One evening we gathered at the bench in the shadow of barrack 4. To be a gang, we had to have a name. Mariko asked her older brother what he thought would be a good name for us, since everything we could think of was not “grown-up” enough to suit us. He suggested “Rowdies.” “It fits your group,” he added. That’s how we became “The Rowdies.”
The next step was gang rules. We would hold our meetings on the bench at the washroom end of barrack 4. We would have a secret password, which would change every day. Our secret language would be pig Latin.
“I will be the president,” Mariko declared firmly. “I got the name for our gang, so I should be president.” “No, you can’t be president. You’re too young,” said Hannah. “What do you mean, ‘too young?’ countered Mariko. “I mean, inexperienced,” argued Hannah in reply. Mariko stamped her foot; her hands flew to her hips. “What do you mean, inexperienced?” “I mean you’ve never been president before. Helen was president of the student council. I think Helen should be president of the Rowdies because she’s had experience.” Hannah stuck by her convictions until Mariko conceded. “Then I’ll be vice president,” she said. “Let Hannah be the secretary. She writes pretty,” helped Kay. “And Mitzi can be the treasurer,” suggested Ruth. “But why do we need a treasurer? We don’t have any money,” said Hannah. Mitzi‘s eyes begin to cloud. She was not needed in the gang! “Well, we could have dues. How about a nickel for each meeting?” suggested Mariko. Mitzi began to perk up. She was needed in the gang! “I know my mom doesn’t have a nickel for me today. Here’s a rock for mine. When I get some money, I’ll give it to you, Mitzi,” spoke Hannah. “Mine, either,” we all spoke up. Each girl searched for an appropriate rock for her token. Mitzi had a pile of six different looking rocks in her hand, assuring her the rocks would be replaced as soon as we could manage it.
In discussing what the Rowdies could do, grandiose, interesting ideas were offered. We could all go to Japanese school, we could have a party, we could always eat together, and we could go to bed at 9:30 instead of at sundown. We could go spy on the big boys and girls to find out what they were doing and planning to do. With the gang behind us, we could do anything!
Kay and I were not especially interested in going to Japanese school. We had no need to learn Japanese since there was no language barrier in our household. But the next day, we asked Mother about it, because all the other Rowdies were going to do it.
“You really want to go to Nihon Gakko (Japanese school)?” Mother asked.
“What’s it like?” asked Kay, who had never been to Japanese school. “Oh, you learn to read and write Japanese. And you learn about Japanese customs and manners,” smiled Mother. “Manners!” scowled Kay. “You go for an hour of classes every day,” continued Mother. “Even in the summer?” Kay was getting less inclined to follow the gang. “I don’t want to do that, do you, Helen?” Kay looked at me hopefully. “Not really,” I agreed with relief, remembering my Japanese school ordeal in Berkeley. “I don’t think you need to go, then.” Mother gave us a way out of our dilemma when reporting to the Rowdies.