Jo Takata: My name is Jo Takata, and I'm a Sansei, third generation. My parents were Bill and Nellie Takeda. My mom, Nellie, was born here in Alameda right on the 1200 block of Oak Street, and the house is still there. In 1900, in Alameda, there were a hundred Japanese immigrants living. And it was into that scene that my grandfather, Yoshio Itohara, came with his wife, Hama. They came from Hiroshima, from where many of the Alamedans came, and they came here probably looking for a job, and not to stay. They came to strike it rich, line their pockets with all that gold that was sitting on the streets and hanging from the trees, and returned to Japan to help their own families.

Papa worked for a time in a cleaners, and my grandmother worked as a domestic, cleaning homes, doing ironing. And Papa was well-known for making plum wine, which, of course, in those days, it was bootlegged. Papa also was pulled into the Alameda police station three times, my mother just told me, for selling firecrackers. He didn't speak English, but they called him George, and they treated him very well. My father, Nellie Takeda, who was an only child, and she was delivered by a midwife, Mrs. Kondo, who many early Alamedans would remember. Since she was an only child, she was very spoiled by her parents.

Daddy was one of eleven children and he came here to look for a brother that had left Japan. And in 1924, an exclusion act was ordered against any Japanese entering any part of the United States. And fortunately, my dad, who had come from Hiroshima, was fourteen years old, and he was on one of the last ships allowed in the Port of San Francisco. My mom and dad got married in 1941, and they were living in Alameda on the corner of Park Street. But shortly after my mom and dad got married, Pearl Harbor was bombed by Japan. The hysteria and the hatred and prejudice was whipped up by the newspapers, and, of course, fear of invasion by the country of Japan. And so they had to dispose of all of their belongings. Dad told me that he had just bought a piano, and he had to sell it for five dollars. And he told me that he put his sword down the well, and I always wonder if that sword is still there. Because my grandparents were still aliens, they were one of the first group of people who had to leave Alameda, they were sent to the assembly center at Tanforan.

The day they arrived at Tanforan, it was pouring rain. And nothing was ready, and they had to stomp through the mud and horse manure because Tanforan was just formerly a racetrack. They were assigned a horse stable in which they lived with Nana and Papa, who were my grandparents. They lived there for about three months, after which they had to board a train to Topaz, which was their permanent relocation center. Upon their arrival at Topaz, they were welcomed by the Boy Scouts, who played their trumpets and bugles and drums. She and Daddy and Nana and Papa were assigned to Block 13. Unfortunately, that was right adjacent to the camp hospital, because my mother had three children during her stay at Topaz, Judy, myself and my brother, Kent. Mom remembers that camp life was harsh, as you know, but the thing that she remembers mostly with the food in the mess hall, there was forty-two cents to forty-five cents allotted per person per day. One time they were served liver for two weeks straight, and they went on strike and would not eat anything until they stopped serving liver.

Daddy, and a lot of the young men, were allowed to leave the camp to do some farm work. They converted the deserts of Utah into beautiful farmland and they produced almost all of the fresh produce, the eggs and turkeys and hens that were needed to feed people who were interned. Daddy was also allowed to leave the camp under the escort of a guard in a chain gang, where they were taken about sixteen miles away where they had to break up rocks.

When the camp was disbanded, every family was given twenty-five dollars. They were also provided with transportation back to their destination. When the Japanese resettled in Alameda, many of them lived in the housing projects on the west end. Many of them lived in church halls with other friends or families. Mom and Dad, when they got back with three children in tow, had no place to live. And so at that time, they found a haven, our church, Buena Vista United Methodist church.

We lived under the sanctuary; Nana, Papa, three children, Mom and Dad, and in three more years, three more children living in one room. There was no bathroom, and we had to take our bath out of a tin pail. Daddy worked four jobs to support his huge family. But my parents, after living under the sanctuary for seven years, were able to buy the house down the street from the church. They couldn't buy it on their own because of the rules in Alameda selling to Japanese, but they were able to purchase that house through proxy. Another family bought it in their name and gave them a home later, and that's where we all grew up and my mom still lives.

One of the things that I'd really like to impress on people seeing this is the importance of helping each other in good times and in bad, and passing on the traditions of their parents and their grandparents. So often we lead today, especially, such busy lives, that we don't ask or don't want to tell our stories, but they're so precious. And that is what my passion is now, to listen and hear stories, pass them on to future generations. Thank you.