"EO 9066"
In December 1941 Papa was 57 years old, Mama 40 years, sister Setsuko 23 years, brother Yoshimitsu 20, I was 17, and Akira Aki 11 years.
There was fear everywhere, especially in the Japanese community, following the bombing on December 7, 1941, of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese military. News circulated that many of our men were being picked up for no logical reason and taken to places unknown. What about Papa? What’s going to happen to us? The worst had come to mind. Will we be executed? Will we be sent to Japan? We could be people without a country. Although Papa was a farmer and had no connection with anything that might be considered subversive, we mustn’t take chances. We must destroy anything and everything that would impart the slightest suggestion of disloyalty.
“What about those guns? Where are they? There’s the 410 shot gun, the 22 rifle, and Aki's BB gun. What about Papa’s camera?” Photography was his hobby and that can’t be considered suspicious, but we must not take chances. Hurriedly, Yoshimitsu, with the help of Aki, dug a deep hole near the walnut tree and buried the precious and harmless camera, together with Aki’s BB gun. The other guns should not be buried. What if they were found by the officials? So, in the evening after dark, Yoshimitsu and Aki packed the two guns in the car and drove to the wooden bridge over a creek about half a mile down 47th Avenue, the main road. They looked about to see that no one was around to see what they were doing and walked to the middle of the bridge, hoisted the guns over the railing, and dropped them into the creek.
That evening the family talked about other material in the house, such as books, magazines, and other items Japanese. We felt anything that had connection with Japan must be destroyed, lest they be considered suspicious. The following day we built a bonfire in the open area at the side of the barn and gathered personal letters from Japan, books, magazines, pictures, burnable art objects Mama brought back from her visit to Japan six years earlier, records—even children’s records. The books were difficult to burn so we tore out pages and made sure every page had disappeared. We watched the pages as they curled, turned black, and become ash. Our favorite, harmless records warped, caught the flame, and disappeared.
At that time we kept the radio tuned in and stayed close by listening intently to any change in the larger world and the immediate world around us. The news was only about the conflicts in Europe and the tense relations with Japan. There was nothing pleasant to listen to—only fear.
Our family was intact and safe for the time being. Papa and Mama continued working on the farm tending the strawberry and raspberry fields, for it wouldn’t be long before the harvest, the major part of the family income. Papa fertilized the plants and we, the children, helped in the fields after school and on weekends pulling weeds and hoeing down the grass that grew in the ditches. As spring approached, we watched the berries form and become full. Papa said it was going to be a good crop.
Then copies of Executive Order 9066, signed by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, ordering removal of all Japanese families on the West Coast and into concentration camps were posted on telephone poles along the road. That order was devastating, particularly to Papa and Mama who had toiled all those months since the harvest of the previous year and the berries, both strawberries and raspberries, were just getting ready for harvest. There were no “ifs”, “buts”, or choice. Papa said shikataga ga nai (can’t be helped). There was no other choice but to obey the orders.
We were given seven days to pack and sell or store our household belongings, our car, truck, and everything used to run the farm. In one week we had to leave, ready or not. On evacuation we could take only what we could carry, which was very little. What will we pack our belongings in? We had only two suitcases. Setsuko was requested to go to Sears Roebuck and purchase more suitcases.
What about the berry crop? There would be no one to harvest and water them. Papa was resigned to abandoning all of it. Yoshimitsu wondered if there was some way of selling the upcoming crop. Setsuko said there was a small grocery store not far away run by a family of Portuguese background and wondered if they might like the berries. She went to the store to discuss the matter. They offered to accept, for the sum of $350, the crop, together with all the farm equipment, the large inventory of shook , which is lumber cut to size for making berry crates, small truck, the rabbits, chickens, and everything left in the house, including the stove, refrigerator, and furniture, such as beds, dining table and chairs. Papa and Yoshimitsu didn’t think we could do better on such short notice so Papa accepted the $350. Our piano was sold to another vulture for $5. Aki’s two like-new bicycles were sold for a pittance.
Although every family was frantically making preparations to leave, everyone helped each other as much as possible. Our home consisted of four structures: the house, bath house, barn and housing for the seasonal workers. Yoshimitsu made arrangements with the landlord of the land who lived on the adjacent land to move our workers’ living quarters to their open, unused land so that we could store our belongings for the duration. Our next door neighbor, the Morisakli’s, had a tractor. With the help of the neighbor, our worker housing structure was put on a sled, pulled with the tractor, and moved. We stored our belongings, including the 3-year-old car, in the structure in hopes that we would some day return.
What about Maru, our dog? We weren’t allowed to take pets. Can we find someone who would adopt him? It would have been cruel to leave him behind to fend for himself. Because it was unlikely we would find someone who would take him in, there was no choice but to take him to the pound. I stayed home to help with preparations to leave. Setsuko and Aki put Maru, our faithful companion, especially to Aki, in the car and drove toward the pound which was a few miles from our home. Maru had never ridden in a car. He seemed anxious; but with the loving support of Aki, he stayed calm, looking out the window. With a rope for a lease, Aki guided Maru to the office of the pound where a caretaker took over and led him to a pen. As Aki and Setsuko were leaving, choking back tears, Maru perked up his ears, anxious but confident that Aki would be back to pick him up.
Abandoning our home built on leased property, on May 10, 1942, we walked away, taking with us memories of hard work, supportiveness, and nonverbal love. Each member of the family carried a suitcase except Aki who carried a box and the small radio which was purchased so that we would be able to keep up with events.
How we got to Arboga, the Marysville Assembly Center, is cloudy. I seem to have put that part of my life behind me. Recent conversations with Aki concerning the period between home and the assembly center shed little light. He, too, does not remember. However, he said that he remembers riding an army truck. A former neighbor said that we departed from a train station in Florin. It is my understanding that some families had kind non-Japanese neighbors drive them to the train station and some others drove their cars to the assembly center and abandoned their vehicles when we were moved from the assembly center to Tulelake concentration camp.
--Gloria Morita, July 6, 2001
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