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VY: And so first you were in Puyallup, and then what happened after Puyallup?

DS: Well, after Puyallup, I think you know this story, that in the fall of 1942, after spending a summer in "Camp Harmony," we were loaded on trains and sent to a location, undisclosed location in the desert of southern Idaho. And the train ride took well over a day and a half, and when the train was passing through communities, we would have to pull the shades down. And it was very uncomfortable and I remember how stuffy the train cars had become. And one evening, I lifted the shades very slightly to take a clandestine look outside. And I can still remember the smell of the smoke of the locomotive ahead of us. And mingled with that was the cool, sweet, evening desert air, it's still part of my memory.

VY: Do you remember arriving at Minidoka?

DS: I do, I do. And one thing, when I talk about, even when I've talked about the internment experience for numerous times, but there were times when I can't talk about it and I have to regain my composure, and that was one of the times. But we arrived at the terminal met by armed soldiers. And since we had been in a darkened train car for well over a day and a half, my eyes were not accustomed to the sunlight, and I was almost blinded by the sunlight. And I remember getting off the train and a soldier with a rifle greeted me and called me by name. and I can clearly hear his voice saying, "Hello, David." I was really bewildered because I didn't understand, how could he know my name? And sure enough, he had read my name tag that the government had issued to all the persons that were being evacuated. Our name tag containing our ID number as well as our name. And it's another example of the dehumanizing effect of this whole experience, that we were reduced down to a number and a name tag. So the arrival really stands out in my memory as a child. And sure enough, the photograph of our arrival can be found in the collection at the Bancroft Library, and it was one of the first instances where memory becomes reality. And I could see the photograph of my brother Jerry, my youngest brother Chester, Jr., and myself, peering out of the train window. And it's a confirmation that this really did happen.

VY: That's an interesting moment, isn't it? When you have these memories that are there, and you live with them for years and years and years, and maybe you kind of don't think about them for a long time, but they're still there and a part of you. And then one day you see something like a photograph of that actual thing that happened. And like you said, it's confirmation that yes, indeed, this happened and you can't even pretend or suppress it anymore because there's the evidence right there. And I imagine it's a combination of reassurance that it's being affirmed that it did happen, along with just the horrible reality of, wow, that really did happen.

DS: I think you're right. It's a reality check. And as a six-year-old child, you wonder what's reality for a six-year-old child. And did this really happen? Are the feelings that you feel now, those that you felt as a six-year-old? But these photographs was a real shock. It was a real affirmation that this happened. And it begins to evoke memories that you may not have thought about for a long time, or ever. And what I like is that you begin to piece together a story, and it's my story, but also it's a common story of children who are uprooted, displaced, and cast into the open world.

<End Segment 10> - Copyright © 2022 Densho. All Rights Reserved.