by Jon Yatabe
I found myself… in the middle of swirling brown sand so thick you couldn’t see the central mess hall though it was only forty feet away.
Swirling desert sands Nature's frenzied ballet Earth and sand entwined
The winds in Topaz were always a problem, causing blinding dust storms, blowing snow, and often blowing both at once. Topaz is located in the middle of a silicate desert at an elevation of 4700 feet with sharp bare mountains in the background. By clearing all the brush, disturbing the soil, and building dirt roads, the builders had made the residential camp area more susceptible to dust storms than the surrounding desert. It was a burden for all of us.
The barracks we lived in were tar paper and lath with bare sheetrock inside. The joints were not filled and window openings were not sealed. As a result, the fine desert sand drifted in constantly and it became an endless task to keep a neat and clean place for us to live and breathe in. At one point I developed asthma bad enough to be hospitalized.
I remember getting caught in a furious dust storm. My mother had been doing the daily ritual of sweeping the Masonite floor of the “apartment” we shared and was raising so much dust that she told me to go to the mess hall by myself; she would follow in a minute. I was on my way there when the dust storm hit.
I found myself, bundled up in a blue coat, hat, and scarf, in the middle of swirling brown sand so thick you couldn’t see the central mess hall though it was only forty feet away. When I looked back I couldn’t see my barracks.
I thought I was going to have to go forward or die trying, when a gloved hand reached out and Mr. Hiyashi, I think his name was—one of our neighbors in Block 26—grabbed my hand. He had a scarf covering his lower face and looked like a frightening ghost warrior to me. Especially when he said in gruff Japanese, which I didn’t understand until my mother translated it later, “Hey, young idiot, what are you doing out here alone—trying to kill yourself?” He then pulled me along behind him to the mess hall to look for my mother.
When my mother reached the mess hall, I was sitting with a glowering Mr. Hiyashi and his wife, eating our lunch of hot dogs cooked with onions and peppers spiced with soy sauce; rice; and Jello. The rice and Jello came with both lunch and dinner. I was a little frightened, but Mrs. Hiyashi, rather than her husband, explained how I was found, and my mother, after thanking them for their thoughtfulness, took me and my tray to our usual place to eat. I told her that Mr. Hiyashi frightened me, but she said that he and all the adults in the camp were just watching out for the children, especially with so many of the men, like my father, gone to war.
I later found out that Mr. Hiyashi was violently opposed to any man volunteering to fight in the war and disagreed with my father’s actions. The call for volunteers from the camps had caused a schism in Topaz. Some, like my father, were determined to show this country that they were truly loyal citizens and were wrongfully relocated. They had an attitude best expressed by the young enlistee who said, “We were going to have the best record in the Army to show them.” Many others were against helping a country that had turned on them. The two factions felt strongly about their opinion and on occasion this led to violence.
So it was no wonder I found Mr. Hiyashi scary. At the same time, he once took a toy gun that my father sent me and made copies from scrap wood for all of the kids in the block.
It was all confusing to me, like being caught in a storm unable to see what was ahead or behind, with the wind sometimes blowing us apart, sometimes together. All we could do was wait—endlessly wait—for my father’s return, and for a fair wind that would blow us home.
About the contributor: Jon Yatabe was born in Berkeley in 1937 and grew up in Redwood City, where his father (Tak Yatabe) grew flowers. He was four when his family was sent to Topaz. His father joined the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and fought in Europe. The Yatabes settled in Berkeley after the War. Jon graduated from UC Berkeley and received a Ph.D. from the University of Illinois. After a long career in Washington and the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, he retired and divides his time between Alaska and Colorado (where he loves spending time with his grandchildren).
“The Winds of Topaz” is excerpted with edits from Chapter 18 (“The Winds of Aeolus”) of Jon Yatabe’s memoir, Letter to my Grandchildren. Copyright 2019, Jon Yatabe.