About two weeks later a letter came from dad in Gila asking my mother to return to bid farewell to her second son, who was leaving for service in the Army. He was married and had two children, and the irony of it grated on your nerves. He served in the medics with the famed 442nd regiment and came back alive, but has never mentioned a word of his war experience.
Meanwhile, my husband lived in a hostel provided by the American Friends in Philadelphia and wrote he was having difficulty finding a home for us and was working as head of a produce section in a market. At the same time, notices were being sent to me to leave camp and many excuses were made by me to defer it as our finances were low and the underlying question of whether one could live on the outside simmered in the pit of your stomach. Crates had to be made for our belongings—our personal property had increased as the government had forwarded some of our personal effects from California to Topaz, and the crates had to be roped. Lumber and ropes were allocated to me and they enlisted the aid of my friends to make them up. There was not enough rope so I requisitioned for more. The bureaucratic system works slow and when the notice finally came that there was now rope for me, I walked to the issuing office, blocks away, and confronted a white man, who jeeringly said, as he dropped the rope at my feet, “So you’re Mrs. Minamoto! Here’s enough rope to hang yourself with.“ I looked at him straight in the eyes, and with venom in my voice and loud enough so all could hear said, “You go to hell.” I picked up the heavy rope and dragged it wearily back to the apartment.
The two children and I reached Philadelphia on a hot, sultry day and the stench of decaying garbage filled the streets as there was a garbage strike going on. A kindly Caucasian lady had opened her house for the evacuees and we rented one bedroom and shared the kitchen and bathroom with two others from camp. For the first time I saw silverfish wriggling beneath the sink and stove and saw a horse-drawn milk wagon that clattered daily over the cobblestone streets, and yet this was not far from Temple University. Here, too, we encountered extremes in weather compared to the Bay Area, and adjustments had to be made in attire and lifestyle.
In March of 1945, my dear, sweet mother died of cancer in Gila, Arizona and my bereft, bitter father felt her death was caused by inadequate medical care. I was able to see her in her comatose condition before she died and the thought she had to pass away so young under such circumstances rankled me. During my short stay in Gila I received a telegram that my husband was drafted and I hastened back to Philadelphia. The war was still going on actively in Europe and the tide was turning in the Pacific. It was decided the children and I would go back to Oakland to my father’s house as the Pacific coast states had opened up and people were being dispersed from camp. The government paid our train fare back and the helpful Travelers Aid workers met us at two transfer points.
Then the nightmare began.
This is the fourth of five excerpts from Harue Minamoto’s memoir (with minor edits).
Part 1: Forced Removal
Part 2: Tanforan
Part 3: First Winter in Topaz
Part 5: The Aftermath
About the contributor: Harue Hirai Minamoto was born in Oakland, CA in 1916. A graduate of Oakland Technical High School, she completed bookkeeping and secretarial courses at Merritt Business School and was hired by the U.S. Department of Immigration and Naturalization Services in 1937. After Executive Order 9066 was issued, she was forced to resign. She married Toshiro Minamoto in February 1942, shortly before they were incarcerated in Tanforan. Two of her three children were born in Topaz. Sponsored by a Quaker family, the Minamotos resettled in Philadelphia in 1944; but when Tosh was drafted in 1945, Harue and the children returned to Oakland. Harue often spoke of the injustices of incarceration to her children and grandchildren and never hesitated to inform others of what EO 9066 did to American citizens. She passed away in 1999. Her story was shared with us by her family: Melyssa Minamoto, Gay Kaplan, John Minamoto, Ed Minamoto and their children.
© 1999, Harue Minamoto. All rights reserved.