December 7, 1941, the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, drastically altered our well-ordered lives. The phone kept ringing all day long–either brothers or relatives and friends voicing their shock, dismay and concern. People came in and out excited, contemplative, and wondering what the future held in store for them. The radios blasted forth news of the FBI’s seizure and search of Japanese aliens up and down the coast.
On Monday, December 8, I was at my desk at 8 am at the Immigration and Naturalization Service on Silver Avenue in San Francisco, and I was greeted with a tirade by an employee whom I thought was a good friend of mine, who shouted that I must’ve known the Japs were going to bomb Pearl Harbor, and the nerve I had in coming to work. Outside the office, Japanese men with gnarled hands, bent shoulders and empty hands were being marched into detention and among them was our scholarly relative who was guilty of teaching the Japanese language.
