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TI: So I'm, I'm a city boy, so I have this sort of maybe naive, romantic view of farming in the summer in Mendocino. It's just, it's just a beautiful part of the country. And so what was it like? Was it hard work, or do you think back with fond memories of that time?

NA: Well, I could give you the kid's memory, right? I mean, there's several parts to it because also my father had also, he's kind of an interesting man 'cause he's kind of, the older I got I'd begin to understand how complex he could be, and partly he also wanted to help out with the Bracero Program, so he had workers come in, at least one that I could recall, from Japan, when they were having that program. He also went, and not just with the picking team that he had come annually, but he also went out and got Native Americans in the Garcia Indian Reservation, which was in the, by Point Arena area, which is the biggest town. It was located between Manchester and Point Arena, but the Garcia River Pomo Tribe, and so he had engaged some of them to come out and become pickers. And also noted that there was some of the local people who, long time residents of Elk, which is another close town, they used to come to also help pick. But for us, I guess, being from the city, what's entertainment, you know? It was different. But we had other chores that we had to do and all. But I got to explain this thing; as we had to take up more important, important working role, the first thing that would happen as we get up to the farm is that Dad would put us under Mr. Ochoa, and by this time people were already picking in rows of peas, and Mr. Ochoa would put us at the end of the rows of the more slower pickers so at least we would pick. And this would go on for a whole day because my dad really needed us to know how hard this was. Labor is hard. Picking peas was not an easy thing.

TI: So this was something intentional by your father. He wanted...

NA: Every season, that's how we'd start out. And we would do that, and then after that whole day or couple days we then took our position as the, weighing the hampers that would come in, or shaking, my brothers would then pick it up, and of course we had our, our older cousins were already working that, but he had us go through this process.

TI: And when he did that, did he say anything? Did he --

NA: No, we just know he just, that was expected of us.

TI: And, and so at your age, or looking back, it's kind of easier to say, okay, this is what Dad was doing. In the moment, did you guys get what he was doing?

NA: Well, we got it one... and this was, we got it during this course of the summer when, as kids you get kind of, like, because the hampers weren't coming all the time, it wasn't a steady flow, so there would break times where we'd be waiting and all, and kids being kids we'd start foolin' around and all that. And that night we would get it. I mean, over dinner my father would run the riot act of saying, "Who the heck do you think you are, the boss's kids?" Says, "We're nothing. Without these workers you're nothing, and to have you act like that, thinking that you're so important that you could have that luxury of fooling around while these people are laboring for your, to maintain you," he, I mean, we got that riot act whenever, and we learned pretty fast that, you know, who the heck do you think you are, the boss's kids? He did it, there's other ways that we learned valuable lifelong lessons. I know that my brother said this at my dad's funeral, related this story, but it was really amazing because it's a story that I keep really close to my heart too. It's that one time we're in the middle of the season and two carloads of workers came up and they were looking for work and asked Dad if they could work, and my father was, had to turn 'em down because, he explained, because my workers, he wants them to get a decent wage and all, but he appreciated them coming such a long way so he said, tonight, says, there's an extra place here you could stay, and the bath, he had a ofuro for everybody, workers as well as family, ofuro. And he made sure they were fed and then the next morning he filled their gas tanks and then gave them, I forget the amount of money, but so that they could get themselves back home. And that kind of, it stayed with my brother, surely stayed with me as we witnessed this. Like why did he have to do that? Or all that kinds of, I don't think we questioned it really until later on when you think about it, you're going, okay, why? And then you think about it and you kind of say yeah, well that was Dad.

TI: What great life lessons to observe and see in action.

NA: Yeah. And I think, I was telling my brother the other day 'cause he was kind of wondering how come we remember these things and all, and I was saying I think he, our family, or the kids, we were lucky that we had teachers from the grandmother, my father, my mother. They were really genuinely teachers as well, 'cause I know some of my cousins sometimes say, "You guys remember those kinds of things?" But it seems like they kind of, I don't know if they really thought it out to make sure it's life lessons or not, but it certainly was there for all of us to pick up.

TI: What's interesting -- I'm jumping way ahead, but I think of your role in Los Angeles and how I got to know you, very much that is you. Now you are the teacher and helping others learn, and oftentimes not so much saying things but just by example. And so it's very, very interesting how this...

NA: Well, you flatter me because I don't see it. [Laugh]

TI: No, you don't see it, you don't talk it, but you just, it's through your actions, that same action.

NA: You're gonna, you out to make me cry or something?

TI: [Laughs] I just, I had to put that in there. It's so, so clear.

<End Segment 3> - Copyright © 2011 Densho. All Rights Reserved.