust victims of Hitler's Germany. The humiliation of being rounded up and herded into a railhead just because we looked like the enemy was indescribable. Why only us Japanese-Americans and not the Germans and Italians who were also in a war against the United States of America? My anger, shame and frustration from that day hasn't subsided for the injustices we've suffered from our very own government. It has been forty-three years since that day and we still haven't had our day in court for our unjust confinement.

I wonder if we will ever get justice from our government.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Fusaye Hashimoto
• Date:
•     February 18, 1944
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

It was a very clear day—so clear that the ocean breakwater seemed as if it was near enough for even me to swim across. The California sunshine was shining unusually brightly this Sunday morning. We were all going about our everyday work in the usual manner when the telephone rang. I immediately ran to the phone and held up the receiver. It was Mrs. K—. She exclaimed, "Japan and United States are at WAR!" It all sounded very silly to me, so I just laughed and told her, "Stop kidding around when I'm so busy with my washing." However, something struck me that all was not well by the way her voice sounded over the phone. Her voice was shaking, but yet, it sounded frantic, as if something in her throat would tighten at every word she tried to utter. It was very difficult for her to talk calmly. Then I knew—I knew—it was the most dreadful thing that could ever happen—WAR!

Without a minute's hesitation I went straight to the other store where my father was to tell him the horrible news. I didn't have to tell him. Our usually calm, serene-looking Dad did not look at all like himself— he looked everything else but that.

Fishing boats were coming home by hundreds. Eighteen years as an inhabitant here, but never did I see such a sight! It was just like a flock of sheep being herded into their pens.

The entire atmosphere of Terminal Island was, what shall I say, just plain panicky.

On the street, persons with whom we used to speak and joke looked to me as strangers. It was very difficult to smile—nobody did! There were people talking in groups; there were people hurrying to and fro, all greatly disturbed. Soon the whole Island was filled with soldiers, machine guns, and jeeps. They started breaking up the chattering groups of people.

Immediately, Papa called us four children upstairs and we gathered around him in the living room. He spoke to us solemnly. "You are all American citizens, born and educated here. Mama and I are aliens and our country has declared war upon your country. Whether we are American in spirit and in faith, all isseis now are considered enemy aliens. Anything is likely to happen to both Mother and me but you are citizens. You've got your rights and freedom which this country has so proudly adopted in the U. S. Constitution. Son, since you are the only boy, you are now the head of the family. It is up to you to look after the girls, but if circumstances permit, you volunteer for the army and fight for your country! Now you three girls (age 21, 16, 18), join the Red Cross nursing corps or anything which you think will be of an asset to this country. Remember, you kids have the old red, white, and blue to keep a-flying."

All was well until around twelve o'clock midnight. My younger sister and I were in bed, unable to sleep; the rest of the family was still up. Suddenly—Bang! Bang! Bang!—somebody was banging our door so hard that it frightened us terribly. Papa was going downstairs to open the door, but my brother stopped him and went instead. It was two FBI men who wanted to take Dad away for questioning. My brother pleaded with them to take him in place of Dad because Dad is so old! The pleading was useless. Before Dad took his final step at his home which he had struggled so hard to build up, he said cheerfully that he would be right back, knowing all the time that he might never come back again. After he left, we heard more banging at the neighbor's door. We heard crashing of glass. We heard voices yelling, "We'll break the door down if you don't open it!"

The next morning, around seven o'clock am. we started off to school, but at the ferry the MP stopped us and told us that we could not cross the channel. Just imagine—we who were going to school just to become good Americans like the rest of our classmates—our classmates with the kinds of faces which made it unnecessary for them to worry about their ancestors. That was it—the only reason which kept us from crossing the ferry was because of our race and ancestry. We were Americans with Japanese faces.

Everyone must have had the same idea, because when I telephoned to school to report that I could not cross the channel, the registrar seemed to be quite busy answering students who were calling about the same thing. Finally, around nine o'clock, our school principal settled everything with the Army, and, with the showing of our birth certificate, we were all able to cross the channel. One of my girl friends, who was also a senior in high school, was unable to pass through the gate, for she was considered an alien, having been born in Japan though she was brought here when she was only about nine months old. She does not know Japan—she is fully an American in mind and in spirit—but she was born in the land of her parents. Everything was settled the next day for we all were given identification cards to show at the gate.

I can very well remember how inferior we felt upon reaching school. We were afraid to race our dear friends and teachers. However, all my worries were unnecessary, for when I reached school, the first person who ran out of the classroom and greeted me warmly was one of my Senior instructors. With an affectionate smile, she said, "We feel just the same as we did the day before yesterday. You have nothing to worry about, and if you hear any remarks from any of the students, just let me know!" Words cannot express how grateful I was to hear these kind words from one of my best teachers. As the day went on I met many others who spoke the same way. After conversing with many of my Caucasian classmates, I was very glad to note that they considered me as one of them.

When we came back from school, our store was closed. I asked Mother about it and she said that during the busiest noon hour, two government agents came and ordered them to close the store. I wonder why? Anyway, after that day our business was closed 'til the second of the next month.

A few days later, we heard news that Papa was locked up at the immigration office in Terminal Island and also heard that we could take him his daily necessities such as toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, etc. Of course, everything was inspected. We were not allowed to meet him, but on our way out, I heard a number of Japanese men yelling from the window. I knew many of them. They wanted us to tell their families to bring them their necessities also. I heard Papa's voice too, calling me. We tried to answer, but we were soon stopped by the custom officers.

A few days later, my sister and a friend were taking clothes to Dad when they saw Dad and the rest being taken away in the patrol wagon. We soon learned that he had been taken to the Los Angeles County Jail with about fifty Japanese. Therefore we went to Los Angeles to see if they would let us visit Dad, but to no avail. I guess it was the same with every family, but to us it meant a lot when father was not around. He was the one that kept our family alive and always on the go. We missed him especially during suppertime because that was the only time when our family got together, and Papa, as busy as he was, could always give us lectures to help us become better men and women of tomorrow. Of course, there was always our kind-hearted mother, but she was so cautious and worried. Why, she was even afraid to let us go anywhere. We heard rumors that some Japanese people were being stabbed and killed; we read horrible news of arson. We also heard that a bunch of Filipino had rushed into a home and escaped, after killing the father and mother and attacking a teenage girl. We heard from friends that Japanese employees were being fired by their Caucasian employers and that even the government, which we trusted so much, was firing their civil service workers. All these rumors frightened us greatly because we could not tell where these crazy people who were attacking Japanese were. Even when we were free to reopen our store, mother was afraid to do so because there were many Filipinos roaming around in Terminal Island. But even after we opened our store a month later, not a single Filipino entered any store owned by the Japanese. They had made a resolution among themselves that if they saw one of their people in our stores, they would punish him severely. Even our best Filipino customers were afraid of their own men. In spite of everything, the last month in Terminal Island was much better than we ever expected. The Caucasian and Japanese trade continued, and we had no unpleasant experiences.

About a week after Pearl Harbor, the sight of men in Khaki was not as frequent as before, but still, Tuna Street, the busiest section in Terminal Island, was flooded with custom officers. Persons who had been to Japan after June 17, 1940, had their assets frozen and their stores were locked up and a guard was placed at every door. The fish and meat markets, grocery stores, and other stores with perishable foods lost a great deal. Later the owners were allowed to enter their stores just to get enough food to eat for themselves. We had lent our typewriter to one of our friends who had his store frozen and even the typewriter was frozen because they were not allowed to take anything out. Mrs.— who happened to live above her store, was locked up there for several days and was unable to come down because her store was frozen too. To make it even worse her husband was taken away. Her next door neighbor furnished her food each day through the window. Everybody felt sorry for her and one Caucasian friend went to the head office and inquired about her being locked up there for several weeks alone in total ignorance of what was happening outside. She had not even been allowed to go to purchase her food and even her telephone was disconnected. They soon found out that her being locked up there was all a mistake. The only apology she got for her suffering was, "We are sorry. It was a mistake."

One day we received a telegram directing us to bring father's warm clothing to a certain place at a certain time; therefore we skipped school and all went, thinking that we might be able to see Dad. Although only two of us were allowed to visit him, we considered ourselves lucky to be there early, because all the people who were there were not able to see their fathers or husbands. My brother and younger sister went in to Dad. Father was dressed in a criminal outfit with numbers and everything. Two guards were directly behind him with guns pointing at him, as if to shoot him any minute. Dad, an innocent being, was being treated just as if he was a criminal who had committed a bad crime. Although they were allowed to converse in English only for five minutes, the time was passed away crying because of his shocking appearance. We were all red with anger when we heard how he was being treated. Our Dad, who used always to boast of America and its democracy was being tortured mentally!

That night, two FBI agents came around to inspect our home—I guess to search for any un-American activities. They took with them two printed papers written in Japanese. They were my brother's kendo certificates. Honestly, mother was so worried that she couldn't eat for several days because she thought that Dad would never be returned. Kendo, to us, was just like any other sport such as baseball, basketball, American fencing, etc., but to the FBI, it was considered as an un-American activity. One of the agents was a very nice man while the other one was just plain mean, and practically turned our house upside-down.

We were ordered to turn in all contraband such as cameras, weapons, short-wave radio sets, and even our flashlights. Apparently, all government orders were communicated to us through the JACL; therefore, they had it arranged that we could take the contraband to the Fishermen's Hall. The JACL has hired a Caucasian man to take the short-wave band from our radios for $1.50 a piece. I just don't understand why the government couldn't have hired their own man to come down and take it out if they thought that we were doing harm to our dear country, the only country we know and have. Such silly ideas they get! However, we obeyed all orders, for we were afraid that they would do harm to father if we talked back. Late one night, I believe it was New Year's Eve, when the Islanders were fast asleep, the Sheriffs came around to check up on the radios and practically scared the people to death!

It was during one of the happiest years in my school life that all these misfortunes happened, but fortunately, we were able to attend all senior activities such as the Senior Prom, the Senior Play, Spaghetti Dinner, Baccalaureate, and our Commencement exercises. Our graduating class consisted of approximately 180 students and among them were thirty niseis. Eleven students of the whole class were CSF (California Scholarship Federation) members and five of these were American-Japanese. How I longed for Daddy! The only reason why I studied so hard was to make my parents feel proud on my graduation. Mother bought me a $100 War Bond as a graduation gift.

On February 2, 1942, about 150 FBI agents surrounded Terminal Island and took all the fishermen into custody. It was from that date that Fish Harbor looked like a "no-men" island. Out of a total population of about 3,000, the men who were left were so few that one could count on one's fingers the lucky ones who were not taken. That was one of the saddest sights. Fathers had to go, leaving their sick and pregnant wives. There are still babies in Manzanar who have not as yet seen their fathers' faces. You could see children clinging to their Dad, crying that they must not take him away with mother so weak. Wives were worried about husbands who were forced out of sick beds. It was especially hard for them because they thought that they might not ever see each again or might be separated until the end of the war. There were no jobs for the women because the canneries had fired all Japanese employees, fearing that the other workers would cause a strike if they did not.

There were many rumors and false statements in the newspapers threatening the Islanders and stating that we must all evacuate by the fifteenth if the month or by this or that date. That did not bother us too much because we were certain that the government would allow us ample time for preparation. Then Mr. —, the Harbor Commissioner, came over on the fourteenth stating that our lease was to be cut off after thirty days because the Army had bought the Island. Therefore we knew we had to go but we had it all figured out so that we could have sufficient time to pack up and to dispose of all our belongings.

Wednesday, February 25, 1942, around two or three a.m. we were all alarmed by the sound of sirens, machine guns, airplanes, voices, and the tramping of soldiers! Japan has invaded us! Still half asleep, we girls started automatically to dress, and mother unconsciously turned the light on, when a soldier down below shouted, "Put that light out or I'll shoot!" My brother, who was sleeping in the next room, came running in and scolded us. Because we were so terrified, we had completely forgotten that the siren was for blackout. We couldn't do a thing in the pitch darkness, so a few minutes later we all decided that if we were going to die anyway, we might as well die peacefully in bed. We slept soundly till morning and awoke, still breathing. The next day my sister checked out of school and I heard that everybody else did too. We heard more rumors to the effect that we would have to get out in about two more days but we didn't believe them. The American government isn't that cruel and unreasonable, we thought.

On February 26, we were having our supper when a marine came around delivering notices. As my sister finished reading aloud the one handed to us, nobody uttered a word; we stood there motionless, staring blankly—we were all dumfounded! Yes, that was the notice that ordered us out of our home in forty-eight hours!

My brother immediately set out for Los Angeles and surrounding towns to look for a place for the family, but he came home unsuccessful. Practically all places were taken or it was the story of "No room for Japs" or "Families with Children not Allowed!" Hotels in Little Tokyo were all packed to capacity. Finally with the help of one of our friends, we arranged to get the use of a hall that used to be a Japanese school in Whittier.

What were we to do? We didn't have any boxes in which to pack all our possessions. Upon such short notice we couldn't waste precious time to go to purchase lumber! Just then we heard that there were hundreds of boxes piled up by the furnace right in front of the "X" Company and that everybody was bringing them home. Eagerly, we took our wagon and brought home those boxes. Later in the evening, a man from the "X" Company came around saying that the boxes belonged to his company. He said it would cost us 27¢ each. Our first impulse was to say, "Take them away!" But that was just our first thought! We needed them so badly that we had to pay him in spite of our irritation. In addition, we broke down our perfectly good furniture and made it into boxes, too, although most of our goods were just loaded on the truck as it was.

With all the men taken from the Island, the only ones we women could lean on were young boys. How we envied families with many strong helping hands, but when we thought of families with mostly small children and with only the mother to do all the packing and muscle work, why—we had nothing to say. The government did not furnish us with trucks to move out our belongings; nor did they accommodate us with shelters. Just when all the despairing women were doing their best to pack, God came along! Yes, it was the church groups who rendered their kind services to most of the helpless women and children. Soon the Japanese farmers with trucks heard about the helpless people in Fish Harbor and they, leaving their work behind, came along. Even a thousand thanks seem too little to express our gratefulness for their assistance.

We had two stores with rapid turnovers. You can imagine how much food we had in stock. The store equipment and business supplies were stacked high. Seventeen years of living in the same place had brought a great accumulation to us. It is amazing how many articles, furnishings, and just plain junk had piled up. It seemed as if we had kept buying and buying without destroying much.

When we started to dispose of some of our enormous quantity of store supplies, Mexicans, Jews Slavs, Italians—people of practically every nationality rushed into our stores to buy the goods which we sold for almost nothing. Where all these people came from, I don't know. It was just like giving our goods away free. Everybody took advantage of us and some people took things when we were not watching. After we finally succeeded in chasing them outside, we found that our big electric wall clock, our valuable milk-shake motor, and other things were missing. While the women were packing inside the house, those people would go around the back and take everything they saw. Water hose, expensive plants which the Japanese people raised for years with pride and patience, were gone.

We could not afford to lose a minute, and the hours passed away as if they were but minutes. For two days straight we worked without stopping. Was it two hours that we slept in all this time or was it three? Too tired to think, we just dragged our tired bodies to bed around three o'clock a.m. without even changing our clothes, just to relax muscles and nerves, only to find that we had to drag our bodies up again as the alarm clock rang soon after. It is amazing though, how much one can work without feeling the fatigue until after the whole turmoil is over.

What really got me was the government sales tax man who came around during the forty-eight hour rush, and who, with an expression of ease, sat down on the stool and started checking up our sales. Here we were working as if it was a matter of life or death, and he, without any respect for our precious minutes, came over and collected to the last penny. True, it was his duty to collect, but why couldn't he have done it later? There were some people who told these men to get out of the buildings which they had to leave behind so soon.

It was difficult to keep our tempers, although we tried hard because we knew how much poor mother had been upset. For seventeen years, Dad and Mother had struggled mighty, mighty hard to build up their business. Every profit they made was put into the store for remodeling and improving it little by little. At the same time they were raising four tiny kids. I can just imagine what a nuisance we were to them when we started crying after they had had a hard day's labor. When they finally reached the peak of their business success and had nothing to worry about, when they finally succeeded in raising four children and sending them through high school and even had one attending college—BOOM! came evacuation and our property crumbled to pieces. The only thing that remains is our happy family still with hope and determination. It is a wonder Mother didn't lose her mind.

The precious four hours passed like a nightmare. The last night I took a final glance through the rooms in which we had slept and eaten ever since I could remember. With this unhappy emotion, I had to leave a once pleasant, cozy home. I wanted to cry, but my eyes were dry. Even now, my memories go back to my dear home, but never again will we be able to go back to it, I know.

This was our last ride on the beloved soil of Terminal Island, once a hustling, bustling harbor; now, a ghost town. The only souls around were the soldiers and the prowlers who were going through the empty homes. Downhearted, we crossed the bridge just in the nick of time, at twelve o'clock midnight. We had to leave behind most of our expensive, heavy furniture—counters, showcases, booths, stoves, refrigerators, and soda fountains.

There were several offers to buy our store with everything furnished, but for such an unreasonable price that Mother just couldn't let it go after so much hard labor and money had been put into it. For one store they offered $2,000, for building, furnishings and all. Yet just for the store equipment and remodeling we had spent over $6,000. No, Mother simply couldn't let them have it for such a sacrificial price. The next day we received a pass to cross to the Island to get the things we had left behind. Therefore we hired a moving company to remove the fixtures. The furniture was sold for $600.00, but for the moving expense they took $100.00, so all we had left out of the $6,000.00 furnishings was just $500.00. All we could do was stand there and grind our teeth.

We reached Whittier, California, our new home, around twelve thirty a.m. that night. I opened the door. I saw twenty black heads moving around in one big room. It was crowded; sixteen beds were set in rows with only a foot between each. There were boys, girls, small children, women and two men—with no privacy whatsoever. Altogether, there were six families and we all ate together as one big happy family. Forgetting the past, it was rather fun to be in a group because we knew each other so well. The fresh country air stimulated our bodies and helped to calm our nerves; but unconsciously people would start talking about the valuable things they left behind and the inevitable hardship they had to go through.

During the one month's stay in Whittier, many unpleasant incidents occurred. First of all, we always had the fear of being evicted from our dwelling any moment. At the same time the story about the Assembly Centers sprang up. It was said that they were going to intern everyone with Japanese blood and that we were to be prepared to leave at a day's notice. Again we started to sell our goods to the Mexicans who were working in the lemon orchard adjacent to the shed in which we had all our possessions stored. There was the curfew order which went into effect during this time and there was an attempt to take our citizenship away, according to the papers. However, the saddest tragedy which occurred was when Mr.— was taken away by the FBI. He was the man in whom we had put our whole faith because most of us were now without our fathers or family heads to lead us. We depended on him entirely for the brain work. He was the guide for the inevitable forward footsteps of us twenty-five people. Everyone cried, boys and all, because our dark future was so uncertain. Our courage and energy ebbed at this blow, but we slapped each other's backs and boldly said, "Sure, we all can do it."

Every wife in Terminal Island had the same horrible fear of losing her strong husband in the time of her greatest need. Well, the thing that this man's wife feared most had occurred finally. She was so shocked and worried that the next day she had to be taken to the sanitarium. The doctor's examination revealed that the sickness had come to the lungs suddenly. She had been thin and not very strong and had been examined periodically, but the sickness had never really broken out before. Again we cried like a bunch of kids when they drove her away, and we had to witness the tragic distress of her younger brother—now, the only one left in their family. Then, forcing back our tears, we all attempted to encourage the poor boy.

A few days later, we received notice to depart for Owen's Valley. So again we had to do some more packing, but this time we were only allowed to carry one suit case per person plus our bedding. We left our remaining belongings in the shed that had been used for flower sorting. We did this rather than put it in storage because we did not want to stand all the expense and did not know how long we would be gone and how long we would have to pay on it. We had our expensive things all crated and ready to put in storage but we didn't have time to do it and so left them with the rest. We tried to get fire insurance for our possessions before we left but they wouldn't give it to us. We left Whittier early that evening, for we had to get to Los Angeles to be ready to depart in the morning and we had to ride before the curfew was in effect. It was terrible to have to leave our dog, a black and white Japanese Spaniel, which we had for over five years. He was the cutest thing and our family loved him dearly and took care of him like a prince! We don't know what had happened to him after that. We didn't even have time to find a proper home for him. At the last minute we saw a Mexican who worked in the orchard. We asked him if he wanted a dog and he said, "Sure." So we put the dog in his car and as he drove away we heard our dog barking frantically to us.

Although the rain had ceased to fall, the ground was still damp and puddles were here and there. It was dull day, and overhead, the sky was still covered with grey clouds. April 2, 1942—this was the morning we were to be taken off to Owen's Valley. We reached our destination with eagerness and anticipation around six o'clock in the evening. The people in each train car were taken away in buses. When we got off the train, it was eight o'clock, and it had gotten very dark. We didn't know where they were leading us. We got off the bus only to find the now famous Manzanar dust to welcome us, and a group of dirty-looking black-haired people. We were utterly disappointed. We wondered whether in a week after our arrival we were going to look just like them. (They were from among the volunteer group.) The boys guided us to our new home. We wondered how the guides could walk so fast when there were so many ditches dug around and it was pitch dark. The boy who was helping with our baggage stopped in front of the door and said, "This is your appartment." We wondered then how long we would have to stay here.

Again, we were disgusted when we saw the interior of the room. The floor was of wood with openings of about half an inch to an inch between the boards and there were holes here and there. What is more, the place was covered with dust and sand. The walls were built in the same fashion with big holes and openings visible on the inside. But from the outside, the sides were covered with sheets of rain-proof tar paper. There was a big opening between the roof and the wall. Breezes blew through there and blew up from between the boards of the floor. Oh, was it cold! There was a stove on one side of the room. They gave us three blankets to each person. Nine people occupied our six beam apartment (a small room twenty-four feet by twenty feet). Those nine people were from three families. Our family, now that father was interned, consisted of my Mother, three girls and one boy, my brother. Another family was made up of a mother and two small girls. The ninth person was a woman whose husband was interned and who was alone in Manzanar. In all of our cases, the father of the family had been taken away. This meant that my brother was the only grown man, and so he had to do a lot of the heavy work for all of us women. These were all people originally from Terminal Island who had been in Whittier with us. There were no mattresses on our army cots. We had to sleep on the metal springs with one blanket underneath and two over us. The cold wind was so unbearable the first night that I took my blankets to my sister's bed and slept with her until morning. Of course, we weren't expecting to have anything good, but golly, we didn't expect anything this bad, either! These barracks were absolutely unfit for any human being to occupy. Nothing was completed.

Day after day, week after week, it blew and blew, bringing up dust from under our floor. It sifted in at the windows, and from the open space between the roof and the wall. The dust was just as bad inside the house as it was outside. We simply had to sit calmly, perspiring all over, with handkerchiefs tied around our noses and suffocate! Sometimes we would wake up in the morning and find our pillows, faces and blankets just covered with dust. It gathered in corners. For one whole week my face was swollen up with a dust rash.

For about two weeks, we did not have hot water. We were dirty and we had to bathe ourselves in cold water. There were no laundry rooms. We had to boil our own water, wash at home and hang our clothes inside because of the frequent dust storms. There were only a few mess halls in operation when we came. Therefore, we had to go to mess hall No. 2 to eat and the lines were always about a mile long.

For a long time there was nothing to do. Because of the small amount of luggage we were allowed to carry with us, we only brought our most essential things. We borrowed a saw from one of our friends, gathered some lumber and made crude-looking stools, tables and shelves. It was hot and besides that the Manzanar dust blew frequently. We felt lazy and disgusted. We wanted to go back home. There was no place to go; all you could see was the same ugly-looking tar-colored barracks, one after another.

The food was unappetizing. The pans and silverware we had to use were greasy. They were not even wiped. It made me sick even to look at the food. There were many cases of diarrhea and we had to run to the portable, evil-smelling dirty lavatory. Oh, how I longed for my clean home and the fresh crispy food! I hated everything—I hated the barbed wire, I hated the soldiers with guns! I wanted freedom!

The only thing we waited for with anticipation were letters from our friends, but in order to get them we had to wait in line for at least two hours.

June 15, 1942—this was our first happy day since coming to Manzanar, for this was the day of our first family reunion in six months. Dad came home! We all cried with joy! Dad had aged considerably, but he was more shocked to see mother because her pretty black hair was now streaked with white. Father's return certainly helped to change the spirit of us all. We were the happiest children of the whole block.

As the days passed by, more people came in and soon the whole block thirty-five was occupied. People started to plant lawns and flowers. Things started to look a little bit more alive. Soon the linoleum was laid by the boys in camp and next the walls were covered with plaster boards. Things started to look better and better. At the same time we got used to everything, and slowly but surely we adapted ourselves to the environment. The dust storms became less frequent. Schools were opened. Work began. Now, we feel very much at home. The only thing I'm hoping now is that they won't ever order our folks to move out again because they are so old and worked and tried hard to give us our education and happiness and now it is too hard for them to start from the very bottom again. Although this evacuation has blocked our parents' complete wish for our future, it is now up to us children to work hard and repay them for their hardships. We owe our parents a great, great happiness.

One day we received a sad letter—a very, very shocking blow! It was from our beloved and respected Dr.— whom we had left in charge of our belongings at Whittier. He had hired a Mexican man and wife to live near the shed to watch our possessions because he and his wife lived too far away to keep an eye on that place. The sad news was that the whole shed had caught fire, and everything stored in there was a total loss. How the fire started—nobody but God knows. So now, the only property we have left are the few things we have here in Manzanar in our little six beam apartment.

After Dad joined us, he decided to send brother out to complete his schooling. Father was afraid that otherwise brother, who had always been hard-working and ambitious would lose interest and become "soft" under center conditions. Too many of the boys were just sitting around or going around in gangs. At first brother was a little hesitant about going because there was no income and besides we had lost everything in the evacuation. Dad said, "Even if it is the last thing on the earth I do, I am going to send you through college." Well, that's what made him go and at the present time he is studying hard with a great task ahead of him.

Although this recent draft will halt his determination, this is war-time, and everybody will have to do a great deal of sacrificing. If only this country had given us our full rights of citizenship, the spirit in which we go out to fight would be entirely different. No matter from what angle I think about it, this recent evacuation was plain discrimination and undemocratic. I cannot see that there was any necessity for all the hardships and bitterness we had to go through. "We are fighting for our freedom!—for our rights!" says Uncle Sam, but it is hard for us remaining loyal niseis to fight for something when we don't know what credit we'll get at the end. Maybe the good side of America will give us our full rights of citizenship, but it is depressing and disappointing to hear the phrase, "Once a Jap always a Jap!" after we fight and fight and shed our blood for the victory of our country. There are already about 20,000 people of Japanese blood in Tule Lake but not all went because they were disloyal to this country. Most went because they are fed up with mistreatment, because they think that this country is not worth fighting for, because they fear that this country will never give us the full rights of our citizenship, because they think that this country will go on discriminating against us and treat us like the Negroes have been treated all these years. The Negroes have fought and fought ever since Lincoln gave them their right to vote, but what do they get for it?

Well, I am one of the many loyal niseis who are adhering to this country because we still hope and we still think that we can fight to regain our equal rights. Will this be all in vain? What will the outcome be?

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Hideyo Ikemoto (Ono)
• Interviewer:
•     Fusaye Hashimoto
• Date:
•     February 8, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Dorothy Yamashita

Birthdate: February 23. 1922

Place of Birth: Terminal Island (East San Pedro)

Father: Ichiro Ono (Birthplace: Wakayama (Tanami), DOB unknown)

Mother: Hana Ono (Hamada) (Birthplace: Wakayama (Hidaka), DOB unknown—1905?)

Grandfather Ono called my father, Ichiro, to Hawaii when he was about sixteen years of age. I'm not sure how long he stayed in Hawaii. He later immigrated to Canada and was married there. My older sister was born in Canada and went back to Japan with my mother, where she stayed for some time with my grandmother.

I was the oldest of six children raised on Terminal Island: Shizuka (1923), Kyosuke (1926), Kei (1928), Mari (1931) and Koshi (1933).

There was nothing unusual about my grammar school days. Everything was fine. We went to Japanese school after grammar school. On Girls Day we took a half day off to go home and change into kimono. The last half of the day was spent dancing. On Boys Day there were races for the boys, and the girls were spectators. Most of us spoke Japanese, but nothing exciting happened.

To go to Junior High School, we had to cross the ferry and then walk about three miles to school. Sometimes we wore gym clothes, but it was nothing special—just part of growing up.

In high school, I think we left the house around seven o'clock in the morning. Before that, I made my own lunch. Then I stopped at my girl friend's house and we walked to the ferry landing together—maybe ten or fifteen minutes. The ferry was such a small boat. I think we used to buy coupons or something. Later on, about 1941, we bought tokens which we put in the little gate on the San Pedro side. Coming home was more fun, `cause we walked with our friends and talked. We stopped at the dime stores on the way. I used to like to go pay our gas and electric bills `cause Terminal Island didn't have any of those places. Most of our mothers worked in the cannery, so after we got home we would say tadaima and go to Japanese school.

Saturdays, when we were little, we used to go to the Baptist Japanese school, and later the Buddhist Church started their Japanese school, so we transferred. On Saturdays I liked going to craft classes with Mrs. Ikeda. We learned something there.

On Sundays, after Sunday School, I used to take dancing lessons upstairs at Mio's restaurant. I know it was pretty late when my mother came to get me, sometimes after dinner.

We also had an Outing Club on Terminal Island. Mrs. Frigon was our advisor. We used to have dances, social meetings about once a month at the grammar school.

Not much exciting happened on Terminal Island. Sometimes I wished I could get out you know, since it was so compact everybody knows what everybody's doing!

And then World War II started. I remember I was home hanging out the wash when I heard the news. I thought oh, my gosh, my goodness, what's going to happen. We just stick around the radio all day wondering. Dad was out fishing at the time... He wasn't home. He was the skipper of the "Cipango" ("Japan" in Spanish—named by my uncle). Dad got picked up in San Diego where they were supposed to unload the fish, and he was arrested and detained in jail. I went to see him there, but it was kinda sad to see the men on the concrete floor—nothing there. Later he went to Tojunga, and Santa Fe, New Mexico, and then to Bismarck, North Dakota. I think then he came back to camp, but we didn't see him for many, many months.

I was out of high school already—going to Woodbury College. I remember Mrs. Burbank would have to come and buy groceries and deliver to some households, because nobody could go any place.

When the forty-eight hour notice to evacuate came, there was no man in the household. My mother was alone with the family. I was 18, but all the rest were younger. We had to sell the furniture, like the piano and the table—everything for about $ 11.00—just to get rid of it... Some things, like books and records, we just took over to the yaki-ba and burned. We just left a lot of stuff there at home. Then our friends picked us up and took us to a house in Venice which was empty. After that we went to Evergreen Hostel before we went to Manzanar. Before we left I thought "gee, I'm gonna get killed over there"—that's the way I felt—"we'll never come back."

After we arrived in camp everybody was there and there was some kind of life in there. In a way camp was good. In a way it was bad, `cause I couldn't finish my schooling. But I made a lot of new friends... While in camp, I worked in a police station.

Sometime in 1945, I left camp and relocated to Cleveland where I stayed with a friend. I worked in the office of a knitwear company, and stayed in Cleveland for two years. Meanwhile, my family returned to Long Beach and lived in the trailer camp until they found another place to live. My Dad was a gardener, and I think my Mom worked at a cannery. I returned to Long Beach in 1947, and while I was working in Los Angeles some friends introduced me to Yosemaru, who was originally from Compton. We were married in 1948, and had three children.

Lee was born in Los Angeles in 1949. Then in 1952, Yuki and Miki, twin girls, were born in Long Beach. They no longer live here or know much about Terminal Island, but I try to collect information for them... Since I retired in 1989, I do a lot of different things. I make dolls, sing with a shigin group, go bowling and other things.

I think the Terminal Islanders know each other very well, are very friendly and do not try to be "high-hat"... Maybe it was good for the children on Terminal Island to be raised by Issei parents and learn to do a lot of things Japan-style. I remember it as a nice little community.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Yoshio Iwamae
• Date:
•     May, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Family

My father, Sennosuke Iwamae, came from Wakayama-ken, Kaiso-gun, Nishiwaki in the late 1800's or early 1900's to San Francisco, and worked as a "school boy" in the Bay Area. He also did some share crop farming in the Sacramento-Vacaville area before coming to Santa Monica and eventually to Terminal Island as a fisherman.

As of March 18, 1924, he owned a small Monterey, built a jig boat named "Virginia" which was twenty-nine feet long and nine feet beam with an eight horse power Hicks gasoline engine. He operated alone in local waters, fishing for albacore, rock cod and mackerel. He loved baseball and sumo, and was a fan of the San Pedro Skippers. He was a member of the Japanese Baptist Church and liked by everybody—a kind and loving father.

My mother, Nami Sarai Iwamae, joined my father while he was farming in Vacaville. She was also from Wakayama-ken, not a picture bride. On Terminal Island, she worked in the cannery and was a member of the Japanese Baptist Church. My loving mother lost two children—a sister who died soon after birth and an older sister who died at the age of seven.

Early Memories

I went to East San Pedro Elementary School on Terminal Island and then to Richard Henry Dana Junior High School in San Pedro and San Pedro High School. I liked all sports, and was a member of the Church Comrade Club (Terminal Island Baptist Church) and the Hi Y Club.

Soon after graduation, I started working on a fishing boat. While working on the "Linde," Shoichi Abe's boat, I met his sister, Sumiko Abe and we became engaged September 5, 1941. I got my first traffic ticket on my first date with Sumi in a friend's car!

World War II

On December 7, 1941, I arrived in Monterey to go out sardine fishing.

My father was taken to North Dakota, and our family was separated.

After the evacuation from Terminal Island (February 27, 1942) we moved to Sacramento to be near Sumi's parents. We were married March 8, 1942 at Sumi's sister's home with the minister and six persons at the wedding!

From there we went to Walerga Assembly Center and then to Tule Lake Relocation Center. Our daughter, Susan, was born in camp.

Resettlement

Soon after the war was over, we left camp and lived in the Los Angeles Trailer Court, Camarillo Long Beach Trailer Court, and the Truman Boyd Housing. I worked several jobs: as a handyman on a small farm, in the cannery, and as a warehouse forklift driver.

Back to commercial fishing in 1947: Commercial fishing in San Pedro from 1947-1957 were very poor years. At the end of 1958, things were better with a job on the "Southern Pacific" for the first tuna clipper to be converted to a seiner in San Diego. I worked as deck boss on that seiner and for five more new seiners built for the same company and skipper:

• Royal Pacific 1961-1968
• M.J. Martinac 1968-1970
• John F. Kennedy 1970-1972
• Raffaello 1972-1978

Delivered fish to the Star Kist Cannery on Terminal Island.

Fished up and down the coast of Pacific Ocean, Mexico, Central America and South America and in 1972, the Atlantic Coast of Africa on the "Rafaello."

Retirement

After I retired from fishing in 1978, I worked on tuna nets part time based in San Diego, Korea, Taiwan, New Zealand, Samoa, Guam, and Australia.

Now I am completely retired and go trout fishing with Sumi!

Our daughter, Susan is married to Alan Nomoto. We have a grandson, Rory, in his second year at UCI and a grand-daughter graduating from Cerritos High School in June 1994.

We look forward to the Terminal Island New Year's Party and annual picnic.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Kuichi Izumi
• Narrator:
•     Toshiro Izumi
• Date:
•     February 6, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Father, Kuichi Izumi was born in Wakayama-ken Higashi-muro, Koza-cho. The year I'm not sure, but he was born on the Fourth of July. He was really a studious fellow in his youth and went to not a regular grammar class but to a terakoya which is a privately run classroom, usually by priests. He was very fluent in writing. After finishing terakoya school, he worked in a fish related business—not as a fisherman but in a shop that traded fish by buying fish and preparing them for the market, which was usually in Osaka. He did a lot of bookkeeping for the firm. His youth, I don't know too much. What he told me is that he was drafted into the Japanese army. This was during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905. He served in Manchuria and got one of the highest medal possible at that time—Ko Hichikyu Kinshi Kunsho. Being the third son of a large family, his ambition just like anyone else at that time, was to go to the U.S.A. and stake himself to little bit of wealth and come back and spend his remaining years in Japan. In 1906 he headed for America. At that time the immigration law would not allow him to go directly to the U.S.A. so he stopped in Hawaii, which was legal. After a short visit there he boarded a ship for San Francisco. Several days before arriving in San Francisco they saw a huge cloud of smoke rising from the east and then they knew San Francisco was hit by a vast earthquake and fire. The ship instead of docking at San Francisco, docked at Oakland. At that time, it was a precedent for people getting off the ship to pay a small token as custom fee. Many of the Japanese did not have the money to pay or didn't want to pay. He was one in the group that made a dash against the custom officer and somehow got away. How he worked his way down south I have no idea. But he came to Fresno and eventually to Villa Park in Orange County where my sister and I were born. He was a farmer and he leased some land from Mr. Collins and grew strawberries and some other vegetables and fruits. I recall one time he was telling me his wagon was all loaded with strawberries and he was on the way to the market. Lo and behold the whole wagon tipped over. A total loss!

He was a man that strived to keep communication open with his fellow farmers there and naturally was well-liked. He wouldn't say much but he always was in the midst of any trouble that occurred. He was the one that calmed everybody.

In 1918, the year I was born, the fishing industry in the San Pedro area was quite active so he gave up his farming and transferred the family to Long Beach. He and some friends bought a small boat named "Washington" and that's where he fished for, I believe, two to three years. The Del Monte Packing Company in Terminal Island induced him and others to transfer their operation to Terminal Island so this is one of the very few things I recall in my childhood. We all put everything aboard this boat and from Long Beach the whole household was transferred to Terminal Island. Now we would use a van, but at that time a fishing boat was the means of transportation. I believe my sister, Satsuki was born on Terminal Island in 1921. Father with his friends engaged in fishing which was quite a lucrative industry at the time. Father was not set up to be a captain so they hired Mr. Takeuchi as captain. After several years of fishing (I have no dates to give you) the boat, fishing off the coast of Laguna, went aground on a foggy night. The crew members were able to leave the vessel and they found their way ashore. The following day, I recall, a nursery friend from Venice came with his truck to salvage whatever they could remove from the ship. One of the items they salvaged was a binocular, which I still have in my possession. Father did fish after that but never with his own boat. He was just one of the crew members aboard the "Aloha" prior to the outbreak of the war.

Father was not a so-called leader but he was always involved with community affairs, in the background, helping out. He was involved in the Japanese Association of Terminal Island, the Fukei Kai, Fukei Kai connected with Seicho Gakuen, which was the Japanese language school operated by the Baptist Church. He also was a leader in the Japanese Veteran's Association. The ironic thing about this is that before the war, the Japanese Veteran's Association had quite a good relation with the American Legion. Every year on the Fourth of July when the American Legion had their parade in Los Angeles, the Japanese V.A. was invited and they walked behind the Japanese flag in the same parade. One other association Father was involved with was kendo —in the parent's group since I was a member of the kendo group. Father, looking back, was a fisherman for a long, long time—twenty odd years, I'd say. But there was something about him that even now is hard to understand. He would never, never take me fishing. My friends would come back after summer vacation and they would talk about their fishing trip with their father. So on many occasion I'd ask him to take me fishing along with him but he would never do it. As far as I can remember, I can count the times I went fishing with him on my one hand. If I wanted to go fishing I'd ask my neighbor, Mr. Hayashi who owned a fishing boat. My Father's philosophy, if you call it that, is there are easier ways to earn a living than fishing. He told me once that fishing is a lot of fun because you're trying to capture something that's alive but there's a lot more involved than just catching fish. One reason was that after twenty plus years of fishing, my Father never got accustomed to the ocean. The fishermen during the "full" moon took time off to mend their net, repair their boat and engine. When the moon was not out, that's when the fishing was done. Well, for the first two to three days, he'd always be sea sick and this happened every month even after twenty years of fishing. Maybe this had something to do with him, not wanting me to become a fisherman. Maybe I took after him as I can't ride any vehicle, I can't fly without getting ill.

On Terminal Island, maybe it's true all over but especially on Terminal Island the men and boys were given a nickname of a sort. My Father was in the Japanese army so everyone who knew him never called him "Izumi" but Gun-so which in English means "Sergeant." That was his rank in the Japanese army. Father was a mild-mannered man and I don't think he lifted a finger against any of us. At one time he did mention an experience he had in the army where he did strike a recruit. This happened in the early part of the Russo-Japanese War when he was sent to the station to pick up the new recruits reporting for duty. He had the names of all the new recruits. He checked them off and he gave order for them to follow him to the camp. At the camp, he checked off the names once again, but there was one recruit missing. Naturally my Father was irritated. It was his duty to bring them all together at one time to the camp site but one went astray. So he backtracked and sure enough one young kid, he's browsing and looking right and left. One of the bumpkins from the countryside. He had never been in a city and everything he saw was amazing to him. And he was the one that caused my Father to raise his voice and strike him. He said later, after hitting the poor kid, he really felt sorry for him because he had never been to a large city and everything was extremely interesting.

Father did a lot for the people of Koza. Koza is a small fishing village in Wakayama-ken and consequently there were very few immigrants from there. Whenever the village people had problems—family problems, financial trouble, Father was, I guess you can say, "Honorary mayor of Koza" here in the U.S. Various families brought their problems to him and he could come up with a good answer, or find a way to ease things. Koza people from Los Angeles came to talk about their financial or family problems with him.

One other thing he was known for is reading the Japanese scripture during Tencho-setsu which is the Emperor's birthday. He would be decked out in his black suit and the kunsho —the medals—he was awarded during the Russo-Japanese War.

Father was a mild man who worked behind the scene, always ready to help. There was a neighbor, head of the family who became ill and with many children in the family there was no means of support. On his own, Father went around the neighborhood, collected some money to ease the situation. He also took part in the fishing industry's organization, Gyogyo-Kumiai. He had various jobs there and one of his job was as a custodian of the Fisherman's Hall. Every month some organization in Terminal Island sponsored a movie and since he was the custodian, many a times some of the kids would walk in with his approval, no admission fee. He was more concerned about our education and our spiritual upbringing than many of the parents. In the early days of Terminal Island the Baptist Church was the only organization established and although he was not raised in the religion we as kids were sent to the Baptist Church and Baptist sponsored Japanese school, Seisho Gakuen. Father's idea was that all religion was basically the same. So in a sense, I and my siblings tend to lean toward the Christian religion than the Buddhist religion.

Father was one of these happy-go-lucky fellow who wouldn't know how to spend a dime. I don't think he had a dime in his pocket all the time I knew him. Mother would do most of the buying for the family and she even did his shopping. A pair of shoes was always bought at Asahi Shoe Store in Los Angeles. Mother would take an empty box and get the same style, same size and that was his shoe. If it was a little tight, he always said "It'll stretch;" if a little long, he would stuff newspaper on the end and say "It's nothing." The same thing went for hats. Mother went and bought a nice Stetson hat, or a nice summer hat for him and at one time he was a size seven or seven and a half, but as the years went by he lost a lot of his hair and naturally by rights he should have a smaller hat but Mother always bought the same size. And so Father without any complaint would roll up some newspaper and stuff them under the sweat-band. If I may say so, no complaint, no nothing from him.

During his fishing days, as he grew older, the captain would assign him the job of cooking for the crew and what he cooked I don't know but everybody must have been satisfied. He also kept book for the captain and this was not a complicated bookkeeping but on many a ship there would be cheating among the bookkeeper, captain and the crew members. But that's one of the things that never happened while Father kept book for the crew members. Not a peep out of anyone.

There was a time when he took me out fishing—one of the very rare times. On this day "Lady Luck" was with us and we came back with five tons of tuna and Captain Nakanishi told my Father to buy me a pair of shoes. But Father was too strict with his book and I never got that pair of shoes. Fishing was lucrative in those days and sardines were caught in the wintertime and the boats didn't have too far to go. Maybe around the bend to Redondo Beach where they were able to get a full load. Full load means the hold in the ship would be filled and on top of that the deck outside would be filled. Of course the ladies who worked in different canneries were called at various hours of the day, sometimes at night. The interesting part about the ladies being assembled to work was different whistle signal for each cannery. One long and one short whistle for one cannery, two long whistle for another cannery and so forth. Tuna was caught during the summer months. At first, it was very lucrative, too. But as nature has its balance in the sea, if you fish away the smaller fish, the large ones are gone too. I believe that was the fate of Terminal Island when the small sardines were depleted and the large tuna started to go elsewhere.

On Terminal Island there was no need for a private car. The community was such a small place that we could walk from one end to the other. So if my memory serves me right, there were only two or three privately owned cars among the Japanese on Terminal Island. The social life is something similar to in other communities. So called social life was during the time when the men stayed home from fishing when the moon was "full." In that short span of time they crammed all of their social life and of course there was social gambling, social drinking, and some of the more adventuresome younger people went all the way to Los Angeles to the Tokyo Club and did their gambling there. Others went to the different ryori-ya where they drank and had time with the ladies of the night. In the 1930's during the prohibition days, naturally the fisherman drank quite a bit of sake. Almost all the families made their own. The ladies were kept busy making the sake and at times the men were drinking sake which was not "ripe" to be drunk. Consequently men became ill because of it. Like anywhere else the authorities would drop in now and then to look for the unregistered brewery or "sake factory." But whenever the authorities came, the news spread like prairie fire. The whole community knew about the authorities in a matter of five to ten minutes. Here the ladies would start dumping their unmade sake down the toilet and flush them down. The evidence was gone naturally but there was always a lingering odor of sake. I imagine the fish at the outlet of the sewage system had a heyday. About the same time the immigration officers would visit Terminal Island. Of course there were many fishermen who were illegals and when the news spread about the immigration officers being here, the young men scrambled. Some hid in the ceiling of houses, and others under the houses. I've never to this day heard anyone being caught and sent back to Japan.

On Terminal Island, there was a very colorful lady. She was our elementary school principal, Mrs. Walizar. She was rather pro- Japanese at that time that the Fukei-kai (parent's association) sent her to Japan to visit students who were formerly at the grammar school. She had quite a trip going around to the small villages looking up her former students and was given a reception there too. She was one of the very few foreigner who met Japanese Royalty at that time. She came home with quite a bit of mementos and gifts which were displayed at the auditorium. I've often wondered what became of them. We had other very friendly teachers at school but Mrs. Walizar stands at the forefront. She always comes to our mind.

On the island we had a number of different sporting teams. The pride and joy of the island was the San Pedro Skippers, the baseball team. The fishermen went so far as to "tax" themselves. That's a funny term but they all made arrangement that they would chip into a pot to subsidize this team. Consequently, the team had the very best equipment and they were always on the winning end. Judo was popular on the island, too. Also kendo in which I took part. Sumo was also popular in the older days. Among the younger kids who attended the elementary school, junior or senior high schools, or the Baptist Church would arrange a bus to take the different organizations to various places, since most of us had few means of getting off the island. They had a Junior and Senior Outing Club made of junior and senior high school girls and they were bussed to different part of Los Angeles and I guess this was one of their big event of the year. At the elementary school level, we had one/two days of outings and our destination was usually Lincoln Park in Los Angeles. A zoo was located adjacent to the park. Many times we went to Orange County to a small park there, which was a big deal for us too.

On December 7, 1941, Sunday, I had planned to attend a football game in Hollywood with a Filipino friend. We had heard the news over the radio that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor but Pearl Harbor seemed such a distance away it never struck us how serious that attack was. So without regards to any feelings, my friend and I attended the football game. After the game we had dinner in Los Angeles and then headed for home. At the Ford bridge a sentry had taken his position and wouldn't allow us to proceed any further. We went to San Pedro side of the harbor and tried to board the ferry, carrying cars to Terminal Island but unfortunately the car ferry was stopped at that time. I told my Filipino friend since he could easily be let on the passenger ferry boat for him to go on ahead. I dropped him at the ferry landing and I proceeded to San Pedro where I parked my car in the garage and went to the San Pedro City Hall where I talked to the F.B.I. agent about my predicament of not being able to go back to the island. After listening to my story, they consented to escort me to the passenger ferry landing and put me aboard and I was able to get back on the island. This was close to midnight. When I got home, I could see several cars not usually parked on the streets and it never dawned on me who they might be. The first step I walked into the house, F.B.I. agents were waiting for my Father to get dressed. He had changed into his suit and was putting on his overcoat. If I had been five minutes late, I would not have been able to see or say "Good bye" to him. His parting words to us were that he thought this was going to be a long war and to take care of ourselves. This was the last time I saw him until later when he returned to Gila Relocation Camp. On the evening of the 7th, along with my Father, there were others on Terminal Island who were considered leaders of the Japanese people. They were officers of the Japanese Associations and organization, Kendo Club, Kenjinkai, Fisherman Association, etc. It was a day or two later that the total round-up of the fishermen began. That was the real start of the closing of Terminal Island. It was tragic. After the fishermen were all taken, the so called "forty-eight hour" notice came out, stating all the Japanese had to leave Terminal Island in the next forty-eight hours. Young mothers with small children, left without their husband had to somehow make contact and leave the island within forty-eight hours.

Father was confined to the Immigration Center on Terminal Island for a week or so. There were other leading Japanese citizens from Los Angeles and as far north as Guadalupe and Santa Maria. The reason I knew this is because I was asked by the Immigration Department to act as an interpreter and I met some of these people. Shortly afterward, Father was transferred to the Central Jail in Los Angeles and later we got notice that he was being sent to Bismark, North Dakota. From there I don't know the exact route but he was at a camp in Louisiana, Santa Fe, New Mexico, and several other places. He was released and sent to his family in Gila, Arizona in 1944. He relocated to Denver, Colorado where he stayed with my sister and her family for about five years. Mother and Father moved back to Los Angeles when my other sister found a home for them. Father led a retired life and, in 1967, passed away at the age of ninety years.

I want to talk about my Mother, Fumi, who was born at Yokohama, Japan and was raised in the city of Wakayama. She was adopted by a relative. She married my Father at the late age of twenty-three. In Japan, twenty-three was considered quite late. She was a typical picture bride. Their introduction took place through Mr. and Mrs. Nakashima, a resident in Orange County formerly from Wakayama City. Mother had a higher formal education than my Father. She worked as a seamstress in Japan in a shop that made royal and court clothing. She was very nimble with her fingers and she used to relate on many occasion they were given candies from the royal court in a shape of a chrysanthemum. When she arrived in America, my Father was farming in Orange County and that was where she started, farming with him. In all these many years I've never heard her complain. She did mention once that during that time she did the cooking and washing, there was no indoor faucet for water. She had to go outside to get water.

At Terminal Island she worked like the other ladies in the cannery. When we bought the grocery store, she helped there. Hers is an international family because her older brother died in Java and her youngest brother died in Burma during the W.W.II and she died here in USA. Mother was not too stern. Like all mothers, a real nice, loving mother. She belonged to the various Japanese club and one of them was the Seicho Gakuen Hana no Kai (Mothers' Organization with Japanese School) and the PTA. She was strictly a vegetarian. At the time Father was fishing, there was an outpost on one of the Channel Islands where whaling boats would unload their catch of whales. Blubber was taken off and whale meat was disposed. The fisherman would stop there and get a chunk of whale meat and bring them home. But Mother never ate a piece of meat. Even though she was a vegetarian, she was rather on the plump side. She kept book for Father. He was never good with family figures. She never complained how he spent money helping the relatives in Japan. Father's oldest brother had a fish processing plant in Japan and he enlarged his business by buying several fishing boats. As things turned out he went bankrupt. Father and Mother at that time had bought a home in Japan as their home to retire in their old age. Father gave this home to his oldest brother so he could sell the house and recoup some of the loss. Mother never forgot who the buyer was. It was the daughter of the man who went broke.

Mother continued sewing after she returned to Los Angeles area and until she retired. In the latter part of 1962 she became ill and the doctor said it was cancer of the pancreas and had spread to other organs. It was one of those open and shut case of surgery. She died March 6,1963 at age seventy-two on her birthday.

This is part of history too. My Mother's adopted father was here in the USA in the late 1800's. He had a business downtown in the Little Tokyo area. He was one of the original businessmen who took a projector and film to Japan and his intention was to start a theater there in Wakayama. But as you know the Japanese have low regards for entertainers and the family put up such a fuss, he gave it up. And shortly after he gave up his project, the film industry came into Japan. So goes history.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Yurao Kobata
• Interviewer:
•     Mary Hirashima
• Date:
•     February 15, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Hirashima

What do you feel makes Terminal Island such a close group even though there is no longer a geographic community?

Kobata

We've known each other since childhood, so we feel more like brothers and sisters. At the start of the war, almost all Issei fishermen were picked up by Federal agents. Mothers and children were left behind and alone. A few weeks later, the Navy Department gave us only forty-eight hours to evacuate Terminal Island. Therefore, we were forced to help each other pack and move, a situation that drew us closer. Today, we have an annual picnic and a New Year's get-together which helps us to keep in contact.

Hirashima

In what ways, if any, do you feel Terminal Islanders are different from Japanese Americans of other communities?

Kobata

From when we were young, we spoke Japanese and grew up surrounded by Japanese tradition. These special traditions held by Terminal Islanders are still followed by many today. Respect for elders remains an important tradition maintained through the generations. The fact that we continue to communicate in Japanese is another aspect that makes us different from other Nisei. Many Japanese Americans have not continued to use their Japanese, but communicate only in English.

Hirashima

What is your most vivid memory of growing up on Terminal Island?

Kobata

Everyone's parents worked in order to support their families. We grew up during the Depression. Every family was in the same financial situation—poor. The sandy land conditions on Terminal Island allowed many to go barefoot. This helped families to save financially as shoes were not a necessity.

Hirashima

What do you remember about your father? Your mother? When did they come to America and what part of Japan did they originate from? Why did they come to America? How did they come to live and work on Terminal Island? How many were in your family? What is their birth order and dates of birth?

Kobata

My father and mother came from the same village in Japan, Wakayama-ken, Taiji-cho, and were married there. I don't remember exactly when they came to America, but two of my sisters, one brother and myself were born on Terminal Island. My father owned a forty h.p. fishing boat named "Kobata-Maru." He fished for the Van Camp Seafood Co. In 1923, our family moved back to Japan from Terminal Island. Many other families also moved, believing that the Japanese education was important for their children. My mother raised us while in Japan. When I was twelve, my father passed away, and I came back to America. The villages in Japan were so poor that many young people left for the United States to try and make something of themselves and to help in supporting their families back in Japan. I returned to Terminal Island where my older sister and her husband lived.

There were a total of seven of us in my family of which I was the eldest son. Yet, I do not remember the birth order or dates of birth of my siblings.

Hirashima

Describe a typical day for you and your family when you were a child. Did you feel any different in any way or ways?

Kobata

My family was often separated—part of us in the United States and the others in Japan. Yet, we weren't any different from most families. On Terminal Island I was enrolled at East San Pedro School. I was in a special class for students who had returned from Japan and didn't understand English.

Hirashima

Where were you on Dec. 7, 1941? What happened to you and your family? What happened after the war? What did your parents do?

Kobata

I graduated from San Pedro High School in the winter of 1937. Soon after, I began fishing in the summer for tuna in local waters and in the winter we went up to San Francisco to fish for sardines. A year later, I was joined by brother-in-law who had taken over a boat called the Silver Gate. We fished for the Coast Fishing Co. in Wilmington, California until the war broke out. At that time, the relations between the United States and Japan were not good. On Saturday, I suggested to my brother-in-law that we stay home. Some boats went fishing that night. On Sunday, Japan attacked Hawaii's Pearl Harbor. The men that had gone out to fish the night before returned and were immediately picked up by Federal agents. They were not able to return home. For us, our crew was allowed to remain at home for a short time. Later, all Issei were taken away by the F.B.I. Because I was a U.S. citizen, I was able to stay with my sister and her children. We were later moved to Manzanar, a relocation camp. Here I met my wife, Mitsuyo Masuda; we were married in 1944. My daughter was born about a year later. As for my mother, she remained in Japan during the war and after. I didn't see her for thirty-two years. I saw her one time right before she passed away.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Frank Manaka and Mitsuyo Manaka
• Interviewer:
•     Toshiro Izumi
• Date:
•     April 5, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Izumi

Can I have your name, and your place of birth and the date?

F Manaka

My father's name was Tomekichi Manaka and he came to the United States in 1895. He got a job as a bartender on Market Street in San Francisco. The union stopped his work because they didn't want any alien in their union. He's from Wakayama-ken, Higashi-muro-gun, Tsuga, Japan.

Izumi

The last time I spoke to you, I think he had a Christian name. Can we get that in here?

F Manaka

Oh yeah, when he was a bartender in San Francisco, they gave him an English name, Tony, because they couldn't pronounce Tomekichi so well. So his English name was Tony Manaka.

Izumi

What about your English name? I believe you had an English name too.

F Manaka

Yes, I started school when I was six years old. My folks decided to give me an English name. So they decided on the name Frank. So, when I was six years old I became Frank Manaka instead of Hiroshi Manaka.

Izumi

And what about your mother? Is she from the same village as your father?

F Manaka

My mother, Kin Manaka is from Gunma-ken, Japan and she was a graduate of Jogakko. Anyway, she graduated from Jogakko in Japan before she came to the United States.

Izumi

Was she one of the so called "picture bride?" Or do you know?

F Manaka

I believe they were baishaku kekkon.

Izumi

Do you remember a little bit more about you mother? What kind of a person she was and etc?

F Manaka

Of course she was a little better educated woman in those days in Japan. and when I was born she decided to teach me nihongo. And by the time I was five years old, I remember all the hiragana and katakana. Also she brought me a harmonica from Japan and she taught me how to play few Japanese songs.

Izumi

For the record, could you give me some of your siblings' names?

F Manaka

I had four brothers and four sisters beside myself. There were nine of us in the family. My sister next to me was Nobuko Takahashi—she passed away few years ago; next was Katsumi—he passed away five years ago. Then there's Harry Manaka, Lilly Uyeda, Kazui Sakai, Royal Manaka, Grace Yokogawa and William (Uncle) Manaka.

Izumi

Mrs. Manaka, maybe you could give me some of your background, name, place of birth and date of birth?

M Manaka

My name was Mitsuyo Matsushita and I was born in Monterey, California on August 12, 1917. There were six children in the family—four girls and two boys. The only one deceased is my brother, Shiro, who lost life when "Western Explorer" sank off Socorro Island, Mexico in 1956. Rest of the family are still living. My oldest sister is living in Altadena; my next sister is in Fresno; my youngest sister Mutsuyo, lives in Long Beach; and George, my kid brother lives in Buena Park.

Izumi

Frank, can you tell me something about your education, schools you attended?

F Manaka

I went to grammar and high school in Monterey and when I was eighteen years old, I wanted to be... My ambition was to be a professional baseball player, because I was a pretty good high school pitcher in those days. But my father changed my mind on this subject and he said I should take care of the family business—taking care of the fishing business that my father started in Monterey.

When I first started going to school in Monterey (at home we never spoke English as my mom and dad always spoke Japanese), I was not used to speaking in English. The first day in school I wanted to go to the bathroom, so I started to walk out and the teacher stopped me. I had to go back and sit down. No one had taught me to raise two fingers. So that afternoon I went home crying with my pant all dirty.

By the time I was twelve years old I could speak English pretty good. In fact, I knew all the cuss words in English. One recess I was talking with my buddies and I was using all those dirty words and all of a sudden my friends kept staring at me and stopped talking to me. I looked behind me and realize the principal of the school was listening to all I was saying. She said, "Frank, come to my office after school." I was sure I was getting a beating after school, so I went in there, but was relieved when she said, "Frank, will you stop using those dirty words?" I said "Yes, Mrs. Johnson. I promise I'll never use them again." In fact, I've never used those words again for the rest of my life and you can ask my wife. The dirtiest words I've used till now is "Jesus Christ" and when I use those word everybody know I'm in a pretty bad mood.

Izumi

What are some of your hobbies,?

F Manaka

All sports are my hobby. I listen to all the hockey games, basketball, baseball and football games, but my main sport is baseball. When I was a teenager I subscribed to all the baseball magazines and baseball books and I was pretty well read up on the different angles and technicality of baseball.

Izumi

Mrs. Manaka, can we get back to you? Do you remember your mother? What kind of a person was she? I know she must have been a kind person like all Japanese mothers.

M Manaka

Yes, my mother was a very kind and gentle person and we lived in Del Monte when we were young. My dad was a fisherman. He had a jig boat and fished for salmon, mackerel and things of that nature. We would go up to the sand dune, and my mother would look to the ocean to see if she could see him. She would also have things hidden so we would go looking for peanuts and thing of that nature.

When I was about eight years old my mother developed T.B. and so my father felt he needed to take the children to Japan because he would be unable to take care of the children and my mother too. So in September, 1926 the family went to Japan. We went to San Francisco to go aboard the "Tatsuta Maru" to go back. I remember my mother was at the stern of the boat and the next thing I remember is that the following day I was sitting in the bathroom crying. And these people, who were friends of my dad had taken me in and wanted to adopt me.

You know how the Issei are, they don't tell you anything. They just take you. So I was with them, but when my dad came back after leaving my mother, sisters and brothers in Japan, I remember we went to see him at Angel Island, and when I saw him I told him I wanted to go with him. When school let out I went back to Monterey with my dad.

Izumi

What was your education? Elementary and high school?

M Manaka

At first when I went to San Francisco, I stayed there a year and from there came to Monterey and went to Monterey grammar school. Then to Monterey Peninsula High School. I graduated in 1934.

Izumi

What were your friends like? Your hobbies?

M Manaka

Well, in those days we stayed in our own little group and we had fun like all children do. I was going to the El Estero Presbyterian Church. There was a Caucasian couple who was the youth director of the group and through them I was able to enjoy wiener bakes, Christmas caroling, camping and enjoyed fellowship with others, which I don't think I would have ever done if it had not been for them. In those days, in the Japanese community there was a Christian group and a Buddhist group. The Christian group stayed with themselves and the Buddhist people didn't even talk or didn't play with each other. I still remember when I was about ten years old, there was this event where the Issei people were having a play and a fundraising thing. The lady from whom Dad and I were renting from came and said, "Let Mitsi go. I'll take her." But my father said, "You can't go." I couldn't understand why he wouldn't let me go and I remember I cried but my Father said, "If you go, you represent me and if you represent me, I have to give a donation (kifu senakereba ikenai). And if I have to give a donation that donation I need to send to Japan to your sisters and brothers so they can eat." So he told me I could not go and I remember I cried and cried and cried. But in the end Dad took me to a show and I practically slept through the show. But I realized then that the biggest lesson he ever taught me was the value of money and the responsibility of being a member of a family and to maintain your responsibility when you are involved in any kind of a situation.

F Manaka

Let me inject something here now that you mentioned that. It was an unusual event among the Japanese community in Monterey in 1922. The Christian group didn't have a church. They had a store front mission church. The Buddhist group was meeting at different homes. So in April of 1922, when I was fourteen years old, my father took me to a Japanese community group meeting. At that time the Buddhist group and the Christian group were inclined to have a community center, where they could have a Sunday school for the Christians and also for the Buddhist group too. But somehow they just couldn't agree on anything and they decided to go their own ways. So that's the reason the Rev. Kawamorita, the pastor of the Christians, he got the Presbyterian church to build the El Estero Church in Monterey and the Buddhist group decided to build their own building and have their own services. So from then on I felt bad because of that the younger generation is split up, in a small Japanese community like Monterey. The Buddhist group would have their own group and have their own parties and the Christian group would have their own parties and birthday parties and didn't even invite each other. I felt real bad even though I was fourteen years old at that time. I thought the elders were making a big mistake by splitting up the community in a small place like Monterey. Then after the war, things changed when they all came back. They used to call the Buddhist Church, they called the Japanese Association Hall. They changed the name of the place to JACL Hall. Now everybody, Christian kids and Buddhist kids, they all have their monthly meetings there. And eventually when the kids grew older, they realized that after all it's all one community and they decided to associate with each other again. So in a way the war did some good for the younger generation in Monterey.

Izumi

You were both residents of Monterey. Did you know each other before your marriage? Or was that in Monterey too?

M Manaka

When I came back from San Francisco, I was about nine to ten years old. I first saw Frank at his uncle's place. His uncle had a grocery store and Frank was there. That was the first time I remember seeing him. I was about ten years old. When I was about eleven to twelve years, Frank's family had a little cottage in the back of the house so we rented that house in the back. When the summer came, my Dad use to come down to Terminal Island for albacore fishing. I would stay with Frank's family and I grew up with the family. So we were very close friends and his family and his sisters and brothers were just like family to me. And so we came to the point where we were going out. Frank's dad didn't like me because I didn't have a mother. My mother had since died so he felt that since I didn't have a mother I wasn't worthy of his oldest son and so he didn't like me. We had quite a bit of a problem. In fact in 1935 my family moved from Monterey to Terminal Island and when I came to Terminal Island and lived there and went to work at the cannery, Frank would come down after the sardine season in Monterey to Southern California and he'd go over to Nakaji, his uncle and aunt's place and we'd still go out. His father never liked it. Since his father was objecting and Frank was kind of a person that didn't want to have all this fuss and his cousin, Yoshi Nakaji (dentist) was married and he came down and he was part of the wedding party. I remember he came to Terminal Island and came to the house and said, "I'am not going to marry you or anybody else in a big three-ring circus. If you want to marry, you got to go with it." So after two weeks I decided. I had talked this over with my sister and she told me that since I knew Frank and if I wanted to, to go ahead and get married. So Frank and I eloped to Yuma, which was very unusual in those days. We were married on June 18, 1937. After we got married, there was still some friction. But as far as I'm concern, I accepted the father for the kind of person he was. He really gave me a bad time.

F Manaka

Let me say something here. When I went to pick Mitsi up in Terminal Island, I asked her father if it was all right to take her with me. And he gave me his okay.

M Manaka

But he didn't know we were going to Yuma. (laughter)

Izumi

Well, that's interesting though. Kinda daring at that time.

M Manaka

It really was.

Izumi

When was it that you actually moved to Terminal Island?

F Manaka

In 1937 when we got married. My father more or less disowned me. He wasn't too happy in my marriage. So I decided to come to Terminal Island and live with her folks. After my marriage in 1937, in the winter time I would go up to fish for sardines in Monterey and during the summer months, we'd come down and fish for tuna in Southern California.

Izumi

Can you describe Terminal Island while you were there before WWII?

F Manaka

I still remember when I was fourteen years old, in 1922, when I first arrived in San Pedro. They didn't call it Terminal Island then. It was called East San Pedro. First thing I noticed as we were entering Los Angeles harbor breakwater, all the big battleships anchored inside the harbor. And I noticed that most of the people, I would say ninety-nine percent of the people living on East San Pedro at that time were Japanese and I remember all the business were operated by Japanese, including Yamamoto Shipyard which is Harbor Ship Yard then. And they had started a Japanese cannery where Sea Pride packing is now. Also Mio's Cafe on the corner of Tuna street and Harbor, Hashimoto Hardware, Hama Hardware and few others. And of course Toma grocery store. Nakamura and all those little noodle shops we use to go and have delicious noodles there. Can't remember names of others...

Izumi

Did you come down south with your husband?

M Manaka

No, my family moved in 1935 and then in 1937 we went to Monterey. After we got married we went to Monterey. In June, 1937 he went up to Oregon to fish sardine. And during that time, I went to work for American homes in Carmel. After he got through fishing the sardine, he came back to Terminal Island and I came back to Terminal Island. While in Terminal Island, I spent most of my time at the drug store where Misako Ishii use to be, right next to Toma's grocery store. Your grocery store was on the other side where the California Bank was. I lived on 218 B Terminal Way, which was next to the Nakamura home, near the Shinto temple. I use to know the Miyoshi girls and Yuki Tatsumi. He use to live close by. Uragami lived in the same area. Nishida too?

F Manaka

I also remember Sato's service station in Terminal Island. Also Ned Uyematsu Union Oil Station. Sato's station is where the Red Star station is now.

Izumi

Did you work in the canneries when you were in Terminal Island?

M Manaka

I worked at the I.P. (International). Worked sardines, mackerel and tuna. That's the only cannery I worked in.

Izumi

Any amusing incident while you were in Terminal Island?

F Manaka

When I started fishing we were anchored in Catalina Island and group of Monterey jig boats were tied along side of each other. And my father decided I should learn how to swim. So he tied a rope around my waist and all I had to do was paddle like a dog. That's how you learn how to swim. So he pushed me over the side and I went down, down, down and I gobbled mouthful of salt water. So when they pulled me up, boy, they were all laughing at me. They thought it was so funny. But it wasn't funny to me. Ever since then I didn't want to get in the water. That's one of the reason I never learned how to swim. Every summer vacation when other kids were on the beach, learning how to swim, I was out on the deep water helping my dad chase albacore during the summer months.

Izumi

What was your immediate reaction when Japan attacked Pearl harbor?

F Manaka

We were at Monterey at that time getting ready to leave for fishing ground. But we heard on the radio that Pearl Harbor was bombed and knew it was going to be trouble. So we decided to stay home. And couple of F.B.I. people came over to see me. They were very polite, real gentlemen but they asked all kinds of questions. They want to know if Monterey was attacked, what would I do. I said, "I don't care who it is, whoever attacks comes to invade my home, I would fight him. Regardless of whether they're Japanese, Germans or Italians." They also asked me what my father would do if Japanese soldiers landed in Monterey. I said, "I don't know. Why don't you ask him yourself?" "How about your family?" "Well, my family is pretty well organized and law-abiding citizens. We never got into trouble." Then they mentioned, "Did you know, one of your brother was thrown in the jail, couple of weekends?" None of us knew that. "Your brother, Katsumi landed in jail for having a fight in the bar, couple of weekends." Of course in Monterey Japanese people were well respected and police and the newspaper people they would not put anything like that in the paper for the family to "lose face." Nobody knew about the incident until the F.B.I. came and told us about that. They also asked what kind of books I was reading. "I read my baseball magazines, Reader's Digest, and etc." "What about Japanese books?" "I don't read Japanese books because I don't understand them."

Izumi

What about your parent's reaction. How did they feel or act?

F Manaka

I remember either my mom or dad said, "Komatta koto ni natta, neh." That's the only expression I still remember.

M Manaka

I remember we were living in Monterey and made a trip down to Terminal Island and we picked my dad and brought him up to Monterey. We went to Watsonville where his half-brother lived and he stayed there. About a month later or before evacuation, we went to Terminal Island again and picked up my sisters and brought them to Monterey. They stayed with us. My kid brother, George, was a chick-sexor and he had left Terminal Island and went back east so he was out of the state when it all happened. My two sisters, we all went to Reedley shortly after.

Izumi

What was the reaction of the people in Monterey toward the Japanese?

F Manaka

Monterey is a fishing village. About eighty to ninety percent were Italians and of course they were kinda concern too. Their country was at war with the U.S. But the day Pearl Harbor was bombed, the sheriff in Monterey, whom I played baseball with, Gene Turner, came by to tell me not to worry about anything because if there's any help that we need, they would come and help us right away. And there were few other Caucasian friends who were willing to help us. In fact one of them helped us when we evacuated.

Izumi

Which assembly center or relocation center were you sent to?

F Manaka

My folks were in Poston III. We left Monterey and relocated to Reedley first. From Reedley we went to Salt Lake City. The reason we didn't want to go to camp was because we didn't know what was going to happen to our folks when they were sent out to the desert like Arizona. We decided that in case they needed help from the outside, I was in a position to help them in case they needed help.

Izumi

They stayed at camp. What did you do for a livelihood?

F Manaka

I applied for a job at Vuehner Construction Company. They're second generation Germans and when I first met them, they said that during the first World War when he was a teenager, the kids used to throw rocks and break the windows at their home. But in our situation we're fortunate that people are not that vicious. So I went to work for him in the construction job. There were twenty-two of us Nisei working there.

M Manaka

In 1942 when we left California, actually we were planning to go to Chicago but we needed a traveling permit in order to leave California at that time. So we wrote to a fellow (he use to fish with Frank) and asked him to send us a telegram saying there was a place for us to stay and work and so for us to come out. So we took the telegram to the Western Defense and we got a permit to travel. That's why we were able to leave. When we left California, they were taking people in Zone Two into different assembly centers. So instead of going down Highway 99 because of the people being transported into the assembly center, we just didn't want to be involved, we took Hwy 49, which is old, old section. It took us eight hours from Reedley, Fresno into Carson City.

F Manaka

When we were on Hwy 49 on the way to Salt Lake City, we had a flat tire. I still remember, even though there was a war between Japan and USA, one young, Caucasian fellow stopped and asked me if we were all right and needed help. He was willing to help us. Which surprised us and we appreciated it very much at that time.

M Manaka

We went to Salt Lake City and stayed at a motel for about ten days. Then we moved into an apartment.

F Manaka

I should mention too, working for a construction company was a pleasant surprise. It would never happen in California. The boss of the company came to our apartment on Christmas eve and brought us turkey and box of candy and a bonus and wished us, "Merry Christmas!" Those things don't happen in California and I was surprised that this man wanted to show us how he felt about the Japanese people being evacuated.

Izumi

You were separated from your family. How long a period was that separation?

F Manaka

A year or so later, I made a trip into Poston to see how the folks were doing.

M Manaka

At that time you went, you brought your kid brother, William out of Poston to go to school in Salt Lake City. He went to University of Utah in Salt Lake City. Since we were in Salt Lake City the people that would come out on permit would come by and they would stay with us. And my kid brother who was a chick sexor from the East came and stayed with us too. We had people coming and going, coming and going through our home all the time.

Izumi

You said your home in Salt Lake City was more like a depot or community center where everybody was going in and out.

F Manaka

Right! People coming out of camp, they always stopped by our place.

M Manaka

And at that time George Fukuzaki and his brother, Ben were farming in south Utah. And once in a while they would come into Salt Lake City They lived south—quite a number of miles south of Salt Lake City. They were farmers and other people came to work for them for sugar beets.

Izumi

Was Salt Lake City the last place you lived before you came back to California?

F Manaka

We stayed there two and a half years. During the spring and summer months, I worked at the construction job. In the winter time, one of my former fisherman who was working in a restaurant said, "Frank, you're not doing anything. Why don't you come and work in the restaurant for a while?" So I went to work as a dish washer in the restaurant for few months. That was the first experience I ever had working in a restaurant.

Izumi

Were you able to come directly to the Pacific coast?

M Manaka

Why don't you tell him about the problem you had with the union? The second summer that you worked there were lots of people who came out of camp and who were hired to help in building.

F Manaka

When we were working in the construction job, there were twenty-two Nisei. The union agent came around and asked us to join their union. "It's going to be an union job and are we willing to join them?" We were very happy. A week or so later he came back and said we can't take you. We said, "Why not?" He said, "Well, there's a reason why we can't take Japanese people. If you want to find out, you can come to our meeting at Provo, the headquarter." So we were quite upset at their proposal. First they would take us, then they wouldn't take us. Other Nisei working there quit the job saying, "We're not going to fight the union. We're going to look for some other job." But this fellow from Seattle, name Larry, (I forgot his last name) and I decided we have every right to work on the job because we're helping the war cause by building these homes for the defense workers in Provo, Utah in the steel company. So we decided to go the meeting at Provo and find out why we cannot join the union. Eight o'clock that evening we went to the meeting and there was a great, big, blistering man who started off by saying, "You Japs, when we tried to organize the produce workers in Los Angeles not one of you would join." I tell the union people, "No, we're not. I belong to two union—Fishermen Union in California." Larry spoke up and said, "We're just as good as anybody in this room." The chairman got mad and just stalked out of the room. Then someone else took over. And they explained why they won't take us. According to their by-laws anybody with suspicious character, they don't want to take. "What are we, suspicious character? We're good, law-abiding citizens, never been to jail, never been arrested." But they said, "You people were chased out of California because you're suspicious character." That was their answer. Thinking back I thought we were lucky we didn't get beat up by the union bull squad, like they do in some places. But Mr. Beard, Bishop of the Mormon Church, he was very supportive and said, "Frank, the union is not going to take the job away. We'll have you drive the truck for us. So they cannot take you off the construction job."

In the meantime I decided I'm going to follow up on this case because I know it's against the law to discriminate simply because we happen to be of Japanese descent. I went to the Fair Employment Practice Committee in Salt Lake City and they were willing to help me. They notified the Headquarters in Denver and a fellow by the name of John R. Larsen came to see the union people about our case. He happened to be a very respected, union man because during the big coal mine strike in Colorado, he was shot in the guts by the bull squad and he nearly died. Now he's working for the government on the Fair Employment Practice Committee. When the union boys met him at the airport, they tried to wine and dine him, but he said, "I didn't come here for this. I came here to make sure that you take in the two American citizens of Japanese ancestry into the union." He went right back to Denver. Two weeks later, when he found out the union wasn't doing anything about it, he came back again. This time he threatened the union people: you take these two Japanese Americans or they're going to take the union charter away. The next day, the business agent invited us to join the union. So we paid the $ 10 due and we joined the construction union. We proved the point that as long as you have the law on your side, you have somebody to back you up.

Izumi

How long did you stay as an union member there?

F Manaka

We stayed as an union member for six months as the job was finished and we didn't have to pay any extra dues.

Izumi

Is that when you decided to return to California? Or did you go elsewhere?

M Manaka

No, he was still with the Vuehner Construction Co. In the meantime we had heard the Western Defense would allow the citizens to return if they applied for the permit. So we asked for a permit to return to California thru the Western Defense Command. They sent us a permit and we returned in December, 1944 while the war was still on with Japan. War in Europe ended February or March the following year. We decided to return to Monterey. We were the first ones to return to Monterey.

F Manaka

I also wrote to my lawyer, John Visco who was the Marine captain to help us get home to Monterey.

M Manaka

This Marine captain Frank had contacted was the lawyer who helped Frank in 1941 just prior to the war against the Monterey sardine industry boat owners. They would not allow Frank to fish in Monterey bay.

F Manaka

Monterey was a closed port between the Italian old folks. Some were mafia members from Chicago. They didn't want any outsiders to come and fish in their territory. So when I brought up a charter boat from San Pedro to fish in Monterey, they wouldn't allow me to fish because I had a "foreign" boat. But I felt Monterey is my home town and the crew members have families here and are entitled to make a living in their home town. So I went to few lawyers in Monterey and none would handle my case.

M Manaka

Before you went to the lawyer, you went fishing to test the case and brought in forty tons of sardines. When he brought the sardines to take to the cannery which he had a contact, the boat owners told the cannery, "If you accept the fish, we will stop all the other boats from fishing for you." So the cannery refused to take the fish. The Fishing Game Committee came in and they said they will confiscate the fish and they would get the boat unloaded. So the boat was unloaded in the name of the Fish & Game and the Fish & Game in turn gave the money to Frank. That's how he contested against the Monterey Boat Owners' Association and then Frank decided to go and sue the Boat Owners' Association and he contacted the different lawyers.

F Manaka

None of the attorneys in Monterey would handle this case against the multi-million dollar organization. But one attorney suggested I go to San Francisco and see his friend who might be willing to take my case. In the meantime everybody also is against suing the multi-million dollar organization. Even my mother said, "Baka na koto suru na." The crew members too said they don't want to have anything to do with the law suit against the organization. But I felt that I have to fight for my rights, even though I may win or lose, I still have to fight for my rights as an American citizen.

So finally I went to San Francisco to the attorney who was suggested to me. The first thing he asked was, "Frank, how much money you got?" "Well, all my money is tied up in the fishing equipments. I don't have much money." So he asked if I could come up with $125 as a retainer's fee. I said I probably could borrow some money when I get back to Monterey. So that was the deal. He said, "If we win, we'll go fifty/fifty." "That's okay with me as long as I have a chance to fish in my home town. As long as I get to fish. I don't care about the financial part of it." Anyway, after a year and a half or so he took the case to the Federal Court in San Francisco.

M Manaka

No, it was the same year. In 1941. That was when you brought the fish in and then two months or a month later you had court in San Francisco.

F Manaka

To make a test case, the lawyer suggested we go out and get a load of fish and that's what we did. Like my wife explained, that's what happened.

Then in the Federal Court in San Francisco, Judge Alger Fee from Portland presided over the case. He was the same lawyer that represented the Hirabayashi case.

On November, 1941 Judge Alger Fee awarded us triple damages against the Monterey Sardine Association. Then the war started and we moved to Salt Lake City. Then my lawyer says that the association isn't going to pay you because they're afraid some of that money is going to the Shogun in Japan. So my lawyer said they would have to pay six percent interest until they're paid up. Within a month they did pay us. I didn't expect any money but the lawyer made the fifty/fifty agreement so he gave me fifty percent of the case money after expenses were paid.

Coming back to "Ohio III" that we built in 1929 just at the beginning of the depression. Things got real bad after the boat was built and we started fishing. There were no demand for canned sardine and the cannery would allow the boats to go only once a week which was not enough to keep up the expense of the boat. Anyhow we couldn't stop fishing because we had twelve Japanese fishermen with families in Monterey, and if we lose our boat or stop fishing, they would have no income to feed their families. So we decided even though we were going in a hole we decided to keep the boat. But in the meantime the engine and the boat company had turned the contract over to a financial company, Commercial Credit Company in San Francisco and they're after me to pay off the balance or else they're going to take the boat away. So I took the boat to San Francisco and anchored it behind a small island. Then in the meantime I went up to the Commercial Credit Co.'s office in San Francisco. They kept me there for over two hours. I'm thinking those time they were looking for my boat along the pier in San Francisco. They never did find the boat because it was not tied up to the pier. Anyway I wanted to make sure to talk to the head of the Enterprise Agent Company, who happened to be a good baseball player in his days. He's the president of the Enterprise Agent Company. We started talking baseball. Then finally it came down to what we owed them, he was very sympathetic and said, "Frank, we wouldn't take your boat. We don't know what to do with it. Why don't you keep on fishing and we'll take the contract back from the Credit Union." So that's what they did. They allowed me to keep the boat and they took the contract back from the credit union.

That went on until 1937 when fishing started picking up. I thought the principle that I owned the agent and the boat company was well paid off. That's the time when I decided to sell the boat and get the monkey off my back. So I sold the boat to Mr. Marumoto in San Pedro. After the boat was sold, I found out about the compound interest the agent and the boat company said I still owed them—about $30,000 in interest. At that time I was not familiar with compound interest so I had $30,000 monkey on my back even though I sold the boat. In the meantime, after I sold the "Ohio" I started chartering boats, leasing boats and operating it in Monterey to fish for sardines and fish for tuna in San Pedro.

When this case got started in 1941, in a way, that was a godsend incident because of the winning the case, triple damages that were awarded to us, I was able to get the monkey off my back. Strange how we did that. We had a real smart lawyer. When the agent company and boat company tried to clamp down on my case, my lawyer said, "You know, Frank, they may never get back to California again because of the war. You may not get any part of it back. This party is not going to get released until he signs the papers." So he made a deal with them. On that $30,000 and more loan, we settled for $10,000 even, and they agreed. So that took the monkey off my back. Reason that happened is because my father had retired and of course he couldn't help the boat in his name because he's an alien and the boat was in my name and so that was my responsibility, even though my father had retired and shoved the responsibility onto me when I was twenty-three years old. My father built the "Ohio III."

Izumi

You started fishing with rented boats in Monterey after you came back?

F Manaka

To begin with, when I was twelve, thirteen, fourteen years old, every summer my father would take me out albacore fishing on a jig boat. Early in those years, we were fishing on a small jig boat. Then in late 1920's we started fishing half-ring boat, fishing for sardines in Monterey. Then in 1929 purse seiner fishing was just beginning, great big purse seiner net boat. So we were first ones to build the "Ohio III" among the Japanese fishermen.

M Manaka

After the war you came back to Monterey, we tried to go fishing but the navy would not allow you to. So he had to appeal.

F Manaka

I wanted to rush back to Monterey and get back in fishing because that's what I wanted to do after the war. So we rushed back and found out the army would allow us to come back home to California and to Monterey. But the navy said we're still at war with Japan and we can't allow you to go into the ocean. So I stayed ashore for over a year. When the war ended with Japan, then I was allowed to go fishing.

M Manaka

In 1945 you started working for Catino.

F Manaka

In 1946 I started as a skipper in a boat for one of the Italian family that had a boat. Following year I decided I found out working for somebody else I might as well start my own business so I went to Tacoma, Washington and chartered a 150 ton sardine boat called "Western Sky." In those days, right after the war, fish was in such great demand, cannery was willing to advance money to help us get started. So when that boat was sold, the Western Boat Co. that I chartered the boat from in Tacoma, Washington offered me a deal. "We're going to sell that "Western Sky" but we have a similar boat, "Western Explorer." If we're willing to operate that boat, they would give me half interest. Nothing now. When they found out that I could go out and do well in fishing, they wanted me as a partner so I took fifty percent interest on that boat without putting anything down. Then I went to San Pedro to look for somebody to help me build tuna net so I could go start fishing for tuna that summer.

So I made my rounds from all the way from Pan Pacific, Starkist, all the canneries and they give me the run-around, how much money I got, what experience I got and none of them were willing to help me financially. Then I ran into Charles Buchan, who was the fleet manager for Van Camp. I wasn't keen at that time fishing for Van Camp because all the fishermen and cannery workers that helped and worked at Van Camp Sea Food , during evacuation, Van Camp would not give them a hand or any support at all. So I didn't feel I should be fishing for Van Camp. Anyway I had no choice. The fleet manager of Van Camp, Charles Buchan offered to help me. He's the one that really got me started after the war. When I told him I have a 150 ton tuna boat but I have no net and I have no money to buy the net and that's why I need help. "All right," he said, "go ahead and get yourself a net." So I bought myself one and a half net to last me five years. Ha. They went to pay that net what owed Van Camp in about three years' time. And I asked the company how much interest I owe them for the $30,000 tuna net I had bought. "We're not in the banking business. We wanted your fish. We wanted to help you get started."

So that's the way thing went after the war. Things started breaking for me. In 1952, I was one of the top islander in the fleet, fishing sardines and tuna during the summer months. In 1952, the Fishermen Fiesta was going strong. There was seventy boat fleet in San Pedro and they wanted everybody to join the group. But we weren't too keen on this boat parade. But the fleet manager, Charles Buchan asked us to join even though we didn't have much time to get ready. So we worked day and night to get the boat ready. We got into the fishermen boat parade the first year. It just so happen that we had the right idea and we won the sweepstake prize. Two years later, we went into it again and won the second time. That's what the cup came from.

By 1956 I was sitting on top of the world. I was up in cloud nine because with all my bills paid up and money in the bank and a wonderful wife and I decided now that I was on top I wanted to do something else.

M Manaka

That's when you started fighting the imports of tuna in 1956 and I went to Washington D.C.

In 1956, Frank would come in with the fish and he would be tied up at the pier while the cannery was canning the imported tuna. The other tuna boats that use to bring in the load had to be anchored along the pier and keep their refrigeration going for one week, two weeks, three weeks before they could unload them. So there was quite a bit of pressure on the local fishermen because of the imported tuna—from Japan. So the Boat Owners' Association was out there fighting against the imports. They had the Senate hearing for the Foreign and Interstate Commerce Committee come to Southern California. They had a hearing on the imports of tuna and they had a bill trying to cut down the imports of tuna from Japan. The men were out busy fishing so the wives in the Women's auxiliary group were in there pitching for the boats to go out and have the imports cut so that when they came in they were able to unload right away. So they had a hearing in San Pedro and at that time, the lady president of the Women's auxiliary and myself were asked to appear before the Senate Committee. So we appeared before the committee hearing in San Pedro. And then the following year, this must have been the end of '55 when they had the hearing and the first part of the year, in March 1956, they were having the final hearing in Washington D.C. so they had asked Helen Xitco, the president and myself to appear before the Foreign & Interstate Committee hearing in Wash. D.C. trying to pass this bill to curtail the import of tuna. So I went to Washington and we lobbied and it was really very educational and a very learning experience for myself as we went to Washington D.C. We appeared before the committee and also lobbied the members of the committee and asking them to please vote for this bill that they were having in their committee before it went to Congress. So it was quite an experience for us. That was in March and then in May, that's when Frank had the accident.

Izumi

Oh, that was the same year?

M Manaka

Yes, because we went for the hearing in March and then on May 14, 1956, you had the accident.

Izumi

That was about the most terrifying experience you went through, I imagine. Can you give us a low-down on what happened?

F Manaka

Up to then, like I said I was sitting on top of the world because everything was going well for me. On the night of May 14, 1956, a thousand miles south of Cabo San Lucas off Mexico. We were at one of the island called Socorro Island. We were anchored there. And during that night the Chubasco storm, typical storm, started from that place and we were caught in the storm even though we were anchored there. What happened during the night, three o'clock in the morning, the deck watch came to wake me up and we found ourselves that the anchor had dragged them. We were on the rocks. Even though the boat was on the rocks, nobody in the boat felt the pounding or anything to warn us we were on the rocks. When the watch came to wake me up, I saw the breakers coming over the sides and I knew we were in trouble. So we woke everybody up and we launched our power skiff. Most of the crew were on the skiff at that time except Mr. Yamagira, the oldest man on the boat, the cook. He and I were standing on top of the cabin. In a matter of minutes, the boat evidently slid off the ridge and went down. The lights went off. It was raining. It was a typical storm. It was three o'clock in the morning. When the boat went down, I'm not a swimmer, and I unconsciously reached up for something to grab and there was an empty 500 gallon drum over my head. The next thing I knew the breakers threw me on the rocks. When I started climbing the cliff there somebody was saying, "Ooi dareka?" Then I realized the cook was already up there on the cliff. I asked him how did he get up here. He said just before the boat went down he looked around to see where the best landing spot was and so when the boat went down, he said he swam toward this spot. That's where I found him.

At day break I could see all the men in the water and corks were still floating on the surface and some of the men including my brother was on the corks. And Mitsi's brother, Shiro was hanging onto the crow's nest, which was still out of the water even though the boat was (down) the tip of the boat, crow's nest was out of the water. That's when I saw him last. Then after day break I could see all the people in the water. You know, overlooking from the cliff and I started missing some of the fellows, lost, evidently went down. Then later that morning George Fukuzaki came around to rescue us. He came on a skiff himself with couple of crew members and picked us off the reef and took us back to another ship there. And the coast guard had already notified one of the cutter that was coming up the coast to pick us up and they brought us into Long Beach.

Izumi

For the record, can we have some of the names of the crew members who were lost?

F Manaka

Yes. Of course, my brother-in-law, Mitsi's brother, Shiro Matsushita. He fell from or dropped off the tip of the mast he was hanging onto. We picked up his body there. And Masayoshi Masuda. His body was picked up. And there was Endo-san (Issei), we never did find him. Kiyoji Nakane, his body was never found. One Yugoslavian fisherman, Mike Bevech, we found his body too.

Izumi

Did that stop you from fishing or did you go back fishing again after that terrible accident?

F Manaka

After the accident, there was a million dollar law suit, I guess. So I wasn't able to do anything for a while until the law suit was settled. Then couple years later the company from Ensenada called me and wanted me to come down and help the Mexican fishermen get started. That was 1959. I went down there and spent a year in Ensenada. Make good fishermen and fish the American system. I teach them the celestial navigation. And then I decided if I'm going to be on a boat, I might as well start my own business. So in 1962 (corrected to 1960) I started a partnership on the "American Beauty"—150 foot, 300 ton tuna boat. We fished for four years on that boat.

Izumi

This was mostly in Mexican water?

F Manaka

Yes, mostly in Mexican water, all the way down to South America. Best fishing ground was Guayaquil, off the coast of Ecuador. So we fish from Mexico all the way down to South America on the "American Beauty." In 1964 the boat started to leak and sank over there. So 1964 was the last of my fishing career.

In the meantime, I was retired. In 1969 Van Camp Sea Co. asked me to go down to South America for three months. So I spent three months in Ecuador to see what the problem was. They had a Canadian fellow. They were having problems because he was a heavy drinker and every time he started drinking, he would give the natives a bad time, called them "monkey" and all that. He didn't want to associate with them and have his own dinner by himself, steak and potato man. That's all he wanted. When I went down there they asked me if I wanted steak and potato too. "No, whatever you put on the table I'll eat with the rest of the natives there." My Spanish was not too fluent but I did the best I could to communicate with them in Spanish which they appreciate and of course I never called names or anything. I try to treat them like a human being. So after three months I was getting ready to come home because I thought my vacation was over. Then the company's South American Division manager came from Lima, Peru and wanted me to stay five more years. "Five more years in the sticks! No, thank you!" He said, "Well, listen to me. I will make an offer you can't say no." He offered a pension, thirty days or a month's vacation home, first class flight to Los Angeles, my wife come down first class one month, put me on the administrative staff at company at home there, cook for me, somebody to wash my clothes, and treated me pretty well. I understand it wasn't too bad even though I missed my sports. Of course I have my radio so I could listen to the Army Service Band which is the only entertainment I have in Mexico. Missed all the football, baseball games which I love.

M Manaka

All of the Miami Dolphins.

F Manaka

Yeah. And five years really went fast and I enjoyed working—it wasn't actually working I didn't have much to do. More the native did most of the work. I pointed out the mistakes they were making, you know. For instance, some morning, one of the fisherman would say, "I have nothing to eat at home for my kids." So I would give him few loaves of bread from the commissary. If I don't give it to them, they would have taken it anyway or pound of coffee or whatever they want. One fellow had a sick child and didn't any have money to take him to the commissary. "How much?" "Two dollars." "All right." So I gave him $2 worth of pesos. And so whatever I have if I'm able to help, I give it to them. A fellow had a shoe with a hole in the sole. I take my old pair of shoe off, as I have two-three old pair of shoes anyway and get rid of them.

During the five years' stay in Ecuador, they really protected me. They're grateful. Stealing things from the gringos (Americans) you know. I never lost, not a single, not even a pencil out of my room. They always protect me. When I lost my key to get into my room, they told me how to open the door without using a key. They wanted me to stay but I missed my sport and I love to eat and all the good food and the variety we have up here—Mexican food, Chinese food and all different kind of food we have here. We can't enjoy the food down there. We go to the best restaurant there and order filet mignon. The meat is not aged. It's tough. Just like eating raw steak. We go to a Chinese restaurant and order chicken chop suey or something and it smells funny. I just didn't enjoy the food down there. Of course, it's lobster and shrimp country so most of the time I ordered lobster or shrimp which is very good.

One time I got real sick, even though I was very careful what I drink and eat. I don't drink the water or don't eat green vegetable. One time, I was so sick I laid in my hotel room and one of the managers came up and wanted to know what happened. First time I was in bed. "I don't drink the water nor eat your vegetable. I don't know what made me sick." He said, "Did you have fruit juice or something, a highball?" "Oh yes. I had couple of high balls." "Ice cube in the glass?" "Yes." "That's it! That's what made you sick. Don't have ice cubes. Tell them just cool the beer or soda in the refrigerator. No ice."

I enjoyed spending five and a half years in Ecuador and there's a place in Ecuador where people live to be 200 years old. Southern part of Ecuador. They say it's either the water there or the soil that grows the plant, it's good for them. I must have a touch of that too because I feel pretty good for my age. So maybe that five and a half years I spent in Ecuador kinda rubbed off on me from the place. I have an article about that place too.

Then I came home in 1975 after five and a half years. Taking it easy. Then the company sent me down to Lima, Peru to bring a ship, Pepesco-4 to pick up tuna off the boats in Panama. So I spent nine months in Panama. Anchored in Taboga Island picking up fish off tuna boats.

Izumi

Weren't you also up in the Alaskan area too?

F Manaka

Alaska was during the depression time when I first built the boat in 1932. That's going way back. End of 1929 when the boat was completed and the bad depression came along and during 1930-1931, fishing was very poor because they wouldn't allow us to work more than once a week. Six months at a time we were tied up and anchored in Monterey. One summer the Alaskan king salmon was running up Bering Sea. They thought it a good idea for us to go up there. Go up to the king salmon up to Bering Sea. So we had six men, seven including myself on the boat. We took on supplied for thirty days because the season is short up there. Within one month the season is over. So we went up there. During the thirty days we had such a good cook and the young crew with great appetite that we ate the thirty days' grocery in two weeks. I still remember the cook, cooked good fish too. With all the supplies gone, we had plenty of salmon to eat and he would cook us salmon dinners, all different ways—baked, fried, steamed, all that. We had salmon dinner three times a day for the rest of the trip. So to this day, boy, for a long time I just didn't want to eat salmon.

Izumi

How was the fishing in Alaska, profitable?

F Manaka

The trip was a disaster because we didn't make it up there in time. The fishing season was just about over. We got there on the tail end of the trip and it wasn't successful at all. But in 1934 we chartered a boat through the Salmon Company in Wrangell, Alaska, inside passage in Alaska. Wrangell is near Ketchikan. We chartered a boat thru the Salmon Co. up there to pick up the fish up off the salmon boat to bring it in to the cannery. So we were up there about month and half during the salmon season, picking up salmon and bringing it into to the cannery.

Izumi

Well, you've seen quite a bit of fishing all the way from Alaska down south to South America.

F Manaka

Yes. From Bering Sea, fishing salmon. We followed the sardine season beginning from Oregon to San Francisco all the way down to Monterey to San Pedro.

Izumi

The other day you were telling me the fishing industry got so good technically that they fished out the sardines. Maybe you can tell us how that happened.

F Manaka

Yes. Technically we're so advanced in commercial fishing that after the war, some of the navy flyers had an idea for scouting for sardines during the season. So at one time there were about fifteen planes scouting during the day time and fifteen more during night time to keep tract of the migration of the sardines. In the summer time, sardines started migrating from Oregon and Northern California to Southern California all the way down to the Mexican coast. So we really slaughtered the sardines because they were keeping tract of them during day time and night time, we'd go out there and fish the sardines during the night time And we corral 100 ton, 200 ton at a time. Imagine with a seventy boat fleet, I think we just fill up the sardines like they did buffalos in the olden days. Same thing happened to the whales in the different ocean. So by 1952, the sardines were just about depleted. That's when the Monterey canneries started closing up. In fact by 1955 there were no sardine canneries left in Monterey. In fact there were no sardines to pack. I believe the same thing is happened to the mackerel and bonito, off the Southern California coast too. We have airplanes scouting up and down the coast and we just slaughtered them just like we did the whales and the buffalos and all those. Same thing is happening to the tuna industry. The Asia-Pacific, most of the big school of tuna that we were catching is gone and now the American boats are on the Western Pacific fishing for tuna off Australia, off of Philippines, and off of Guam. So I feel very fortunate we were able to retire when all this is happened. I'm able to retire and stay in good health all these years. I thank God for it.

Izumi

During your fishing days, I think you mention there were some innovations that you put into practice, like going to navigation school never done before.

F Manaka

In 1948, I wanted to learn celestial navigation so I could keep tract of my position when we were fifty to a hundred miles off the coast, so that I could stay close to the fish from the day before. So in 1948 I went. There was a corporative, navigation school teaching celestial navigation in San Pedro. Most of the students there were sea-men from ships and to see one commercial fisherman there, they all started kidding me. "What do you want to learn celestial navigation? You're fishing along the coast." "Oh, no. We go fish 100 to 200 miles off the coast so I wanted to learn celestial navigation." I took a three month's course and when I started fishing I really took advantage of it. People started wondering why I'm always in a good position the next day. Eventually, they found out I took that navigation course. After that lots of the other fishermen decided to take that corporate navigation course too so they were able to navigate.

Izumi

The other day, Yuki Tatsumi was telling me you taught him how to use the sexton.

F Manaka

Yeah. Yuki and Min Hanamura, they're branded fishermen, you know. They're intelligent. So I decided to have them as my assistants. I had Yuki take the evening star before the sun went down and Min Hanamura get up at five o'clock in the morning and take the morning star. They did a good job for me as my assistants. So I had two assistant navigators.

Izumi

Well, we covered Alaska all the way to South America. Is there anything you like to say or something you think you might have forgotten that you like to leave for history?

F Manaka

People are alike all of them, up and down the coast, from Alaska to South America. I met those, not Eskimos but Alaskan Indians. They look very much like Japanese, the old time Issei people and we keep starring at each other when I first went up there. Ha. You treat them equal and they treat you the same way. They don't look down to you. You associate with them on the same level. That goes for all the way up and down the coast. We've been in just about every port, every cove, up and down the coast from Juneau, Ketchikan, Wrangell, Seattle, all the way down the coast to every port in Mexico, Guaymas, Cabo San Lucas, Manzanillo, Acapulco all the way down to Panama, Nicaragua, Ecuador, Quito, Lima, Peru and all that. People are all the same. You associate with them, treat them humanly on equal term, they treat you the same way. But if you look down on them and start talking like you're more superior than they are, they could feel it too. That's the problem with most of the American people. They don't treat them equally. They kinda look down on them. Even though they're foreigner in their country. That's the reason some of them get into trouble, like this Canadian fellow that I took the place in Ecuador.

Izumi

Do you have anything you want to add, fishing industry, your home life with Frank?

F Manaka

You went to Ecuador on your vacation trip. You went to Panama too.

M Manaka

Oh, yes. I was very fortunate because even though he wasn't home all the time, at least because he was in Ecuador I was able to go down every year and see how the people live and...

F Manaka

You couldn't speak a word of Spanish that time.

M Manaka

First year I went I couldn't speak a word of Spanish. So when I came home, I decided I better go learn Spanish and I went to City College and took up conversational Spanish. I took it for three years. So at the end of that I was able to speak Spanish, you know, and converse with the people when I went down there. When you learn thing as you grow older you forget it faster too.

I enjoyed Panama. I really enjoyed Panama. We saw the boats passing through the locks. Then we took the train over to Colon, to the Atlantic side and we went through the city there. I enjoyed that too.

Of course since 1956 after Frank had his accident, first thing Frank said is when he called me after his accident, he said, "You can thank God I'm alive today." And he really meant it. So when he came home, the first Sunday he wanted to go to church so we went to church. Ever since that I've become involved in church. At the time of the accident you don't know where to turn or what to do but somehow if you know that God is there and He cares for you, you draw strength from that. And Frank told me when he was upon the reef, he was looking at those fellows in the water, he said, "You know, honey, I tried to pray." How would you have known that if somebody hadn't taught you and given you that gift? And so when I was with the Grace Presbyterian Church the first year, they asked me to teach Sunday School so I taught the little kindergarten kids, including your nephew. Then they asked me to be the youth advisor so I was the Senior High advisor for thirteen years. And I took the group... One group, I took to Yosemite one year. And I took them to Mt. Herman. One group I took up to the Seattle Fair. Another group I took to Monterey Church and so we all went to different places and I took them up to Big Bear on camping for their retreat. And on Christmas I took them Christmas caroling so I mean I really...

The only reason I did that is because I wanted to impart to them of God's love for them. And so that's all... Somebody gave me so I wanted to do to somebody else. I had a young couple here. They were staying with their... I don't think I should say their name. Anyhow their mother died and their father died and they were brought up by their uncle and aunt. They were having a little problems, because their uncle was a Kibei. And so the girl after she graduated high school, she left the area and the kid brother, no... She had an apartment. That was it. She and her brother were living in it. But the brother was in my youth group and he came to me and told me, every Tom, Dick and Harry would come by and visit her and he was quite upset. He was a senior in high school at that time. Anyway, after discussing with her and with the fellow, I told him, "Why don't you come and live with me?" And so she left town but the boy went to high school and stayed with me until he finished high school. Then later on the sister came back and then she got married and the boy went to live with her. He is now an orthodontist up in Northern California. One day, it must have been about five to six years ago, the door bell rings and here is this young man. He came by to thank me for helping him. So I told him, "All I ask you to do is to do this same to somebody else. Because somebody gave to me when I needed the help and somebody gave to them. All goes back to the time when God gave His Son. And so it's a wonderful feeling it you know and you understand and you believe.

Now at Grace Church, I have just retired from the session, as one of the elders. I said, "I need to yield or we need to yield control to the younger people, like Steven and all those people who are active in church and they're at that age now when they can take the responsibility." And the idea is to encourage people to grow.

So every day Frank and I look at each other. We're very thankful. We're very grateful. We live a happy life and you know, your values change, especially after Frank had his accident. You don't put value on material things any more. There are things more precious and more valuable in life than that. The most important thing is to love one another. You know, to care and to support each other. We're very happy.

F Manaka

Main thing is communication. We want to communicate with each other.

M Manaka

Ha, ha!

F Manaka

I know when she's mad. She's smart enough to know what I'm mad even though I don't say anything. Ha. Ha.

Izumi

Well, this was a real wonderful tape. I know the Museum is going to like it because it's not only what we talked about Terminal Island, it takes in the whole western coast of U.S. One of these days I think the Museum is going to try to get people in San Diego, San Pedro, Monterey and make a historical tape or historical museum piece out of this.

F Manaka

What happen in Monterey in 1922, very few living people know about it. Most of the Issei folks were there are not there any more. And I was fortunate my dad took me to the community meetings when I was fourteen years old. I happen to be the oldest Nisei in Monterey. I guess I'm the only one that knows about those Japanese community and what happened in Monterey. I thought it was very important for the kids to know what happened.

M Manaka

When I was ten years old they had a shojo-kai for the young people. They were going to have a Halloween party so this neighbor of mine, she made me a costume out of crepe paper and I was going to go to the party. Her oldest sister came to me and told me: if I was going to the party, I'd have to stop going to church. She made me make that choice at ten years old and I still remember. And so I decided I wasn't going to go to the party. You know at ten years old when a person makes you make a decision like that—if you're going to the party, you stop going to church. That's how it was between the Buddhist and the Christian. And to take a ten year old and to make that decision, I thought to myself, "Oh, how mean she was!"

F Manaka

It's unusual for a small Japanese community to have something divide them into two groups. Most community, the Japanese people are very close to each other, but Monterey it didn't happen. And I happen to be there and I happened to listen to both sides of the story. That's why when the JACL in Monterey heard about it, they wanted me to come up and so they could tape it so I explained all these things while I was up there. I named some names up there too because they know who they are.

Izumi

Thank you!

April 9, 1994

Izumi

We would like to get some information on your first ship "Ohio." When was it built, the length, the horsepower and the fish capacity and type of net you used.

F Manaka

Fishing was a half-ring boat in Monterey at that time. But it was a new type of fishing. We started in San Pedro and elsewhere. And those boats were called purse seiner. It's not a half-ring boat but a full ring—what we called a purse seiner net. The net at that time, sardine net I'm talking about, cost $12,000. When we started building the " Ohio III" in San Francisco in August, 1929, the original cost of the boat was around $28,000. Of course, in those days you can compare groceries, you can buy a loaf of bread for nine cents, quart of milk for ten cents. People were working for twenty-five to fifty cents an hour at the time. We thought a $20,000 investment was quite an investment at that time.

Izumi

Who financed your investment?

F Manaka

The boat builder, Anderson & Cristofani of San Francisco. An agent company supplied the Enterprise engine.

Izumi

What was the length of your boat?

F Manaka

The length was seventy-two feet long and approximately twenty feet wide, width.

Izumi

What was the length of the net?

F Manaka

The length of the sardine net at that time was 240 fathom long, thirty-five fathom deep.

(six feet equal one fathom.)

Izumi

What was your second boat?

F Manaka

The "Western Explorer" was ninety-two footer, twenty-four feet deep, approximate cost $160,000.

Izumi

Did you use the same type of net with this boat, or was it longer?

F Manaka

It was a full purse seiner. Beside the sardine net, we had a tuna net which cost $20,000 to 25,000.

Izumi

And your third boat?

F Manaka

"American Beauty" was former Oakland line tuna clipper we converted to a purse seiner. Approximate cost $300,000.

Izumi

The equipment you used naturally get larger with the larger boat?

F Manaka

Yes, the tuna fleet they kept getting larger and larger. The last fleet boat cost about $10 to 12 million. Capacity was 2,000 tons.

Izumi

That's the one you were a captain?

F Manaka

No, "American Beauty" carried 300,000 ton capacity.

Izumi

How large was the "American Beauty?"

F Manaka

"American Beauty was 160 feet long and thirty feet wide.

Izumi

And your fourth boat?

M Manaka

He only had three boats.

Izumi

What about the one that...

F Manaka

It belong to Van Camp Sea Food Company. So I helped them bring the boat from Peru to Panama to Seattle. I spent two-three years on that boat. That's ship went up and down the coast picking up tuna off the fishing boats.

Izumi

You had the boat that was in the storm.

F Manaka

That was the "Western Explorer."

Izumi

On the average how many crew did you have aboard?

F Manaka

On the "Ohio" we had eleven men crew. On the "Western Explorer we had twelve men crew. "American Beauty" we had as many as seventy men. Of course on the other Van Camp boat, we had about thirty people on that boat.

Izumi

This is one of the technical questions. I'm sure everybody gets wages but aboard a fishing boat they have typical way of paying off. Can you explain that in detail?

F Manaka

Fishermen are not on salary or wages like people working ashore. Strictly on per share bases. In other words if you go by percentage, the boat gets fifty percent of the gross catch and the other fifty percent the expenses are taken out—fuel, grocery supplies, license fee and so forth. Then it's divided among the crew. Skipper usually gets two shares of it and the crew members get one share. Chief engineer usually gets one and a half shares too.

Izumi

There's equipment like net. Are they figured in too?

F Manaka

No, net is part of the boat. The only expenses shared by the crew member are grocery, fuel, license fee to fish in foreign water. That's about all. The rest of the balance is divided among the crew members.

Izumi

Well, Anything else particular or peculiar to the fishing industry? Who determines all the food that goes aboard the ship, especially when you're going on a trip to Mexico and all that?

F Manaka

The cook is the one who orders the grocery and fix up whatever is best for the crew. Food expense is shared by the whole crew.

Izumi

I guess that covers everything then. THANKS!

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     John Marumoto
• Date:
•     Christmas, 1979
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

As fishing for a livelihood has been in my family for a couple of generations I find it particularly nostalgic to reminisce on this subject.

Both my grandfather and father in their youths have crossed the Pacific from their homeland of Japan to fish the waters of California. Therefore I like to feel that they have contributed a small, but significant part to the early years of California's fishing industry.

In the late 1800s, some of the pioneers of the early California fishing industry, were daring and adventurous Japanese immigrants. Predominantly young men in their late teen and early twenties, they sought opportunities to prosper and succeed.

It was a dream of these adventurous young men to be able to earn enough money to return to their native land to marry and raise families. In their voyage across the Pacific, they made their first stop in the Hawaiian Islands where many decided to stay and start new lives.

Others sailed on to Seattle, Washington, the debarkation port in the western United States, where some stayed to work the farms and the railroads.

The fishermen, men predominantly from the Wakayama Prefecture of Japan, traveled south along the Pacific Coast seeking good sheltered coves where fishing villages could be established. Many of the men eventually settled in such California cities as Monterey, Oxnard, Santa Monica and specifically San Pedro because of its ideal climate and abundance of fish in its waters.

In the 1890s these fishermen originally engaged themselves in diving for abalone in the waters off White Point in the City of San Pedro. Crude living shelters (such as old canvases and over-turned abandoned boats) were set up on the lee side of the San Pedro mountains to protect the men from the elements.

Soon however, realizing that there was a lack of sufficient demand for the sea mollusk, these men ventured into what eventually became the beginnings of the Japanese contributions to the California fish industry.

In the early 1900s, the men built small row boats such as were used in Japan, which were propelled with single oars pushed back and forth at the rear of the boats. Using these boats to take them out into the bay they fished for tuna using six foot poles with three foot lines.

Their catch was usually sold in the Japanese community. However, transporting the fish twenty-five to thirty miles inland to these communities posed a particular problem as the means of transportation was usually horse drawn carts, a trip which proved too lengthy to prevent spoilage.

Circa 1910 ushered in the use of small motor boats which were capable of traveling about two to four knots per hour. My grandfather, who arrived in the United States in 1908 and followed the customary route of debarking in Seattle, working for the lumber-yard and diving for abalone, also built himself in 1913, a small thirty-five horsepower boat called the "Kii-Maru."

With each improved equipment the catch also increased but was usually limited to 1,000-2,000 pounds because of the lack of adequate and sanitary canning processes.

In 1918, my father, Tomitaro Marumoto, also left his home in Japan to join his father in this trade, and the "Kii-Maru" was to serve them for another ten years, before he assumed duties of skippering a considerably larger boat for the Van Camp Sea Food Cannery.

The 1918 Fishing Bill introduced into Congress in the State of California prohibited Japanese alien men from owning their own boats. Therefore my father spent several years as skipper of a boat owned in partnership with the canneries.

By this time the Japanese community had increased considerably as more of the men brought their families to join them. In the pre World War I years, increasing activity of merchant ships brought about the dredging of the Los Angeles main channel. Interestingly, the dirt that was dug out of the channel was piled onto East San Pedro creating what is now known as Terminal Island, which soon became a little country within a country for the Japanese community.

With the establishment of large sanitary canneries on Terminal Island came the building of camps to house the fishermen, their families and the cannery workers.

There are many Japanese in my generation who can claim Terminal Island as their birth place. I myself was born and raised on the tiny island.

The families lived as one close, tightly knit family bound together by a common bond. Having the fathers go out to sea for long periods of time was a way of life for the children. Often times the only contact we had with our fathers at sea was listening to them on a short wave radio as they conversed with other fishermen on other boats.

Our fishermen fathers were totally dedicated. Hard back-breaking work with long hours was just a part of their lives. The one very interesting skill of these men was their keen eyesight. Skippers were known to be able to spot schools of fish two miles away. They'll stand for hours in the crow's nest at the top of the mast oblivious to blinding rain, freezing winds, and the scorching sun in their quest for that school of fish.

During the depression years of the early 1930s, the canneries were shut down, but the fishermen survived by trading their fish with farmers for vegetables, clothing and other necessities.

The years from 1932 to 1941 brought larger and faster boats traveling at speeds of six to eight knots. Most of the boats were also using the "half-ring" net. This is a net which required crew members to manually pull the fish laden net onto the boat, all the while singing in rhythmic cadences.

Some of the larger boats, however, were converting to the more efficient "purse seine" net which also was heavier, harder to manipulate and required speed and hard work on the part of the crew.

The largest boats in the fishing fleet were the bait boats which usually traveled great distances to the south in quest of the tuna. Each trip on the bait boat kept the fishermen away from home for several months.

The procedure used on bait boats involved the process of "chumming" or tossing live bait at schools of tuna. This caused the fish to stir into a wild frenzied mass enabling the fishermen to catch them one at a time using barbless hooks on short bamboo poles. An experienced fisherman could hook a fish and as he pulls it overhead, deftly snaps his wrists which, when skillfully done, automatically releases the fish onto the deck behind him. This procedure was used to enable the men to continue fishing without breaking their stride. An inexperienced man, on the other hand, must drop his pole, after each hook-up and manually unhook each fish, wasting precious time.

Fishing for larger, heavier tuna however, required the teamwork of two to three men, who combine their poles on a single line and must cast hook and snap their wrists in unison.

The methods of commercial fishing in the present day has taken on a considerable change from those of the past. Highly technical equipment and methods has enabled boats to sail farther away from their home ports in their quest for new fishing grounds. Increased restrictions, imposed by many countries have also contributed to the necessity of traveling greater distances. Research fishing boats for example have been sent to the coast of Africa, Hawaii, and the South Pacific Islands.

The sacrifices that were made seem insignificant in the enormity of modern technology. But in the eyes of those who have matured with the industry, are reflected years of hard work which cannot be adequately described in words.

The Japanese people of Terminal Island are a very proud and hard working group. They overcame tremendous obstacles in order to make things easier for others to follow. Unfortunately, their many years of toil and dedication has not been recognized by the people and the government of the United States.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Tomitaro Marumoto and Mrs. Marumoto
• Interviewer:
•     Toshiro Izumi
• Date:
•     March 10, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Izumi

Mr. and Mrs. Marumoto, please state your name, birthplace and birthday.

Marumoto

Wakayama-ken, Higashi-murogun, Ugui-cho, in 1899.

Mrs. Marumoto

I was born in Hawaii. I attended two years of Jogakko (girl's school) in Japan. I came to American in June after our marriage.

Izumi

How many children did you have? And their names.

Marumoto

Five children. The eldest daughter's married name is Chiomi Ogawa; eldest son is Katsuyuki Marumoto; second son is Noriyuki Marumoto; second daughter is Saeko; this daughter is Junko Marumoto.

Izumi

I believe you grew up in Japan, so what was your educational background?

Marumoto

Kotoka. Jinjo-ka, then Kotoka.

Izumi

You were well educated in Japan?

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

And Mrs. Marumoto also educated in Japan?

Mrs. Marumoto

I went to Japan at age fourteen, and went to jogakko for two years, then to gigei-gakko (arts & crafts school) for one year.

Izumi

What is gigei-gakko?

Mrs. Marumoto

School for Arts & Crafts and Home Making. I returned to Hawaii shortly after that. Shujin (Mr. M.) came to fetch me and we came to America in June of 1922. We settled in Terminal Island.

Izumi

When did Mr. Marumoto come to the U.S.A.?

Marumoto

In 1918.

Izumi

What was the reason, if any, for coming to USA? Was it to study?

Marumoto

I came as a yobiyose of my parents. (yobiyose = a child or children called or summoned by the parents to join them here in the states.)

Izumi

Did you attend school here after immigrating?

Marumoto

No, I started to work immediately.

Izumi

Work? You started working at once on your father's boat?

Mrs. Marumoto

Yes, on his father's boat.

Izumi

So in 1918 you were already a fisherman in Terminal Island?

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

What was your job as a fisherman on your father's boat? Average crew member?

Marumoto

Yes. Crew member and helper.

Izumi

At that time what was being caught? Tuna?

Marumoto

Sardines were the principal catch.

Izumi

Sardines?

Marumoto

Yes, sardines were the main catch.

Mrs. Marumoto

Katsuo (skip-jacks) and tunas were also caught with poles.

Marumoto

Fishing was done with poles in Mexico.

Mrs. Marumoto

At that time you didn't go to Mexico.

Marumoto

That's right, I didn't go—the fishing was mostly local.

Izumi

I see here a model of "Ohio," when were you captain of it?

Marumoto

Before the war.

Izumi

Were you captain for fourteen or fifteen years?

Mrs. Marumoto

He was a crew member of several boats, but when the cannery offered him a loaner-boat, he became the captain. There were five crew members and with Mr. Marumoto, the captain, there were six aboard.

Izumi

You were captain of "Ohio," did the boat belong to Van Camp?

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

You rented this boat and fished?

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

What was the length of this boat?

Marumoto

It was quite large, as it was capable of going to Mexican water.

Izumi

A boat capable of going to Mexico certainly must have been large.

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

What was the loading capacity with sardines? 100 tons?

Marumoto

I had 101 tons when fully loaded at one time.

Izumi

100 tons?

Marumoto

Yes, on "Ohio."

Izumi

That was wonderful! Do you have a figure on the cost of this vessel?

Marumoto

No, because it was owned by the cannery.

Izumi

Because it was company owned, it must be in the tens of thousands.

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

There were two different sets of nets?

Marumoto

Yes. One for catching sardines and the other for tuna. Sardine net was also used for mackerels.

Izumi

What was the cost of each net?

Marumoto

About $10,000.

Izumi

There were six to seven crew members?

Marumoto

Six crew members and the captain made the seventh member. Cook was one of the crew members.

Izumi

Did each crew member have a designated job?

Marumoto

Yes. Cook and carpenter each had their work.

Izumi

One crew member climbing atop the mast?

Mrs. Marumoto

Yes. Mr. Marumoto drove the engine (he did the steering). Shigesan was the engineer and worked on the engine. I guess he's dead by now. There's a tenma nori (a person guiding and operating the skiff).

Izumi

Your fishing was done mostly using net?

Marumoto

Yes, using net. We fished around Santa Cruz Island and down to San Diego.

Izumi

San Diego fishing ground?

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

You also went as far as the Mexican border?

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

In fishing you had many pleasant and happy experiences. Can you speak on that?

Mrs. Marumoto

He traveled all night looking for fish and would come back empty. That's a miserable feeling and it happened quite often.

Izumi

When you got a full load you must have danced the jigs with joy.

Marumoto

Yes. Sometimes we would run into a school of large tunas. With tuna this size (showing two feet length with hands) we'd fish with a one man pole. But when it got this large (three feet length with large belly) we'd use nicho bane (two poles with a single line and hook) and if the tunas got larger it would be brought to the railing and a third man with a hand held gaff would help out. It took good timing and good coordination.

Both Van Camp and French Sardine Co. hustled to get me to fish for them. Van Camp was jubilant when it won out. My nephew, Tomiichi Uyematsu, who ran the fuel distributorship was obligated to Van Camp, so induced me to go with Van Camp.

Izumi

There were trying and fearful times too, please explain.

Marumoto

Yes. I got caught in a storm off Santa Cruz Island. The outside had heavy rain and wind, so we brought the boat to the lee side and manage to escape.

Izumi

That's how you escaped disaster?

Marumoto

Yes. We escaped by getting over to the lee side. There were other scary incidents like that.

Izumi

There were fishermen in accidents and some were lost at sea. Any on your ship?

Marumoto

No, but I almost had one. On my ship a man from Taiji (fishing village in Wakayama ken) was the skiff operator. At Oxnard our net is filled to capacity, but the skiff operator in his haste failed to board the skiff. The skiff is floating away unattended. There were many other boats close by and I could have had help to retrieve the skiff.

The skiff operator insisted that since it was his responsibility and his blunder he'd swim after the skiff. I forbade and told him not to go, but against my wishes he dove into the ocean. All this taking place at night. I clambered to the wheel-house, turned the search light on him and the skiff. He finally made it to the skiff and with the cold water dripping off his body he rowed back to the ship. With the connection of the ship and net we were able to harvest fifty tons of fish.

Izumi

That was a great catch.

Marumoto

Yes. I offered him the catch for his exemplary deed but he insisted it was all due to his mistake that this had happened, and he wouldn't take any extra compensation. The catch was eventually divided among us.

Izumi

He had lot of gut, didn't he?

Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

Next question. During each month you had one week of free time. What did you do?

Marumoto

We dried and mended the net.

Izumi

Aside from maintaining your boat, nets, anything else?

Marumoto

Yes, we had our sake and played hana (card game).

Izumi

Isn't that all part of recreation?

Marumoto

Yes, while fishing Mr. — who was the cook would bring up hot food to the wheelhouse while I'm scanning the cold ocean outside. He would even offer to take over the wheel while I ate. He was a good man but has passed on.

Izumi

What organizations did you belong to and what was your position in these organizations?

Marumoto

The Fishermen' Association, Ugui Club. That's about it.

Izumi

There must have been many activities on Terminal Island: sports, picnics, baseball. Ugui picnic was huge, wasn't it?

Marumoto

I didn't participate in baseball or other sports. Yes, the Ugui picnic at Long Beach was huge. Terminal Island picnic was great, too. The annual picnic was enjoyed by all with everyone participating as one big family. It was great.

Izumi

This is not connected to fishing, but in the '30s the prohibition law was in effect. Can you describe Terminal Island at that time? Mrs. Marumoto?

Mrs. Marumoto

Everyone came home tired from work, especially the fishermen. Their work, compared to workers on land were much more hazardous, cold, taxing both physically and mentally. Their release from this tensions were the cups of sake that flowed in spite of the law. The womenfolk all made home brew and the thirsty crew members always stopped at our place before going home.

Often the sake wasn't ready, but that didn't make any difference. The dipper would scoop up milk color home brew until everyone was satisfied.

When the boat was on an extended trip, the sake I made would be comparable to the sake imported from Japan—nice and clear. But it took the crew members about thirty minutes or so to consume the whole batch. It was worth the work since they all went home happy and contented.

The law-men would frequently visit Terminal Island. This news would spread throughout the island as if it was broadcasted over the radio wave. The ladies would carry and dump their precious brews down the toilets. The remaining, lingering odor surely was enough evidence to arrest all. We laughed later.

Izumi

During that time didn't the immigration officers come looking for illegals? Mr. Marumoto was here legally so had no worry.

Mrs. Marumoto

Yes. Many hid in the attic and under the houses. It was an ordeal.

Izumi

Mrs. Marumoto please speak on the subject of cannery work.

Mrs. Marumoto

I worked only cleaning tunas. I married with the promise of continuing my education, but was told to work in the cannery for just one year. The first tuna I tackled was a huge thing and I had to almost embrace it. Without any experience, it took me the whole day to accomplish the task of cleaning one fish. With experience I got better each day. The one year was up, so I went to my father-in-law and asked to be enrolled in a sewing school, but he wouldn't readily consent. I cried and asked my mother-in-law, who in turn spoke to the father-in-law and the consent finally came. I attended the same school as Mrs. Tsui Murakami.

When my first child arrived, I stayed home and took care of a neighbor's three to four year old child. She in turn took care of my child when she gave birth to her second child. I remember I worked until my eighth month of pregnancy.

These were trying times. When fishing was bad there wouldn't be any income so our foods were bought on credit. On a three hundred dollars income we'd pay two hundred dollars to the grocer; if the catch was good and the share income was five hundred dollars we'd put down three hundred dollars. These were debts from food stuffs that we had already consumed. By pinching on personal needs and doing without on many things we were able to clean the slate.

Terminal Island was like a one large friendly family. The giving and receiving any items was not on the basis of: since you gave me something, I've got to return a likable item. When we got vegetables from farmer friends, it was distributed to all our neighbors. And likewise if a neighbor came into some goodies this was also shared by all. It's a feeling that very hard to describe.

Since our relocation camp days fifty years ago, an encounter on the streets of Little Tokyo is like a meeting of relatives. It's an indescribable feeling—this living on Terminal Island.

Izumi

With the start of war in 1941, Mr. Marumoto was interned immediately. Mrs. Marumoto how did you manage the affairs alone?

Mrs. Marumoto

I was really upset and couldn't concentrate on anything. Especially with the F.B.I.'s visits. They came every night and even at the late hour of twelve o'clock midnight.

When we were notified to evacuate in forty-eight hours, I was really distressed and in a quandary. The children were young, so I took spare boards and made boxes to store our necessary objects. The larger items we weren't able to take with us, so had to be abandoned.

Murakami sensei form the Baptist Church came and help make more boxes. We were able to evacuate to Torrance Japanese Gakuen with the help of our Baptist Church.

When my husband was being transferred to the camp in Tujunga, we were able to see him off. My youngest daughter was four years old at that time and upon locating her father shouted, "Father, don't get on that machine (meaning bus). You won't be able to come home, so don't get on it!" She shouted at the top of her voice and all of us there had to wipe away our tears.

Izumi

When did you go to the Relocation Center?

Mrs. Marumoto

It was April. It was the first of April so we said, "It's April Fool's Day so the order must be untrue."

At camp we found bed frames without mattresses—that was all. We waited for the mattresses to be stuffed and after some wait got it and made our beds. In one stuffed mattress there was a snake in it—I was told. Scorpions were around everywhere. The walls had cracks and with the frequent sand storms an inch of sand would accumulate under the cracks. Finally with volunteer help linoleums were laid on the floors and the cracks in the walls were papered over to keep the sand out.

Izumi

How long was your camp life?

Mrs. Marumoto

1943 till the end of war. Was it five years? No, it was three years. (note: there's a mix-up in the dates.)

Izumi

At that time, Mr. Marumoto was out of internment camp and with you in Manzanar?

Mrs. Marumoto

Yes.

Izumi

Did you return directly from Manzanar to Los Angeles?

Mrs. Marumoto

Yes, we came to the government trailer court in Long Beach. Because of our forty-eight hours notice of evacuation at the start of the war, we were given first chance of accommodation in Long Beach.

Izumi

Your life since then has been smooth and uneventful, even becoming a gardener?

Mrs. Marumoto

Yes, but since he had been a fisherman pre-war, he wanted to become one again. (To her husband) Was it about that time you went to Monterey?

Izumi

He fished there?

Mrs. Marumoto

No, he went to Monterey to get permission to fish. He did go back to fishing.

Izumi

For a long period of time?

Mrs. Marumoto

I wonder how long... I can't remember clearly. It was a pitiful and harsh time.

Izumi

Is that so.

Mrs. Marumoto

Eventually an Italian boat owner asked him to captain his boat. He got together a Japanese crew, but unfortunately this boat caught fire and the men went through some frightful times. No one got paid because of this incident.

Izumi

Where did this happen? In Monterey?

Mrs. Marumoto

No, in San Pedro. After this disaster he gave up fishing and became a gardener.

Izumi

Thank you for these interesting stories. If you have anything to add, please continue with your experiences on Terminal Island or camp doings.

Mrs. Marumoto

The meals at camp were constantly of pork and beans at first—that was a disaster. But the cooking got better as time went on.

Japanese garden was built and it became easier to exist. At the time of arrival we sure suffered.

Izumi

The other camps were all in the same conditions, heh?

Mrs. Marumoto

What I can't understand is that foreigners (meaning Americans) who emphasize privacy stuck not one but two families in a single room. We had two families in one room for the entire time we were there. That was terrible, I thought.

When we went to the mess hall we were required to line up.

Marumoto

When I was at the internment camp, Mr. Hori was there. Ishikawa-sensei who was in the back barrack being such a likable fellow would invite Mr. Hori and come to our room.

Mrs. Marumoto

He (Marumoto) was a kitchen helper and would always have leftover pastry in a cabinet built above his bed. The senseis would crave tea and cake, so without consent would help themselves to Mr. Marumoto's goodies. That was an almost daily happening.

But I'm sorry to say that most have passed away.

Izumi

There are many Terminal Island neighbors left, aren't there?

Mrs. Marumoto

The neighbors are almost all gone. Mrs. Shindo is still alive, though. The friends have all died, but we're having a long life.

Izumi

Here I see a "Happy Seventieth Anniversary" banner.

Mrs. Marumoto

That was two years ago. It'll be seventy-two years in May.

Izumi

How many grandchildren do you have?

Mrs. Marumoto

Five children, eleven grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren. They all get along beautifully and we're very fortunate.

Izumi

Thank you for the lengthy interview. I'm sure the Museum will be happy with the information.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Orie Mio
• Date:
•     February, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

I was born on April 1, 1900, in Oshima, Wakayama prefecture, Japan. Then our family moved to Kushimoto when I was four years old. When I was 17 years old, a nakodo (match-maker) arranged my marriage to a young man in America, Mr. Jenmatsu Mio. At that time I was told that he was 25 years old, but he was actually 35 and the nakodo apologized most humbly for the terrible mistake! In spite of the age difference, I had looked forward to coming to the U.S.A. and married him in 1918. Shortly afterwards I arrived in this country.

My husband was a fisherman at that time and fished for seven years. I washed clothing for him as well as for his crew members, mended their clothing as necessary without pay. My new life kept me very busy. I did not feel very lonesome because at Terminal Island there were many, many Japanese immigrants and they all spoke my language. So quite frequently I felt I had not left Japan at all.

In 1925 we went into the restaurant business and I worked there for 17 years while raising four children. It was very hard work. I can remember washing diapers on the washboard at 1 a.m. after work was done. The restaurant closed at midnight, and during sardine season, I had only about two hours of sleep because I had to wake up at 4:30 to get ready for the 6:00 o'clock opening. Many times, my legs were so swollen that I could barely climb the stairs to our living quarters situated above the restaurant. I literally pulled one leg up at a time with my hands to climb up the stairs!

My experience working in the restaurant was very difficult, at first, due to the language barrier waiting on the customers. Our Mexican customers would order food in Spanish, and during the peak rush-hour time it was most frustrating for me to figure out what they wanted. To remedy the situation, I quickly learned Spanish so that I could understand what they wanted, saving precious time and mental agony. I remember some of the prices prevailing during those years: coffee was five cents; donuts, 2 for nickel; hamburgers were ten cents with potato chips; dinner with soup and salad, coffee, was 25 cents and 30 cents. I was the waitress, the cashier, dishwasher, and janitor. As I look back I cannot see how I managed to do so much. Perhaps, being young, I was able to work such long hours. Hard work never hurt me, for here I am, almost 94 years old, and still in good health!

My husband bought another restaurant in 1935, and I also helped there until midnight after I closed mine at 8 o'clock. Our children were old enough by then to help with chores such as washing dishes, peeling potatoes, mopping the floor.

Once a year there was an engeikai (entertainment) at the Sokei Gakuen (Japanese language school). There were Japanese singing, dancing, kenbu (sword dancing), and other entertainment. Since our three daughters studied Japanese dancing, I was kept very busy preparing their kimonos and dressing them. A great number of girls in Terminal Island participated in ondo (street dancing); also Japanese folk dances during Girls' Day festival at the grammar school. However, some girls, including our daughters, took Kabuki lessons from a well-known instructor, Mr. Tomofuku, and attained near-professional status. People flocked to see their performances, and the community benefited in the many fund-raising events to which these girls donated their talents. Mr. Momota Okura of Wilmington, a very active community-minded person, used to come to Terminal Island to ask the girls to dance, free of charge, at Banning Park where the Wisteria Festival was held each year.

As far as family outings were concerned, we sometimes attended the Southern California Wabukamura picnic held annually in the summer. For my own outlet, I took Japanese flower arranging classes which I enjoyed very much.

On Pearl Harbor Day in December of 1941, my husband was picked up immediately by the F.B.I. since he had made monetary donations to the Japanese Navy—apparently they had kept close watch on all of our activities from before the war. My husband was always generous toward anyone who came soliciting for donations. Before he was taken away, he gathered our frightened children together, explaining that although he is now considered "enemy alien," they are American citizens and had nothing to fear. I did not know of this until a year or so later when my oldest daughter, Amy, wrote of this incident in preparing her affidavit. My husband was one of the first ones to be released from the camp in Missoula, Montana, where he and a group of "enemy aliens" were prisoners.

The restaurants were immediately closed after the Pearl Harbor attack, and remained closed for one month. We opened for business briefly for one month, but when Terminal Island residents were given only 48 hours to evacuate, it was the most stressful, traumatic period of my whole life, being left with four children and no husband to help disburse two restaurant supplies within that ridiculous time frame. Businessmen from all over came swarming around like vultures to take advantage of the dirt-cheap goods we were forced to sell.

We left Terminal Island in February of 1942 and found a place to stay with 25 other people at the Whittier Gakuen (Japanese language schoolhouse). A month later we were herded off to the Manzanar relocation center. We had stored some of our belongings at the flower nursery near the schoolhouse, and while we were in camp, a very kind Quaker, Rev. Herbert Nicholson, made many, many trips to Manzanar delivering goods left behind by the evacuees. He used the truck that Mr. Tom Itsuo Yamamoto had left for the Reverend to use. Thanks to him, we were able to retrieve two trunks that contained many photos and mementos that were irreplaceable. We shall never forget his kindness during those troubled times when it was unpopular to be "Jap-lovers."

I resigned myself to camp life and worked as a kitchen helper, while my husband was a member of the fire department. We made many friends during the four years of confinement, some of whom we still keep in contact through Christmas cards or meet at the annual Terminal Island New Year party.

Eventually the government announced that young people could leave for schools outside of the camp as long as it was not on the West Coast. Our son, George, decided to attend the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. After Kyo, our third daughter, graduated from Manzanar High School, she joined her brother in Salt Lake City. Later, they relocated to New York City where George continued his studies at N.Y.U., while Kyo attended Cooper Union Art School.

When Manzanar closed down, my husband, daughter Amy, and I joined George and Kyo in New York. I worked at a hand-made lampshade store where the wages were $5.00 a day for 8 hours of work. My husband found work at a fish market. We moved to Wilmington, California, after restrictions were lifted and Japanese were allowed to return to the West Coast. Our daughter, Fusaye, who had married Yoshio Hashimoto while in camp, had already settled in Wilmington before us.

I found employment at Pan Pacific Fisheries as a cannery worker, and since I had no other skills, I was happy to find any kind of work. The wages then were $1.60 an hour and I worked for 16 years. By the time I was forced into retirement at age 65, it had increased to $2.00.

I became a naturalized citizen in 1954 soon after the legislation passed, allowing Issei and other Asians the right to citizenship. The Japanese American Citizens League worked hard for this cause for which we are very thankful.

My husband bought a small boat to go commercial fishing soon after moving to Wilmington. It was later converted to a sportfishing vessel because there was a demand for such a boat. In 1956, he built a larger boat in partnership with his good friend, Mr. Harry Nishino, and George helped with the business on weekends. My husband retired in 1958 at the age of 75. In 1976, after a brief illness he passed away at the age of 92-1/2.

I have 8 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren. Almost every month it's somebody's birthday. Since I'm unable to shop for gifts, I give money and they all like that. At times when it's a special celebration, I make maze gohan or sushi. They all look forward to my cooking and flatter me by saying that my sushi is the best in the world!

I grow vegetables and flowers in my backyard, and it's such a pleasure watching them grow. I plant daikon, string beans, eggplants, bell peppers, so we enjoy fresh vegetables whenever they are in season. My pretty flowers help supplement what I buy for the many graves that I visit throughout the year.

Besides watching the Japanese T.V. broadcasts on weekends, I am fortunate in having several friends who bring me videotapes for me to watch on other days. Sometimes I get so engrossed that I watch them until one or two o'clock in the morning. I also have several persons or relatives who chat with me over the telephone and, at times, the conversation lasts as long as one-half to one hour! One such person is my life-long friend, Mrs. Kikui Yamashina, whom I've known since around 1921. Another thoughtful couple is my niece, Shiz, and her husband, Tom Maruyama, who phone all the way from Chula Vista to check on me, or visit me every now and then. I appreciate and treasure these wonderful people who show their concern.

I have no regrets in life for I have been able to do whatever I could to help friends or relatives in need. We gave financial assistance to our relatives in Japan to build up their confectionery candy store. Now our nephew manages the shop which has been converted into a bakery and sells bread, cakes, and French pastries. He said that he bakes 3,000 Christmas cakes during the holiday season, and doesn't sleep for 3 days. It makes me happy to see that their business has succeeded.

George and his wife, Ruby, live next door to me, giving me a huge sense of security, as well as providing me with transportation whenever and wherever I wish to go. My daughter, Fusaye, lives only about ten minutes from here, and she calls me almost every night. She brings me home-made bread, cakes and other goodies. She helps me with my housework once a week. Amy lives in Santa Ana and is involved deeply in her church work, but I see her once a week. I am now almost 94, but still am able to attend church, help with all of the fund-raising events such as chow mein benefit dinners, sushi-making, kuri-manju, teriyaki chicken food sale. I still have energy to prepare New Year's gochiso. I belong to the Harbor Japanese Community Center, so I participate in most of the Fujinkai functions. At the Center, the Credit Union holds its annual General Meeting in January. For entertainment, they have a Bingo session which I thoroughly enjoy. I am able to attend funerals, weddings, picnics, community potlucks—whatever comes along. It is heart-warming to see my friends. Twice a year I am treated to Las Vegas jaunts—once on my birthday in April, and again in the fall around George's birthday in October.

So you see, I have lived a full life and feel fortunate that my health is still good, considering I have had many surgeries in the past: gall bladder removal, cancer of the colon, vericose vein stripping, and more recently, cataract surgery. I am surrounded by loving family and friends. What more can I ask for?

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Eiichi Miyagishima
• Date:
•     May 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Family

My father, Eimatsu Miyagishima, came from Shizuoka-ken, Shimizu-shi, Miho to engage in fishing with relatives on Terminal Island. He went with the "Nancy Hanks" to Mexico, Central America, and South America. I remember him as being tough, no-nonsense, proud, gentle, caring, and conservative. "Save your money" was his advice to us.

Mother, Kuni Ishino, who worked in the Van Camp cannery, was clean, ethical, kind, very pretty, an outstanding cook, nurse, and Mom! Four sisters, Mieko, Michiko, Mihoko, and Shizuko were born in Bingham, Utah. My three older sisters were sent to Japan in the early 1930's. I was born in 1931. Mihoko returned to America in 1937, Mieko was on the next-to-the-last boat in 1941, and Michiko stayed in Japan where she still resides (Michiko Fukutomi, Saitama, Japan). Mieko married Yoshio Tabata, went to Tule Lake, returning to Los Angeles as soon as possible; both now retired and living in Palo Alto. Mihoko, after the war, lives in El Monte. Shizu died November 29, 1984 at the age of fifty-six. Mother died on November 23, 1948 and Father in 1969 (victim of lung cancer).

Life On Terminal Island

Life there before World War II was idyllic—wish it hadn't ended! I remember the fifth grade at Walizer School, my friends—Sumio Ido and Katsutoshi Nakashima, and the fun we had playing baseball, fishing, swimming, and going to movies. Joe DiMaggio was my idol. There were many memorable events such as Boy's Day, making mochitsuki and receiving money on New Year's Day, kendo and baseball games. Dad was a sumo wrestler around 1920. I remember the Buddhist Church and Kenjinkai picnics. Remember the sushi and soda in the trunk of the old cars?

World War II

I was in the fifth grade and I remember that Miss Kenyon, our teacher announced, "Your Dads are being taken away, if you want to say good-bye." Some went, I didn't. On February 22, Mother, Mihoko, Shizuko and I, with other relatives, boarded a train for Ogden, Utah. We celebrated Mihoko's birthday somewhere between Los Angeles and Utah.

I shall never forget our arrival in the Union Depot in Ogden, Utah... Chilly snow on the streets—cousin Masao Miyagishima and I tossing snowballs, even as Masao's Dad (number four uncle), Tsunakichi and cousin George M. were summarily arrested immediately after alighting from the train. FBI— badges flashing in their palms, those burly agents—one in the rear of the coach, the other, in front, facing us: stern, unemotional, silent, year, cold as February without heat!

As most who chose to bypass camps, we lived with relatives and friends, and especially for those without a strong father-figure, as we were, we were mostly exploited as cheap labor. We worked for room and board, literally. Mom tried to keep a handle on our money, which ran out quickly. In the peak harvest season we'd rise at sun-up, toil through the blazing sun, pausing long enough for a cold lunch, and an equally cold supper. You see, we had to go back to the fields and load peas in the moonlight—nine thirty p.m. usually.

Yes, prejudice and discrimination was pervasive. "Japs," "Nips," "slants," were mixed with whatever crude epithets were handy... Newspaper, radio, and yes, movies, especially Richard Loo's despicable Japanese Zero-pilot who gets his come-uppance in the end (I mean where else?!). In the spring of 1945 our Dad returned after being detained in Bismarck, North Dakota for two years, and then in Lordsburg, New Mexico. Thinner by some twenty pounds, humble and subdued, graying at the temples, this proud fisherman didn't skip a beat as far as the work ethic was concerned; he became an equally proficient farmer.

Our pleasures were the radio and going to Ogden or Salt Lake City to shop. We'd wonder "What are those friends doing in Manzanar?" In looking back, 1942-1949, when I graduated from Davis High School, memorable days would mean friends made and trusts betrayed.

Resettlement

In December, 1949, we returned to California, our beloved Los Angeles. Shiz, Dad and I—unceremoniously, yet tactfully triumphant. Palm trees and a warm breeze soothed our weary souls. Driving our new '49 Ford, Mom's urn sat between me and Dad, along with her framed portrait, smiling, nikkori. I knew she approved. This beautiful woman, dead, suddenly, at age forty-six, that cold, bleak Thanksgiving week in 1948, November 23.

We settled in Boyle Heights where Mihoko, who married Philip Nagasawa in Salt Lake City, and Shiz, had come in '46. Sewing was the occupation for both of them. (Sister Shiz died November 29, 1984).

I frequently drove to Long Beach Housing Project and joined Terminal Islanders in a few social activities, but I never became one of them. I developed friendships in Los Angeles, holding a series of menial jobs until the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950.

Military Service

Knowing I'd be drafted soon, I joined the Air Force, taking basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. After a battery of tests, I was sent to Brooks AFB, across town to prepare for Russian Language School at Syracuse University in New York. Two months of intensive tests put me into Security Service; then fourteen months of brutal daily exams in beautiful upstate New York gave me, as the only Nisei in our school, a unique life of freely being accepted by the natives as well as the co-eds. This is what Senator Hayakawa spoke of. After a colorful graduation ceremony, I returned to Brooks, and from there to Ft. Benning, Georgia for paratrooper and Ranger training.

Discharged in 1955, I attended USC, graduating with a BA in Psychology. Pre-med school in New York was interrupted in 1962 in the middle of my freshman year due to loss of hearing.

I am one hundred percent disabled American Veteran, due to injuries to head, back, and neck as well as one hundred percent hearing loss as a result of Air Force duties. I cannot orally communicate without hearing aids, or sign language.

Present

I was married and divorced (ex-wife, deceased).

Son: Bruce (41).

Grandchildren: Davey (17, 6 ft 3" tall), Timmy (15), Kimberly Kyoko (13).

Hobbies: Physical Training/Trainer/Diet, writing, aerobics.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Yutaka Dave Nakagawa
• Date:
•     1994

To summarize briefly my personal experience of Terminal Island, may I begin with my early impression of growing up in a crowded fishing village and struggling with the usual panacea of boyhood yearnings; gaining an education of sorts across the channel at the public schools of San Pedro; attending Sunday School at the Baptist mission church and later to realize the impact that Christianity had on my young life; suffering the despair of government-ordered evacuation at the outbreak of World War II; enduring the deprivations of camp life at Amache, Colorado; relocating to Dayton, Ohio to do my undergraduate work and working part time with the Dayton YMCA; returning to Southern California to launch a career in social service work with the local YMCA and later to work with underprivileged boys at the Pasadena Boys Club and finally retiring after thirty-three years of youth work.

My Father

My father, Shintaro Nakagawa, a native of Wakayama-ken, Japan, came to Terminal Island as a very enterprising young man and was very resourceful in trying different avenues in commerce. I regret very much not having foresight to question him about his adventure in facing obstacle such as job discrimination, racism, and how he overcame many of the issues of his period. As a little boy, I was fascinated by his fluency in the English language when most of the fathers in Terminal Island could not speak English.

I recall Dad owning the "La Belle" to do mackerel and sardine fishing and gradually operating larger boats like the "Blue Sea" to enter into the lucrative business of tuna fishing. He was very active in the formation of the Fisherman Union, and was a spokesman at Kenjinkai affairs.

His goal and aspiration was to build his own tuna boat and he realized his dream by securing enough financial aid to get his boat the "Three Star" to be constructed at Tacoma, Washington. I believe most of his crew were from his native town of Wakayama-ken and it was a red letter day when they all travel by train to Washington State to bring "Three Star" home to Terminal Island.

My Mother

My mother, Ritsu Nakagawa, also a native of Wakayama, came as a young bride of eighteen and settled in Terminal Island and raised a family of five. Kiyoshi was Niisan, then me Yutaka, followed by my sister Akiko, then my younger brother Kei, and finally the youngest sister Kimiko. As I recall, mother in her early years was not in good health but managed to keep busy with her household. She came under the influence of Mrs. Ito, the wife of Rev. Minosuke Ito, the Issei pastor of the Japanese Baptist Church in Terminal Island. In due time, my mother was converted to Christianity and joined the rest of a small group of church families such as the Murakami's, Iwamaye, Yamashita, Kanai, Matsutsuyu, and others. I used to look forward to the occasional potluck dinners held at church when all the mothers would bring the gochiso and we would have a feast. While our folks would be having their fellowship meeting, we youngsters would be outside playing ball or shooting the breeze with the boys.

My Growing Years

Growing up as a youngster was an ideal setting for me and Terminal Island was like a paradise island where a youngster can go swimming in the crystal clear water inside the harbor; take the small rowboat from dad's boat and go sailing with my buddies around the harbor; play at Dead Man's Island on the outskirt where the rock pile were stretched out to the sea and imagining playing pirates or samurai warriors; catch giant crabs around the innumerable spots around the island; fish for smelts and sardines that use to swim into the harbor and catch them by the sackload with homemade bamboo poles; camping out at night near the seashore and cooking raw potatoes buried in the sand beside the blazing campfire and enjoying the great taste of hot potatoes that only youngsters can enjoy.

As a boy, my aunt used to call me yoncha a rascal, always getting into mischief while my older brother Kiyoshi was the opposite, quiet and reserve, the ideal Japanese boy. He was obedient and trustworthy. Yutaka, on the other hand could not always be trusted but had to be constantly reminded of his various chores that had to be completed.

As a youngster I was rarely at home because I was always into sports. This especially bothered my mom. She had a hard time keeping me at home and taking care of my school work. My brother was a bookworm, always reading, always studying, and getting excellent grades. I was enjoying sports so much that my scholastic achievement was mediocre and barely getting by. In Terminal Island, there were two martial arts program that a boy could enter—kendo or judo—and being an extrovert, I wanted to train for both. However, my parent gave me an ultimatum that I have only one choice so I used my boyish wisdom and selected judo which later, it turned out to be a wise choice because it came in very handy in my future work with boys.

In those days, Charles Atlas was the rage in body building. I used to follow a comic strip in which the main character followed a strict regimen of exercises and body building trying to achieve the ideal "V" shape—from broad shoulders with rippling muscles tapering downward toward a slim and taut waist forming a "V". I used to study the catalogue advertising body building equipment. I saved my pennies until I was able to order a set of barbells. Weeks went by and finally I got the word, "There is a weightlifting package for you at the railroad station from York, Pennsylvania!" I was in a dilemma wondering how to transport the 200 pound weightlifting equipment to my home. Finally, I had enough nerve to ask Mr. Matsutsuyu, owner of a dry cleaning shop near my home to help me get the equipment to my home and he graciously consented and drove his wagon and helped cart the equipment to my home. I was like a little boy with a new found toy. I couldn't wait to break open the package. I began in earnest to exercise at least five times a week. The development came slowly, but eventually results began to show. Words spread through the island that I had a set of barbells. You guessed it. My home, especially my room, became a clubhouse for the boys. The faithful regulars who worked out with me were: Frank Endo, Yukio Ogawa, Fukuichi Nanchi, Kaz Hatashita, Tooru Nakaji, Tosh Ogura, Ken Takahashi and Oihei Yamasaki.

Role Models

During the years spent on the island, in a way isolated from the outside world, I am grateful for the positive impact certain individuals had on my life. I still can recall the day when a young missionary, Virginia Swanson, came to minister to the young people at the Baptist mission and she worked tirelessly to lift us to a higher plane in our every day living. However, she realized that she had difficulty reaching the boys in the island so she recruited her brother Buddy Swanson to come and help her reach out to the boys. I can still vividly recall the day Buddy strode into the room filled with curious, hyperactive kids and instantly command attention by his booming voice of welcome. He caught our immediate fancy not by his talk but by his action. First thing he did was line us up in several rows and taught us how to walk with our hands upside-down! Pretty soon we were hand standing all over the place and loving every moment of it. Buddy was a telephone pole climber and he would recruit some of his friends to take us on field trips like the slaughter house and meat processing plants where we are wieners and had a ball. He showed us how to make Indian drums out of stretched dried cowhides and showed us competitive games with each other. I watched with awe and fascination as he converted us from lackadaisical kids to one of achievement and self worth. A seed was born within me that day and I vowed someday to be just like Buddy Swanson—a friend of boys.

Another leader that I recall was Tommy Okimoto, a young college student, who took an interest on the hordes of young boys running around the island with nothing to do. Knowing that we never had the opportunity to go on a snow trip, he organized several snow trips according to age groups and he would have volunteer leaders tag along to watch over us. We borrowed his father's market truck an crammed us all into the back of his stake truck and we would ride out to the mountain and back, tired but happy for the experience. The angel of the Lord was with us!

Also I can remember the fabulous hot dog and marshmallow event that Tommy organized and we would hike to the beach and help set up a roaring fire and seat ourselves on the sandy beach. There we would sing and listen to some adventure stories and watch the fire slowly turn to fiery red embers, then we were each handed a stick to poke wieners and marshmallows and eat to our heart content.

Another powerful influence in my life was my pastor, the Rev. Kitchitaro Yamamoto who was a sensitive and compassionate person. In my high school days, Rev. Yamamoto would always invite a core of us consisting of Masaharu Tanibata, Hideo Tsuchiyama, Tooru Nakaji, Satoru Kohigashi and I to ride with him to Palos Verdes where he conducted Bible classes to a group called the Hill Billies. We always looked forward to this occasion because after the Bible study and fellowship, we would climb into his sedan and head for Terminal Island by way of Wilmington. Yamamoto Sensei, knowing the mind of young people, would always stop by the hot dog stand of our favorite Chili Bowl. It must have put a dent into his meager pocketbook but he was that kind of person, a loving, generous minister.

On one occasion, Rev. Yamamoto took me aside and challenged me with this thought provoking question: "Yutaka, I notice that you have such a hold on these young boys. You are their hero. Everyone wants to be like you, so you have a responsibility. What are you going to do with your life?" He also said he was not trying to persuade me to become a minister, but he felt I had a certain charisma with youth and maybe the field of social work or recreation field might well be worth looking into.

High School & College Years

During my years at San Pedro High School, I was encouraged and initiated into several school activities such as the student council, the San Pedro Knights, a leadership service club, and served as president of the Japanese Club.

Naturally sports played a major role at San Pedro High. In 1939, Roy Provence and I were chosen as co-captains of the Varsity Football Team and coincidentally, both of us were selected to the All Southern California Board of Football honors in the Marine League.

Also engaged in the Gymnastic Team and participated in the high bars, rings, and free exercise and the parallel bars. We won our first Marine League Championship in 1938.

After graduating from high school in Winter '40, I attended Westmont College in Central Los Angeles. It was a small interdenominational college which later relocated to Santa Barbara. I attended for a year and a half until my education was disrupted when war broke out.

War Clouds & Evacuation

When Pearl Harbor bombed, I was eating at the college cafeteria. One student from Hawaii felt the need to return to her home. My brother phoned me to advise me, "There is no need for you to come back home. Stay where you are and finish. The government has confiscated our boat, so we cannot go fishing." Rumors of evacuation began to circulate. Because of its waterfront location, Terminal Island became the target of insidious propaganda and all kinds of suspicions were raised regarding the Japanese families living there.

It was a very sad and traumatic time for many families. The L.A. Times was spreading its vicious propaganda about collusion with Japan, stirring up public resentment, and spreading its brand of bigotry to our alarmed population.

My dad was one of the first to be arrested by the F.B.I. As president of the Kenjinkai, he served as the primary spokesman for the community. My father was also involved with the Southern California Fisherman Association, so he was a prime suspect and among the first to be incarcerated. All Issei fathers were taken away while family members watched helplessly and witnessed the cruelty and heartlessness of the F.B.I.

I returned home upon hearing of the forty-eight hours evacuation edict upon all families in Terminal Island and helped the family pack all belongings and with the aid of friends moved to the west side into a small duplex apartment. We had our second evacuation order soon after and were sent to the Santa Anita Assembly Center in Arcadia. After a brief stay, our contingency were packed off by train to a camp at Amache, Colorado.

Dayton, Ohio

I did not stay very long in camp. The government adopted a student relocation program to assist college students to settle in midwestern and eastern towns to work and attend school. This was a pilot program to measure the public acceptance of Japanese Americans by these communities. A large group resettled in Chicago. I went to Dayton, Ohio where I had a part-time job with the YMCA and matriculated at a "Y" college.

I was living in a strictly white community. In Dayton, I had my first experience working with Caucasian kids. It was quite a challenge to present myself, a person of Japanese ancestry, as their leader. I vividly recall the first meeting. The "Y" director had called a mass meeting to introduce me as the new addition to the staff. I was standing in the wings as the director prepared the group. "I know many of you have never seen a Japanese. We are at war with Japan, but I want you to meet a Japanese who was born in this country. He is an American Citizen. He thinks and talks just like you, except that he has a Japanese face. We are proud to have him on our staff for summer "Y" camp. Because of his athletic abilities he will also be the program director for all games and athletic events. Now I present to you, Dave Nakagawa."

I walked to the center of the stage and looked into the eyes of the boys. This was the first time they had seen a Japanese. I ventured a hearty "Hi, fellows." There was a slight pause, and then they shouted, "Hi, Dave." I continued, "You see I speak your language. I am a citizen of this country, and you must not judge a person by the color of his skin or how he looks. I have been trained to be a "Y" leader and I am anxious to personally meet you and get acquainted with all of you."

The biggest thrill and highlight of my experience at Dayton was at Camp Kern during the summer of 1944, when we served a hundred boys weekly throughout the summer. The camp environment, sitting beside a flowing stream or sitting on rocks beneath bluish skies, gave me the perfect setting for challenging the campers about the more serious things of life. These were precious moments. Evening campfires with sparkling stars in the heaven and burning embers glistening in the darkness also provided opportunities for me to share God and nature and my own hopes and prayers for the development of these youngsters. I'm sure those were meaningful to the campers, too.

As summer drew to a close and I had gathered increased strength through my relationship with the boys, I became more convinced that God wanted me to be a youth leader. I had a marvelous opportunity to study attitudes, motivations, and behavior of the countless number of youngsters from quite diverse backgrounds who came through the camp experience. For me, it was an ideal training ground.

Return Home

After the war, I returned to Southern California and was offered an opportunity to work with the Downtown YMCA concentrating on programs for boys who were returning from their wartime internment. Many had very little supervision, they were undisciplined, and they needed direction and purpose in life. The official knew that my background and experience with boys' work was limited, but they were willing to put me on, on-the-job training so to speak.

I worked through the churches by getting day members to assist with meeting places, scheduling, supervision, and soliciting community support. At that time, L.A. Union Church was still occupied by the Black community and Union Church members were meeting at the Evergreen Hostel in Boyle Heights. It was there, that I became acquainted with young leaders such as Tad Kowta, Edison Uno, Ernest Uno, Todd Nakamura and others who provided rooms and meeting space. During this period, I was also involved with Evergreen Baptist Church under the leadership of Rev. Paul Nagano, with whom I had dealings with prior to the war. We organized group clubs and athletics in various areas of Los Angeles and started social programs in coordination with the International Institute. The "Y" gave us the opportunity to have a summer camp of our own so I immediately started recruiting key leaders of Camp Counselors and those who signed up and served during my first two years were: Edison Uno, Ernest Uno, Akira Hasegawa, Mori Nakashima and two seminarians who became ministers, the Rev. David Shigekawa and Rev. Saburo Masada. Our camp chaplain who also served as counselor was Rev. Paul Nagano.

Despite the growth of the activities, thousands of other boys were roaming aimlessly through the streets of Lil' Tokyo. So a community committee was set up to spearhead an athletic program for Japanese youngsters. Akira Komai, then publisher of the Rafu Shimpo, provided space and guidance in this project and was gracious enough to let us use his newspaper office after the day's edition was off the presses for our committee meetings. So, there in the small, crowded editorial office, surrounded by typesetting equipment and machinery, people like Paul Uyemura, Hide Kunitome, Yuichi Hirata, Harry Honda and myself finally got a Japanese basketball league started, the early beginning of the Nisei Athletic Union. Through the cooperation of the City Recreation Department, we were permitted to play our games in public junior and senior high school gymnasiums. This was the beginning of a solid, structured athletic and recreational program for the returning Japanese community.

Pasadena Boys' Club

After serving the "Y" for four years, I accepted the call to the Pasadena Boys' Club as Physical Director, then as Social Recreation Director, then Camp and Outdoor Director, and as Program Director and finally ended up being the Director of the Club. This span lasted a total of twenty-five years.

Up to this period, my work with boys were primarily with "white" middle class boys and Japanese "well-behaved" boys so in vernacular term it was "smooth sailing" all the way. I was in for a rude awakening when I came to Pasadena that the membership of boys were a mixture of white, Hispanic and minority groups. Many of the boys who came to the Boys' Club were from broken homes. I had to remind the staff to be especially sensitive to boys who had no fathers and who were raised by single mothers. We had a chance to be role models, father images for the boys. For the first time I experienced this thing called kuro in Japanese-suffering. Through this experience I became more sensitive to the cries of youth and more willing to try to see things through the eyes and hearts of young boys, especially those from impoverished backgrounds. I also learned to appreciate what poverty does to the development and attitudes of young people. Many of these boys just didn't have a chance. Others were not able to enjoy a settled home life.

It will take a book to relate the drama, the high and low points that I had encountered in living and sharing in their sorrow and joy. However, I will illustrate the drama that unfolded when I first started out as the physical education director and the wise choice I made many years ago when I chose judo, the art of self defense, learned in Terminal Island. While I was officiating a basketball game in a hotly contested game, I blew the whistle and called a foul on a big, black youth. He was enraged. He charged at me with clenched fists. I flipped him over my shoulder and he landed on his back. Embarrassed, he came charging at me again and this time I really threw him for a loop. Truly the judo training I received from Yamada Sensei came in handy. When his dad heard about it, he came to the Club, angry and upset. He demanded, "Did you touch my boy?" I calmly replied, "As a father, what would you do if you were confronted by a belligerent boy who wouldn't take no for an answer? Of course, the crowd was egging him on. Would you let him hit you and tear you to pieces?" The father understood and replied, "Absolutely not." He was man enough to say, "Let me shake your hand." With that he took his boy and whipped the tar out of him.

Retirement

After retirement of thirty-three years in youth work, I entered a second phase of "Volunteer in Mission" for the Synod of Southern California & Hawaii (Presbyterian); providing leadership training and resources for the Southern California Japanese Presbyterian Conference; and helping to revive Men's Work as the Synod Representative to the National Council of Presbyterian Men (USA); assisting in the formation of the Asian Presbyterian Council; chair the Racial Ethnic Pastoral Leadership Committee and fashioning for myself a lifelong expression of service sparked by the testimonial lives of Sunday School teachers, pastors and youth leaders during my formative growing years in Terminal Island.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     S. John Nitta
• Date:
•     1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

My Father Banjiro Nitta was born in the year 1884 in the little village of Wabuka, Kushimoto, Wakayama-ken, Japan. At the age of sixteen in 1900, my Father immigrated to Seattle, Washington. Being the second son of the Nittas, he immigrated to Seattle to start a new life of his own. First he worked at a sawmill, and then became a green grocer in partnership with a Mr. Endo of Hiroshima. Later Endo sold his share to my Father and left for Japan. My Father was tall and handsome with a great personality, very popular with the American customers, especially with the ladies. His business prospered.

My Mother told me that other young men from the same village of Wabuka immigrated to Seattle and stayed at our home. Father was generous, gave them money and helped them get settled. We lived in a very large two-story home on Main Street, next to the Buddhist Church. My Father worked daily, long hours, unfortunately he contracted tuberculosis and was told by his doctor to take his family to Japan to recuperate. In 1919 my Father and Mother took us four small children, to the village where he was born.

I was the oldest at age eight. Next was my sister Chiyoko (Mary) age six, now living at the Keiro Nursing home in Los Angeles. Following Chiyoko was Yaeko (Jean) age four, now living in York, Pennsylvania; the fourth was my now deceased brother Isamu (Sammy) age two, his family presently lives in Laguna Beach, California. The fifth, Minoru (Eric), still in Mother's womb was born in Wabuka. He and his family are now living in Springfield, Missouri. All four children who were born in Seattle and at teenage left Japan and moved to Terminal Island. My Father, being the second born, did not receive any family wealth. The tradition in Japan was that the oldest son inherited all the family wealth, the home, the wooded mountains, the fields, the rice fields, and everything that was owned by the parents.

When our family first returned to Japan (due to Father's illness), we stayed at Father's oldest brother's barn where he steamed and smoked skip jacks and sardines. The barn was swarming with flies, fleas and mosquitoes. My Father hurriedly built a house a block away, and we were very happy to move out of the barn. During that time there was no nourishing food available in the small village of Wabuka. My Father's illness turned for the worse and he died in 1920, at the age of thirty-six.

Tuberculosis was feared by everyone in those days. No one, including his brothers and sisters came to see my Father. We were isolated and no one wanted to know we existed. My Mother often told me that returning to Japan was the biggest mistake my Father ever made. When Father died my Mother bathed the body and placed him in the coffin. An aged man, a distant relative, helped Mother carry the coffin two miles, up and down a ravine to the cemetery. When they arrived at the gravesite the relatives who had dug the grave were no longer there. The bottom of the grave was so narrow the coffin would not fit in. Mother and the aged man covered the coffin with rocks and dirt with their bare hands, fearing that the wolves might come and break open the coffin.

At age thirty my Mother took the part of both father and mother. She had no time for herself but to work long hours to keep five children together. I have seen Mother work from early morning to very late at night, she made straw zori, a rice straw footwear, for the family. I have kept one in remembrance of my Mother. (If the Japanese American National Museum would like to have it, I would be very pleased to present it to them.) She carried heavy boulders to build a jetty in the fishing village, raised silkworms, and worked in the fields to keep the family fed. We all owe a great debt to our Mother, we will never be able to ever repay her. She died on March 18, 1989, at the age of ninety-nine, at the home of my youngest brother, Minoru, in Springfield, Missouri. My parents are now together in the mausoleum at George Washington Memorial Park, Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia.

My Mother was born in Wabuka in 1890. Her family lived next door to my Father's family. She was attractive, kind and thoughtful, the third child of the Nokawa family. There were two boys and four girls. Her father's name was Toraichi Nokawa, a handsome man. Her mother, Otono, was beautiful, kind, and thoughtful, and she had an extremely sweet face. She often gave us persimmons, pears, and sweets, concealing them from her husband. The oldest daughter of the Nokawa's, Asano, was married to Harumatsu Yamasaki of Terminal Island. He was a fisherman, community leader, vice president of the Terminal Island Fishermen Association, and he owned a fishing boat. One heavy foggy night in 1924, he and his crew, while coming home with a boat full of sardines, hit a reef and all were killed.

The Harumatsu Yamasaki's had one child, his name was Toyoichi (Harry) Yamasaki, also a fisherman at Terminal Island. The second daughter of the Nokawa's was Sato, the mother of Fumiko Sakimoto Masuda, Yasushi Sakimoto, Kiyoshi Sakimoto, and Emiko Sakimoto Minami of Terminal Island. Sato's husband was Yonezo Sakimoto, also a fisherman at Terminal Island, a very kind, thoughtful, and soft-spoken person. He was a member of the crew of Captain Fukutaro Minami's forty foot fishing boat. I believe he was a cousin to the Captain.

The third daughter of the Nokawas was my Mother. The fourth daughter was married to a Taira, a well-to-do family of masons at Wabuka. My grandfather, Toraichi Nokawa, had two sons, both of whom went to Sumatra, near Australia for pearl diving. Both died when young.

My mother Nobu Nokawa, at age twenty, married my father, Banjiro, age twenty-six, in Seattle, Washington. They had a fabulous wedding reception for those times. I was the first child born on August 1, 1911 in Seattle, Washington. The next born was my sister, Chiyoko (Mary) in 1913; the third was Yaeko (Jean) in 1915; the fourth was Isamu (Sammy) born in 1917. All were born in Seattle, Washington with the exception of my youngest brother, Minoru (Eric), born in Wabuka in 1920.

At the end of World War II, Minoru joined us in Pennsylvania to go to Temple University High School, and my Mother came later on to join us in Pennsylvania. Both came to Pennsylvania by a special bill of Congress, through the efforts of Mike Masaoka in Washington, DC. Finally our family was united in Pennsylvania after many years of separation. Presently everyone is living with the exception of my brother, Isamu (Sammy) and my Mother. Isamu died in Laguna Beach, California, where he owned the Sea Cliff Motel, and his family is now carrying on the business.

Going back a bit, when the Asian Exclusion Act became effective in July, 1924, even though we were born in the United States, we were going to lose our citizenship. To avoid losing my citizenship, I left Japan at age twelve and a half, being the oldest in the family, to go to Uncle Saichi Ozaki's place in Seattle. Sailed on the President McKinley. I was sick the complete ten days and I thought I would die, but a Korean young man that I never knew took care of me throughout the voyage. I wanted to repay his kindness but I didn't know where he went and our paths never crossed.

While in Seattle I went to the Pacific Grade School. Since then the Pacific School has been torn down and is now occupied by the Washington State College. My Uncle Saichi Ozaki, younger brother of my Father, operated the Fremont Hotel at 707 Sixth Avenue, Seattle, Washington. (In those days families gave children to close relatives who could not have children, to carry on the family name.) Today the Hotel is also totally demolished and is no longer there, just open ground. Our home where we used to live and the bukkyokai (Buddhist Church) are no longer there either, it's now apartment houses.

After six months of my stay at Uncle Ozaki's in Seattle, my cousin Toyoichi (Harry) Yamasaki, age twenty, single, by request of my Mother came to take me to Terminal Island. I had turned age thirteen. I went to Terminal Island Elementary School, Miss Walizer was the principal at that time. I attended the Terminal Island Baptist Church regularly. Met Katsumi Yoshizumi, Yoneko Marumoto, Hisashi Hanamura, Kiyo Hama. At a later date, I met Tommy Okimoto, Sadaichi Asai, Mary, Arthur, Hazel, and Dorothy Takii. The Takiis commuted from San Pedro. The whole family was musically talented.

In my very early teens, I attended Terminal Island Elementary School with Hiroshi (Joe) Nishi. (Both of us were from the same Elementary School class in Wabuka, Japan.) After school, Nishi often invited me to his home. His father was a fisherman in Terminal Island. Joe invited me to read his large collection of Shonen (boys) Club Magazines and also invited me to have his delicious sugar coated bread for a snack. I was grateful and appreciated his kindness. We separated when I went to San Pedro to work as a schoolboy for Mr. Masaaki Nakashima of Terminal Island. Hiroshi (Joe) Nishi is now retired and living in Pasadena, writes for the Los Angeles Rafu Shimpo newspaper. I enjoy reading his articles and reminisce of my happy days in Terminal Island.

The ministers were Rev. Kichitaro Yamamoto, Rev. Murakami, Mrs. Polson and Mrs. Virginia Swanson. Later Rev. Jitsuo Morikawa came from Canada. I attended Terminal Island's Seisho Gakuen Japanese School, and finished volume sixteen within six months. Went to Terminal Island's Fishermen's Hall to learn kendo. The winter drill (kangeiko) in the early freezing morning was really tough on all of us. Fujii Sensei was an excellent instructor. Among the students, Sei Takeuchi, Bunkichi Hayashi, and Toshiro Izumi were outstanding.

We went to Brighton Beach on Terminal Island to surf on the waves. Joe Yamamoto, Hisashi Hanamura, Tommy Okimoto, Sadaichi Asai all pitched in to put up a large canvas tent where we slept. At sunrise we surfed again, and had a great time.

Went fishing on the jetty at Brighton Beach, Terminal Island, and caught black perch and brought them to Captain Minami's home, where I stayed with Toyoichi (Harry) Yamasaki. Went to fish at the fish harbor docks, where the commercial fishing boats unloaded their catch. Fished for the Jacks Smelt and caught many. I remember going to Catalina Island on the maiden voyage of the boat ("Cipango") owned by the Onos. I believe they were related to Captain Minami. It was a giant fishing boat, sailing to Mexico, Central America and South America for tuna and albacore.

Went on Terminal Island picnics and had a wonderful time. Entered YMCA hobby show contest and received two blue ribbons for art. Received a one-year membership to the YMCA, but I had to work, so I could not use it.

During the summer vacation I went on the fishing boat with Captain Minami, my cousin Yamasaki, Uncle Sakimoto, Mr. Sarae and two men from Tanami, the next village to Wabuka. Around two o'clock in the morning we headed for La Jolla Bay to catch sardines for bait. My job was to keep the sardines from escaping under the boat, sometimes I couldn't control them and they yelled at me, but that was part of the job. I wasn't big and strong enough to pull in the sardine net. About ten o'clock in the morning we were out in the open sea, we vaguely could see land. My job was to look out for the school of fish, chum sardines to attract fish. When the fish hit the jig we went for the fishing pole. When the fish was too large for me to handle, I fished with the line. For skip jacks I was able to use the pole, but at times when the fish was too strong I asked for help, and the crew nearby always gave me a hand, it was fun, but very strenuous and exhausting.

I delivered Japanese papers on Terminal Island to homes in the community. On Christmas vacation I worked for Nakamura, a Japanese supermarket on Tuna Street. One of the most embarrassing experiences of my life, I will never forget, was when I dropped and broke the lid of an expensive kasanebachi (five layers of porcelain dishes). I went immediately went to see the boss to have the cost deducted from my pay, but he would not do it. I carried 100 pound sacks of rice on my shoulder, I wobbled because they were too heavy, but it was part of my job. I went to work for the first time every Saturday with my neighbor friend Bunkichi Hayashi to work at a fruit stand in Wilmington, we worked from six o'clock a.m. till the closing time of ten o'clock p.m. and earned $5.00, a lot of money for a kid like me.

I felt that instead of continuing to burden my cousin, Toyoichi (Harry) Yamasaki, I thought I should look for a live-in job for room and board and still be able to go to school. My opportunity came when Mr. Masaaki Nakashima of Terminal Island opened a store on Third Street in San Pedro, catering to the Mexican trade and offered me a job. From there I went to Fifth Street Elementary School and Richard Henry Jr. High and San Pedro Sr. High. The owners of the grocery store changed hands over the years from Nakashima to Tatsujiro Shintani and to Masukawa.

Six months before my graduation from San Pedro High, I realized I needed more than the room and board, so made the decision to work for Henry Murakami's Sixth Street fruit stand in San Pedro. The business catered to battleships and local people in San Pedro.

The navy orders were filled at night for early morning delivery to the navy dock. After work I went back to Terminal Island, ate supper then I did my homework until midnight. Got up at six o'clock in the morning and after breakfast, I started out for school across the channel. Took the ferry boat and walked twelve blocks to school. I couldn't afford the cost to ride on the bus. While walking, I memorized more of the Spanish vocabulary. Upon arriving at school, I went to work in the student body store and at noon worked in the girls' cafeteria as a cashier and earned my lunch.

After school I went to work at Murakami's fruit stand. A few weeks before my graduation I caught a very bad cold and had to quit, I finally graduated from San Pedro High's winter class of 1933 in a white shirt, black bow tie and black trousers. We were in the greatest depression of the century. Among the Japanese who graduated, were Tommy Okimoto, Hazel Takii, and Seishin Kondo.

Back-tracking again, during my sophomore year at San Pedro High I made the tennis team and earned my Varsity letter "P". I was one of the proudest students on the campus. After graduating from Senior High, I went to my sister's Chiyoko (Mary) Yamasaki's place in Los Angeles. Her husband, Toyoichi Yamasaki, had started a fruit stand business in Los Angeles. After moving to Los Angeles, we had the worst earthquake in Los Angeles County, and San Pedro High School had to be torn down and rebuilt.

During that era the work of the Japanese was limited to gardening, farming, fruit stand, grocery store and fishing, even the college graduates couldn't get decent jobs so some worked in fruit stands and some went to Japan to look for jobs. Companies in the United States would not employ any Japanese.

The Elementary School and Junior High School teachers encouraged me to become an artist, the problem was that most artists died in poverty. Captain Minami recommended to me at one time, that I should become a radio operator on a large fishing boat that went to Mexico, Central America and South America, because I was able to communicate in Spanish, but I dreaded suffering from sea sickness. My acquaintance, an aged Japanese man in Los Angeles, wanted to retire and offered me his business. He explained to me it was lucrative and that most of his customers were wealthy American ladies and that the work wasn't difficult. The profession did not appeal to me. A family dentist, Doctor Yoshimura in San Pedro offered to help me get into the dentistry profession, but from all angles it seemed difficult for me to go through. In the meantime my Mother in Japan sent me a steamship ticket on the "Asama Maru," a new and most modern Japanese ship for that time, to return to Japan.

I hadn't seen Mother for nearly ten years and I decided to go to Japan. While staying with Mother I translated Japanese catalogues of Kongo Electric, did some work for a silkworm company to earn some money. In the meantime, I applied for a job with the Jintan Company, a medicinal company, International Department.

In the meantime my friend, Sakyo from the same village of Wabuka, visited me and spoke to me about going to chick sexing school in Nagoya, and asked me if I would be interested.

I decided to go to the chick sexing school in Nagoya. Handling little day old baby chicks didn't seem to be hard work. My friends, Sakyo, Sam Ishii and other Nisei from Hiroshima were already there studying. Upon graduating from the school, I pursued my study at the largest hatchery in Japan at that time under expert sexors.

After mastering the art of chick sexing, I returned to Terminal Island and stayed with my married sister Yaeko (Jean) and her husband Noboru (Jimmy) Yamashita in Terminal Island for a week and then went to the Mission Hatchery in Santa Cruz and pursued my study there. Ten days later I got a job at Telsex Company in Springfield, Ohio as an examiner to check on the work of American sexors coming in from Washington state. I was the first Japanese that the Telsex Company ever employed. My salary was $50 per week with room and board, laundry and all expenses paid.

At the end of the hatching season in 1937, I returned to Terminal Island and went to Los Angeles and started the first chick sexing school in the United States, on Pico Street in Los Angeles. The following year I started the school in Boyle Heights and the third year I started a school in San Pedro.

The Nikkei sexors who had learned in Japan, and the students who had graduated from my chick sexing school in 1937, (twenty-six in all) enthusiastically went to the Telsex Co. in Springdale, Ohio, in compliance with my contract with the Telsex Co., but the 1938 hatching season ended in disaster, my contract with Telsex Co. was breached. Telsex Co. had to pay me by promissory notes, I lost my confidence in them. Returning to Terminal Island to Noboru (Jimmy) Yamashita and my married sister, Yaeko (Jean) on Terminal Way, established my own company called the American Chick Sexing Association (Amchick), and determined to get jobs for the sexors and students who depended on me, whom I had disappointed. In desperation, I contacted every single hatchery in the United States to find work for the sexors. It was the beginning of another struggle and hardship, to start anew from scratch, my own chick sexing service. I couldn't afford to hire any secretaries, fortunately through my sister's neighborhood friends; Fumi Hayashi, Okuno, Tani and the another young lady, her name I can't remember anymore who attended San Pedro High School, came with their typewriters to type letters and envelopes for me, their kindness I will always remember.

In 1938 I started my second chick sexing school at Boyle Heights in Los Angeles, had only two students. My daily meals were chili beans & crackers, couldn't afford the luxuries, but once in awhile treated myself to a twenty-five cent sushi on East First Street, Los Angeles in Japanese town. (Matsuno Sushi is longer in business). I made arrangements with my trusty sexor, Ken Matsuyama of Los Angeles, as spokesman and George Fuji of Pasadena, with his car, to contact hatcheries who had inquired about my chick sexing service. I asked Ken and George to contact hatcheries, leaving no stone unturned, to organize groups of hatcheries within a radius of 100 miles into individual territories, throughout the country. I agreed to pay Ken George all expenses, and in lieu of salary Ken is to get the first choice of the territory (Nokomis, Illinois); George the second best (Knoxville, Tennessee), and I am to take the third (Lansdale, Pennsylvania), the other territories in the states of Iowa, Kansas, Oklahoma, Missouri, New York, etc. were offered to the remaining sexors.

Some of the sexors, out of twenty-six, joined other chick sexing services and the Southern California Chick Sexing Association on East First Street, Los Angeles operated by George Hayashi, Clyde Goto and Joe Mitsuhashi. Some of my soliciting letters inadvertently went to Southern California Chick Sexing hatchery customers in Kansas. Clyde Goto and Joe Mitsuhashi (pro boxer) came to my Boyle Heights School to beat me up and left threatening me that if I ever solicit their hatcheries again they would really beat me up. I remembered Dr. Goto, the brother of Clyde, at the J.A.C.L. picnic came up to me and told me that the Oliver Club boys were looking for me. I asked Ken and George, who were on the road, to contact all the hatcheries around the Southern California Chick Sexing Association, leaving no stone unturned. I wasn't going to tell anyone of the threats by Clyde and Joe, but felt I should tell my cousin and brother-in-law Toyoichi (Harry) Yamasaki of the incident. He immediately contacted the Terminal Island Sumo Wrestling Team, the Judo Team, including Orange County and the kendo (fencing) Team, with Japanese swords went to the Office of the Southern California Chick Sexing Association on East First Street. In the presence of the Oliver Club boys spoke to George Hayashi and told him that he would be held responsible for any harm coming to S. John Nitta and we left.

One day the Los Angeles Japanese Chamber of Commerce asked me to come to their meeting, they interrogated me in the presence of Southern California Chick Sexing Association group. They were told instead that this is a free country and that Mr. Nitta has every right to go anywhere in the country to solicit business including their customers.

In the year 1940 and 1941, moved to the newly built and beautiful Murakami building on Terminal Way, Terminal Island. Everything went well until December 7, 1941 when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. My hatchery customers started to cancel their contracts stating their customers would not want their chicks separated by the Japanese. My sexors and students were depending on me and it was very important for me to personally speak with my customers. I left Terminal Island in a hurry, and headed east with two students. We were stopped on the way by police and questioned and they wanted to lock us up. The FBI came after questioning and we were finally released. While crossing the Susquehanna River Bridge in Pennsylvania, we were stopped again, questioned, and finally released. We were told to ask for a police escort to cross the bridge in the future. I thought it was silly but they were serious. Upon arriving at my office in Lambertville, New Jersey, my secretary in Terminal Island telephoned and informed me that the Western Defense Command demanded that all Japanese, regardless of U.S. citizenship were to leave the island in forty-eight hours. She hurriedly left the office to go home and pack.

I could not return to my home in Terminal Island because my own government would not let anyone of Japanese descent, whether American citizen or not, to enter California. I called a storage company in San Pedro to pick up my office and school equipment for storage, but many things were left behind in the Murakami building. The Noboru (Jimmy) Yamashita's and their children had to leave in a hurry too and they stored all my personal things in their garage with the thought of returning and picking them up later. Later I learned that someone had broken in and took everything.

I still vividly remember an incident that happened on the day of December 7, 1941. Reiko Inouye, who was the Queen of Nisei week, and I, after seeing the Planetarium Observatory in Pasadena, decided to go to Japanese town to have dinner on East First Street, Los Angeles. When we got to East First Street there were soldiers with bayonets guarding against people entering the town. I asked "What is going on?" They said Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. I asked "Where is Pearl Harbor?" They said it is in Honolulu. I immediately decided to take Reiko home, her parents encouraged me to stay with them, but I felt that I should go to Terminal Island, about one hour drive. It was already dark and I drove without headlights because of the blackout. I got to the bridge but there were soldiers with bayonets telling me I cannot cross the bridge, but finally they permitted me to cross after explaining that I lived in Terminal Island.

I visited my customers in New Jersey, but they refused to continue to do business with me so I decided to move to Lansdale, Pennsylvania where I previously had my office. Fortunately the customers in Pennsylvania were mostly Pennsylvania Dutch of German descent. I was able to hold on to most of my customers.

I tried to purchase property in Lansdale but the local realtors were not interested in selling to me. Fortunately an aged person of German descent offered to sell me one of his properties with a house and barn on it near the railroad tracks. I hurriedly opened an office and waited for the sexors coming from the West Coast. Our home was always crowded with sexors.

During the war years, sexors were stopped for questioning, put in jail, commuted to work from jail, had problems getting tires and gas and went through many problems and hardships. So many many things happened during and after the war years. We endured the war years without any incident to the lives of the sexors.

Within the community of Lansdale for a long time the restaurant waitresses would not come to take our orders except for one small restaurant owned by a Greek. No one would take in roomers except one aged Christian friend. Barbers would not cut our hair, saying they would lose customers. One Italian friend, who operated a barber shop was the lone exception. Certain church ministers asked us not to attend their church due to objections from some members of their congregation. Total strangers would come up to us and ask whether we were Chinese. Some sexors became discouraged and went back to join their families in the relocation centers. Some sexors who had relocated to Lansdale were drafted into the U.S. Armed Forces. Our American competitors were saying "Why use Jap sexors?" During the war years such unfriendly things happened in many parts of the country.

At one time there were 14,000 large and small hatchery in the United States, mostly small. Today there is less than 400 hatcheries, all giants hatching chicks the year round. The small seasonal hatcheries eventually went out of business.

Amchick was the sole distributor of the Japanese Chick tester instrument for small hatcheries, who cannot afford to get sexors, however, the instrument has become obsolete.

Amchick eventually extended its business to Cuba (before the door was closed to democratic countries), Venezuela, Canada and Belgium but Amchick lost the customers to our own sexors who went to do the work, whom we trusted. The same happened within the United States, we lost many good territories rich and promising, to the sexors we had sent to do the work. The low-income territories were left alone for Amchick to further develop. France and other countries in Europe requested Amchick to send them sexors, but it was difficult holding on to our own customers, moreover Zen Nippon Chick Sexing Association in Japan, Tokuzo Yamaguchi, Executive Director, asked me to not compete against them. The decision was made by Amchick not to solicit business in foreign countries but to concentrate on business in the United States, where the United States alone had enough problems and headaches.

Amchick operated the chick sexing school in Lansdale and Los Angeles but eventually discontinued operating due to lack of student interest, and instead imported chick sexors from Japan & Korea. Eventually the United States Department of Labor refused to permit entry of foreign sexors. The Meat Cutters Union in Chicago attempted to unionize Amchick and failed. The World War II did not help us any. Today Amchick and several small groups operated by Koreans, and a few other independent sexors are operating in the United States. The Telsex Co., and many large progressive chick sexing companies, operated by Niseis are no longer in existence.

Addendum

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Amchick (American Chick Sexing Association) was established in 1937, and has continually operated for over fifty-seven years. Amchick continues to serve the majority of the commercial and breeder hatcheries nationwide, throughout the United States. Since 1978, my son, David, has taken over and is operating the company which continues to expand and remains the predominant sexing service in the United States.

During the years of operation of the American Chick Sexing School (1937-1974), hundreds of students have graduated. They include the Nikkei from relocation Centers and those under the GI Bill, Caucasian, plus students from many foreign countries worldwide.

Hundreds of sexors have contracted with Amchick over the fifty-seven years. They include over 700 Nikkei and Caucasian, the majority of whom graduated from American Chick Sexing School, plus nearly 100 from Japan, as well as sexors from Canada, Mexico and Korea. Amchick today continues to be known throughout the United States as the largest sexing service in the poultry industry.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Teruko Miyoshi Okimoto
• Date:
•     1994

I was born in a fishing village over the Pacific Ocean in San Diego, California as were all of my four sisters. Our apartment was built on top of a block-size square pier on steel stilts that resembled railroad ties. There were two such piers, one built about six feet higher and the two were connected by a short ramp. There were two long apartments on each side of the pier, plus four duplexes on one side. A thirty feet. passageway divided the two complexes. A long finger pier was at one end where the fishermen tied up their boats. The upper pier housed about fifteen families in eight duplexes. A total of thirty or so families comprised this village.

From our rear window I could see Coronado Island and the Casino lit up by a string of lights every night. During the day I could see the destroyers in the bay with the sailors clad in white and lined up for whatever activities that were scheduled for the day. From our side window I could see all the bustling of the harbor. Once, two gigantic gray whales meandered into the bay probably off their course on their return trip from Baja to Alaska.

The front of the village was hidden behind the long cannery. We entered through a small gate by the side next to a marble-polishing factory. Passing the gate we walked on a narrow boardwalk that hugged the contour of the cannery. One step down at the end and we entered our little world, quite unlike any other. We seldom saw any strangers because it was so well hidden. No one surmised its existence. The village seemed starkly plain, but on the outer side of the apartments, there were potted plants and flowers and a fairly large backyard for activities. The housing was constructed of redwood—so in time it took on a silvery-gray patina. No litter marred the environs.

Summertime was fun time! We went rafting when the tide was low; dangled our feet in the ocean when the tide was high; fished for baby sharks and crab; swam around the pier with a circlet of net corks tied around our middle and went rowing in the bay when a skiff was available. We were welcomed to scramble among the remnant pieces of marble at the factory yard. The four of us sisters spent countless hours there, sorting and matching the small pieces.

There was a bit of excitement every June when a fleet of tuna boats from Terminal Island would come to our village to be tied at the fingerpier. Some were my father's friends seeking albacore that appeared a few weeks earlier than at San Pedro harbor.

These carefree days came to an abrupt ending as the untimely death of our mother necessitated that we relocate to Terminal Island, thus ending my thirteen years of bliss.

Decades later, I made a visit to San Diego, hoping to retrace my steps over the boardwalk and to inhale once again the crisp salt air but my hopes were dashed when I learned that it was razed quite some years ago. Gone was my childhood paradise! This unique village, possibly the only one of its kind on the Pacific coast will be forever etched in my memory. In my mind's eye ,I can see the dancing waves reflecting the moonlight in a silvery path; feel the soft waft of the sea breeze; and hear the cadence of the waves under our rooms as they raced onward towards the shore.

I felt right at home on Terminal Island where there were many girls of my age that welcomed me and my sisters.

Most of our activities centered around the Baptist church. I remember with fondness our diminutive missionary, Miss Olive A. Warren with her sweet little ways and admirable patience. She taught us at Sunday school as well as crafts and skits that we presented to a young audience during the summer months. She retired to San Diego and married Mr. Chris Pedersen. One day, in the '60's, she paid me a surprise visit in San Pedro and we reminisced about her former charges.

Then there was Mrs. Elizabeth Polson who faithfully came across on the ferry from San Pedro to teach bible lessons to a mixed group of high school students. We gathered at the parsonage and enjoyed the rapport we had with this sprightly teacher.

A bit of glamour was introduced to us with the arrival of Miss Virginia Swanson, a young lady to serve as young people's missionary. She was a role model for us to emulate with her grace and elegance. She found time, despite her busy schedule, to establish a nursery school at church for the pre-school children of working mothers. She was ably assisted by Hazel Takii Morikawa. She was also instrumental in finding living quarters for some families during the hasty evacuation from the island. She married the Rev. Kichitaro Yamamoto and lives in Whittier, still beautiful and alert and in good spirits and health.

Can we ever forget our dear Mrs. Mildred O'Barr Walizer? She was the dearly beloved principal of the East San Pedro grammar school on Terminal Island for over twelve years. When I first met her in 1929, she was a gray-haired motherly appearing lady and so I marveled at her unbounded energy. Being childless, she adopted the entire student body as her own. She had a knack of making everyone feel at ease.

Fully aware that the fathers were out at sea a great part of the time and that the mothers were working in the canneries to augment the family coffers, she looked after the various needs of her pupils, including medical attention. Many times she escorted groups to the clinic to have their tonsils removed.

This patrician lady enjoyed camping and cook-outs. She sponsored a teenage club, aptly named "Outing Girls" and took a group to periodic camp-outs at scenic places near the San Bernardino Mountains. She usually selected a spot where there was a creek or a river near by.

One of the high-points of my life was a week-long tour that our club, (about twenty of us) took on a chartered bus to visit the San Francisco area and the Yosemite Valley in 1931, where we camped in large tents for two nights. She did all the cooking for us. We all pitched in and assisted in the camp chores and the daily cleanup.

It was in late June, the time when all the waterfalls were flowing copiously into the valley below. It was a beautiful and very spectacular sight. There we were awed by the grandeurs of this world reknown valley.

There were also activities for the junior girls, too. She would take small groups and instruct them in swimming lessons at Cabrillo Beach which was located just below her home near Pt. Fermin in San Pedro, California. There were always refreshments and dinner afterwards.

The teenage boys enjoyed an annual picnic at the Irvine Recreational Park in Orange County. The girls were also invited and we packed lunches and spent the entire day at bicycling, boating, and exploring. Part of this yearly outing was made more enjoyable for the long ride on the bus, that gave us the opportunity to see the rural life of the towns as we rode along.

At the school playground there were many festivities presented during the year under her supervision. In March, there was "Girls' Day" when all the girls dressed in their kimono and paraded at the school grounds. Visitors would come from San Pedro to see the doll-like girls in their colorful kimonos.

I remember the annual May Pole dances. The tall pole was festooned with lovely spring flowers and long white ribbons for the dancers to entwine.

Halloween party was usually held at night so that .we could see the glow of the lit-up pumpkins. She saw to it that everyone had a costume to wear, renting extra costumes lest some child would be without one. Treats and favors were given to all.

Many times our club presented drama and musical renditions in the auditorium—plays and skits pertaining to the seasons. We performed "fancy" foot-work such as clog and tap dancing. She would garner talented artists to instruct us in our presentations. At times we sold tickets of admission to help defray the expenses of our activities.

On Friday nights the auditorium doors were flung open for all to come for recreation. The front half of the auditorium had a piano in one corner where my sister Ritsuko, a play-by-ear pianist, would play for those who enjoyed the popular songs of the day. One particular soloist she remembers very well is Kenji Yamamoto who sang in a beautiful tenor voice.

The auditorium could be divided in half so the bottom half was set with tables and there were many games to choose from.

Our club meetings were held in the side room off the auditorium. Outside on the playground, volleyball and baseball games were in full play.

She taught the older girls the art of domesticity in her spare time. On one occasion they made orange marmalade, using her recipe, in the cooking bungalow. The result was so luscious that the mothers requested more.

In appreciation for her many kindnesses, the Terminal Island parents presented her with a trip to Japan. Besides. visiting the famous attractions and the scenic beauties of Japan and meeting with dignitaries, she visited various grammar schools.

One evening she called our club to the meeting room and told us that due to her terminal illness, she could no longer be at the school. What a devastating blow it was to us.

When she passed away in 1933, the funeral was held at the largest hall possible which was the Fishermen's Association hall next door to the school where she expended so many extra hours so that we could have excellent supervised fun.

In 1993, a large group of her former pupils traveled en masse to Santa Ana, California to pay homage to this wonderful lady of compassion and bountiful generosity. A truly one-of-a-kind person who was our teacher, counselor, and guide to the outside world. How privileged we were to have her come to our island with so much love to give. She had a profound influence on our lives and laid a solid foundation for our future, and we are all the better for it.

In her honor, the East San Pedro grammar school was renamed to: Mildred O'Barr Walizer.

The San Pedro Y.W.C.A. invited us to come and join in their activities at the clubhouse situated on Ninth Street. Mrs. Torkelson, a complete stranger to us, graciously offered to become our sponsor. She arranged many field trips for us of cultural interests. We held many dances in the auditorium and had graduation dinners that we cooked with her assistance. Martha, her daughter who used to come with us, became a teacher. I met her and her two sons at a bus stop in San Pedro over thirty years ago.

We owe a deep debt of gratitude to these five magnanimous lovely ladies who touched our lives. They opened their homes to us and we spent many happy hours having dinners in their homes. How caring and thoughtful they were, giving unstintingly of their time, talent and devotion to us.

In 1940 I married Tom Okimoto, and a year later we were forced to move from the island—thirteen years after I arrived from San Diego.

This also was an unique village that will have to live in my memory as not a landmark remains today. As one author wrote, "You can't go home again," but hark! Can you hear the fog horn in the distance and the faint echo of the cannery whistle that called our mothers to work in the wee small hours of the night? Can you hear the muffled steps of boot-shod groups rush by towards the canneries? I can—for I used to live on Tuna Street, the hub of our village once called Terminal Island, my treasured island.

We five sisters are now scattered to the four winds. I alone remain here to gaze at the sea that is so dear to my heart.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Thomas Takeshi Okimoto
• Date:
•     1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Born in Texas City, Texas in 1915. Early boyhood was spent in Colorado until the eighth grade.

Bessemer, Colorado was a small sized quiet country town. The Colorado Fuel and Iron Company, known as CF&I, was the mainstay of the town (even to this day).

The central part the Japanese Community encompassed about two city blocks with small stores interspersed between rented homes. We had a small Methodist Episcopal church. The Japanese population numbered about a hundred residents. The nucleus of social activity generally centered around the church interspersed with regular and holiday activities. I was also in the Boy Scouts and participated in all their activities.

After relocation to Terminal Island, I experienced a complete transformation as compared to the sedentary existence in Colorado. I enrolled in Dana Junior High school as an eighth grader and I was in the first graduating class in Dana.

Highlight of my days at San Pedro High was the year that all three football teams (A, B, and C) won the Bay League championship. Also our team, of which I participated in high and broad jump, won many medals in the Bay League meet that netted me a silver and a bronze.

At Compton Junior College, I joined the Japanese Club and belonged to the pre-med fraternity society. Also Alpha Gamma Sigma. Becoming a reader in philosophy, I picked up a few spending money until my graduation in 1935.

During my school years, I attended the Terminal Island Baptist Church regularly and took part in many of its activities. I taught Sunday school for a boys class. I also assisted the counselor with a group of about twenty-five boys, ages nine through twelve called The Friendly Indians. Also another group of about ten older boys named the Pioneers. During this period I was able to take the boys on several outings: hiking trips to the mountains in the summer and snow trips in the winter on our canvas covered large truck. The boys looked forward to these outings. I also attended kendo classes and Japanese school. My closest friends while in high school were: S. John Nitta, who became a very successful business man, Reverend Sadaichi Asai and Joe Yamamoto. We used to do a lot of surfing at Brighton Beach.

After graduation from Compton Junior College, I worked in a cannery for a short while then started commercial fishing from the ground up on one of the smaller lampara boats. Then, to a purse seiner that traveled as far north as Washington and Puget Sound and as far south to Mexico to catch tuna.

After a hiatus to Japan to accompany my terminally ill father in 1938, I returned to USA.

I married Teruko Miyoshi in 1940 and teamed up with her father in a small bait boat for local fishing such as: albacore, tuna, skipjack mackerel and small fish for the local market.

On the eve of War World II, I was out mackerel scooping alone in Santa Monica Bay. Terry's father was ill that day and stayed at home. I set out for the fishing grounds around noon. I raised a school of mackerel by chumming off Santa Monica. I scooped mackerel for about two hours and had about a ton of fish on board. Ate my supper, noting the beautiful lights that came on as dusk turned to dark in Malibu, Redondo Beach and Palos Verdes.

In the process of moving to different locations, I noticed that all the colorful lights of the beach cities became extinguished, even the Pt. Vincent light house beacon. I also noted that other boats that were scooping mackerel in the same vicinity had all disappeared with the exception of about three. There was a complete blackout in all the beach cities, and the Palos Verdes hills.

I made a cup of tea while pondering what to do. I studied the coastal chart and pin-pointed my approximate location (between Malibu and Santa-Monica). Then I took a compass reading and determined the distance to a point about three miles due south of Pt. Vincent lighthouse. I then calculated the time it would take me to arrive at that spot with the boat cruising about one speed (six knots). I went through the same exercise for calculating the distance between Pt. Vincent and Pt. Firmin lighthouses. After reaching Pt. Firmin I calculated a course paralleling the breakwater and estimated my arrival at the San Pedro lighthouse and the entrance to Los Angeles harbor. I started back to San Pedro harbor according to calculations. I had also decided to drift and wait for dawn before attempting to enter the harbor.

Suddenly I was spotted by a powerful searchlight and through a megaphone ordered to stand by and be prepared for boarding. I was boarded by three officials who searched me, my catch and the entire boat from bow to stern. I was ordered to cruise away from the lighthouse area for fifteen minutes and told to stand by and wait until daybreak when the gates to Los Angeles harbor would be opened. I noticed that some purse seiners were also waiting for entry to Los Angeles harbor. I was completely lost as to what happened. Not having a radio was a grave handicap.

The gates were opened around 7 a.m. and all boats made a wild dash to get into fish harbor. I passed up all the boats and was the first boat into fish harbor. I docked at California Marine and Canning Co. preparatory for unloading my fish catch. Normally cannery workers on the dock assist you in tying the boat. This morning they just stood on the dock watching me and didn't lend a hand in securing the boat, so I secured the boat to the pilings and climbed up to the dock and saw school boys standing around. I asked them why they were not in school but received no response. One of the men on the dock spewed out "You god-damn Jap" and turned on his heels. The cannery manager told me that they were not accepting any fish that day because Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor.

I was completely stunned and flabbergasted. I remember getting back on the boat and heading for the San Pedro fish markets. The enormity of the situation gradually began to dawn on me as I unloaded the catch. I brought the boat back to fish harbor and anchored and docked it. Since December 7, we were prohibited from leaving the harbor. Terry worked in the cannery until the evacuation. On occasion some of us fishermen went out looking for farmwork but did not have any success.

Eventually relocation notices were posted on the telephone poles on Terminal Island ordering Japanese residents to vacate the island within forty-eight hours. Coincidentally, that was one of the days we went looking for work and we returned in the late afternoon. We had lost precious time that could have been applied to evacuation problems. Terry and I did not have anywhere to go. I knew that our religious faith would sustain and provide for us. Contact with the Terminal Island Baptist church disclosed that provisions had been made for church members and their children and they would be temporarily housed at Chuo Gakuen located in Los Angeles. They were advised to pack necessary personal belongings and wait for transportation to Chuo.

A semi-truck arrived from the Los Angeles wholesale vegetable market about noon. I was given the names of the families that were scheduled to go to Chuo. I knew where each family lived and directed the driver to each home where we loaded and packed possessions, including their beds that they would be sleeping on. As we finished loading I advised family members to go to the church where personal transportation would be provided to Los Angeles. We loaded the personal possessions of about fifteen families. It was time consuming because the beds had to be stripped down at each location. As we left each home the vicinity was like a ghost town because neighborhood families had already left. We finished loading the last family towards dusk. There were no lights in any of the vacated homes and the island looked desolate and cold. I felt profound sorrow bidding fond farewell to Terminal Island. I may have been one of the last of the residents leaving Terminal Island.

It was dark when the truck arrived at Chuo Gakuen. The beds were set up in the space allotted to each family. This was a new experience for all of us but we optimistically looked forward to each new day. We knew that the good Lord had provided for us and would continue to provide. We owe a debt of gratitude to the Los Angeles Baptist City Mission Society and the Terminal Island Baptist church officials, namely Virginia Swanson Yamamoto and others for assistance on the evacuation.

In the first week of April, 1942, about nine families opted to go to Manzanar with the Terminal Island contingent. We were surrounded by armed guards at the train station as if we were enemy aliens. We arrived at night by bus from Bishop and were given a family number. After a light supper we were directed to a wooden barrack and provided with straw mattresses and one blanket where we all bedded down for the night on a small cot. Next day we were assigned to more or less permanent quarters with two families sharing each 1/4 part of the divided barrack.

There was a separate building for lavatory (toilets and showers) and a separate laundry room. There was one large mess hall for each block. At mealtime we would line up with a G.I. aluminum plate and cup. Food was generally passable. However it was difficult to eat heart and other innards. I remember when we were served canned spinach, many incurred a case of severe diarrhea. There was a long line at the dispensary for medication.

I joined :the camp police force patrolling designated sections of the camp. Then I worked as construction foreman with an initial crew of about fifteen men installing plasterboard in the barracks and kitchens and also performing general maintenance. When the Issei men were released from their respective internment centers, all my fishermen friends were invited to become part of my crew. We all worked hard for $14.00 a month. My next job was as the chief cost accountant at the garment center. This job paid $19.00 per month. Terry worked for a while at the camouflage warehouse as a camouflage net garnisher.

We enjoyed The Manzanar Free Press, the official Manzanar Camp paper and looked forward with anticipation for each issue.

On May 22, 1943 we obtained clearance to relocate to Cleveland, Ohio. We worked at a Baptist Society summer camp for children in Vermillion, Ohio—along the shores of Lake Erie. Terry helped in the kitchen as a cook's assistance and I as caretaker/lifeguard. The only pleasant experience we had was watching the fireflies light up in the evenings—thousands of them. We felt no discrimination and we made many friends whom we regularly corresponded with until their deaths.

The job terminated in early August and we left for Grand Junction, Colorado to be with part of Terry's family who had relocated there. We both worked in the fields as farm laborers, picking cannery tomatoes, peaches and any other job that came along at an hourly rate of forty cents. During the winter months, I worked with a crew of four at contract pruning of peach orchards on six foot tall stilts. The only time we got off the stilts during the day was when we fell or for lunch break. We worked during subzero weather, snow, rain or shine. We were all very fast pruners and made about $35.00 per day. We experienced no discrimination among the farmers we worked for and merchants in town were generally friendly and we had a pleasant experience while in Grand Junction. We made lasting friendships with some farmers and with the small Japanese population.

We returned to Long Beach in 1946 and stayed with Terry's sister. I commuted daily to Los Angeles to work as an accountant for a wholesale/retail sales book company. We found a place to live in an all-Japanese trailer park located in Harbor City.

In 1947 our daughter Kristin was born. We needed larger quarters so we moved to San Pedro and I went commercial fishing again.

Fishing catches continued to decline so I applied for a job at the Long Beach Naval Shipyard and was hired as a woodworker's helper. Within a few months I transferred to the controller department as a timekeeper. With succeeding promotions I worked up the ladder to cost accounting clerk. I maintained the shipyard general ledger and prepared all the financial reports of the entire LBNSY operations. In the interim, I attended the Long Beach College of Commerce in the evenings and obtained my bachelor of science degree in accounting. I left school prior to obtaining my master's degree.

I applied to a civil service employment announcement and was hired by the Air Force Audit Agency as an internal auditor. After a few months the supervisor was transferred and I was appointed to his position. From internal audits I transferred to contract audits and worked for Defense Contract Audit Agency (DCAA), and stationed at a DCAA resident office located at Northrop corporation. As contract auditor, I participated in the review and reporting on all contractors' operations pertaining to government contracts as well as autonomous operating divisions. I reviewed contractors' proposals for major weapons systems (some about $100 million) and wrote advisory audit reports that were used as basis for contract negotiations at major commands.

After several years with DCCA I was offered a promotion by the Air Force Contract Management Division (AFCMD) as a supervisory internal auditor.

AFCMD provided surveillance over the operation of all Air Force Contract Plant representative offices (AFPRO) which were established at each contractor's plant with major negotiated contracts with the government. AFPRO's working under the guidance of administrative contracting officer provided surveillance of all government obligations. There were over twenty-five AFPRO's scattered throughout the United States and this necessitated considerable travel.

Continuing fraud, waste and abuse by government contractors and adverse publicity from public disclosures, the DOD assigned our head office in Washington D.C. as the DOD Inspector General. (IG). Our office was designated as the assistant IG for audits.

After thirty-nine years of civil service my career ended. in the department of Inspector General as the office was closed and relocated to the Pentagon. Not opting to move, I retired at the ripe old age of seventy-three.

Never in my wildest dream could I foresee that I, a fisherman from Terminal Island, would have the opportunity as a civil servant to have the privilege to wear seven-league-boots and travel half way around the world to far away places as the Philippines (Subic Bay and Clark Air Force Base near Manila); Guam; Seoul, Korea; and Japan and a tour of duty for a year at Saigon, Vietnam where I was officer in charge for Defense Audit Service of the logistic branch. At Ton Son Nut Air Force base I was in charge also of training native auditors.

I have hit the four corners of the U.S. and have audited at all the military bases as far north as Seattle and North Dakota; east to New England; south to Florida where I was allowed to enter the compound at Cape Canaveral and check the launching pad of the space shuttle that was in construction; up to Vandenberg Air Force Base here in California to check the launching pad of the silos containing the minute-man missiles. Working in Honolulu was a distinct, pleasurable way to make a living.

Terry and I look forward to each year to meet and converse with our good friends at the Terminal Islander annual New Year's party. After the Nisei have passed on it may be a good gesture by Sansei to designate an annual day of remembrance to commemorate the legacy of Terminal Island and honor their roots which are bound in their parents from Terminal Island.

Presently, Terry and I maintain a sedate existence working in our small back yard of vegetables. We belong to the Neighborhood Watch but are not involved in community affairs. Periodically I attend Masonic Lodge activities. Hopefully we pray that we may be able to celebrate the coming year 2000.

Father: Seichi Okimoto (1875 - 1938), 63 years old.

Born in Hiroshima, Japan, in the small sea coast village of Mukainada, a few miles from Hiroshima City. He made his living as a commercial fisherman. Around 1900 he emigrated to Hawaii, together with hundreds of other laborers from Hiroshima. They were all captivated by the huge advertisements placed in Japanese newspapers attesting to the high wages being paid and high earnings potential for plantation workers. He labored in the plantations and also as a dock worker. He was a fairly large man, standing almost tall, weighing around 225 pounds. He was very strong and muscular. He was classified among the strongest men working on the Hawaiian docks.

He entered USA via Seattle, Washington—circa 1912. Settled in Texas City, Texas to join his friends from Hiroshima who were already established in Texas City as fishermen. He purchased a small fishing boat and participated in fishing for red snapper in the gulf of Mexico.

I was born in 1915 in Texas City, Texas and before I was a year old, we were caught in a very severe hurricane which almost wiped out the town of Texas City. We escaped to Galveston which was across the bay, but the fishing boat and all possessions were lost.

We left Texas City circa 1915 and relocated around Trinidad Colorado. My father worked as a coal miner for a few months until his employment was cut short by a serious unrest between coal mine operators and strikers which resulted in warfare. The state militia was mobilized against the strikers and several persons were killed. We hid under a mattress in a house that seemed abandoned (all shot up) in the vicinity of the clash between the militia and strikers.

After such a catastrophic experience in Texas we relocated to a town called Bessemer (now called Pueblo) Colorado. Bessemer was the location of the famous Fuel and Iron Company (CF&T) where my father found employment. Circa 1920, my father decided on a business venture and became the sole proprietor of a pool hall. Business was very good. However he heard from his good friend from Hiroshima who had preceded him to Terminal Island, California. His friend advised him of the excellent commercial fishing possibilities.

We left Colorado and arrived on Terminal Island via the Terminal Island train station in the spring of 1928.

My father purchased a jig boat and fished commercially for species that were in season, such as: Spring/summer—barracuda, albacore, mackerel; Fall/winter—rock cod, white fish.

In the early part of winter 1932, he had a bountiful catch during one of his regular rock cod trips to the cod banks located on the outerside of Santa Cruz island. It was evening as he iced down the catch in the hatch preparatory to his return to the San Pedro fish markets. He made the boat ship-shape preparatory for any bad weather he may encounter on his return run of about twelve hours to San Pedro. He noticed excess bilge water accumulating in the engine room. The bilge pump could not keep up with the rising bilge water. He opened up the hatch and worked feverlessly to beat the rising bilge water as he threw out all the fish that he had painstakingly packed. The hatch was awash with bilge water so he searched with his hands in the bilge along the shaft alley and along the stern where the propeller shaft entered the boat. He failed to find the leak. As last resort he accumulated some provisions, clothes and a gallon jug of water and beached the boat before the engine cut out. As he was embarking from the boat he slipped on the rocks and unfortunately the water jug broke.

His was the only boat on the outside of Santa Cruz Island on this trip. He knew there were other boats on the inner side of Santa Cruz Island who would provide him with transportation back to Terminal Island. He started out climbing up the hill abutting the shore figuring that there was only one big hill between him and the other side of the island. When he ascended to the top of the hill he noted that there were a series of undulating hills between him and the opposite shore, some taller that the others.

As he trudged in a northerly direction, he endured scorching hot sun during the day without water to quench his thirst and freezing winter nights without adequate shelter. He moistened his lips from dirty water puddles that were used by sheep inhabiting the island. He reached the other shore, totally exhausted after twenty-six HouRs. He was completely battered by the weather and the elements but in fairly good condition. The strenuous conditioning that he received on the Hawaiian docks stood him in real good stead. He met one of his good friends who transported him back to Terminal Island. This ordeal ended his days as a commercial fisherman as of 1932.

In the interim, my mother had purchased three fruit and vegetable stores in San Pedro during 1931 (see mother's history for additional details). She ran the stores while my father was fishing. The stores were sold during 1936. The family moved back to Terminal Island and they both worked in the cannery at French Sardine Co.

He was diagnosed with stomach cancer in 1938. It was decided to have his operation in Japan. The operation prolonged his life for three months. During this period he had a very happy time visiting with friends and relatives and brothers. He passed away in 1938.

While in Colorado, he learned the art of shinenjitsu, taught by the practitioner of the art from Japan. The practice of shinenjitsu involved the transference of one's own concentrated human energy through the fingertips to any sore/aching spot on the body of another individual in pain. The laying of the fingertip to the pain location generated a very soothing feeling of warmth. Coupled with the increasing heat on the sore spot, the pain receded concurrently—depending on the severity of the soreness. Treatments generally lasted from a few minutes for a toothache and slight bruises to several continuing repeat treatments. He only practiced his curative powers among family members, close friends and acquaintances. He was extremely optimistic and very well-liked by all his many friends and acquaintances. He never smoked but chomped on a cigar occasionally. He was a social drinker and was in very fine voice at all parties that he attended among friends.

In retrospect, he did not have much of a social life. He worked hard all his life. He was very generous and never turned down any monetary requests from any of his many friends that were hard up. The loans were generally gifts because he never pursued repayments.

Because of his strength (i.e. pulling up a hundred pound sack of rice with his teeth) and being a judoist, and his commanding physical appearance, he was generally appointed as the foreman and leader of a group/gang of men in all his physical endeavors. He was very charismatic and well-liked by all his men and management. He was a very good, loving and understanding father.

One of the most endearing recollections that I have of him was when I was around five years of age. Because of the store he generally had his supper late around 7 p.m. I remember that invariably he would pick me up in my p.j.'s, sit me on his lap, and every other bite he would feed me small tidbits from his supper. I remember how delicious they were.

Mother: Take Okimoto (1879 - 1976), 97 years old.

(nee Yamaoka)

Born in Hiroshima, Japan. Married in 1914 in Texas City, Texas. Emigrated to USA in 1914 and headed to Texas to be joined with my father. They were childhood friends.

When we were settled in Bessemer, Colorado in 1915, she became associated with the Japanese Methodist Episcopal church. She was very active in women's club activities and participated in learning English and how to cook gourmet American meals. She became a superb cook. All the visiting church dignitaries, either Japanese or of American descent, generally dined and relaxed at our house. After we arrived in Terminal Island in 1928 she became a cannery worker. The first time she became a laborer for wages.

In 1931 she wanted to get into business. As a result, the family bought three fruit and vegetable stores. Locations are as follows:

1. 1.
2. 200 block on Sixth Street (now demolished because of Beacon Street revitalization project.)
3. 2.
4. Ninth and Pacific Avenues. It was a drive-in market with a parking lot.
5. 3.
6. Barton Hill. Pacific and Santa Cruz Streets.

She managed the entire operation of all the stores with hired help. Sales at all stores were profitable. Bank failures occurred during the peak of the Great Depression. The stores struggled through the trying years but made out okay. The stores were sold in 1936. The family resettled on Terminal Island again and she began working in the canneries.

In 1938 the whole family relocated to Japan because of my father's terminal illness. After his operation and subsequently his death I returned to Terminal Island. My mother left to join her daughter in Tsushima, thereby she was able to avoid the atom bomb. After the war, she again moved to Tokyo to be with relatives. She was relatively in good health until in 1976, at the ripe old age of ninety-seven when her heart wore out and she died peacefully. She and my father are interred at Green Hills Memorial cemetery.

My mother was a very generous and caring person. She would pass out fruit and candy to my friends. Every Sunday she would prepare a feast and invited some of my Sunday school class for a dinner.

When Kristin and I visited her in Tokyo where she lived on the campus of Tamagawa College, she was ninety-four years old. Yet she prepared all the feast. She still sewed and did housework.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Joe Ozaki
• Date:
•     May 3, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Family

My father, Torakichi Ozaki, who died in a boat accident in 1927, came to the U.S. from Susami, Wakayama-ken, Japan. My father's occupation was commercial fisherman, captain of a purse seiner. He fished in local waters for mackerel and sardines. My mother, Mitsuko Otsuka, who was born in Osaka, Japan, came to the U.S. with her mother and subsequently married Torakichi Ozaki through a nako-do. She was a typical Issei woman who worked in a cannery.

Earliest Memories

I remember in kindergarten at Mildred Obarro Walizer School with my friends Hiroshi Yamashita, Yoshio Fujita, Shoji Maeda and others. I vaguely remember Boys and Girls Day celebrations. I was a student until World War II.

World War II

My immediate reaction upon hearing of the attack on Pearl Harbor was that of fright, and the world was coming to an end. We were not affected by the forty-eight hour evacuation notice since we moved from Terminal Island about the end of January, 1942 to Tarzana, California. We were interned at Manzanar.

Prior to relocation, we were separated from my grandfather without the knowledge of his whereabouts after the FBI raided and rummaged through our whole house and subsequently took our grandfather in handcuffs since all fishermen were considered spies for Japan.

The conditions in camp initially were terrible, like stuffing hay into mattresses, and enduring dust storms. The feeling was shikata ga nai.

Resettlement

I left camp three days after graduation from high school; I went to work on a farm in Nyssa, Oregon.

In November, 1945 I returned to Manzanar to pick up my grandparents, and with them we relocated to Long Beach. Yes, discrimination was rampant wherever we were.

Terminal Islanders

I think it's wonderful to get together once or twice a year as Terminal Islanders. After the Nisei are gone, I don't see the continuation of reunions.

Present

I have been retired from Rockwell International Space Division since January 1988 where I was a Quality Control Program Administrator. Currently, I'm working seven days a week helping my son-in-law in his produce business. Golf is my hobby.

We have four children and seven grandchildren.

I am involved in the Lions Club.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Takao Shintani
• Date:
•     1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

I have been asked to display the model fishing boat in which I was a crew member. It has been a pleasant experience working along with the most knowledgeable fisherman in the world, who have helped to develop and establish the fishing industry in this country.

While interned during the war years at Manzanar, I decided to build this model of the fishing boat, all hand made, with whatever and whenever I can acquire the material, as best I could. Wooden box, scrape wood, orange box, apple box or whatever it took to build this model, which took more than a year to complete. It was built by memory, as best as I could remember at that time. It was built as a reminder of all 120,000 innocent Japanese Americans in various concentration camp at that time.

The model of this boat is mainly dedicated to our Issei parents, who have sacrificed so much for us Nisei, not only to the Terminal Islanders, but also to all the other Issei, who have done a great job of keeping us Nisei in line as we grew up. They have taught us that we Nisei are American citizens and never bring shame upon ourselves and to respect rules and regulations no matter where we might chose to go. But, most important, [they have taught us] discipline, honesty and integrity. It is with these reasons, with gratitude and appreciation, I dedicate this vessel to our Issei parents.

December 7, 1941, aboard this vessel at sea, I was told by the Captain to contact the other boats as to their location that night. Being the radio operator, I operated the transmitter but was immediately ordered by the Coast Guard to get off the air, stating that I am in violation of military wartime order of radio silence. At that time, we had no idea and was really surprised. I turned the radio to the standard broadcast station and learned that Pearl Harbor was being bombarded by the Japanese fleet. At that time, we did not even know where PearI Harbor was located.

I informed the Captain that the war is on. He decided to return to port immediately because he felt that everyone should be with their family. Also, because half of the crew members were aliens.

Upon reaching the entrance to Terminal Island, the Coast Guard ordered us to stop. After putting a lock on our transmitter, they asked for the operator that violated the radio silence order. I showed them my operator's license and my seaman's card which stated my U.S. citizenship status.

After docking at the wharf at Terminal Island, the Government Agents took the aliens for detention, not giving them time to even see their frightened family. I was not taken in because of my U.S. citizenship status. But, later on, along with the other 120,000 Japanese Americans, mostly citizens, I was forced to be put away in various concentration camps for the duration of the war.

With all this said and done, I still am proud to be an American and although mistakes have been said and done, I hope that the lesson in justice will prevail and that things of this nature shall never happen again in the future.

I am very honored to have been asked to display this model boat for what it represents.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Frank Takeuchi and Nakako Takeuchi
• Interviewer:
•     Fusaye Hashimoto
• Date:
•     April 18, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Hashimoto

Mr. & Mrs. Takeuchi, please state your name, birthplace and birthday.

Takeuchi

Los Angeles on Central Avenue, January 15, 1918.

Takeuchi

Long Beach, June 5, 1915.

Hashimoto

Let's start with Mrs. Takeuchi. What are your father's and mother's names and where were they born?

Takeuchi

My father was Seikichi (Sam) Yoshizumi and my mother's name was Shizue. They were both born in Shingu, Wakayama-ken, to the best of my knowledge.

Hashimoto

Why did your father leave home to come to America?

Takeuchi

It was sort of a trend in those days for men to leave Japan; I suppose to make a better life for himself. The strange thing about Japanese families, especially in our age group, is that I never asked my father why he came to America—that's the way it was; it just never occurred to me.

Hashimoto

That's why they want to get this. Do you know when he carne to Terminal Island?

Takeuchi

No, I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is that he lived in various parts of Southern California, and at one point, he lived in Riverside, but I have no idea how young he was.

Hashimoto

When did he get married? Was he married when he came to America?

Takeuchi

No, he married after, so I think my mother was a picture bride.

Hashimoto

So, you don't know where you settled? Do you know where he landed when he came to America?

Takeuchi

Probably San Francisco; I'm not sure, though.

Hashimoto

So you don't know at what point he made the decision to come to Terminal Island?

Takeuchi

No.

Hashimoto

You were in Terminal Island, too, right?

Takeuchi

Yes, I was born in Los Angeles and the first conscious memory of me being in Terminal Island was when I was probably five years old. And the reason I remember that is because I had a tonsillectomy and my father was away fishing, and I think the surgery took place in Los Angeles; and what I remember really vividly is that half way through (those days all they did was put wires into the throat and yank out the tonsils) and the anesthesia wore off, or whatever it was that they gave me, and I let out a real bad word. I still remember that, after all these years. In the meantime, my father had come home and I think he drove us out to Los Angeles. and I remember my father laughing when I said the bad word—it wasn't a very nice word. You won't believe this, but that night we went to a Chinese restaurant and I ate that night without any problems. In those days you had tonsillectomy in the doctor's office and you were put on a bed and rested a little while and just went home. All I remember was all the newspapers spread on the bed because of the bleeding.

Hashimoto

Was he a fisherman?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Hashimoto

How long was he a fisherman?

Takeuchi

All I remember is that he had a boat named Sunkist. I have no idea how long. I think he must've farmed at one point, too, but I don't think he was a fisherman that long.

Hashimoto

Did he do any kind of a social activity in Terminal Island that you recall? He was kind of an active person, wasn't he?

Takeuchi

Well, in a way. I think he was in the Kenjinkai, but he was not what you call a joiner.

Hashimoto

Yes, I kind of recall him as a very social person. And then, your mother- you don't know how old she was when she got married?

Takeuchi

She was twenty-one when I was born so assuming, maybe she got married at twenty years of age that will be—I was born in 1918—maybe 1915, just guessing, or around at that time.

Hashimoto

What was your mother like?

Takeuchi

Well, a typical Issei—subservient to a point. I don't think she had a much of a life, I mean as far as she herself was concerned. Just usually did what her husband told her to do things like that. She was a wonderful cook.

Hashimoto

Do you have some kind of a memory of your parents—mother and father? How they were?

Takeuchi

One thing, my father was very strict—really strict—and he didn't buy any nonsense from the kids. My mother was all right in that she was more fun-loving than my father.

Hashimoto

Let's go to Frank. When did your dad come to America?

Takeuchi

I don't know.

Takeuchi

It must've been soon before you were born?

Takeuchi

Don't know.

Hashimoto

Where is he from?

Takeuchi

Mie-ken.

Hashimoto

Did he come without a bride? Did he come first alone?

Takeuchi

He must have because my brother was born in Japan, and he is seventeen years older than I.

Hashimoto

What was his name?

Takeuchi

Shobei.

Hashimoto

So he must've been married and had the child and then he came first and then called your mom.

Takeuchi

I think so.

Hashimoto

What is your mother's first name? You know, I didn't get your father's first name.

Takeuchi

Otozo. I forgot my mother's name. I think it was Yasu.

Hashimoto

She's from Mie-ken, too, right?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Hashimoto

So, do you know what made your dad come to America?

Takeuchi

Same as the other people. For the opportunity.

Hashimoto

As far as you can tell, what kind of a person was your dad?

Takeuchi

Strict—real strict.

Hashimoto

I know that he was a very active person—was in charge of a lot of things, right?

Takeuchi

I think so. He and my mother didn't do much of anything.

Hashimoto

Did your dad fish, too?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Hashimoto

Was that the purpose of coming to Terminal Island—to fish?

Takeuchi

I think so.

Hashimoto

And then, at what point did he buy the pool hall? Isn't that the next step he took?

Takeuchi

Yes, it was one of the shingle buildings. Then he built the stucco building. It's still there. I think it was in 1935. I don't know how they built it, but they built it. Downstairs was the pool hall, barber shop, and then we had a eating place there.

Hashimoto

What kind of an eating place? Do you know who the manager was?

Takeuchi

Japanese food. I can't remember who managed it. Then, we had a little fish market.

Hashimoto

Who ran the fish market?

Takeuchi

My sister-in-law, I think. Then, my brother was fishing at that time. I think my father was dead then—he died in 1933. He died in January and then the twins were born in December.

Hashimoto

So he got to see the twins before he died?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Hashimoto

And then, you lived upstairs, right?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Hashimoto

You and your brother and the family which consist of Shobei-san and Kin-san five children living upstairs plus you and your dad and mom.

Takeuchi

We also had boarders there.

Hashimoto

What can you tell me about your mom? Anything?

Takeuchi

I think she worked in the cannery for a while. I know that she worked in Seabrook.

Hashimoto

So, actually, your mother had Shobei-san and you—the two. Oh, Mrs. Takeuchi, I forgot to ask about your family—how many children did ywr mom have?

Takeuchi

Three, as far as I know.

Hashimoto

The names are Nakako, Kenji and Sanji. Do you remember their birthday year?

Takeuchi

I think Kenji was born in 1920 and Sanji was four years younger.

Fusaye, in case you want to know, Stuart, our second son who lives in Boulder was at one time really crazy about tracing our family tree, so he found out a lot of things and wrote to the then mayor of Shingu and asked these questions. What he got was my father's and mother's birth dates.

Hashimoto

This would be really good for them. I could photocopy them and give it to them. They would really be happy to have this.

Takeuchi

Let's see if we have something else. And then he also wanted to do his side, but Takao and them can't find anything. There was nothing on his side. Well, we weren't interested and then he just started asking us questions so I told him that he could write to the mayor. So I think he wrote or called Yuki, but anyway, he got everything. But he wanted to go even further than what was answered to his letter so he wrote again but he never received an answer.

Hashimoto

Which grammar school did you go to?

Takeuchi

East San Pedro.

Hashimoto

What do you remember about that era? Your grammar school days?

Takeuchi

I remember first grade through sixth grade and then we went to junior high school.

Hashimoto

So, you went to Terminal Island grammar school over there in San Pedro?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Takeuchi

We were the second class graduating from Dana Junior High; then we started tenth grade at San Pedro High.

Hashimoto

Were there many students at East San Pedro grammar school?

Takeuchi

Not too many. That's when we put in our American name when we went to junior high school.

Hashimoto

What is your Japanese name?

Takeuchi

Sei.

Takeuchi

In my case, I didn't finish my elementary school there because I remember somewhere along the way, we moved to San Pedro. I think it was because my father and Mr. Okahana and Mr. Furukawa were partners in wholesale fishing—Mutual Fish Company—so we moved to San Pedro because I remember going to Fifteenth Street School. From there, we must've moved back to Terminal Island because I graduated elementary school in Terminal Island because I have a photograph of the little bridge and the Japanese garden.

Takeuchi

If you bring out the photographs, you can remember better and recollect. Why don't you bring out the book?

Takeuchi

I don't have that many.

Hashimoto

Do you remember some of the teachers there?

Takeuchi

Mrs. Burbank, Mrs. Reed, Mrs. Robinson, Miss Garcia, Miss Katherine Chen, Miss Martin, Mrs. Johnson. There was Mrs. Dever—she was a sixth grade teacher.

Hashimoto

When you were going to grammar school, there was no need for so many teachers because there weren't that many students, right?

Takeuchi

I guess not. There was a Russian person—Miss Kasserov—and one hakujin girl.

Hashimoto

These are the things that they won't have since you are the older ones. Isn't that nice? See, there was a haku-jin and a Russian.

Takeuchi

The older students were Yoshi Marumoto, Nakako's uncle, and Dr. Nakaji, D.D.S.

Hashimoto

So from there, the junior high was a big step for you two.

Takeuchi

Yes. I think we all went to Dana Junior High. That's why we named our first son Dana.

Hashimoto

So you were living in San Pedro at that time, right? Or did you cross on the ferry and go to Dana Junior High?

Takeuchi

No, I think at that time we were living in San Pedro so we were in and out of Terminal Island—I don't how many times because I lost count. It gets a little confusing, but I do remember living in San Pedro.

Hashimoto

So, your dad was still a fisherman?

Takeuchi

No, by that time he was part owner of the fish market.

Takeuchi

By the way, I still remember now—we lived in Los Angeles.

Takeuchi

You did? How old were you?

Takeuchi

Mr. I don't know.

Hashimoto

Before grammar school, you think?

Takeuchi

My father bought a hotel there. That was on First Street and Alameda. We had a two story hotel there, or just upstairs, I forgot. What he did when he had the hotel, he had a moving truck. It didn't last very long.

Hashimoto

So you said you were the second graduating class in Dana. Does that mean the Japanese students? Dana was there before, or was that a new school?

Takeuchi

It was a fairly new school.

Hashimoto

So, you were the second graduating class of Richard Henry Dana Junior High?

Takeuchi

I think so.

Hashimoto

That is really something. So, Mrs. Takeuchi went to Richard Dana—for the whole three years?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Takeuchi

I didn't go the three years, though. They didn't have a junior high school in those days, so we had to go through seventh grade in Terminal Island.

Hashimoto

So, what kind of activity do you remember doing—school or Terminal Island or otherwise? Happy time? Sad time?

Takeuchi

Oh, happy time. When we were kids, we used to go swimming—swimming naked.

Hashimoto

Where did you go swimming?

Takeuchi

First Beach, Second Beach, Brighton Beach. Summertime, we used to live at the beach and eat hot dogs and things. I think we were the first ones to catch grunions. We didn't know what it was. It was First Beach. About six of us were sitting around the fire and all of a sudden, we didn't know what it was—that it was fish. Sort of silvery thing there, so we went down there. We didn't know even what kind of fish they were.

Hashimoto

Did you bring them home?

Takeuchi

Yes. We just catch with the hand.

Hashimoto

Wasn't that fun?

Takeuchi

Yes, we were the first ones; then, everyone started going there, using nets and things.

Hashimoto

That's fun. What else did you do?

Takeuchi

Kendo. Played baseball.

Takeuchi

Did you know a bunch of us took kendo?

Hashimoto

You did, too?

Takeuchi

Somebody's got to have a photograph. I don't remember who. I think Fumiko took it; you could ask her. Remember Set-chan? Her name is Ishiyama now. She lives in Palo Alto. Sammy took it too.

Hashimoto

At that time, who was the instructor?

Takeuchi

Ikeda from Korea, huh?

Takeuchi

From Japan.

Takeuchi

Did your brother go to Korea with the bunch?

Hashimoto

Yes.

Takeuchi

Yes, he must've. Because my father didn't want me to go.

Takeuchi

I think the kendo part was a lot of fun for me, and I remember we were in at least one tournament. I don't think we lasted too long; I forgot why we disbanded, but for as long as it lasted, I think it was so much fun. They would tie balloons to the top of your helmet and we all got the giggles The point in kendo is that you have to look your opponent straight in the eyes, and that was, at least as far as I'm concerned, that just set me to laughing. You let out all your energies, but it was very controlled by the senseis.

Takeuchi

Tuna Street before it was paved, we used to have sumo.

Takeuchi

You used to do sumo?

Takeuchi

Yes, that was when I broke my collar bone.

Takeuchi

I thought that was in baseball.

Takeuchi

That was my ankle.

Hashimoto

So baseball—what position did you play?

Takeuchi

Shortstop.

Hashimoto

Wasn't that nice? Good memories. Fun days. So you traveled all over, playing baseball?

Takeuchi

We went up North. Lodi.

Hashimoto

What was the team called?

Takeuchi

Skippers.

Hashimoto

San Pedro Skippers?

Takeuchi

Yes

Hashimoto

Now, high school time. You all went to San Pedro High?

Takeuchi

The old high school.

Takeuchi

Was that the one on Gaffey?

Hashimoto

The old high school? You never went to the new one?

Takeuchi

No. Thirteenth and Gaffey. I still remember Zorotovitch.

Takeuchi

Oh, yes, Nicholas Zorotovitch.

Hashimoto

So, what kind of sports did you play in high school?

Takeuchi

Football, track, then baseball. That's it.

Takeuchi

I think that's where all his neck problems started—when he played football. He had major surgeries within the last twenty years. First one was really critical cervical surgery. And Dr. Spicer (the late Dr. Spicer) wanted to know what kind of athletics he was involved in. Frank said it was in passing so Dr. Spicer was very curious and Frank said it involves hitting one on the head a lot of times, and he thought it might have helped compress the vertebrae.

Hashimoto

That's why you were wearing the neck brace.

Now, tell me some of the fun things you did in high school.

Takeuchi

Not much. Sports.

Hashimoto

You were a good student, right?

Takeuchi

More or less.

Takeuchi

Didn't study much, though, huh?

Takeuchi

When I went to high school, I was taking machine shop. I didn't want to study so I took machine shop.

Takeuchi

So you should be pretty capable around the apartment, but you're not. I'm the one the who has to fix things; and whatever he does, I have to do over again.

Takeuchi

Tenth and eleventh grade I had machine shop.

Takeuchi

He's pretty helpless.

Takeuchi

I didn't do much, though. The only thing I made was a screwdriver. Mr. Mole. So to prepare for college, I had to go to summer school.

Hashimoto

So from there, which school?

Takeuchi

Compton Junior College.

Hashimoto

For how many years?

Takeuchi

One semester. I graduated winter '34 so the regular college didn't start till fall so I went from February to June at Compton.

Hashimoto

And, then, which school did you go to?

Takeuchi

USC—four years—graduated in '38. In the Coliseum.

Hashimoto

You became a pharmacist, right?

Takeuchi

Yes.

Hashimoto

What did you do after that?

Takeuchi

Started in Terminal Island.

Hashimoto

Oh, you had your own pharmacy.

Takeuchi

When the war started, he had his own pharmacy.

Hashimoto

Mrs. Takeuchi, what did you do after high school?

Takeuchi

I graduated in June of '36 and then August of the same year, I went to Japan for two years.

Hashimoto

Did you study there?

Takeuchi

Yes; I should've studied harder than I did.

Hashimoto

Do you know the name of the school?

Takeuchi

It's Keisen Jogakuen. Directly translated, it means "fountain of blessed learning." It's a Christian school, but you didn't have to be a Christian.

Hashimoto

Where was this located?

Takeuchi

Tokyo. Oh, I really loved my two years in Japan.

Hashimoto

What kind of experience did you have?

Takeuchi

Well, first of all, back in Terminal Island, we were so like little cocoons, kind of secure and protected; and here you are, out in the world all by yourself in a strange land and so what else can you do but to go out and make new friends. All the Nisei's there were from different parts of the United States so we all became really good friends, particularly the older group. The first Nisei group was, I think, had to be '34 or '35—called the yugakusei —"foreign class". But if you were capable enough, you could take a class and join the futsubu —it's a regular regime, but most of us stayed in the yugakusei group which was a two-year course. All the classes were in Japanese.

Hashimoto

You really learned a lot of Japanese, then.

Takeuchi

I don't think I learned a lot, but it was an improvement over what I had known before; and then, you had to be pretty independent because your parents aren't there. So, we really learned.

I was in Japan for two years and graduated from Keisen school in 1938. Because our group was small and spoke English, we didn't learn the Japanese language like I would have liked to. It was a very interesting school and at the present time, very difficult to get into.

Hashimoto

What did you do after you returned from Japan?

Takeuchi

I eventually went to a sewing school; then, I worked at the NYK Line office to help the bookkeeper. I had quit when my mother became ill; and before you know it, the war started.

Hashimoto

Mr. Takeuchi, what can you tell me about USC?

Takeuchi

We stayed at gakuseikai, where there were mostly Hawaiians, going to USC and trade schools. There I met a Canadian by the name of Hajime Suzuki ("Suzi") and we're still friends.

Takeuchi

In fact, our kids gave us a surprise fiftieth wedding anniversary luncheon, and among the guests at the restaurant was "Suzi" and his wife from Canada.

Hashimoto

Did you ever go to Canada and visit them?

Takeuchi

Yes, about three years ago. It's a beautiful place, and they're our lifetime friends.

Hashimoto

After Terminal Island, where did you go?

Takeuchi

We went back to Whittier.

Hashimoto

How man years did you practice as a pharmacist?

Takeuchi

About two years. When the war broke out, that was it. Then, we waited until evacuation.

Hashimoto

Do you recall the notice you got? I mean, how did you feel when you first saw the notice—the forty-eight hours?

Takeuchi

I didn't know what to think.

Takeuchi

You probably didn't think much because the responsibility fell on the head of the family which would be the brother.

Hashimoto

Was Shobei-san taken away?

Takeuchi

No. Was your father?

Hashimoto

Yes.

Takeuchi

Both of our families went to Los Angeles first, stayed in a hotel one night or so. Then someone found a place in Whittier—Mrs. Hamada's place. Took all our beds and lined up the whole hallway—Iida, Yamamoto, Yamashina, May Fuji—about five families. From there, we went to Manzanar.

Hashimoto

Let's go back about you, Mrs. Takeuchi, because I want to know how you got to Utah?

Takeuchi

From high school, I went to Japan; came home from Japan and went to work until the war started.

Hashimoto

How was your experience?

Takeuchi

My father decided that we were not going to the camps; we were going to Utah to stay with his cousins who had a farm so we got okay to go to Utah instead of Manzanar. My two brothers were left behind to sell the house. There was no incident along the way, but a Caucasian man drove us across the desert because we were afraid of something happening to us. We settled down to farming life and eventually Frank came out of Manzanar so we were married on June 27, 1943.

Hashimoto

Did you farm in Utah? What kind of farming was it? What did you grow?

Takeuchi

I hated farming. It was sharecropping, and we grew tomatoes and sugar beets.

Hashimoto

Mrs. Takeuchi, did you work in the sugarbeets field?

Takeuchi

Yes, but not for very long because I became pregnant. I also had to help with the cooking for the field hands.

Takeuchi

We just lasted one year. Then, Dana our oldest son was born in Ogden.

Takeuchi

Before that, Frank and I moved to Salt Lake and ended up in a lower apartment near the university campus where we met George and Hideo.

Hashimoto

After that, where did you move to?

Takeuchi

Clearfield.

Hashimoto

Dana was born in 1944, when was the other child born?

Takeuchi

Stuart was born in Bridgeton, New Jersey in 1948.

Hashimoto

What made you go to Bridgeton from Utah?

Takeuchi

When Dana was a few months old, Frank's brother wanted to see the baby so we took the bus to Manzanar and then Frank decided he wanted to stay there for awhile, not knowing that we were being charged every day. He thought that we could stay there without any charge since it was a residence but we got a bill.

Takeuchi

We were broke then.

Takeuchi

Fortunately, around that time, a man from Seabrook Farms came to recruit people so we went. I don't remember if we went back to Utah for our belongings or went directly from Manzanar to get on a train. I remember going to Chicago first and saw Emiko Hatashita, who eventually became my first cousin's wife. To this day, I don't remember how our belongings got to Seabrook. When we got there, much to our surprise, one of our good friends had moved there so we've kept up our friendship for a long time, and they're visiting us this afternoon.

Hashimoto

What year were you in Manzanar? How long did you stay there?

Takeuchi

That must've been about 1944, and stayed there for about two - three months.

Hashimoto

So, you went from Manzanar to Seabrook with a little baby?

Takeuchi

Yes, but Seabrook was such a good place to be. It's a little town within a city and controlled by Seabrook Farms.

Takeuchi

When we were going from camp to Seabrook, we went on a train. We stopped in Texas; then we got off and that's when I found out about discrimination about the Black race.

Hashimoto

What kind of work did you do in Seabrook, Mr. Takeuchi?

Takeuchi

We took Frank's mother with us thinking she would babysit for us, but she wanted to work rather than babysit so I stayed home for a while `til the baby was old enough and go to nursery school for the factory workers. So when I was asked if I would be interested to work for the nursery school, I accepted. When the secretary who was head of the Community House offered me a job, I accepted, and I worked there until we came out here.

Hashimoto

How long would you say you were in Seabrook?

Takeuchi

We stayed for seven years. We sure hated to move from there.

Hashimoto

The setup was real nice, then? The babysitting situation and the work?

Takeuchi

Yes, and also had displaced people from Europe—Estonians, White Russians, Czechoslovakians, and German P.O.W.'s. It was a very fascinating place.

Hashimoto

So, what kind of work did you do in Seabrook?

Takeuchi

I worked in a cannery as a timekeeper and worked on the farm. We kept track of the worker's hours and what they planted that day. There were eight different farms and each one had a manager and workers and each farm was 8,000 to 10,000 acres.

Hashimoto

You had this one farm that you took care of all the time?

Takeuchi

Yes, all the timekeeping of the workers.

Hashimoto

What made you decide to come out West?

Takeuchi

My brother called me to open a drug store here, so I could get a liquor license after a year.

Hashimoto

How many children does Stuart have? How old are they?

Takeuchi

He has two boys—Dana is seventeen years old and Chris is fourteen.

Hashimoto

Where do they live? What does Stuart do?

Takeuchi

They live in Boulder, Colorado. Stuart is a Vice Chancellor at the University of Colorado.

Hashimoto

What about Dana?

Takeuchi

Dana is a Personnel Officer at the Human Resources Department at the Harbor-UCLA Medical Center in Torrance.

Hashimoto

Where did you go after you came back home to Los Angeles?

Takeuchi

We came back to Long Beach right away.

Hashimoto

Did your children all go to school here?

Takeuchi

Yes. Our daughter was born here. Lin Miyo is her name. She was born in 1954. She lives in Denver.

Hashimoto

What does she do?

Takeuchi

She's a landscape architect.

Hashimoto

Did you work in Long Beach?

Takeuchi

I helped mostly at the drug store.

Hashimoto

What did you do after you came back here?

Takeuchi

I worked at different pharmacies after my drug store was sold.

Takeuchi

I worked for a while for an optometrist; then I got a job at Cal State Long Beach in the library.

Hashimoto

When did you retire, Mr. Takeuchi?

Takeuchi

1987.

Hashimoto

What are your activities now? What is your life like right now?

Takeuchi

It's very pleasant. I don't do much of anything although I used to play golf. I haven't played since last October because of shingles. I also used to go on trips to different places, but Frank didn't.

Hashimoto

So, your activity was playing golf after you retired?

Takeuchi

Yes, and play pool, and play cards.

Hashimoto

Are both of you enjoying your life now in this complex?

Takeuchi

Yes. We feel secure and safe here. There's a mailroom, an exercise room, a t.v. room with movies for entertainment every Saturday, a library, and a beauty shop.

Takeuchi

We're close to the doctor, the bus line, and most everything is conveniently near.

Hashimoto

What makes Terminal Islanders so close?

Takeuchi

I think that it is something unique.

Hashimoto

Do you think that Terminal Island was different from other Japanese communities?

Takeuchi

I believe so because it was like one community within itself. Like Los Angeles, it spread out.

Takeuchi

I guess you would call it "grass roots."

Hashimoto

Do you usually get to the annual dinners?

Takeuchi

We go to their picnics and dinners. Is this the last year with the closing of the Naval Station?

Hashimoto

Well, they haven't closed it yet. Any final thing you would like to say about Terminal Island?

Okay we'll close now—you both were great.

Interview

• Interviewee:
•     Mas Tanibata
• Interviewer:
•     Mary Tamura
• Date:
•     March 4, 1994
• Transcribed by:
•     Mary Tamura

Tamura

Mas Tanibata is recording about his father, his family and himself and their lives on Terminal Island.

Tanibata

My Dad, Zenmatsu Tanibata came from Wakayama ken. He came here about 1890 when he was about nineteen years old. The reason he came, I think, is because he wanted to evade the draft. He said his family was poor in Japan and they had to do something to make a living and thought about coming to U.S. to make a lot of money and going back and make a better life for the folks there. He came to Seattle first time, maybe Vancouver and I think he started working on the railroad, Canadian Pacific. He worked there several years but found work to be strenuous and so he came down to San Francisco. He did some sort of business, shipping fish back East or into the interior of U.S. But the trouble was he spent all his money gambling. He never was what you call a prosperous business man. Just then the 1906 earthquake hit San Francisco and his credential, passport, business license were burned. He was penniless. He found out there were some Japanese in Monterey, fishing. He came to Monterey and worked for about five to six years. He did odd jobs at fishing and sometimes farming. He soon got tired of this and heard about the colony in Terminal Island. He drifted down this way. Before that time in Monterey his family back in Japan urged him to take this gal as a bride and sent her over. My Mom told me that she was suppose to meet someone fairly well-to-do, fairly nice looking and all this kind of stuff and then found out he was a complete opposite. Anyway, she was tied down over here and soon afterward she had kids and she had me.

Then they came down to Terminal Island. Soon afterwards they came here my Dad bought a boat, a little one-man operational boat called jig boat at that time. He went out early in the morning every day, returned during the evening and the fish caught for the day was unloaded at the fish market and the market dispersed the fish throughout the local fish markets in Los Angeles, Long Beach, San Pedro and nearby areas. It was this time I was born on March 26, 1921. So evidently he was over here in 1890 or during the turn of the century.

During my grammar school days and high school years, I used to bait set lines that were needed in order to do this type of fishing. I didn't have much time to play or anything like that. All I did was help my Dad and Mom set line. One set line took 400 to 500 hooks and each one had to be baited. One set line took approximately two hours to bait the whole thing—to untangle the line and curl the line round so that when the lines were put out, the lines would not get tangled. He would take at least four or five sets for his fishing. This consumed a lot of time. My Mom did most of the set line after working eight to ten hours at the cannery and I remember her working until wee hours of the evening around eleven, twelve or one o'clock a.m. just getting the set lines ready. Seeing how hard she worked, we couldn't just sit around idly or go out to play with the other kids. So my brother and I used to help her. By that time I had brother Kiyo, sister came after that was Takako and the youngest brother Seizo. There were six of us in the family—three boys and one girl, Mom and Dad. Dad made a fair living. We didn't get rich but we had roof over our head and bread or rice on the table. That was the extent of what my Dad's fishing operation concerned.

During my school years, I don't remember much of kindergarten. I remember my first grade teacher, Miss Chan. We had a May Day Parade and she put me in a costume of a lion inside of a cage. I remember taking my clothes off and my underwear was torn. I was so embarrassed because she looked at the torn underwear, but like a teacher didn't say anything but I knew she knew I had a torn undershirt. It sure embarrassed me at that time. We went through the exercise fairly well. This stuck in the back of my mind for quite a while.

All through the grammar school years it was fun. I didn't realize until now, it was about the best time of my life. We didn't have much to worry. We didn't worry about where food was coming from or whether the rent was going to be paid or if we had clothes on our back, shoes to wear for the next semester and all this kind of stuff. We never worried about things like that. I suppose that was one of the best times of my life I think because we just didn't have any worries.

At the same time while we went to English school we spoke English there and after class was over we'd all speak Japanese or a mixture of Japanese and English. Right after that at four o'clock, our Japanese school started and we had to speak Japanese. At recess and anytime outside of class we spoke English. It was funny when we were in English school, at recess we spoke Japanese, while going to Japanese school, at recess we spoke English. That was sure odd, when I think about it now.

I remember I was not too good of a student. I used to be a real rascal. I used to do all kinds of pranks. I remember one time during the Japanese school, I got a book of matches and tore out a couple of sticks and crept up behind the teacher's desk. As his foot was stretching outside the desk, I stuck these two matches and lit them and crawled back to my desk. I waited until the matches burned down to the head and all of a sudden flared up and that's what we'd call giving a guy the "hot foot." I really gave the teacher a "hot foot" and he jumped in the air and yelled out, "Who did this?" in Japanese, of course. Naturally, I got scared and I started to run out of the class and he chased me from the class out to the baseball grounds. But I could run much faster than he... By the time he got to the baseball park, I was nowhere to be seen. But afterward, my Dad was called to the Principal's office and when my Dad came back he saw me and sure gave me a lecture. A lecture wasn't all, he gave me genkotsu. "Ita katta." So 1 wasn't what you call a model student during my adolescence.

During my adolescence, whenever I had time, after helping my parents setting the bait line, a bunch of us would get together and play baseball early Saturday mornings. I remember we used to nail up the broken bats that the Skippers used to throw away and we'd saw off the tip or head of the bat because it was too heavy and play regular game of, I imagine not exactly a softball or a hardball but with a ball in between, and we used to pick teams and play ball. In fact, we played most of the sports. We'd play football at the school playground. Ichi Hashimoto used to organize the team and I was on his team. We used to play at different areas like Wilmington, hakujin teams, but they beat us because they were much bigger.

As far as organized games, the so-called Hokkaido bunch got together after Japanese school was over about six o'clock to play capture-the-flag or kick-the-can, hide and seek, cops and robbers. I remember one time when I was playing cops and robbers, I found a good hiding place where nobody could find me. Everyone went home as it got dark and here I was up in this tree house. "Gee, nobody's around" and like a darn fool, I stayed in the tree for an hour or so and trying to be the hero of the game. I imagine they all went home because it was dark. Here I was up in the tree! Things like this are vivid in my mind today.

I remembered we joined the kendo group and did kendo for awhile. I imagine I started when I was about ten or eleven years old and quit when I went to High school. So I guess I did kendo for about five or six years.

Henry Ida used to be our idol and he used to get a bunch of us together and we formed a basketball team and we played at the J.A.U. in Los Angeles. There was Moto Shimizu, Bob Uragami, Tokio (Elmer) Hayashi, myself, Kaz Takade, Jimmy Okura. I remember one year we were such a tall team we played in the "B" league and we wiped everybody out. We were the champs that year. The following year we were promoted to the "A" league and we didn't do very well because the other guys were just as big or taller than us.

I remember also Reverend Yamamoto took a liking to several of us—Hideo Tsuchiyama, Toshi Ogura, Yutaka Nakagawa, Hiraki Ishino and myself. We used to call ourselves "The Seven." Every Friday night we would gather at Rev. Yamamoto's house and he'd provide the refreshments usually. We went mostly for the refreshments and after the refreshments, we'd have a wrestling match. Three or four of us against Rev. Yamamoto and I'm telling you we'd have a rip rolling time! It was quite an affair!

During our growing up period, I remember the girls had their Outing Club and they were learning how to dance. They were using the school auditorium. We used to go there and peek. We wanted to learn how to dance. We were just too shy to say we'd like to learn how to dance and teach us also. We'd peek from the window and watch them and see what kinds of steps they were doing and go home and try them out ourselves. I remember those periods.

What especially comes to my mind is during our high school senior year. Prior to that nobody in the Japanese community went to the Senior Prom. So I decided I'm going to go. I got my date, Mitzi (darn, can't recall her last name). Let's just say, Mitzi. When the people found out I was going to the Prom, they said, "Gee, if you're going, we'd like to go too." I said, "What am I supposed to do?" They said, "Can't you get a group of girls and we can all go?" So I said, "I'll give it a try." What happened was we had about five to six girls and we had to get a bunch of guys together and guess who had the privilege of matching all these boys and girls together? That was me. Boy, I'm telling you I'd never do that again because they had nothing but complaints: I remember we were short one guy and in desperation I had to ask Min Nakamura who was one or two grades below us. I had to ask him to come with us too. There was me, Elmer Hayashi, Ken Takahashi, Toshi Ohara, Bob Uragami and Min Nakamura. I think the girls were Emi Iwasaki, Kazaye Shibata, Emiko Oka, Ruby Shibata, Ruiko Shintani, Ichiye Taniguchi. There were six. Min had to go with one of the girls and would you believe nobody knew how to dance except me. Because I used to hang around with the hakujin bunch and after every basketball game on Friday, I'd go with those guys. They would go to the Torrance Civic Auditorium where they had a dance band there. They had a regular live band and dance every time. I used to hang around on the side, watching how to dance and finally I got enough nerve to do it myself. It took quite a while but eventually I got around to it. So I was the only one who knew how to dance and Min had record player. I remember he had all kinds of records—Moonlight Serenade, Sunrise Serenade, Elmer's Tune, Blueberry Hill, In the Mood, Sometimes I Wonder... What are some of the other songs? I just can't remember... So we all went to this prom. I'm telling you, we all had a good time anyway. Just about every afternoon we'd get in front of Emi Iwasaki's porch and we'd play the records and do the steps. The girls were cooperating too. You never heard anyone doing something like this. Because as soon as you started hanging around girls, you were the talk of the town and you just didn't want anybody to be talking about you in that way because like it was, we were just one partition wall from our neighbor. In fact lots of times, we knew what our neighbors were having for dinner, that's how close we were. Whenever they had a family feud, we'd hear the worst of it. We didn't want to be caught dating a girl or something like that because it would be the talk of the town.

Anyway, from these happenings we all learned how to dance. We went to the Prom and really had a good time. Every one of us. I'm sure they still remember to this day how it was and the fun we had. Right before graduation time, I took Mitzi for a date. You didn't date any girls. It was something else.

Graduation night we were supposed to stay out all night. We weren't supposed to go home after graduation. A bunch of us, Toshi Hara, myself, Elmer Hayashi, David Yokozeki got together. The only guy that had the car was Toshi Hara. He had a Studebaker. We used to help him wash the car and things like that. Anyway we went out after graduation and went out to the Brown Derby and (something) Tea Garden. We had our dates out until two to three o'clock a.m. in the morning when we got back from Los Angeles. Well, gee, no sense going home. What shall we do? So we sat in the car by Toshi Hara's home and shot the fat until daybreak, and decided then to go home. That was quite a deal. That was our graduation at that time, as I recall.

During the summer vacation, we used to help our father albacore fishing and missed about a month of the Senior year. This was just before graduation. After graduation, each of us went our different ways. I think most of us didn't know or really have an occupation except to fish as far as fishing, that was all we knew. Oh yes, lots of college graduates or some of those people who went to Junior college were working in fruit stands. So what the heck, so far as I was concern, I decided to go out and work. So I went fishing on Mr. Saka's boat called, The Key West. We went north fishing for sardines. That was right before the start of the war I suppose.

I remember while I was up there fishing in Astoria, Oregon, we stayed up there couple of months, October, November, December and then came down to San Francisco and finished out the season from January to February. October, November, December we were up in Astoria, Oregon fishing for sardines up there. We heard some of those terrible, dangerous stories about fishermen. I realize that when the skipper go fishing up there and see a school of fish, it's money, so regardless of what the weather was like, they'd set their nets. One time, like being the youngest on the crew, I'd go on the most dangerous place, that was the skiff. When they let the net go, one half is tied to your skiff. The purse handler would go around and come around to your little skiff and you throw the end of the net up to the boat and they would hoist or tie the net down. I remember it was rough and I was on this skiff and I see the bottom of the boat as it reared. In fact, the south-east was coming around and the waves are at least twenty feet high. I remember that I could see the sea cox underneath the boat where the water went into the engine. You can see the sea cox up there, man, it's towering above us and before you know it, it goes down and here they are right below us. So I threw the rope down there. That's how bad it was. But then you'd never get any fish in that kind of weather because once you purse up the net and the fish is in there, the weight of the fish and the tossing of the boat just rips the net around the cork and all the fish would go out. So usually it was useless to set in weather like that. I remember the skipper used to yell at me from the top of the wheel house, "Masa, Hayo yaranka!" He used to yell right at me and here I'm rolling around and the wind is blowing and I'm having a hell of a time just trying to get near the net. I'm telling you it used to blow my mind thinking about it. I remember too when we were finishing our season up there, on this trip we bailed in several tons of fish, I think maybe forty-five tons of fish that we were able to save out of this catch. As we were coming down, we were shaking so much back and forth because of the high waves. By the time we get to the cannery to unload the fish, it was all mush. The fish's meat would fall off the bone because they rubbed back and forth. So all you got was bones as they unload the fish. It was really useless, so we lost it. We had to tie up, rest up, and because we had to fix the net and we lost the catch, plus we lost the fish that we brought in because it was like mush, turned into water. That's how it was and really taught me a lesson: Don't go fishing during bad weather. It's not worth the while.

Talking about bad weather, as we finished our season up there, we were coming down and we hit this bad weather again. I'm telling you, it was awful. It's so scary! The boat coming down the coast in groups of three to four boats at a time, because in bad weather you don't know what's going to happen. We were going about thirty, forty, fifty yards apart when the waves were coming, we'd see the tip of the mast and sometimes we wouldn't see them at all. They were only fifty yards away. As I recall, in that instance, there was a Norwegian boat that capsized and all the crew were lost. Fishing was really dangerous business.

We came down to San Francisco and by that time it was about the end of November. Right at the time my mom was ill with cancer so then I got a leave from the boss and flew down to L.A.X. (the cost was $18.00 at the time). Then I got a cab and went to Cedars of Lebanon Hospital where my mother was. She had a brain tumor and was operated on and I was there just before the operation. I talked to her a few times about this and that and how things were. At least I got to talk to my mom and then right after the operation, she died. I went backup north to do some fishing and did you know that the month of November (toward middle of November to end of November and beginning December) it was so good I remember as a kid of, I think I was nineteen, I made $1,175.00 in one month. At that time, $1,000.00 a month was a substantial amount. In fact, that paid for the hospital expenses.

That was toward the end of November and as December came, we were getting ready to go out fishing. And everybody knows what happened on December 7th. We were tied up, in the dock in San Francisco, and we were just about ready to go out fishing. We were listening to the weather report because that's very important. Just as we turned the thing on, some part of it all of a sudden everything went on a crisis basis. "This is important! This is important!" There was a news flash "WE ARE AT WAR! WE ARE AT WAR!" All of us on the boat, maybe three or four of us were young. Most of the guys were ashore and the young kids were on the boat. We were listening to this and were quite surprised because what the heck, who would ever think Japan would declare war on the United States. That was absurd!

Every boat on the dock area was aware something drastic had happened. And no sooner than this came over the air, the dock side was surrounded by M.P.'s. We were on the wharf talking together and the soldier with the bayonet came and moved us along toward the boat. He didn't say, "Sorry" but said, "Hey, you Japs, get over there!" The boat was quarantined the rest of the day and in fact the quarantine was declared unofficial or something and we were isolated right on the boat. We couldn't get off.

Finally, after three to four days of it, we ran out of food. We told the M.P. "Hey, we have nothing to eat. What about doing something about it?" What happened was they got a field marshall to issue a special pass to go ashore and there was a curfew until six o'clock p.m. We had to be on the boat again by then. We got our way downtown. You know what we ate? We ate at the Chinese restaurant and ordered one bowl of rice and a plate of chashu and that was twenty-five cents. That's how we lived for a couple of weeks I guess because we just didn't know what to do as we were tied right to the boat and they wouldn't let us off or go anywhere. We had to even get a permit, in order to even buy a ticket for the train because the trains were being utilized by the army and Armed forces. So finally, after a couple of weeks, we were running out of money too and we (Bob, Elmer, myself, Peanut, Yachi) sought to petition the field marshall to give us a pass to buy tickets to come down south to Los Angeles.

Finally, it came through and we were able to buy the tickets to come down and get on the train. I'm telling you it was very uncomfortable on the train, because it was all hakujin. We had our overcoats, our hats on, Fedora, overcoats, gloves and things like that. We sat in the corner like that just doing absolutely nothing. We just tried to keep from being noticed. That's how we came down to Los Angeles. From Los Angeles we took the red car and came to San Pedro. We got off at the red car station by the ferry there. To get from the red car station to where the ferry was, about a block away, I'm telling you, we got those hisses and all that razzmatazz at being hassled. It wasn't very nice. Then we got in the ferry and thank goodness we got back on the island.

Sure enough when I got home, everybody was in dire straits and had nothing to do. Everybody was wondering what was going to happen next.

That was about six o'clock in the evening when we heard the news on December 7. We were quarantined for about a week. Then we were able to come home in about two weeks so it was just about the end of December when we were able to come home.

Everybody was wondering what was gonna take place... Because you know, people just didn't have any money. The banks were closed. Where are you gonna buy food? I bet your place over there, Izumi (grocery store) had all kinds of I.O.U.'s? Didn't they? Gee, people just didn't have any money to buy any food, the banks were closed. I think, we were eating mostly fish, most of the time. How I hate fish that time when we were kids. I never liked fish.

We were in a state of limbo, at least until the Executive Order 9066 came about and gee, all kinds of thing happened. J.A.C.L. said you oughta get your identification and all this kinda stuff and we all went and got our cards which didn't mean anything. And when the order came, I think everybody was in a real chaotic state because like us, we just didn't have any relatives outside of California that we could go to. They just told us to get out. Where are you gonna get out to? So, you know, if it wasn't for the Quakers and the church groups that provided the trucks and transportation and a place to stay like the hostel in Los Angeles we'd have nowhere to go. That's where we went. Most of the Hokkaido people around our area went to this hostel, run by Evergreen Baptist Church, I think. I think they handled it. If it wasn't for the gakuens (Japanese schools) that opened their school for families to stay, outside of Terminal Island, it woulda... You know, in fact, I think we should have stayed there. Most of the men folks were taken away because of the illegal alien status, so the people that were left were just kids, women and old men. I think my Dad, he was around sixty I guess at that time, and he was considered old. In fact he had retired from fishing. Didn't do anything. Good thing he didn't belong to any Japanese associations or some kind of nihon-jin-kai, you know, or something like that or otherwise he would have been taken too. But in spite of that, if everybody had stayed there, they would have had to jail most of the kids, women and old men. And I think we should have just stayed there, you know. That's just an after-thought. The U.S. government would have had a heck of a time trying to decide what to do with everybody. After all, we didn't have any place to go.

So I think there were about four or five families... In fact I remember this Toyosaki family. In fact I said this in my report to the Commission when they came to Los Angeles... You know there was Kanshi and Mr. Murakami who gave this oral recitation to the Committee. I told them about the Toyosaki family. You know, they had seven kids. The oldest one was fourteen. She was a girl. The husband was taken away and the mother just sat there and cried. She just didn't have any place to go. Nobody to help her and all these little kids she had to take care of. God, I really felt for her. So you know what the young guys did? I think I was about eighteen... No nineteen as I had just graduated. (Slow starter, late bloomer...Chuckle). But anyway, a bunch of us, Kiyoshi Okamoto, myself, Wataru, Bill?... Don't know if Bill Nakasaki was there. But anyway we got her things together, bundled all her things up. The things that she was gonna take and the things that she was gonna leave. And we put them in boxes and put her name on them and things like that. I think that kinda relieved her. I can still see her at the time.

So there were about four or five families that went to Evergreen hostel. From there, the Los Angeles bunch, they asked for volunteers in Los Angeles. So I told my brother, why don't you volunteer for Manzanar because we were all going to Manzanar and that way we'd be sure to get a place in Manzanar... In Californian anyway. You don't have to go to some other place in some boomtown area. So I told my brother. And he went. That's the reason we were able to go to Manzanar because my brother was there. We went with a bunch of Terminal Islanders from the hostel.

I remember the time we were set to leave. We got on this train. I think it was a local. Stopped at just about every crossing from here to Lone Pine. When we got to Lone Pine, there was a bus waiting for us. We all got on the bus and hit Manzanar Relocation Center. When we got there, it was dusty and the wind was blowing. Oh, what a miserable place it was! Anyway, you know we were young. I was only nineteen, you know. Hey, look at those girls over there! We use to kid each other! All in all, I think it was a terrible time. Disastrous. So we got our blankets, my Dad, myself and two brothers and stayed in Block Ten, Barrack One, Room One.

We stayed there in Manzanar. I think that's where I met my wife. (chuckle) You remember, we had those outdoor theater type of entertainment Monday night or Friday night. I think it was Saturday night usually they'd have outdoor music. Because it was summer time, It was real balmy, not too cold. We'd lay our blankets out there in the open air. We'd just look at the stars and listen to the music. I remember that's where I met Kawai. I used to tell her and remember saying a joke:

Hey, I hear that Hannah's stuck on you!

The guy would say, "Hannah who?"

Hana kuso!

That made everybody laugh. I think, even to this day, she'd say, "You thought you were so cute!" Anyway, that's where I met my wife and we decided, well, we were made for each other.

So I stayed in camp. Four years? That's where I started playing golf, between the fire breaks. I remember we used to play golf between the fire break where we had cleared the sagebrush. The fairways were sand and the greens were real fine sand that's oiled. And on this green, socalled oiled sand there was a roller about two feet long. It's a pipe with a handle on it. And you get that golf ball to land on the green, we would drag this thing right to your ball and then it would make a smooth path. And then you'd putt. But you'd have to putt pretty hard because you know, you're going through sand and you're playing maybe. It was a nine hole course, and you're playing two rounds at the most and even the white ball gets black. You gotta get a new ball. So what we used to do was to get this mail-order paint. We use to paint the ball white. So that's where I got introduced to golf. In fact, I didn't have any golf clubs so I use to borrow my brother's, who had either gotten it from Sears or he bought it from somebody else that had an extra club. That's how I got started playing golf. That was in 1944, I guess, 1943.

In camp there was all kinds of job offers to be had. I preferred to be the lazy one and I thought the best thing for me to be was a fireman because you're three days on and two days off. So you come out ahead if you worked one week. You have four days off, more or less.

So being a fireman, they had an election as to who's gonna be the fire chief, who's gonna be the assistant fire chief, who's gonna be the pumper, and who's gonna be on the fire hose. You know all that stuff. And what do you know? I was elected to be the assistant fire chief. So I got $18.00 a month and the rest of the guys got $16 or was it $14?

Whatever it was, I worked as an assistant for about two years, I guess. Oh, I remember an incident in camp when we had a fire.

Firemen, you know, they thought, "Aaah, we'd just take it easy. Sit around all day and play pinochle." You know that was it. So one day this kid comes running up to the place where we were playing pinochle outside the barracks and he says, "There's a fire! There's a fire"

Aaaah! There's no fire around here! Get lost, kid!

We just pooh-poohed the thing. Pretty soon this older man comes running up and says, "Kaji da! Kaji da!" (Fire!)

So why don't one of you guys get up on the roof. And they climb way up on the roof and sure enough there's big black smoke over there. So we all jumped up and get on the fire truck and go rushing out to the fire. We got the hose out. They're all stationed ready to turn the water on. And the guy at the pumper, you know what a pumper is—the pumper is a fire engine from the hydrant it goes into the fire engine and from the fire engine it goes to the hose. So that's where there's a lot of pressure on it and the fire engine pumps the water. And the guy at the fire truck he waves and circles his arms. "Go on! Put it on!" He circles his arms. And the other guy says, "Hey, NO water! NO water!" The four guys at the end of the hose, they're just hanging up there. In the meantime, the thing is going up in flames.

What happened was the guys that tied up the pumper had the hose going up to the fire engine and from the fire engine back into the hydrant, and from the two extensions of the fire truck was going out to the hose. In other words, they connected the wrong pipes!

In the meantime, the thing is going up in flames and the flame is getting higher and higher. And by the time we got everything all set and ready to throw the water on there, that thing was down to the, you know, down to the base. And the thing was, the thing that was in the warehouse. It was in the warehouse that caught on fire—toilet paper. Can you imagine a warehouse full of toilet paper going up in flames? Man, it just went up in no time. Before you knew it, the thing was down to the ground. And for the next three months, you know, like catalogues, old magazines, they were at a premium. There was no toilet paper! I'm telling you, it was terrible! (chuckle)

So after that incident, we had to go out practice every day. Never mind pinochle. Run out to the baseball ground, connect it to the hydrant, and water the baseball field. That was really something.

Another was that we had a brush fire right outside of camp. That was for real. I mean, it was dangerous. The wind was blowing. The sparks were flying all over and we had to put it out. We put it out though and that was a good thing. Otherwise, the whole camp would have gone up in flames. Honestly, it was really bad! That was the two worst incidents in camp. After that I got bored of doing nothing so I joined the rock gang.

The rock gang is the one that went outside the camp to this creek. They would funnel the water down to the farmland as irrigation ditch. That's what they did. They went out there with shovels and dug this ditch and lined the ditch with rocks. And at that time, my father-in-law was the head of the farm institution. Here I'm working with this gang outside the complex. It's really hot. It's stifling. Everybody's sweating and tired. So about two o'clock Tanaka says, (he was the head of the rock gang) "Hey, Mas. Go ask your father-in-law for some watermelon!" as he used to grow watermelon.

So I go over there and I say, "Oji san. Suika ippon kudasai!"

"Oh, motte ike."

So he gave me ONE!

There's about twenty guys. So I go back over there and Ken Tanaka, he says, "God Damn! Mas got just one watermelon. What the hell you think we are?" He took that watermelon and threw it on the ground and it burst all over the place. Then he tells me, "God Damn! Mas, go back and tell your father-in-law to go to hell!" (chuckle) So from then on, my father-in-law was taboo. He was for the pits!

So that's how it was. The guys used to stay out there, these gangs. They didn't count the noses when we left camp to go to the complex outside the barb wires to make these ditches. So then they would be prepared with heavy clothings, boots and some things like that. So like Amos and them, they would stay out there. They wouldn't come back to camp. They didn't count. During the night they would hike all the way up into the mountain and catch trout. That's how...you know they had these ponds. Beautiful, Japanese gardens in between the barracks. And Amos used to have these big trouts in them. That was really amazing.

One thing I learned that staying in camp: You know, the Issei, especially the younger Issei, well, Nisei too. They were really resourceful people. You ought to see the beautiful rock gardens that they made in between the barracks! You know the barracks were really ugly but then these gardens made the camp beautiful. It was, to tell you the truth, the most resourceful people that I have ever come across. They would make canes out of these junipers. They would make chairs and benches and things like that. You just can't imagine that they could do something like that.

I'll tell you one thing though, that wherever these Japanese people go it seems like the first thing they do is to organize a church. You know that! Wherever, as 1 recall, even back home in Terminal Island, as I became older and realized what was going on, there was one church that was the Baptist Church. Remember? And that was the mainstay of the community. Because whenever Christmas time came along, there was always a program for the kids. And there was always something to do on Sunday for most of the kids. Because I think they all went to Sunday School even a bratty child like me. I remember Miss Swanson, Rev. Morikawa. I used to "try" Yamamoto sensei, Murakami sensei. Yamamoto sensei, we used to call him "Jack." We never called him "Reverend." "Hey, Jack!" What a bunch of idiots, calling the Reverend, "Jack."

Tamura

When did you leave camp?

Tanibata

I left camp in about '45. I left camp because the rest of the guys were going out. Nothing much to do. Oh, by the way, we went out beet thinning during the interim we were staying in camp in Manzanar. I remember we went up to Montana and Idaho. We went because there was a labor shortage on the farms because of the war. Everyone was working in defense plants so there was a shortage of farm help. In fact they were importing farm workers from Jamaica. There was a lot of black people that were imported working in Montana and Idaho. In that area at different camps, we went potato picking, onion picking, apple picking, beet topping, beet thinning.

I remember the Terminal Islanders went up to Idaho and did onion picking, I think it was. After that we went up to Montana, about ten miles from the Canadian border. I think the place was called Harlem, Montana. We did beet thinning. There were about fourteen or fifteen of us. You know what they told us? "Hey, Mas, if you fool around with these Indian girls and get one of them pregnant, you gonna get stuck over here with twenty acres. And that's it! Don't go fooling around!" That was an ultimatum. And that kept us in line, I'm telling you!

I remember we used to go to the pool halls in Harlem, and Naka used to wear these real rounded domed hats and the way he wore it, he looked just like an Indian. Yeah, he did! There was one pool hall we'd just buy out the candies. The guy at the pool hall, he'd get mad. He says, "Hey, ya gotta save some for the kids over here! Because you know, candies were at a premium during the war, right? We'd send them all to camp.

Well, anyway, we'd go to this pool hall and here comes this great, big, Indian guy. He must have been about six feet six. Real mangy looking, about fifty years or so, real rough looking character, half drunk. (This guy is a real California Paiute Indian.) He comes up to Naka, put his arm around him and he's slobbering through one side of his mouth. He says, "You my friend, ain't you?" (laughing) And Naka was cringing. That was a sight. I'm telling you.

But anyway, things like that happened and you know the first thing that the Nisei did out there was to make "o-furo." And this one place we couldn't find any materials to make "o-furo." We just had hot water and we took showers. Everyday we bathed because of the dust.

I remember one farmer where we thinned the beets. We did a lousy job. We just ran through his patch, fourteen of us. And by the time we got through, we did such a lousy job, the farmer was just crying. He said, "You know, you guys are really bad. You ruined my crop. You know, we're gonna starve next winter. If this beet isn't any good this summer, we're not gonna have anything to eat." You know, we really felt sorry for him. He was really in tears so the next day we went back and really cleaned it up for him and did a decent job anyway. Things like that happened. I'm glad we went back. He was really almost on his knees begging us to help him out. Things like that as we came back to camp.

I left camp in 1944 because some of my friends had gone out to Chicago and back east to Philadelphia. I decided, what the heck, I might as well go out to the furthest point back East and then work myself back west as the years went by. So I got a ticket. I told the Relocation officer I wanted to go to Philadelphia thinking it was the most eastern place where I knew somebody. So anyway they gave me about $60.00 subsistence and the train ticket. I got on a bus from camp and I said, "Good-bye" to my family and my brothers and I went up to Reno and from Reno I took a train. It took me forever and a day to get to Chicago. In the meantime, I had written to my friends in Chicago that might be around a certain date in Chicago. They were right there at the station, believe it or not! And when I saw them at the station, I said, "Hey, I don't want to go to Philadelphia! I'm gonna stay here." These guys were already there. There was Mac Okuba and Tosh Kinya and these guys were mostly from Bakersfield. They put up the board and I stayed with them and worked my way doing silk screen work and found some foundry work. Then I went to school, Institute of Design for a couple of years while working.

I remember these Terminal Island guys down on the south side, like Toby and Charlie and all those guys. One time I saw Charlie's picture in the Times, you know the Chicago Tribune. It showed him on the front page in the sports section and it showed him flying flat backwards, flying through the air going backwards. I called him up and I said, "Hey Charlie! I saw your picture in the paper. What the hell. You're not knocked out, were you?" He said, "Yeah!" You know his name was Castle Hamasaki at that time. He named himself, "Castle." What had happened was... You know, Toby, Charlie, Tiger and several other guys were rooming together and nobody would go to work, except Toby. So he got tired of providing all the food for these guys and he said, "Hell with you guys! You are on your own. I'm gonna keep all my money." So these guys ran out of money. So in order to get money to eat, Charlie would go out and fight for $15.00. If he won, he got $25.00 and if he lost he got $15.00. Well anyway, that was the reason I saw his picture in the paper.

That was during the earlier part of my stay in Chicago. I wrote to Aiko and by then we were going pretty steady. I wrote to her and asked her to come out. She came out and we got married in Chicago by Rev. Morikawa.

I'll never forget the time when we went up there to see the Reverend. You know, Aiko knew all the reverends as she was from a Christian family. And here I'm a "no-good" from Terminal Island, and here we go up to Rev. Morikawa. In fact, Rev. Morikawa knew me from Terminal Island because he used to be there for a while. He caught me playing craps in the church benjo so he knew that I'm "no-good." So he tells Aiko, "You don't have to marry this guy. You know, there are a lot of better guys out there than this guy." I felt about this big... Oh, my gosh, the Reverend saying things like that. But I guess he was trying to test me out. If I got mad or something like that, he probably wouldn't have performed the marriage ceremony. But anyway, he married us and we had our little reception with a bunch of Terminal Island guys at a chop suey house. Then we wrote to our families back home in California. By that time camp had closed and they were in California. To get our baishaku I asked Mr. Karauchi on my side and from her side, I forget who it was but anyway they got together back home and they decided it was okay. The family was okay or something like that.

I was out in Chicago about five years. After about three years, my daughter was born in Chicago, near Clark and Division. Dr. Shigekawa delivered most of the babies for the Nisei there.

You know, those were the times. By then I quit school and I was holding two jobs trying to support the family. After the fifth year over there, boy, I'm telling you...you just can't stand the winters, you just can't stand the summers. The summer is so hot and muggy, the winter is so cold because of the wind. When you think about California, you just can't stay in Chicago. So we decided we had enough over here. Let's go back. And her brother had found a place in Griffith Park. Remember they had the Quonset huts over there in Griffith Park for soldiers? Only retired veterans could rent there. Anyway, he had a place there. And so since we had a place to stay we decided to come back to California.

We came back in 1950 and stayed with my brother-in-law for about a year or six months. Then my wife went to work in Los Angeles and I also went to work in Los Angeles. Then my brother, Seizo got a house in Long Beach and since he was by himself with my Dad, we decided to come down and stay with them. So we stayed there for the rest of the time in Long Beach. I tried fishing again but there was... Gee, it was terrible. I think in one year I made two thousand dollars. If my wife wasn't working, we'd starve! So anyway, we stayed in Long Beach for a while. Said to myself, this fishing is for the birds. I'll get some steady job. Do some work other than fishing. So I decided to make a resume, make some drawing, and go out. In fact I liked engineering work. I liked aircraft and all that. So I decided to make a simple drawing and take a sample and go to McDonnell Douglas, Lockheed, Hughes, Rockwell. I went to several place like that. And the one that hired me was Hoffman Laboratory, Los Angeles.

"Hey, you wanna start right now?"

I said, "Yeah!" What more can I ask? I started with $2.95 and hour. That was pretty good at that time. Man, I was commuting from Long Beach to Los Angeles. I did that for quite a number of years, about five years, I guess.

After working at Hoffman Laboratory for five years, most of the bosses went to work for Hughes. So naturally, they called the best guys they knew who could do the job for them. I got a call from one of the bosses, "Hey, Mas, you wanna come down to Hughes" It's a pretty good place..." So I went over to Hughes and sure enough, they offered me a raise of, I think about 40% or something like that. Gee, can't beat that, you know. So I worked for this guy named Herman Crank. He's a German. Boy, he was a stickler, I mean but he was fair. Treated me pretty good. Taught me all the ropes about engineering. Then I went to night school to kinda better myself, trying to get a degree or something like that. But gee, you just can't do it. Working at day and going to school at nights. You know, you carry eleven units. It's tough. You work during the day and carry twelve units. But I got about 120 units. Never got a degree. I should have gotten an AA but I didn't. Anyway, I had my chemistry, my physics, all my math, so I knew what was going on as far as engineering was concerned.

I worked for Hughes for thirty years. After ten years I went to ground system. The ground system moved to Fullerton and I decided I didn't want to go to Fullerton, so I went to Culver City. Worked there for about another twenty years. Then I found out if you don't have a degree you advance to that level and you're not getting any promotion, to say, a manager. In Hughes they went two different ways, managerial or technical side. You need formal education. It was pretty limited. Anyway, I didn't care, after twenty years, there's no sense quitting work and going back to school. You can't make up the time spent going to school as far as wage is concern. So I decided, I think this a better way. Of course you can better yourself, but I decided, "This is it!" They acknowledge your talents some way, I guess. Personally, I think I was pretty good because whatever I designed or undertook, it always flew. I use to tell my boss, "Hey, you give me ten guys, all Orientals, and I'll get this job done in half the time and at half the cost." He use to laugh. But did you know by the thirtieth year, there were more Chinese, more Japanese, in fact there was one Vietnamese, in our group. Would you believe that! I tell you... Orientals work hard. When the time comes, they're not gonna just quit and lay down and go home. They just do the job until it's done. I tell you. That's the truth. I think it's the oriental nature. I used to tell by boss that. He had the most Orientals. That was the extent of my endeavors as far as getting a job was concerned.

Now, coming back to Terminal Islanders.

The settlement about the $25,000. I decided I'd do something. I talked to Yuki about this. He told me, "Why don't you do it, Mas. The Commission on the resettlement is coming to Los Angeles and Terminal Islanders should have a voice in it. Mas, why don't you do it?" So I said O.K.

I hate to do it, but boy, I'm telling you, it's gonna be an ordeal. You know I went through quite a bit of interviews with Mr. Mio. I interviewed several people from Terminal Island that were still around and finally came to the conclusion that something oughta be said to this Commission that came to Los Angeles.

I forget when it was but I still have a tape of it... Of my presentation. There was Mr. Murakami and Kanshi and myself that spoke to this Board. I told them all the different things that had happened to Mrs. Mio. They had a $50,000 mortgage. They were just about paid up when the war broke out. And what the heck. You know how much they got? I think it was $2,000 or something. I think it was Mr. Mio or somebody asked what that was for. "Well, it's for the real property," which is the building itself. You don't own the land. You spend fifty grand and get two thousand in return. That's a bunch of horse shit, you know.

The Hashimotos, they had the "Wheel," the Yamasakis had the "Lindy," the Shirakawas had the "Richness." There were several boat owners that lost their boats, for two grand, that's stupid. And how about the net that cost twenty grand or ten grand, at least at that time. You know that's really stupid. Just getting two grand for that thing. So to this Commission, I gave all these things WHY we should be able to sue for some monetary allotments. And gave all these reasons for that. Also, I told them about the Toyozaki family that had seven kids and all this kinda stuff, you know. I finally said, "When I went to school, they said `democracy,' `Pledge Allegiance to the flag,' all this means nothing. Just a hocus pocus to deceive us and say that we are Americans." I told them that at the Commission. I forgot the exact wording but anyway I told them. In order for the institution to make things right, each one of us should have at least $25,000 as settlement. When I got home, you know what the guys old me? "Hey, Mas, you shoulda asked for $250,000 because if you ask for $250,000, they might give you twenty five. Ha, Ha. You ask for twenty-five, they just gonna give you five." But that was the extent of the interview. I'm sure it made some lasting effect.

Of course, Mr. Murakami gave his incident. You know, like he was taken away from his family with no shoes, just slippers and thing like that. He was hauled all the way to Bismark, you know in the mid-winter. No shoes. And like Kanshi, his father lost the lease on the "Columbus" and things like that. But the way I gave the presentation, it covered the whole island. Covered the business, covered the fishing, covered the ordinary people the like the Toyosakis. I gave the over-all picture of what actually took place, really at that time. In fact I was really angry at the Commission. You know (laugh) right after I finished the thing, the whole audience stood up and they all clapped. Honest, that really was an awakening for me. I thought a lot about the Terminal Islanders. That's about the way I feel about the Terminal Islanders. It's really an organization you can be proud of. You don't have to boast about it. At least you feel good about it. That you are a Terminal Islander. You are one of them. You are a piece of what took place. It really tears me.

I suppose there are a lot of groups like that who went through a lot and they stuck together. They seem to be welded together with one thought in mind: to have a go at life and all this kinda stuff but all in all I think it actually comes out to how you're brought up together. I can't realize...oh...l remember the time when it was first organized. I think it was Bill who really organized it. And I think they had it at that Chinese place. There was about room for four or have hundred people and about 750 people showed up for the initial Terminal Island organization meeting. However, I missed the first meeting. I heard about it too late. I feel that the Terminal Island is sort of a special place. A special feeling that goes a long way. It's deeper than what you think it is.

I think it will somehow or other continue because kinda deep down in your heart, you feel like this ought to be going on forever. But eventually, I suppose it will have to come to an end. Like my philosophy: anything you think of, anything you can dream of, is possible. The only thing that's impossible is to be more than one.

Right now, I'm trying to be more than one, but I don't think I can be more than one. I'm retired now from Hughes after thirty years. I've been retired for about six years. All I do is play golf three times a week, do a little painting, do a little sumie, do a little calligraphy. I suppose just watching my grandson grow up, that's about the most important thing that's in my life. My grandchild, I just have one, he's a mixture of hakujin and nihonjin. He is twelve years old now. He's living with us. My daughter's separated from her husband, but I feel that my grandson is going to be a Japanese. I can tell you a story about him. When he was about four years old he asked me, "Grandpa, why can't I be a Japanese?" "Why do you want to be a Japanese?" You know what he said? He said, "I want to be a ninja!" That's what he said. So I'm sure he's gonna be a Japanese.

About this text
Title: Terminal Island Life History Project
Date: 1994
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