Chapter 19 Present Day #2
“Worst part?” Zoey’s great-grandmother, through Zoey, scoffed the question. Her audience laughed, knowing it got worse.
“To the contrary,” Zoey said, translating her great-grandmother’s response.
“I was fourteen when the FBI came to our home in Seattle and escorted my father away. We had no idea what was happening or why…or even if we would see him again. Two weeks later, they came for us. We could only take what we could carry.”
Zoey’s great-grandmother looked around the room for affirmation.
“They put us on old coal trains and brought us here. When we got off the train, we were covered head-to-toe with soot. We looked like African Americans, not Japanese Americans. But we arrived in a dust storm like today and gray dirt quickly replaced the black. Just like this building, there was no insulation, so I remember dust everywhere…at all times. That is, until winter came, and snow replaced the dust. And then the rains came, and mud replaced the dust. There was mud, mud, mud everywhere.” Her voice grew smaller.
A woman brought her a glass of water and Zoey’s great-grandmother took a sip and swallowed hard.
Then, through Zoey, she went on. “They gave us all a number, and that is who we became. My family of six got crammed into apartment F, barrack 6, of Block 30,” she said, putting quotes around apartment and waiting until Zoey made the same gesture.
“The living quarters had no ceilings. Separated only by walls, we got to know our neighbors pretty well…too well.”
A nervous laugh filled the room.
“For me, as a fourteen-year-old girl, the worst part was the lack of privacy. The latrines and showers were all open rooms. The toilets were lined up in a row of twelve, with twelve more back-to-back. The men’s and women’s shower rooms were adjacent to each other with very little separating them. Can you imagine my horror?”
Zoey handed her great-grandmother the glass of water to take another sip.
“If you have ever been to this area in the winter, you know how cold it gets. The potbelly stoves worked overtime but could never keep up. It was so cold.” A shiver shook the old woman with a muscle memory.
“Maybe the worst part came when my older brother joined the 442nd.” Her voice cracked and she covered her face with her hands.
Julia glanced around the room and saw many of the elderly people wiping tears from their eyes.
Zoey took over the story for her great-grandmother. “Hii-Bāchan has told me how the government required everyone over the age of seventeen to complete the loyalty questionnaire, but they directed it mostly toward the Nisei. Of course, questions twenty-seven and twenty-eight…”
The mention of the two questions caused a stir in the room.
“Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States, and will you swear unqualified allegiance to the U.S.?” Zoey summarized the questions.
Zoey’s great-grandmother found her voice once again.
“The young men who answered the two questions, ‘yes and yes,’ were shipped off to fight in the war. Those answering, ‘no and no,’ were shipped to a maximum-security prison. My brother answered ‘yes and yes,’ and he left for the war. He never returned.” She covered her face again and wept.
An elderly man sitting in the audience stood.
“They wanted our boys after all they did to us. Many volunteered to prove their loyalty. It is our honor that for its size and length of service, the 442nd became the most decorated unit in American military history…all the while their families were incarcerated in the camps.”
“Maybe even the worst part…” Zoey’s great-grandmother said.
“When they finally let us go, we had nowhere to go. Our families had lost everything. Everything had been taken away. When the government lifted the exclusion order keeping Japanese off the west coast, in January of 1945, we were given twenty-five dollars and a ticket back home. But we had nowhere to go. We had lost everything and sent back into the world where we were hated. I remember the first apartment we tried to rent back in Seattle. The woman told us, ‘We don’t rent to Japs.’”
Julia felt the palpable shame and anger in the room.
Zoey’s great-grandmother’s voice strengthened.
“We all were brought up with these two Japanese sayings: ‘Shikata ga nai, it cannot be helped…whatever is happening cannot be helped’ and ‘Gaman, bearing the unbearable.’ Many of us old folks lived in denial. We just shut it out of our lives, as it became more merciful to stay silent. So, we didn’t talk about it for years. ”
A shadow of reflection and sorrow crossed the elderly woman’s face, and she spoke solemnly to the crowd.
“I turn ninety-six next month. This might be my last trip to Minidoka.” She wiped a tear. “We cannot forget. You young people who hear this, must not forget. You have a piece of this now…this is now part of you.”
* * *
Julia and Zoey sat with the park ranger at a computer terminal in the museum building, thankful to be out of the heat and wind again. Zoey had suggested that they come back to the main office and see what they could learn about Julia’s family. A few others in the group milled around the museum.
“Yes, most records are kept under the paternal line,” the ranger said as she typed. “It’s unfortunate that so many records have been lost over time.”
“How convenient,” Zoey murmured, but quickly apologized to the ranger. “I’m afraid I always feel raw after sitting and listening to the elders.”
“No need to apologize…I understand. It’s a dark piece of American history,” the ranger said. “We’re trying to digitize all the records we find.” She stopped typing and looked at Julia. “Anything else you know?”
Julia looked over the ranger’s shoulder at the screen. “Hiroshi Yamamoto from Shizuoka Shi, Japan, born 1880,” she repeated what Peggy from Fort Missoula had given her. “I’m afraid that’s it.”
“Well, let’s see what we find,” the ranger said and hit return.
The screen populated with documents, and Julia and Zoey leaned in.
“Oh good. It’s not much, but it’s a good start,” the ranger said and started reading off the information.
“The government gave the Hiroshi Yamamoto family the number 11813. Your great-great-grandfather was 11813A, but like you said, never made it here from Fort Missoula. The rest of the family was placed in Block 18, barracks 13, apartment D.”
“The entire family?” Julia asked, swallowing hard.
“Probably,” the ranger looked at her with sympathetic eyes, then turned and continued. “Born in 1880, he was sixty-two when the FBI arrested him in Stockton, California.” She pointed to the screen. “They even have an address. I’ll print all this off for you, but it says he worked as a farmer.”
The woman continued to scroll down the page. “Oh interesting. Here is some information about their son-in-law…Hmmm,” she said as she read. “His name is on the Honor Roll. But I’m afraid he fought and died with the 442nd. I’m sorry.”
Julia nodded. Her mind swirled. This hero would have been her grandmother’s father, Julia’s great-grandfather. There was still so much she did not know about the family.
“What about the maternal line?” Julia asked. “My grandmother told me she had just turned five when she came with her mother and grandmother.” Julia brought up the picture of her great-great grandmother on her phone and passed it around. “This is my great-great-grandmother, our Issei.”
Zoey took the phone and zoomed in on the face. “Holy crap, you look just like her.” She turned the phone to the ranger, who nodded.
“Is there any information on her?” Julia pleaded.
The woman continued to look through the files. “Do you have her name?”
“Unfortunately, no, but this was on the back of her photo.” She took her phone from Zoey, found the picture, and turned it to Zoey and the ranger.
“Hmm…I read Japanese, but I do not know what that says,” Zoey said.
A woman about the age of Julia’s mother interrupted from behind. “Sorry to butt in. That’s a picture bride photo. I have a similar one of my great-grandmother. They all came through Angel Island, and you may find information about her there.”