<Begin Segment 9>

MA: Do you know what year this was when you left?

CQ: This is '45, of course. And it was when the Indians were reclaiming their land. They were walking through Poston, and the tumbleweeds were there, and we were, everything was drying up, the little gardens that people had planted were all gone, and there was just sand all over the place again. And I, my dad said, "You know, they put us here, they're gonna have to find, they're gonna have to take us out, 'cause nobody wants us." And I again felt like, "Oh my god, nobody wants us." And so that was it. And then when my brother "Eb" came from the army, he was to go to the 442 to Italy, he was to go with the 442 to Italy to fight. And he had broken his foot in bivouacs, and well, his whole leg, I should say, his whole leg was broken. And so then he was, he did not get to go, he was in the hospital for a long time. And he was getting really good and he no longer needed any crutches or anything, and he got a week's leave of absence so take us out of camp, put us into there, and then he shipped over shortly after that with MacArthur's occupation forces in Hiroshima. So it was... it was August, September of '45. 'Cause I know it was three and a half years. 'Cause "Eb" was there, and he took all the pictures of the devastation of Hiroshima. It was just flattened completely except for some of the buildings that were partially there. And so he had all these glass negatives of that, so I know he must have been there in September, November. And so we were taken out, I know, right after the war. 'Cause we were writing letters to the Red Cross, my sister was writing letters to everybody trying to get us out of there, you know, she was in high school. So we finally got my brother who was in the army to come and get us out. I mean, she had finished high school, and then, so we went to this hostel. (Narr. note: My brother who was in the Army was Iwao Sugita and his nickname was "Eb" or "Ebo.")

MA: In Los Angeles.

CQ: In Los Angeles, and that's when my dad, after about three months, was offered this job to take care of three properties for this man for a chicken coop to live in. And so we were just so joyful. Somebody finally wanted us, and we could leave the hostel and start a life and go to school and become like Americans again. And I mean, the chicken coop was just like living in a part of a barrack like the hostel, anything else. It was just, you know, it was something, someplace to have.

MA: And was this in Los Angeles?

CQ: In Orange County. It was in, I think it was... what's the name of that place? It's not Tustin, it's not Santa Ana, it's... I can't remember the name of the place, but it's a small town in between all these other towns in Orange County. And it was there, and then my dad... and, of course, there was nothing left except the old shell of the Model A. No engine, no tires, nothing, just the shell. But my youngest brother, who was four years older than I, was just a mechanical genius. And he ordered all the parts from Sears-Roebuck with money that my oldest brother had sent my father every month from the army, and he got this Model A running. And at that time, Sears-Roebuck sold motors, everything.

MA: And this was your car you had before the war?

CQ: That was my oldest brother's car before the war. And the sedan, of course, was gone. Everything else was gone, everything was gone. Everything was gone. And Mr. Knott (of Knott's Berry Farm) had bought all the nursery stock and all the bonsai from my dad for two hundred dollars on this contract that he would sell it for two hundred dollars back to my dad when we came back. My dad thought we were going to be gone for a few months, and of course Mr. Knott thought we were going to be sent to Japan. And so when we did get back, he hemmed and hawed and said he planted them, he did this, he did that. And when my dad just said, "Well, where are they? If you planted them, where are they?" "Oh, they died." Then he said, "Well, you must have something left." And so then Walter said, "I'm sorry, Joe. I thought you were going to go to Japan, so I sold everything." So we never even got anything. And so that was a blow. So then with this Model A Ford, I think it was a '29, 1929, my dad and my youngest brother and my middle brother started this gardening business, 'cause they only had to take care of the properties. And then they met Mr. Dabney of Huntington Beach, and Mr. Dabney was really into bonsai and plants, exotic plants and things. And he said, "Joe, I'll give you our storage house, which has a bathroom at the end with a bathtub and toilet inside, to live in, if you'll come take care of my properties." So this was fantastic news for my dad. And so they, so we all moved to this storage house, which was like a long barrack. My dad's room, a little sitting room, the girl's room, the three girls, three of us girls, and then the living room, and then the kitchen, and then the washroom, and then the bathroom, oh, the boy's room, and then the bathroom. So to get to the bathroom, you had to go through all these rooms. But it was okay. It was a really great place, it was about the size of a barrack, and a little narrower, and it was just like living in a large barrack that was all your own, and not just a quarter of a barrack. And so we were very happy there. And then he encouraged my dad to start his bedding plants and things like that, 'cause he knew that my dad really wanted to start his nursery again. So my dad had all these bedding plants, and then he'd transfer them into gallon cans and things like that. And it was about six to eight years, and he opened his nursery in Long Beach again.

MA: So this was the beginning, the rebirth, I guess, of your father's business.

CQ: Yes, yes. And then, of course, he left a dozen of his best bonsai with Mervyn Carmen, a very good friend of his who was an architect in San Pedro. And when we came back, all the plants were there. Even the one that had died, he had kept it, kept watering it. And my dad was just so grateful because there were his prized bonsai, which would start his bonsai part of the nursery again. Because he called his nursery Evergreen Nursery, and so it was the Evergreen Nursery again on Seventh Street and Long Beach. And I think that was in '51, '52. I guess '51. '51 he started. No, '50, 1950. So it was from '45 to '50. So in five years, because of the help that we got from my brother in the army, and because of my sister, who was, middle sister, who wasn't married, of course, she got a job as a housemaid in Pasadena, and my dad was able to make it back and start functioning on his own. But to help out with the family and his bills, things, like that, doctor bills, he needed that extra money. And we never, we never had insurance or anything, but my dad always found whenever we needed a doctor, we just went to the doctor. Whenever we needed a dentist, we went to the dentist, no matter what. It was always, there was... and then I find out later that my middle brother, by then who had been drafted into the army, came, sent home money to pay my dental bills and my siblings' dental bills, because we just had a lot of dental bills. I don't even remember going to a dentist in camp, but I'm sure there were dentists.

MA: But it seems like your family really came together and contributed.

CQ: Oh, yeah. And because, because we were in the United States, I realized that -- and because my brother had joined the army, we were able to make it. Because a lot of families didn't make it. And we hear about all the successes, but we don't hear about all the failures. And we were able to make it because my dad and my mother had a large family, and even though my dad didn't want my brother to join the army because he said, "Why would you want to join the army when we're being kept prisoners here in camp?" And my brother said, "Because I have to prove myself." 'Cause the whole idea of everybody was proving to be 100 percent American and nothing else. And my dad sort of got this feeling, too, because he, as soon as 1952 came around and aliens could own land and aliens could become citizens, he bought his nursery and he became a citizen. And it was the happiest day of his life. And I remember my dad didn't smile for any photographs, never. 'Cause you know, the people from the old country, they never smiled. That was an idiot's profession, to smile for the camera. And, but on the day that he got his citizenship papers, we have photographs of him just smiling so broadly. It's just really wonderful. I mean, I even did a painting this last year for the American Friends Society, the Quaker group, when they had immigrant experiences, and they asked a lot of artists to submit paintings to be judged for the hanging, for the show. And I did when my dad became a citizen, and I used some old photographs, and I just did a very, sort of, abstract. But here he is just smiling, and it's all in red, white and blue. It's just nothing like my work at all. But to me, it was a great immigrant experience. So I did them all of my dad. I submitted three, 'cause that was what you could submit, and all three were accepted. They were, it was really joyous because I'd always wanted to do them, but I never thought of it until this opportunity arose, because I was always painting for another show.

MA: Yeah, and fitting that it was for the Quaker group.

CQ: Yes, yes. It was just, it's really great. My middle grandson became a Mormon when he got married, because his wife was a Mormon. So, I mean, you know, I know that there are a lot of goods and bads about all religions, but I'll never forget the Quakers and the Mormons.

<End Segment 9> - Copyright © 2009 Densho. All Rights Reserved.