The Wizard of Provo

by Jon Yatabe

Dorothy and Toto
Wind-blown escape from Kansas
Gray autumn fields

We had been in Topaz for nearly two years when my mother volunteered to help with the apple harvest in Provo, Utah. We lived in a little tent city beside a small stream, and while the women and old men picked, the young kids played in the yard by the farm house.

Knowing what we longed for, around two o’clock each afternoon, the smiling farmer and his wife would come out with a pitcher of Kool Aid with ice. It was barely sweetened due to sugar rationing but that tart pale green drink with ice cubes was a rare treat for the camp kids. I still like my drinks with very little sugar even now. 

The adults worked hard six days a week and on Sunday we were free to go into town. Some of the men had trouble with kids jeering at them and yelling, “Jap!” We never had a problem in Provo or Delta and generally met people like the farmer willing to help us out. One memorable Sunday we went to see “The Wizard of Oz” in town.

I had first seen the movie in 1940 at the old Belmont Theater near Redwood City. It was new and something that everyone had to see. I don’t remember being scared or liking it. I was just three years old and only remember the magic of the black and white film turning to brilliant color when Dorothy and Toto land in Oz. That has to be one of the greatest moments of film because until then, movies were all filmed in black and white. I don’t remember very much at all about that first viewing except for that singular moment and her breathless comment, “Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas anymore.”

Kansas seemed so like Topaz, especially with the gray dust driven by the relentless winds blowing across the plains. I could close my eyes and see myself there, except for the dog. No one had been allowed to bring pets when they were relocated and the Boston bulldog that had protected me when I was growing up in Redwood City belonged to our landlord, the Hendersons. When we left on the bus for Tanforan, they were the only people there to say goodbye. I remember hugging the dog, not realizing that this would be the last time. 

I enjoyed the first part of the movie that introduces all of the characters most because of little Toto trotting around beside Dorothy, never questioning anything she said or did. I had begun reading by then and knew the story of The Wizard of Oz and even some of the sequels, like Glinda, the Good Witch of Oz. But the movie often surprised me with its twists and turns. I remembered the scene of Toto pulling the curtain away to reveal the Wizard trick differently in the book, but I was not disappointed by how the movie did it. 

Oz was meant to let the people of the Great Depression escape into a Technicolor dream, and for a few hours, the people from Topaz did. Many who did not work outside camp missed the chance because our movie theater in Topaz was a barrack hung with blankets to seal off the light and a simple projector on a table that you could hear throughout the movie. I still remember seeing the moths flying around the light and getting vaporized as they flew too close. But here in Provo, we were able to see a color movie on a big screen in air-conditioned comfort. 

Heaven only lasted 100 minutes; and then we had to leave to get back to our little camp by the creek. When we got back some of the women gave us stew that they had for dinner and then we moved our cots outside to sleep in the relative cool of the evening under a starry sky so bright that it was painful to stare at. You have to go somewhere with no light pollution to see stars spread across the sky like that. 

---

Note: “Utah was more tolerant of the Japanese than the West Coast states and was especially helpful in establishing a strong emphasis on accredited camp schools in that state. The Mormon farmers, many of whom we worked for during harvest time, were generally supportive and often shared their hoarded food with us including things that were hard to get like meat, butter, and sugar… They could not pay very much for our labor, in fact, they didn’t pay as much as they would have paid regular pickers. However, they sent us bushels of apples at the holidays so that we could bob for apples and even have caramel apples, the great gooey gift of the mess hall cooks for the kids at Thanksgiving. I have read of Japanese people from Topaz being mistreated by hooligans in Provo, where many, including us, went to pick fruit. But we had only good experiences in our leaves from camp to work on the farms.” (From Chapter 7 of Jon’s memoir)

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 Wizard of Provo” is excerpted with edits from Chapter 19 (“The Wizard of Oz”) of Jon Yatabe’s memoir, Letter to my Grandchildren. Copyright 2019, Jon Yatabe.