The California Immigrant

by Barbara Anne King

  “The world is going crazy.”

  “And do you know what else they are doing? They’re putting barbed wire along the coast and in the mountains to keep Japs from invading us.”

  “Do they really think that is going to stop an army? The Japanese will figure out a way around it.”

  “Well, Giovanni just wants to be able to feed his family. You know what he asked me? If I could fish for him and he would pay me.”

  “You…fish again? What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I pulled up my anchor and hung up my net years ago. There’s no way I can go back to it at my age. It requires too much physical strength and stamina.”

  “Of course you’re right about that. But an idea just occurred to me. Marty always liked fishing and from what I’ve seen, he has it in his blood. Maybe you could take him out and show him the ropes, then he could take it from there.”

  “I don’t know. If it doesn’t work out I would have gotten Giovanni’s hopes up.”

  “I think it would work out, otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it. Besides you would be teaching Marty a skill that he could always depend on. The way the world is going everyone needs a specialized skill to get by.”

  “Well, I’m going to have to think about it and talk with Anna. I don’t do anything without her permission.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll ask Marty about it, but my guess is he will be full steam ahead. Spending a day in an orchard is just not for him.”

  Before the month was over, Karlo and Marty were aboard Giovanni’s boat, Ave Maria, with a couple of experienced crew who knew the waters the fish schools favor. Their first week, they pulled in quite a haul and even caught a net full of sardines that were running. Giovanni was pleased with their catch and made arrangements for it to be sold. Of course, Karlo always held back a few for himself which he took by the restaurant for Martin to cook. “On Friday night, I plan to have enough for the whole family to feast on. Be prepared.” Martin smiled. He was glad his suggestion was turning out so well. “Your son Marty is a natural fisherman. Soon he’ll be able to run the operation all by himself.”

  As soon as one issue was solved, another reared its ugly head. On February 19, 1942, President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, giving the military commander the power to move all Japanese away from the coast. However, the commander first gave the Japanese an opportunity to do so voluntarily, which was difficult since their bank accounts had been frozen.

  When the Watsonville Japantown learned about this option, they met and decided to investigate an apple orchard they heard was for sale in Idaho with the idea that it could sustain them until the war was over. The orchard consisted of several hundred acres and included numerous buildings, a few houses and farm equipment. Ken was among those chosen to scout out the opportunity. While the advance team was away, other members prepared for the move by building wagons and trailers to carry their belongings on the long trek inland.

  When Ken returned, he came into the restaurant to talk to Martin, wearing a hangdog look on his face. “The soil was rocky and the trees small. Nothing compared to what the farmers have here.”

  “So, where does that leave you?”

  “We are going to just wait and take our chances. But we have wagons and trailers ready to go in case we need to move quickly.”

  In early April, when Marty returned from fishing in Santa Cruz, he went directly to his father’s restaurant to report the news. “A military regiment has been stationed in Santa Cruz near the lighthouse to protect us from invasion. And it’s an all-black unit.”

  That caught Martin’s attention. Later he would learn it was the 54th Coastal Unit that the army had outfitted with World War I uniforms, the only uniforms they could spare for stateside duty. Their work uniforms were made of blue denim so when they wore them with their hobnail shoes, they looked liked prisoners to the townsfolk.

  “How are people taking to the military being stationed there?” He assumed they would not like having a large number of black men in town that had only been accustomed to a few—not enough to pose a problem. He remembered the riot in town in the 30s over Filipino men dating white women. The women are always a concern to their men.

  “Giovanni told me people are up in arms. They’re not used to blacks so they’re afraid of them. There are a lot of complaints about the army’s decision to station them there. Citizens are trying to keep them out of restaurants and other public places.”

  “Well, they should just be glad they have protection. If the Japs should invade, those GIs will be worth their weight in gold.” But Martin knew prejudice would not be so easily assuaged.

  “A military chaplain pretty much told them the same thing and threatened to remove them if they didn’t change their ways. Then they saw the light.”

  “Let’s hope that will be the end of it. The last thing we need around here is the Ku Klux Klan making a nightly raid.”

  “The KKK. I thought they were only in the south.”

  “In the 20s, a group of masked men made a raid on a bootlegger down in Inglewood. A few years later, the Klan was banned from the state. But sympathies don’t die easily.”

  Chapter 45

  On April 27, Martin was walking along Main Street toward his restaurant after picking up some produce at his grocery store. It was a sunny day with a few clouds in the sky, the fog having lifted. He was enjoying the fresh spring air when he was passed by a green army bus headed south and thought it might be going over to Fort Ord. But even at a distance he could see that it was turning into Japantown. Martin hurried along taking quicker, longer steps so he could find out what was going on. When he got to the restaurant, he dropped off the groceries and told Liu, “I’ll be back soon. Start lunch without me.” In a flash, he was back out the door and almost as quickly had arrived at the entrance to Japantown. He could see luggage and boxes tied with string piled on the sidewalk while an army officer escorted people, even young children, onto the bus. Martin saw Ken helping people with their possessions as he held back tears. After the bus was loaded, Martin made his way to where Ken was standing. “What’s happening here?” he asked.

  “Oh, Martin, the time has come for us to leave…to relocate. This is the first group to go but within the week all of us will be taken away. We’ll be staying at the Salinas Fairgrounds until they can transfer us to an internment camp.”

  Martin found it hard to absorb what Ken was saying. It just seemed too incredible to him that citizens in the world’s greatest democracy would be forced to leave their homes and held in a prison camp for however long it took for the war to end. There was no use fighting it. Now was the time to be practical. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Well, we are all worried about our businesses. Some people have found white friends to take them over while they are gone. Would you be able to manage my strawberry farm while I’m away?”

  “I’d like to help you but I would need my sons to support me.” He also needed to consider the impact his help would have on his own family’s livelihood. I’m in business and, for business to succeed, it depends on the goodwill of the customers. My efforts to help Ken’s farm survive could backfire. Then again, could I live with myself if I don’t come to his aid? “When do you have to know?”

  “The sooner the better. I would have to have time to show them the operation. But if they have a feel for plants, it shouldn’t take long to teach them.”

  That evening Martin called Frankie and Tom Paul to join him in his den. He wanted to ask them about managing Ken’s strawberry farm while he was away. He didn’t include Marty since he was already fishing to help out Karlo’s friend. Frankie and Tom Paul followed Martin into the room and took a seat, but not before giving each other concerned looks. Martin caught their body language and said, “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. But I do want to ask you a favor.”

  “Favor,” said Frankie. “What kind of favor?”

  “Well, I’m sure you both are aware
that the Japanese community is being relocated away from the coast. In fact, the first group left today.”

  Tom Paul’s eyes opened wide not quite understanding the implications. “Where are they taking them?”

  “For now to the Salinas fairgrounds. Then who knows? Some internment camp that the government is building.”

  “You said you want a favor from us? What do you need?”

  “My friend, Ken Nakamura, has a strawberry farm which will disappear and be worth nothing if it is not worked while he is gone. The plants cannot survive without care. So he needs someone who will manage the farm for him in his absence. Would either of you, or even both of you, be interested in helping him out?”

  The two boys glanced at each other again as they considered Martin’s request. “Of course, I don’t have any experience with strawberries but I’ve found I’ve got a knack for farming. I’d be willing to give it a try,” said Frankie.

  “It has to be more than a try,” said Martin. “You would have to make a commitment until Ken returns, which no one knows how long that would be.”

  “I would need to know more before I make that type of commitment.”

  “And how about you, Tom Paul?”

  “I don’t know. Frankie is probably your man.”

  “Ken wants to show you his operation so you know how to run it. I’d like both of you to come out to his farm with me tomorrow so you can make a decision. This is a way to help our neighbors and to show our solidarity with them.”

  Early the next morning, Martin and his sons drove out to Ken’s farm near San Juan Road. A chilly fog surrounded them as they made their way to the farm office where they found Ken drinking tea. “Good morning,” he said. “Your visit is a most welcome surprise, and I hope also an auspicious one.”

  “Ken, these are my sons Frankie and Tom Paul. They have come to talk to you about the management of your strawberry farm. Keep in mind, they know apple farming but nothing about the fruit you grow.”

  “Thank you for honoring me with your presence,” Ken said with a bow. “Can I offer you a cup of tea? It is green tea with jasmine—a most pleasant way to start the day.”

  “Perhaps, we can talk over a cup of tea before we take a tour of your farm,” Martin said.

  Ken put three cups on the table and filled them with tea. Then he motioned the trio to sit down as he joined them. “I don’t have a big farm—just enough to provide a living for my family with a little left over to save for a rainy day. So, the farm should not be overwhelming for you to manage. As well, the plants are perennial, meaning they return every year. But the one thing they don’t like is a drought. It’s important to check the Farmers’ Almanac so you know what to expect. So, that is my introduction. Now let’s go out and take a look at the strawberry plants up close.”

  Ken led the way to his pickup truck. “I apologize but I must ask you two boys to ride in the cargo bay.” Martin hopped into the cab up front to sit alongside Ken. Once they got out to the main growing area, Ken stopped the truck and got out, motioning to the boys to climb out of the back.

  “Well, this is it,” Ken said. “My pride and joy.” As far as the eye could see, green strawberry plants spread before them with irrigation rows dividing the sections. “I have some very dependable field workers who do most of the caring for the plants and also help with the harvest.”

  “This is certainly different from apple farming,” Frankie said.

  “Yes, but it is not necessary to climb great heights to reach the fruit. Although, squatting is imperative. Of course, Japanese are used to squatting.” He let out a little laugh. But the joke was somewhat lost on Martin and the boys.

  Frankie felt the sun shining down on him and when he looked up into the sky, he saw birds, most likely seagulls, flying overhead. “I like the openness of the field and the exposure to the elements,” he said. “This is a much different environment than an apple orchard, which I also love.”

  Ken smiled. “I can tell you have a feel for the land.”

  “We named him after St. Francis of Assisi who had a love of nature and all living things, probably even strawberry plants,” Martin said.

  “Is that so?” Ken said. “Then you have the help of a holy man, which is so powerful. And what about you, Tom Paul, do strawberries interest you?”

  “I’m not a natural farmer like my brother. Frankie is your best bet.”

  “Then Frankie, let’s talk some more and I’ll introduce you to my foreman who can give you the low down.”

  “I’d like that. It would be an honor to take care of your farm. Your trust in me will be rewarded.”

  Ken had not found a caretaker soon enough. Before the week was over, the rest of the Japanese community had been taken away. It depressed Martin to think about what had happened to his friend as well as all the other Japanese. But it was Ken who put a face on the situation. He had a family—a wife and several children. They all had to leave the home they had known to go to some Godforsaken place where they would be held captive until the war was over.

  Martin had an overwhelming urge to visit Japantown one more time. As he entered through the gate, he was struck by the stillness of the place. Only a few weeks ago when he came to deliver holiday baskets, there had been a flurry of activity, the sound of voices, children laughing, women bustling about in their kimonos, a town full of life. Now, the abandoned area was a ghost town. Buildings stood empty and belongings left behind lay scattered about. A doll dressed in a kimono lying face down caught his attention. He bent down to pick it up and that’s when he saw its cracked face, which must have been crushed in the stampede to leave. He found it hard to believe this had once been thriving community. It couldn’t have been more lifeless if a bomb had hit it. A bomb doesn’t even have to be used to destroy life.

  Yet the cherry trees had blossomed in Japantown and throughout the town of Watsonville, as if to remind everyone of the positive contributions the Japanese had made during their time here. It was almost as if the Japanese had already known their fate when they donated thousands of cherry trees more than a decade ago, those blossoming trees now a sign that spring will come out of darkness. As Martin left, he reverently set the doll down at the base of one of the trees.

  Chapter 46

  With the Japanese gone, farmers all across the state faced a labor shortage. They had depended on the Japanese to tend the fields and harvest the crops. On August 4, the US and Mexico came to an agreement and the Bracero program was born. Mexico would send single men to the US to do the farm work in exchange for room, board, and a fair wage, which they would bring back across the border to their families.

  Most of the men assigned to the Pajaro Valley came from the state of Michoacan, also an agricultural area which grew a variety of produce, including strawberries. So, while the workers offered their braceros (arms) in exchange for dollars, they also brought with them a knowledge of specific plants.

  The first group to arrive worked in the sugar beet fields. But soon the braceros were needed to harvest apples and strawberries. They had the right touch with apples so they did not get bruised and also knew the right way to pick strawberries to get the most yield from a plant.

  Some of the townspeople had noticed the buses bringing Mexicans in to work. Others saw them from a distance working the fields, but their brown bodies were not distinguishable for the Japanese. However, if they had looked closely they would have noticed the men had traded cooley hats for sombreros to keep them shaded from the sun.

  For the most part, the braceros kept to themselves, although a few could occasionally be spotted on Main Street. However, when Sunday came around, pick-up trucks brought them from the farms to church, packed body to body in cargo bays. News quickly spread around town that the Mexicans had invaded.

  Frankie didn’t care what people thought because he immediately realized the braceros value, especially since they could teach him a thing or two. But language was holding him back from learning as much as he could. Sig
n language helped but he realized he was going to have to learn Spanish if he wanted to be a truly effective manager and live up to the trust Ken had placed in him.

  Frankie watched closely as well as listened. More than words, he picked up traits and talents in the men. One man, Hector Lopez, began to emerge as a leader. The other men respected him for his knowledge and hard work and willingness to teach them how to do the job better. A thought occurred to Frankie, I’m going to have to keep an eye on this guy. He could be worth his weight in gold.

  That night when Martin got home, he arranged to speak to him about the farm operation. “I’ve noticed one guy who might make a good foreman. What do you think about the idea?”

  “It’s always good to have someone who can take over in case something happens. And you especially need someone to bridge the gap between you and the Mexican workers. Does he speak any English?”

  “Enough for us to understand each other. And I’m also picking up some Spanish words.”

  “Then he sounds like the guy you should try to develop into your right-hand man.”

  “La mano derecha.”

  “You got it. I’m just glad I didn’t have to learn Chinese to deal with my crew. But they know to make it in this country you have to speak English.”

  “The Mexicans don’t need to learn the language since they’re not living here permanently. That’s the difference.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t decide to stay. It would just be one more problem.”

  Chapter 47

  In early 1943, Martin got a call from the mayor to attend a meeting at his office the following week. He refused to tip his hand, so Martin had no idea what the meeting was about, only that it was important and had to do with the war effort. What in the world could he want with me? At least he scheduled it between mealtimes.