I was seven years old when my family was removed to Tanforan and put into a horse stall.
Before the War we had lived on Laguna between Sutter and Bush in San Francisco’s Japantown. I had two sisters who were much older than I was: Maggie, who was a junior at the University of California, Berkeley; and Rey, who was a junior in high school. I was only in the second grade at Raphael Weill. My dad, Hatsuki Nakahara, worked as a sales rep for a Japanese import/export company. My mom, Kita, worked as a domestic. We’d had a pretty comfortable life.
In Topaz, where we were transferred in the fall, my dad worked as a supervisor of a farm crew made up of other Topaz residents, who helped local farmers outside of the camp. My mom was a cook in the kitchen that was set up so the workers could eat lunch without having to return to camp to eat. My mom thought it would be nice for the workers to have some entertainment while they ate, so one time I remember going out to the farm to dance with some other girls who took odori lessons from Tachibana sensei in Topaz.
Tears well up as I read your story, Jun-san. I’ve just returned from Topaz, where I went with the Wakasa Memorial Committee to mark the one year since the local museum board dug up and dragged away the Memorial Stone our Issei ancestors had to hide. I, too, seek closure. I think our history being treated with dignity will help.
Thank you, Masako, for your kind words. I did not know there was a Topaz Stories group, but Yae Yedlosky and her family, the Kami’s and we were neighbors in Topaz; Yae told Ann Dion/Ruth Sasaki about my dad’s fish pond. And that’s this story got told.
I really would like to visit Salt Lake and the Topaz exhibit being shown in their State Capitol — but with Covid…….