Life in an Internment Camp

                                                                                           PART 1: EVACUATION 

 

           Exactly twenty years ago, I was born in the peaceful city of Independence, Oregon, a small city rich with the growth of hops and wooden houses scattered here and there on the unpaved roads. Four years had passed since the First World War had ended and victory bells were still ringing, factories were booming and we were happy to see the nations at peace, perhaps never to see a war again. 

            

            I shall never forget the cloudy Sunday morning of December 7, 1941. It was only a day before mother’s birthday and instead of joyful felicitations, it was a day of sorrow to us. My parent’s native land had engaged in war with China for many gruesome years, but I never thought that my parent's country would someday find despondency and wretchedness to our nation of democracy, freedom and justice for all. 

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            Sunk in our hearts, my sister and I returned to our work as usual. We tried not to show our broken spirits but somehow, we took the treacherous attack [Pearl Harbor] harder than our many American friends. Japanese American fathers were being interned, our houses were searched for contrabands, college students dropped out because of insufficient support and because they couldn’t study under the circumstances. Business was poor, customers would pass our market stall because we were Japs. We weren’t “Japs,” we were citizens, raised and taught in every way as fine Americans. Americans, we were in thoughts and ideals but our black hair and almond shaped eyes were our detriment. 

 

            A great deal had happened since that wintry day of December. Things were looking dull for many of us. Curfew regulations brought us home at eight o’clock in the evening, leaving us nothing to do but to listen to the radio and hear about more war news. We couldn’t visit our American friends the way we used to do in those peaceful days. We tried to read books and magazines but we couldn’t concentrate. We couldn’t understand why American citizens must be impended with restrictions and rules when we didn’t do anything to deserve such actions. Everything sounded ridiculous to us but we obeyed the orders to show that only good Americans can obey rules. 

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            The worst of all news came to us and it was evacuation. What were we to do with our homes, our furniture, our friends, our schooling? Why must we be evacuated when it is our duty to protect our country in times of war? What can we do to contribute toward war defense if we were locked up behind barbed wire fences and armed guns surrounding us in four directions? What will my ide father do who was just regaining his health because a reputable physician has constantly looked over him? How can I bake cookies for my only brother who is now in the army and doing his part for Uncle Sam? My brother proves his loyalty to the stars and stripes by entering the army and fighting with bravery and distinction against the aggressions of the Axis across the seas. All of these questions rambled through my mind and I couldn’t sleep soundly after the evacuation notice arrived. 

 

            Everything was a mess from that day on. Telephone companies collected our bill of two months ahead, real estate companies kept ringing to buy our home at a ridiculous price, even common men were taking advantage by finding the cheapest sale. They knew that they could buy it and they knew that we had to sell it. Day by day, our once comfortable home was tearing apart.

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                                                                                       PART 2: LEAVING HOME 

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            The piano was moved out, and the bedroom suite was given a last look. The shiny, white refrigerator which was my mother’s pride was now gone. Our new automobile was sold and as it parted away, those pleasant memories we took to the beaches, along the panoramic Columbia highway all came back anew again. Our house was finally sold and the new manager was so kind to let our family live there until the final day of evacuation. 

 

            May 5, 1942 and only a day before my birthday, I shall not forget. One last look to the neighborhood, the street, the friends which was a part of us not “goodbye” but just “so-long for the duration.” Tears in our eyes, and heavy were our hearts, we shook hands warmly saying that we’ll meet again soon. It was a warm morning in May, and one of the brightest spring mornings we’ve had. Birds were singing, the white crocus was just peeping its face out of the cold, dark ground. The green leaves of the maple, oak trees were perforating their way into the crude, unhappy world. 

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            We were on our way to the Assembly Center located a few miles from the outskirts of Portland, Oregon. I had never visited the building before even during the Livestock Show which was annually scheduled in this edifice. Several cars we passed and all of the oriental faces were heading for the same destination. It was the toughest battle I’ve ever fought and although my motto, “keep your chins up” had stood by me during the grave hours, I couldn’t hold it up any longer. Mother, father and the two sisters took it well but I know how it felt to leave the loved things behind and building the present to what it was. 

            

            As we neared the assembly center, the army guards directed us toward the gate. One step inside and we must stay there for good. One step outside would mean the same freedom of yesterday. As I debated back and forth, the soldier with a high voice clear through the early morning air, shouted “keep moving” and we filed through the entrance. One last look at the open air before we go in. Hundreds of innocent faces were peering through the barbed-wire fences  beckoning us to join them. It was hard to tell whether they were inviting us in or telling us to stay outside where we should always be. The jeeps were moving swiftly, going in and out of the building with loads of dilapidated suitcases, fancy luggage sets, huge duffle bags with blankets almost bursting out, modern portable radios, washtubs, ukuleles and a few extra comforts of life. 

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            I didn’t like the new home at all when I entered. It was dark, large, damp and dungeon-like. We were given our home number and the boys who had moved in earlier were little acquainted with the building and showed us where our quarters were. The first look of our rooms. It was a fifteen-foot square room and accommodated for eight persons. There were only five members in our family so we were advantaged with sufficient room of three extra evacuees. The room was clean and particles of leftover sawdust were flying about. The fresh cut smell of plywood came to our noses and pitch was running down the walls of the room.

 

            Our first lunch, I shall never forget. I was so excited and confused but I could remember the canned salmon and kidney beans, coffee and bread but no butter. There were canned foods for several days since. Canned corned beef, canned wieners, canned fruit and vegetables. No milk, no cream, and little sugar. We didn’t look forward to our meals like we used to back home where potatoes were steaming and butter and milk plenty. 

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                                                                            PART 3: INTERNMENT CAMP LIFE 

 

             We couldn’t sleep the first night, nor the second for babies were crying, children were running along the corridors, men were snoring, alarm clocks ringing and more babies crying. I would sit on my bed gazing at the nocturnal sky with part of the leftover city lights embedded like diamonds on a mass velvet. I could scream with all the confusion and annoyance but I fell asleep with my heart fighting against the noise. 

 

            The early hustle and bustle and woke me up at the break of dawn and a part of the moon still in the sky. Mothers, children and men were scurrying to the shower quarters. It was about two blocks to the place but finding hot and cold water there, it was worth the long walk. There were basins arranged in eight rows and about ten to each row. Toilets were placed in long isles and partitions were placed between them at a later date. The showers were also arranged in the same long isles in a rectangular room. There were only two mirrors in here, one was a small one and the other was only double the size of the small mirror. 

 

             I never liked breakfast and this breakfast did not tempt me anymore. Scrambled eggs were watery, and coffee was cold and strong. Things have improved since then and the food became tastier. We were served rice, fresh meat, and vegetables. Milk became abundant and a pat of butter at every meal whenever bread was served. The baker shop became organized and our first fresh spice cake was made. It was course, dry, and spicy. Lemon pies were made minus the meringue icing which made it lack the thickness and temptation. Each morning, we were given a small bag of sugar, equivalent to about two teaspoons and that was to last for the entire day. 

 

           There were 4,000 hungry mouths to feed and that was no easy task. Menus were planned many days ahead and even on the hottest day of 107°, chili bean or hot stew was served. And on the rainy, cold days, we would see sliced meats and watermelon for desert. 

 

            Photographers, motion picture photographers, newspaper photographers were here almost every week to take pictures of evacuees. Soon we were to make the news front, the newsreel and show our fellow Americans that America is “treating us well” and how about those in Japan? It seemed funny to smile in these pictures because we weren’t actually happy. 

            

            There was plenty to do in this camp. Softball, baseball, basketball, badminton and every kind of game to meet the heart’s content. Teams were being organized and a league was created. Everything was running smoothly and the children and youthful girls and boys were having a lot of fun. Every Tuesday was movie night and some of the very best pictures were shown. 

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                                                                                           PART 4: WEATHER 

 

            The weather was one of the hardest things to adjust to in this camp. Even in midsummer, rain fell constantly for three to four days. The inside of the building was dark, cold and gloomy. Men, women, and children would assemble within the main reception hall, playing ping pong, “shogi” and “go” for older men, card playing among the younger people, knitting and crocheting by the mothers and some of the studious pupils were trying to study despite the heavy noises and screams. Our roof would leak and in our room, there were exactly four leakages. Throughout the night, we would move our beds to avoid the rain drops and find out next door neighbors doing the same. 

            

            I shall never forget that terrific heat spell during the early part of July. The temperature was as high as 107° and although there were eighteen deaths recorded in our daily papers, we were fortunate to live through it. For four days, it was continually dry and hot. The girls would wear their coolest playsuits: shorts and halters. Japanese girls are shy about showing their bare legs, but this sultry weather convinced us that we must shed our modesty to fight against the weather. Boys could do that too in their swimming trunks and basketball trunks and look their coolest. What effect war has on the weather I do not know but we had the oddest climate that year.

 

             During those hot weather in the middle of July, we were allowed to lie out on the spacious playfields until 11:30 PM. It was too hot to return to the room as the warm air was flying wildly about the room. So excited were we to play about the fields that we made so much noise and the next day we were not allowed to go beyond the railroad tracks which were about 20 feet away from the building. Mosquitoes were heavy during the hot evenings and despite the fragrance of incense roaming about the air, they were still abundant.

 

            The younger generation would look forward to the dances we had every Saturday night. I was one of those enthusiastic ones. Curfew was at 11 PM on Saturday nights, a whole hour longer than the usual hour. After 10PM we had to cut out the volume of the public address system because there was an early crew who was resting. Each Saturday, the dances were sponsored by various departments such as the Radio repair shop, the Recreation department commonly known as “The Wreck,” First Aiders and Bus Boys. 

 

            Miniature shops were being built day by day. Our postal service was already existing when we arrived at the camp. The greatest enjoyment of the day was to form a long line at the office windows and gradually waited for the line to cease and appear in front of the postmistress. Many times there were disappointments, but there was happiness too. Inspection for parcel post was at 1 PM and the interior police would unwrap the packages which seemed to deprive all of our thrills and excitement in unwrapping the gifts. Mail from Tule Lake Relocation Center were censored for a short time and for what reason, we still don’t know.

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                                                                    PART 5: MAKING THE BEST OF THE SITUATION

 

            The library was opened on May 15. It was enlarged two weeks later to accommodate the additional books and text material. There were approximately 1750 books in the library imparting entertainment, relaxation, and education to the camp population. Included in the repertory are volumes ranging from old classics to modern fiction; juvenile favorites, non-fiction, to school text books, and magazines of all types. Fines for overdue books were assessed for tardy readers. The money was used for book maintenance and for request fees. 

 

            The most shunned department of the whole camp was the Dentist’s Office. Three modern dentist chairs, three electrical dental engines sit side by side in an immaculate well-equipped, white washed dentist office, giving no hint of its humble beginnings of mere two apple box affair which accommodated an emergency extraction on May 7. Approximately 40 to 50 cases were handled daily, from simple to intricate work. 

 

            Most popular of all departments was the Canteen. At first only a few essential materials were on the shelves but as time elapsed, nail polish, stationary, shoe laces, and varieties and pastries were added. The sales clerk was continuously running back and forth to the icebox to meet our demands and our pops were cold and the ice cream was soft due to the fast selling. The shoe shop was built with only 25 pairs of shoes taken in daily. Barber shops became a part of the daily business with a nominal sum of 20 cents charged for men’s haircut. 

 

            I’ve landed a job as secretary in the Main Office. My employer was Mr. Guy H. Booker, Director of Work and Maintenance. The work was interesting but not enough to keep me busy from morning until night. I became restless and would take a stroll to the canteen or visit my friends during intervals. About a month later, I became the receptionist in the same office and although I was continually confronted with confusing questions, I was contented with this position. 

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