by Kirby Larson
I asked Mr. Matsui about the painting of Mt. Rainier. It turns out that he painted it. He’s an artist! But, because they’re old and couldn’t carry much, he didn’t bring any of his supplies with him to camp. When he told me that, his wife got such a sad look on her face.
I got out my camera and asked if I could take a picture of him with his Mt. Rainier. He’s so short, I had to kind of angle the camera up to get both him and the painting in the frame. But I like the way the angle made the mountain look even taller, as tall as it is in real life. Then I said I wanted to take a picture of the two of them. He helped Mrs. Matsui over to their one rickety chair because she didn’t want to be photographed in bed. I promised I’d bring them the picture the next time I came.
On the way home in the Blue Box, Pop turned on the radio and we heard a report that one of our aircraft carriers was lost at Midway. Pop’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel and I held my breath while we listened to the rest of the report. I burst into tears when the announcer said it was the Lexington. Not the Enterprise! Not Hank’s ship! Pop pulled over and we said a prayer of thanks right there. Of course, we prayed for all the men on the Lexington, too, and their families.
I added a silent prayer of my own: Let us hear from Hank. And soon. This not-knowing is like walking around with a rock in your shoe. Every step hurts. At least with a rock, you can stop and shake it out. There’s not one thing I can do about how often we hear from Hank.
Thursday, June 18, 1942
DeeDee —
I try to write Betty every morning. She says that going to the post office for mail is the best part of her day, whether there’s mail there or not! She says it’s kind of like lunchtime at school—you find your friends and chitchat about what’s happened since you saw each other last. “The biggest news here is that there’s going to be a wedding in camp. The first,” she wrote. “We don’t even know the couple but we’re going. It’ll be something different to do. Mom’s sewing the girl an apron and Jim is making them a bookcase. Mikey and Tommy say they’re helping but Jim says he could do without their help.”
I wrote back and said if she was looking for something to do, she could write to Hank. He loves getting letters; I even have Trixie writing to him now. I put in Hank’s address, just in case.
Monday, June 22, 1942
DeeDee —
Hallelujah: a letter from Hank!!!! It was written after the Battle of Midway, on June 8th. I couldn’t believe it took so long to get to us but Pop said it’s a miracle that in a time of war we’re getting any letters at all.
Hank said he out-prayed the chaplain when the fighter planes cleared the Enterprise deck because it looked like they might not get off in time. “I know I said I had nine lives, like Admiral,” he wrote, “but I was sure glad not to use one up today.”
The censors had blacked something out which none of us could read. At the end, he said he was tired and going to hit the sack. After his signature, he wrote, “sism uoy, ripep.” I miss him, too.
Pop and I each read it again. It wasn’t much of a letter, even by Hank’s standards. Not even a paragraph. But that doesn’t matter. His sloppy, hunched-over handwriting was more beautiful to me than the finest example of the Palmer method that our Penmanship teachers drilled us on. I don’t care how short or sloppy his letters are.
As long as they keep coming.
Tuesday, June 30, 1942
DeeDee —
John writes that he’s getting better every day and hopes to start taking some college classes in the fall. He said he was sorry to hear about all the troubles for the Japanese on the coast and to please tell the folks from our church that he’s thinking of them, especially Mrs. Harada.
Wednesday, July 1, 1942
DeeDee —
Pop says rumors are for ignoring but Betty’s latest letter sounded pretty certain. The assembly centers in California were already sending people to permanent camps. “We hear that the first group from Camp Harmony will be heading to Idaho pretty soon. I can’t wait to get out of here. Maybe the sooner we get into those other camps, the sooner we can come home. It’s funny, though. Mom feels the opposite. She said, ‘Sumeba miyako’—if we stay someplace long enough, it starts to feel like home. But how can hot, rickety wooden barracks ever feel like home?”
Saturday, July 4, 1942
DeeDee —
Bud’s family invited me for a Fourth of July picnic at Green Lake. I nearly fell over when Pop said I could go.
Mrs. Greene is very nice. And so stylish in her trousers and blouse. She looks like Katharine Hepburn. Mr. Greene has this funny, loud laugh. And he laughs a lot. After a picnic of bologna sandwiches and potato chips, he gave us some money to walk to the concession stand for ice cream. As soon as we were out of sight of his parents, Bud took my hand.
“It’s going to be hard to take pictures this way,” I teased.
“I’ll let you go when you find something worth shooting,” he told me. It does make you think twice about whether a picture’s worth taking when your hand is all warm and safe in someone else’s. But I did get a great shot of ten turtles sunning themselves on a log at the lake’s edge, and a little girl walking an enormous Saint Bernard, and what I think will be my favorite: an old couple sitting on a bench sharing a bag of peanuts with the squirrels.
This was the nicest day I can remember in a long, long time.
Sunday, July 5, 1942
DeeDee —
Mr. R. L. Nicholson, who’s the director of the Federal Works Agency for the western states, was quoted in the Times today. “It is mere conjecture, of course, but I would say 90–95 percent of the internees are quite content to remain in custody.”
I don’t exactly know what conjecture means and I don’t feel like looking it up. I am on summer vacation, after all. I’ve been to Camp Harmony — twice now—and I would say that nobody there was content with being behind those barbed wire fences.
Friday, July 10, 1942
DeeDee —
A short letter from Hank. He said he’d realized he’d never answered my question from a few letters back, the question about the difference between him being sent away because of the war and the Japanese being sent away because of the war.
Sis, that’s a big question you’re asking and the kind of thing people have to work out for themselves. (Boy, I sound like the old man there, don’t I?) For what it’s worth, the way I see it is that I volunteered for the Navy, knowing there was a possibility I’d be sent into action in case of war. The people who are being sent away now didn’t volunteer to go, that’s for sure. You bet we all have to sacrifice during wartime. But people in the camps are giving up more than sugar or gasoline or new tires. Gosh, I’ve turned this into a sermon, haven’t I? Guess I really do take after Pop. Don’t take any wooden nickels. — Hank.
I like the way Hank explains things. It makes sense to me.
I wish it made sense to all those other people who think the camps are a good idea.
Sunday, July 12, 1942
DeeDee —
Betty is spitting mad at Jim. “All he has to do is fill out some paperwork and he can get permission to leave the camp to go away to college. Just think — no more lines at the bathroom, no more mess hall food, no more wasting time going to the pretend school they’ve set up here in camp. And who knows what it will be like in Idaho? But he won’t do it! He says with Dad gone, he’s the man of the family. He can’t leave us. Mom and I can handle things. He is making a huge mistake. Missing a big chance.” There were indentations in the paper, she’d been writing so hard. “Can you please ask your father to talk to him next time he comes down? Maybe he will listen to him.”
I showed the letter to Pop and he said he would talk to Jim but he wasn’t sure it would do any good.
Tuesday, July 14, 1942
DeeDee —
It’s Margie’s 21st birthday today! I baked her a sheet cake, which was only a little lumpy. And John even called long-distance from Minn
esota to sing to her. She looked pleased with her gifts — a bottle of Joy perfume from me and a new wrench for her work toolbox from Pop — but had to hurry off for her shift at Boeing. She was smiling, though, so I think we cheered her up a little bit, even though I know she’s missing Stan something awful. His unit was sent to England right after basic training; we know that much but nothing about what he’s doing there. The last she heard from him he had a rotten cold because June in England is like November in Seattle. Margie sent him three pairs of wool socks after he wrote her that his biggest problem isn’t the Nazis but keeping his feet dry.
When she blew out her candles, I made a wish, too: that Stan would be home to celebrate her next birthday.
Hank, too.
Friday, July 17, 1942
DeeDee —
Pop went to Camp Harmony today to talk to Jim about signing up for college so he could leave the camp.
Pop was right. It didn’t do any good.
Sunday, July 19, 1942
DeeDee —
I spent the night last night with Trixie and went to church with her family this morning. I’m glad we’re not Lutheran — there was a lot of standing up and sitting down.
In the afternoon, we went roller-skating with Bud and Eddy. I was sure Pop would say no, but he’s been so distracted lately that I didn’t even have to beg.
After skating, we went to Woolworth’s and had sodas. Bud and I shared a strawberry one — with two straws. It wasn’t as romantic as they make it look in the movies but it was still fun. The best part was the strawberry kiss good-bye!
Monday, July 20, 1942
DeeDee —
Pop’s all in a dither because he has to take a trip on church business to California, to visit the Pinedale Assembly Center near Fresno and the WRA camp at Tule Lake. He’s not in a dither about the trip, of course. He wants to go because he feels it will “light a fire” under the denomination headquarters about doing more for the Japanese. Since he doesn’t have a church of his own anymore, this has become his job.
What has him worried is what to do with me. I have told him a million times I’ll be fine. Margie works nights, which is when I’m sleeping. Miss McCullough lives two blocks over and I can always call Trixie’s mom in a pinch.
Margie finally convinced him that everything would be jake for us girls on our own.
I wrote Betty all about it that night. “I don’t think Pop is ever going to stop treating me like a child.” Without thinking, I wrote, “Does your dad treat you like that, too?” That was a crummy thing to put in, with Betty’s dad in the prison camp so far away. So I scratched that out and ended with, “Speaking of kids, I have a new joke for Mikey and Tommy. What did the dog say when he rubbed his tail on sandpaper? Ruff. Ruff.”
I signed off as I always did: LLL — Longer Letter Later.
Thursday, July 23, 1942
DeeDee —
Margie was still at work, so I got up and fixed Pop a good breakfast before he hit the road. The toast wasn’t burned and the eggs were over easy, just the way he likes them. I followed Margie’s instructions for making coffee. I tried it and it tasted disgusting to me but Pop had two cups so I did all right. I wrapped up some sandwiches in waxed paper and poured the rest of the coffee into his thermos.
The house was so quiet after he left. And it seemed too big, too. Instead of feeling grown-up, I felt like a little kid again. Like a four-year-old who needed to be rocked to sleep. It didn’t help when Margie got home. She ate a couple of eggs and some toast, took a hot bath, and went to bed.
I read my new library book on photography, baked a batch of oatmeal cookies, and wrote letters to John, Stan, and Hank. I added a P.S. to Hank’s: “hisw uoy eerw eerh.”
Being on your own isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Sunday, July 26, 1942
DeeDee —
Bud can’t come over while Pop’s gone, but he’s called every day. He asked if I could go on a bike ride with him, Eddy, and Trixie, but Margie said no. Trixie went, which would have been something to see. She hardly ever does anything that requires muscles!
Monday, August 10, 1942
DeeDee —
Pastor Thomson stopped by to see how we were doing. His wife sent along a casserole and a blueberry cobbler for us. Quite an improvement over Margie’s cooking.
Pastor Thomson says the rumors are true. Most of the people in Camp Harmony are going to a War Relocation Camp in Idaho, called Minidoka. A group of men left today to get it ready for everyone.
He didn’t know if Jim was in the group. And he didn’t know when people were going to start leaving.
Maybe the war will end and nobody else will have to go to Minidoka.
Wednesday, August 12, 1942
DeeDee —
Another letter from Betty. “Well, the last of the camp movie projectors is now broken beyond repair. No more movie nights. The movie selection wasn’t that great, but it was still better than nothing. Even a bad movie helps me forget about this place, if only for an hour or so.”
Saturday, August 15, 1942
DeeDee —
Margie gave the okay for me to go with Trixie and the gang to Lake Washington to swim. We met up at Collins Playfield and walked together from there to Mount Baker Beach. It was a hot day and the water felt cool. Bud found a beach ball that someone left behind and we played a game of water volleyball, boys against girls. Once when I was going up for a smash, Bud snuck around and dunked me, making me miss my shot. I said that was no fair and he said all was fair in love and war. Then I dunked him for saying that. On the way home, we walked the woods trail, picking blackberries and hazelnuts. The boys got into a berry fight but that stopped when Eddy got Trixie smack on the forehead. I took pictures of everybody on the swings at the playfield before we all headed home.
This is one of those days, though, that I won’t need a picture of to remember.
Sunday, August 16, 1942
DeeDee —
Pop’s home! I took a picture of him getting his briefcase out of the Blue Box. Then I gave him a big hug. I’d really missed him.
“Was it a good trip?” I asked. “Did they listen to you?”
He handed me his briefcase and reached into the backseat for his suitcase. “It was very worthwhile. I think progress is being made.”
Margie came out and grabbed his bag. “You look bushed, Pop. Come on in. Are you hungry?”
He said he’d eaten in Tacoma and was fine. He patted the Blue Box’s front fender. “Another thousand miles on this old crate. I sure hope the tires hold out.”
We went inside and he had a cup of coffee and we had tea. “So was it a worthwhile trip?” Margie asked.
Pop smiled tiredly. “Let’s say, they gave me tentative approval for a new plan I have.”
“And what’s that?” Margie asked.
“Too early to share.” Pop yawned big. “I have a few phone calls to make and then I’ve got to catch up on some shut-eye.”
He did look beat, but it would’ve been nice to hear a little more about his trip. Not the business part, but the travel part. I wanted to know if Mt. Shasta was as beautiful in person as it was in pictures, and to hear about the people he’d met along the way.
I know his work is important but sometimes I wish he could be Pop first and Pastor Davis second.
At least he made it home for my big day.
Monday, August 17, 1942
DeeDee —
Happy Birthday to me! Trixie gave me a teeny tiny camera charm to start my own charm bracelet, like the one she wears. Now I have to get the bracelet! Bud gave me a roll of film and two Sky Bars; Margie gave me a new twinset — green, to set off my brown eyes; and Betty sent me a birthday card she’d made. But Pop’s present was the best of all. He took Margie and me out to the Dog House for Crab Louies. He even let me order a Shirley Temple and the waiter brought it with fourteen cherries floating in the glass — one for each year.
Guess what I wished for whe
n I blew out the candle on my piece of chocolate cake!?
If I tell you, it might not come true.
Thursday, August 20, 1942
DeeDee —
It was a regular landslide of letters today. Besides the ones Pop’s always getting from people in Tule Lake or Pinedale or Camp Harmony, there were letters from Hank, Stan, and John. Margie wouldn’t let me read the one from Stan—it probably had lots of mushy stuff in it—but she said he’d won $10 in a poker game. He was going to send it to her but then he met a little English girl who didn’t have a coat, which she really needed because England is damp and cold, even in the summer. So he bought her one, and a hat, too. Telling that story got Margie all choked up.