INSIDE WW 2 MANZANAR, PART 4
The first morning at Manzanar I awoke with a start to the sharp clanging of bells which seemingly came directly from outside our window in the barracks building. The clanging was instantaneously taken up by other bells off in the distance. This was a new experience, with more to come.
Drowsily trying to orient myself to the strange surroundings, I looked around at the sleeping figures that filled the room. My parents and I had lined our cots on the west wall, and sleeping against the opposite wall were my nieces Alice and Helen and nephew Tom. The distance between the foot of the cots measured about six feet which gave us ample room to move around. The luggage and duffle bags were piled in disarray in the corner near the entrance like we had left them the night before.
The wind from the previous night had left a film of fine dust over everything. The dust apparently had been blown up through the cracks and the many knot holes in the floor. It even seemed to have penetrated thru the thin layer of tarpaper covering the outer walls of our barracks. The room and its contents resembled a flour mill I had visited back on the farm.
The fuel in the oil stove (the only permanent fixture) had burned itself out sometime during the night and the room was like a cold storage. I was thankful to a young man, Nob Hino, whom I got to know well, who had given an extra blanket to each of my parents and to other aged members of my family the preceding night. It certainly came in handy. We had also hung heavy bath towels on the windows in a futile attempt to ward off the cold and the dust, but to no avail.
Shivering with cold, I sat on the edge of the metal cot and surveyed the room which was to be our permanent residence for an unknown period of time. The canvas tick stuffed with straw for a mattress was a far cry from the warm comforts and conveniences that we had enjoyed only yesterday. The cruel transition of living habits and lifestyle from a civilized society to this degrading situation was hard to understand. As I looked around the bare room I could see why the room had lost its heat. The 2″ X 4” studs hurriedly and unevenly nailed together stared back at me unashamedly in their stark nudity. The widely spaced 1″ X 10”s with their countless knotholes and cloak of tarpaper were hardly adequate to keep the cold out,
Thru the open ceiling I could see the many 2″ X 4” cross beams stretching across the room. Exposed above the beams were the 1″ X 6”s running parallel the length of the roof and covered with heavy duty roofing paper. Our chandelier was a single 100-watt bulb screwed into a chain switch fixture, dangling forlornly and attached to some black and white wires which ran the length of the roof. Beads of tar hung from the ceiling like small tear drops between the loosely nailed boards. I remember chewing those as a kid because I couldn’t afford to buy gum, The door was built of flimsy 1″ X 4”s and in lieu of door knobs, every door in camp had an identical common latch (on display at Eastern California Museum),
The incessant clanging of the bells soon had the rest of the family stirring. My nieces and nephews upon arising rushed to the window, curious about the noise and eager to get their first view of Manzanar. The bell was a large brake drum hung from the corner of each mess hall and the noisy clanging was the daily call to chow. It was soon to become one of the many familiar sounds of Manzanar. Importantly, it heralded the start of each new day. The bells were also to be rung for emergencies such as an attack from the surrounding villagers, but in view of the increasing population of enemy aliens and the immediate threat that we posed, they must have retreated into the strongholds of Fort Independence.
The first morning to greet us was cold, clear and windless. After hurriedly dressing, I grabbed my towel and toiletries and headed for the latrine. I hadn’t really noticed the night before, but the building was divided into two rooms of which the smaller was the shower room with six shower heads and a small dressing area. The main room consisted of eight stools (no partitions) four on each side Of a 4 foot wall which housed the plumbing. Lacking in privacy, but a great place to sit and discuss the war. Along the wall near the entrance was the “community wash basin.” It was a long metal trough with four sets of hot and cold faucets with only two drains. Needless to say, it took a while to get accustomed to this whole new set up.
Amusingly, a large sign in both English and Japanese listed some of the don’ts were posted in each latrine. The one that got me was “DO NOT EXPECTORATE ON THE FLOOR”. Not knowing what it meant, I was very careful not to do anything on the floor. I think it was my sister Sadae, the college grad, who clued me in because we had another word for it. I wonder how many fellow inmates understood it.
After this initial experience, I joined the family for our first breakfast in camp. We laughingly discussed our morning’s impressions. In the following weeks we would dine together as a family unit and unlike some of the smaller families or couples, our family numbering 22 members gained the enviable reputation for closeness and being the happiest. I truly looked forward to this moment and this was one of the plusses of camp life for me.
Noticeably, as time went by, families dining together became fewer. The young took to eating separately with friends. To reprimand or discipline was difficult in the close confinement of apartments. To send a child off to bed without supper was impossible with so many mess halls available. Encountering the daily carefree atmosphere and the independency bred of irresponsibility the rift of the traditional close-knit families started to surface. The crumbling of family ties. Is this where it all started? Did this in any way influence some of the negative effects of the after-years? This was one of the many minuses.
On the flip side of the record, maturity born of independency has become evident since the 60s among the Nisies and Sanseis (second and third generation Japanese Americans) who have taken a major step forward in asserting themselves prominently in many business and political fields. The question remains: How much more would they have accomplished in the “four lost years?”
Hearing of our arrival, my nephew Carl, one of the early volunteer residents, dropped by to greet us and to give us a few tips. He managed to get us brooms, mops and hose sorely needed for cleaning. Scrap lumber was available in the blocks still under construction, but Carl warned us of the Patrol. He brought us some lids of cans to cover the knotholes in the floor and told us that Camp Director Ralph P. Merritt had requisitioned for Linoleum floor covering, but not to expect it too soon. Often written and talked about, lids of cans that used to cover the knotholes can be seen at the museum in Independence, California. These are still found in abundance at the former campsite.
Camp Manzanar facing and running parallel to U.S. Hiway 395, from the southern corner watchtower along the highway to the extreme north tower measured approximately one mile, From the front tower to the rear tower was also about the same distance. With watch towers at each corner and those in between, there was a total of eight towers in all.
The main entrance to camp was about a hundred yards from the south tower and to gain entry, a person would have to get screened and cleared by both the military and the internal security police. As you entered the gate, the office of Project Director Ralph P. Merritt and the main administration offices were located to the left. Block 1 which was also used for administrative purposes was directly opposite the offices. This was our civic center where decisions were reached, rules were made and laws were passed. This was the hub of our city government.
Behind the administration buildings was “Beverly Hills” where the director and his staff of caucasian employees resided. Spacious apartments laid out in a neat row standing out in its stark white beauty was quite a contrast to our black tar papered quarters across the way. Some of the cement walls stand today. Within its strong protective arms rubbish and brush huddle hight in the corners seemingly seeking protection against the strong desert wind.
As you drive past the guard houses and past the fence, turn left by the circular cement foundation. This is where the flag pole stood and Old Glory and the Golden Bear fluttered in the desert breeze for the duration. To the left of the circle was the director’s home, and remains of beautiful masonry work can be seen today.
It would be difficult to explain the layout of camp with its maize of 36 blocks and the many firebreaks interlacing the camp so Mr. Raub has consented to insert a map of Manzanar in this issue. I hope that this will simplify and clarify my moves as I journey thru the different areas of camp.
To the travelers of U.S. 395 it may only serve as an object of curiosity to those who catch a glimpse of the two stone buildings guarding the entrance to what was once Camp Manzanar. Although they are but shells of their former authority, even after these many years, the sight of it sends a chill down my spine, as they must do to others. These two rock houses, well-preserved over the 32 years, still stand as a mocking reminder to an injustice of so many years ago. These sturdy structures which can be seen while traveling on 395 serve only as a visible reminder to those who know.
Shiro Nomura, Museums Department Historian for Manzanar
(Editing note: The following is not part of Shi’s article. It is an excerpt following the January article from the Bulletin)
NOMURA’S MANZANAR SAGA EVOKES WARM PLAUDITS
Newsy Ridgecrest Daily Independent published Shi Nomura’s Manzanar article for November Inyo Museums News Bulletin along with choice photos taken by their photographer Wilson. The almost full-page feature appeared December 6th, 1974. Countless enthusiastic and favorable comments came to the attention of the Inyo Museums Bulletin staff by letter and word-of-mouth regarding Nomura’s candid reporting of the manzanar seen during WWII. A large number of subscriptions to the Bulletin are by persons interested in the Manzanar incident. The first four chapters of Nomura’s chronicle point to considerable merit in use of his story as a basis for a television or movie documentary. In fact, the Museum’s Department plan is to issue his complete cereal as a book when it concludes.