The California Immigrant

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by Barbara Anne King


  Monday was usually a slow day at the restaurant. But today it was packed to near overflowing with Croatians prepared to discuss world politics. Karlo had contacted the Croatian Fraternal Union in San Francisco to learn about the situation and asked that he be kept apprised. He came prepared today to stir the pot. “Those Nazis bombed Belgrade. Our motherland along with all our relatives, even beloved mothers and fathers, may perish from this earth. Though a lot of us are blond-haired and blue-eyed, they see Slavs when they look at us, and they don’t want to have to look at us twice.”

  The crowd turned to Martin to look for his response. “We have to become politically active, organize, and pressure our representatives to help Croatia. There’s not a lot more that we can do from this distance.”

  A young Croatian in the crowd yelled, “We could send our own army to fight.”

  That comment fell on deaf ears. Martin spoke up again. “While we organize here, we can wait for our brethren over there to act and then follow their lead.”

  It didn’t take long for Croatians to mount a resistance called The Partisans or the National Liberation Army founded on June 22, 1941, now remembered as Anti-Fascist Struggle Day. The group led by Joseph Broz Tito had two advantages: It was founded on ideology not ethnicity, so it could attract recruits throughout the region. Besides Croatians, units were comprised of Serbs, Slovenes, Italians, Hungarians, Czechs, Jews, Montenegrins, Muslims, and even ethnic Germans living outside Germany. And second, it also had in its ranks Spanish War veterans who had fought a similar war to the one the Croatians now found themselves in. They had the support of the Soviet Union which had instructed them in guerilla warfare and proved to be highly effective over the course of the war due to the rugged terrain that provided good cover. During World War II, they became known as Europe’s most effective resistance force.

  Through the Croatian Fraternal Union, Watsonville’s Croatian community learned about the resistance efforts of the Partisans. They had made several attacks since forming. Meantime, the town’s apple farmers were doing their part shipping apples overseas, mostly to England, which was desperate for them. While US ships provided escort, German U-boats occasionally torpedoed the merchant ships, sending its cargo to the bottom of the sea.

  Chapter 42

  On Sunday morning, December 7, 1941, Martin and his family were having breakfast before they departed for Mass. Little did they know that at 9:53 a.m. Pacific time the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. They went onto Mass as if it were an ordinary Sunday, but later they would realize this Sunday had been like no other in their lives or the history of the world.

  When the distribution of communion was over, Monsignor sat in his chair to meditate, as usual. What was not usual was that an altar boy delivered a note to the priest. Those congregants deep in prayer or just not paying attention missed Monsignor’s face go white while his lips murmured, “God have mercy.” Then he sat back in his chair stunned, trying to recover his presence.

  During the Concluding Rite, when announcements were often given, Monsignor as shepherd, stood at the podium to inform his flock. “I have just received terrible news of the war. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii this morning. There was loss of life and the Pacific Fleet has been crippled.”

  An uncontrollable outburst of emotion followed as families tried to console each other. The Monsignor quickly turned to prayer, commanding the congregation to join in. This helped focus everyone, stemming the pandemonium that could have occurred. There were a few exchanges of concern between family members and friends before everyone departed to gather around their radios for more details of the sneak attack. With so many Japanese living in town, feelings were mixed about their neighbors. Many people had shared classrooms with Japanese children their age and that experience had led to friendship. Others knew Japanese farmers whom they worked alongside. But others viewed Japanese suspiciously and now they had lived up to their moniker—the Yellow Peril.

  The next day when Martin entered the restaurant, he was greeted by Liu and Chao who were wearing labels that read, I am Chinese. Before Martin could ask the question, Liu volunteered, “We know people think all Asians look alike, so we are making sure they don’t confuse us with the Japanese.”

  Chao added, “Our relatives in San Francisco called last night to tell us what they were doing and suggested we follow along for our own protection.”

  “That’s good thinking. Is Hong wearing one, too?” Martin thought it might be better for business if he did.

  Calling December 7, 1941, a date that would live in infamy, President Roosevelt declared war on the Empire of Japan a day later. The Japanese community appeared to lie low for a few days. Then one of the leaders of Watsonville’s Japan Society came forward to issue a statement, pledging the Japanese community’s loyalty to America.

  The next day at the end of the lunch hour, Ken Nakamura appeared in the restaurant, a sheepish look on his face. “Martin, I just want to tell you personally how sorry I am that the Japanese bombed your country. We had no advance knowledge of their plans. My whole community joins in extending condolences and offers to help in any way. Please pass on this message to your family and friends.”

  Martin motioned for Ken to sit down and he pulled up a chair for himself. “Please don’t think we blame you. And this is your country, too, don’t forget. You have been a very important part of our community, and we could not get crops harvested without your labor. We will get through this war together and come out the better for it.” Although, Martin wondered if this crazy world would ever be the same.

  “Thank you for your kind words. I will share them with everyone at our Japan Society meeting tonight.”

  After Ken left, Martin sat in silence. The image of a thousand Japanese carrying lanterns as they marched in the Apple Annual Parade bubbled up in his memory. How could he ever forget that awesome sight? Later the Japanese entered beautiful patriotic floats in the fourth of July parades, artistically decorated with flowers. And when they learned they were not paying enough taxes for the schools their children attended, due to the Alien Land Law, they donated thousands of cherry trees to the town. They have bent over backwards to become part of our community. People have to be judged by their hearts and minds not by the color of their skin or their ethnicity. There are so many divisions in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia based on ethnicity alone, so he knew what that could do to a people and a country. But the Partisans had been clever and had used ideas not ethnicity as a way to coalesce. Ideas are so powerful. That would make them a potent force.

  Nevertheless, fear took hold as rumors spread that a Japanese carrier was lurking off the coast of San Francisco and a blackout ordered. Radar had also picked up enemy planes approaching from out at sea. And Japanese subs launched attacks on American ships up and down the California coast, targeting nine coast towns and lighthouses—among them Monterey Bay.

  Within a few days, Ken entered the restaurant looking anxious and upset. Martin had just finished cleaning up the kitchen, so he took off his apron and met Ken half way. “Is something wrong?”

  He noticed Ken was on the verge of tears. “Yesterday, the FBI came to Japantown.” FBI, Martin thought, this sounds like something out of a spy novel. “They arrested all the Issei (first generation) leadership and put them in jail.”

  At first, Martin was at a loss for words. Then he said, “I never thought anything like that would happen in this country. In Croatia, yes. But here, never.”

  “Well, it’s true. I just wanted you to know.” Their eyes met and held a moment in solidarity until Ken turned and went out the door.

  Chapter 43

  Since Christmas was coming, Martin thought it would be a kind gesture to prepare some holiday gift baskets for their Japanese neighbors to lift their spirits. He contacted his brothers-in-law who donated apples and offered to contact other farmers who might have excess produce. Martin talked to Hong at the grocery store and they brainstormed items to add to the baskets. “Brea
d is an absolute necessity.” Martin knew there must be close to a thousand people living in Japantown—over a hundred families. He knew it would be impossible to put together a hundred baskets. But he thought with a little sharing, something like the parable of the loaves and fish, a little could go a long way to not only fill stomachs but soothe souls.

  The Sunday before Christmas, Martin arranged for his helpers to be at the restaurant to accept donations and put together baskets. The work went quickly and there was more than enough to fill over twenty baskets. At the last minute, a truck arrived and brought in a crate. It was filled with sparkling apple cider—the perfect finishing touch. Once the bottles had been added to the bounty, everyone stood back and admired their festive creations.

  Martin knew from Ken that the Japan Society would be meeting later that afternoon for a holiday dinner. He wanted to deliver the baskets there so they would have them for their celebration, and whatever was left over could be taken home. Martin and his helpers loaded up the car trunks and drove to Japantown, which was only a few blocks away at the southern end of Main Street. Martin had driven by many times but had never been through the town and so was quite amazed by what he saw. He said to Liu who was driving with him, “Look at all the shops and services; they have even a church. They are completely self-sufficient.”

  “I think they got the idea from us. When they first came to Watsonville, they lived in Chinatown located across the river. Then when they began building their own town, they had a good model to follow.”

  Martin glanced at Liu and saw he had a smug look on his face. He knew Liu was not sorry about the fate that the Japanese had come to.

  “Ah, I see they have a grocery store. No wonder they don’t shop in mine very often.” Next they passed a newspaper office. “I’d like to know what they’re reporting about the war. I’m surprised it hasn’t been shut down yet.”

  Finally, Martin found the Japan Society location where Ken was waiting for him, dressed in a kimono. As soon as he pulled up to the curb, Ken called for help and they unloaded the trunks quickly. “We are so grateful for your gifts,” Ken said. “At what is a sad time for us, your thoughtfulness makes us feel embraced by your friendship. Whatever happens, we will never forget your kindness.” Martin shook his hand and said, “Merry Christmas.” As he walked to the car, he noticed Japanese families arriving for their celebration, all dressed in kimonos, even the little children. The women looked very elegant with their hair worn in a chignon style, accented with decorative sticks and flowers. When they took their tiny steps, the kimonos fluttered behind them. It’s all very exotic, Martin thought. I feel as if I’m in another world.

  When he slid into his seat, he glanced over at Liu who was staring out the window. Caught in the act, he turned to face straight ahead but he kept his thoughts to himself. Martin couldn’t help but wonder what they were. Was he just intrigued by them or did he have something sinister in mind? Everywhere it is the same. Instead of looking for the common thread, we look for differences and fight about them. Then he started the car and headed out of Japantown a different way so he could see more of it. Lots of trees had been planted, and he assumed they were cherries but it was winter so he could not be sure. And then he came upon a second church. He didn’t know much about Japanese beliefs, except for Buddha, but he assumed they must run deep to have built two churches. As they made their way back down Main Street, he wanted to say a prayer for all the people in Japantown. The prayer of St. Francis came to mind…Make me a channel of your peace…

  When Martin arrived home for Sunday dinner, he found his son-in-law, his three brothers-in-law, and Karlo gathered in the living room in the midst of an emotional discussion. When Martin walked in, an abrupt silence ensued. Then Karlo said to Filip, “Tell him what happened.” Martin looked around, taking in the expressions on everyone’s faces and drew a deep breath. He had no idea what to expect and wanted to prepare himself for the worst.

  “It was just learned that an American tanker was fired upon by a Japanese submarine just off Cypress Point in Monterey Bay. He avoided all eight shots by zigzagging, and the ship was protected by large ocean swells, which prevented the sub from moving in. It was a close call.”

  The news shocked Martin to his core. He remembered his honeymoon tour of 17-Mile Drive when they stopped at the Lone Cypress, a symbol of strength, endurance, and stability. It had held its ground for at least two hundred years, a silent witness to history. If it could only speak, what stories it might tell.

  Karlo, not one to ever lose the humor in a situation, said, “Golfers at Pebble Beach noticed the ship’s unusual movement but didn’t take their eyes off their balls long enough to realize it was under attack.”

  “I know about zigzagging,” Martin said. “We had to do it during World War I. I guess those golfers weren’t navy…probably army…they keep boots on the ground and eyes, too, from what you’re telling me.”

  “This war is too close to home,” Josip said. “And my fear is it is going to swallow us up.”

  “Dinner is served.” Lena’s voice was a welcome interruption. The men quickly moved into the dining room to share a holiday meal on the last Sunday of Advent.

  After grace, Lena said, “What were you men talking about that had you so engrossed in conversation?”

  No one rushed in to answer her. Then Karlo, the patriarch, stepped up. “We were discussing the war. You all might as well know there was a sub attack on one of our freighters yesterday near Cypress Point.”

  The women let out a collective, “Oh no,” as they looked around the table to take in the deeper meaning by body language.

  “Don’t worry,” said Henrik. “They missed. Must be bad shots.”

  His comments added some levity to the conversation. But Martin quickly turned it around again. “We have to be prepared to send sons to war. The draft will start soon, and all my boys will be eligible since they are all single and in their twenties. Remember, I was in my early thirties when I served in World War I and they had no problem taking me. Of course, I volunteered.”

  Tom Paul said, “I want to volunteer like you did, Papa.”

  “Me, too,” said Marty.

  “I didn’t have sons to send them off to die on a battlefield,” Lena said forcefully.

  “It’s best to wait to see what happens,” Martin said. “Then you will know what your options are.”

  “All this talk of war is scaring Petie. Me, too,” Clara said. “Can we change the subject? How did the basket delivery go?”

  Clara had restored a sense of calm to the gathering. Then Martin proceeded to tell everyone about his experience in Japantown. “I have a lot of respect for that community. They work hard and have built quite a town for themselves. Seeing the women dressed in their kimonos transported me to another world. They looked so elegant and exotic. But also humble and kind. Ken and his friends were very grateful for our gesture of friendship and support.”

  Intrigued, Clara asked, “What was the town like? I’ve never been there.”

  Then Martin went on to describe everything he saw while his audience hung on every word, anxious to learn as much as they could about the Japanese who had been living amongst them but had kept a low profile. The memory of the Japanese Tea House in San Francisco came to mind. It had been built by a Japanese man for the International Exposition to let people get a glimpse of his culture they rarely saw. Martin realized by the reaction of his relatives, the same thing had gone on here. The Japanese had lived lives hidden from the rest of us.

  A few days later, the family was gathered around the table again for Christmas Eve dinner, smiling, talking, sharing stories. Martin thought, the holidays always brighten our days and the traditions anchor us, even while the tides of change swirl around and try to take us under. No matter if it is Croatia under tyranny, earthquake ravaged San Francisco, or here in California where we wait in fear for war, the traditions of the holidays, along with the intimacy of family sharing them, bring comfort.
Martin dipped his spoon into the bakalar en brodo, held it to his lips while he savored the familiar smell, and smiled as he swallowed the dish he had made from an old recipe passed down through the generations.

  After dinner, the family gathered around the Christmas tree to open presents and sing carols ending with “Silent Night.” The night does become holy as we sing songs to remember the Lord’s birth heralding his sacrifice for us. Kisses and hugs ended the celebration as most of the party departed for home. Martin and Lena extended the celebration in the privacy of their bedroom. Even though they were both tired from the long day, they made time for each other and especially for love.

  Chapter 44

  Not long after New Year’s, Karlo stormed into the restaurant, looking for Martin. When he came out of the storeroom, Karlo said, “I just got a telephone call from one of my old fishing mates in Santa Cruz. He was all worked up about the latest decree.”

  “Slow down. I can barely understand you. Come, take a seat. I’ll have Chao bring us some tea.”

  “My friend is Italian. His name is Giovanni Fallaci. He said that after January twenty-fifth, the government will not allow anyone of Japanese, German, and even Italian descent west of highway one. Do you have any idea what that means for him and his family? He won’t be able to earn a living. His boat and the sea are west of the road.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. First, the FBI arrests first generation Japanese and imprisons them. Now this action against Germans and Italians.”

  “Many Italians are farmhands and they work the farms along the coast. That is going to hurt the growers and prices will go up hurting everyone.”

 

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