On October 9, 1942, in shade-drawn trains, we were sent to the flat, windy desert area of Topaz, Utah, 150 miles south of Salt Lake City. We arrived in the midst of a blinding black dust storm.
Our friends were at the gate to greet us and I burst into tears when they related the conditions of the camp. What kind of hellhole was this?! was my first angry exclamation. Sheets of information were passed out and we walked to our living quarters, muffling our faces from the dust storm and taking in the surroundings—row upon row of barracks laid out similarly to an army installation, the first we had ever seen. No, it was more like a state prison, for we were encircled by barbed wire with armed guards high on the guard towers watching our every move.
There were 42 blocks, each with about 14 barracks, latrines, a laundry room, recreation hall, and the mess hall—all within one square mile. Our block (#8) was at the edge of camp and only half was used for living quarters; the other half was used for a grade school. Our neighbors were bachelors, couples and small families, all congenial at the beginning.
Our bleak barrack apartment consisted of two army cots with mattresses and a black potbellied stove. We had no shelves or chairs to sit on and we heard people were tearing off the table tops from the mess hall to make do. Able-bodied persons were required to work, and my husband went to work as an assistant hospital administrator. One close friend went to work as a guard in the lumberyard which was right next to our block, a close walking distance.
How the others managed to forage material to make their quarters livable was beyond me, and we lived out of our suitcases for weeks, using them for storage and seats.
Finally, in utter frustration, we had our first major argument over principles, morals and survival; to steal or not to steal lumber. My dear husband had to relent because I threatened to do the job in spite of my protrusion [I was several months pregnant]. Down went a notch of our high principles and we had come to this level. In collusion with our friend the guard, in the middle of the night we stole one piece of board, watching and waiting for a cloud to cover the bright full moon, then belly-crawling back to the apartment. I served as the lookout. The surreptitious action went on for weeks depending on the weather and our friend’s shift, and we ended up with enough lumber to make three narrow shelves, two benches and a table.