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.
The baby was due in December and we tried ordering a crib and mattress and other sundries from Montgomery Ward. They refused to sell to us. Sears, Roebuck did a landslide business with us as they received postal money orders for payments. Many of us ordered hot plates, flannel shirts, galoshes, laundry racks, buckets, brooms, washboards, saws and soap along with the baby tub, crib and mattress. Winter was fast approaching and we were all issued surplus hats with earmuffs attached and navy wool pea jackets. We were a comical sight in our oversized clothing, but they kept us warm. Coal for the potbellied stove was dumped in measured amounts on the side of the latrine and we all made a mad dash for it, some days doing without as there were those who took more than their share.
It was snowing heavily on December 24, our first winter in Topaz, when our daughter made her dramatic entry into this world. She was a breech baby, and during the delivery the usually calm, gentle doctor threw his implement on the floor and in frustration and anger, exclaimed, “What are they trying to do to our people!” Going through a natural birth, gritting my teeth through the pain, and swallowing back my tears, I softly said “Let’s get along with this.” The lights went off and the water pipes in the building froze as the storm went on relentlessly and there was a clamber of activity as every member of the hospital staff were in attendance.
That evening in the quiet ward, Goro Suzuki, an Oakland boy, later known as Jack Soo of television fame, came through singing in his mellow voice, “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas,” and I sank deep under the covers, shedding copious tears of joy that a healthy baby girl was born—and tears of regret that she was born in a concentration camp.
This is the third of five excerpts from Harue Minamoto’s memoir (with minor edits).
Part 1: Forced Removal
Part 2: Tanforan
Part 4: Dust-up in the Desert
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.
My husband Russell Yamazaki (died 2021 Jan) was also born at Topaz ( in Nov 2042) with a similar story of his parents who married in February after the attack on Pearl Harbor. His parents were both in college but married and were relocated to TanForan and then Topaz. They were moved to Wooster Ohio when Russell was 2 years old and they stayed in Wooster Ohio for the rest of their lives. Wooster people (Presbyterian Church) went way out of their way to welcome the Yamazakis and help them get established in Wooster.
Thanks for supplying the pictures as well as the Minamoto story.
Jane Welton Yamazaki
Thank you for sharing your husband’s story, Jane! It’s wonderful to know about a community that welcomed Japanese Americans in those difficult years.