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EU: I was going to report for induction at an army post in Denver. This was in about the second or third of August of 1943. My mother had received permission from, I think it was the Justice Department, to visit my father, her husband, in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he was interned in a PW camp. So we used this opportunity for me to travel with her to make sure that she got to Santa Fe, then I would continue on to Denver. It was a long bus ride. In those days, seats were at a premium. And if I recall, I stood in the aisle way of the bus as we traveled, and then had a chance to sit on my luggage for a while, but I saw to it that she had a seat. We didn't get a chance to talk much, but I think it was a time I treasured, because we were together, just the two of us. We got to Santa Fe, we checked into a hotel, we checked with the... I guess there must have been, the Justice Department had an office in town, we checked with them as to when my mother could go to visit her husband. And then we had dinner, sauntered around a little bit in the delightful summer twilight of Santa Fe. If you know Santa Fe, it usually sprinkles a little. There's a little light rain each evening, makes it very beautiful. And we walked the streets of Santa Fe for a while, just the two of us. So we were a little bit lost in ourselves, we weren't self-conscious in the fact that there were no other Japanese around. Then the time came for us, because I was going to have to get away early, something like three o'clock in the morning I was going to catch a bus. We went to, up in a hotel room and my mother, of course, she was to sleep in bed and I slept on top of the covers half clothed, I just took my shirt off because I didn't want to muss it. I took my shoes and socks off, but I laid on top of the bed and laid next to my mother and dozed. But I guess it was really a fitful sleep, because I didn't sleep well, and I know she didn't sleep, but we kind of dozed, and we were both kind of lost in the moment there until I finally got up. It was close to the time I'd have to leave, and then we chatted briefly.

And the thing I remember most vividly, and I can remember it thirty years, was how she had said to me that although she really wasn't in favor of my going into the army, and that she knew my father was opposed to it, she knew also that I had made up my mind and I knew what I wanted to do. However, my decision was, in her mind, probably a result of the fact that she had felt she lost control over her children because of the evacuation. And she cited, for example, the fact that when we went into camp, and it started there in Santa Anita, we, although the first couple weeks or so we all went to the dining hall together, stood in line together, sat down and paused and set a prayer, and then began eating, it wasn't long before we found friends and we didn't necessarily look forward to eating together, but rather looked for our friends to eat. And so she saw that as one of the things that she lost. And I remember when we were home, dinnertime was always the time where we all sat down together. We waited for each other; everyone came home to be able to have dinner together. The evening dinner was a very important thing in our family. And we sat around together. And dinner started after my mother said a prayer, and the food was blessed, and we ate. We lost this in camp. She didn't know where we were from the time we woke up in the morning to a time perhaps we came back at night into our particular unit. Because the way the barracks were set, those of us who were the male members of the family did not live together with the female members of the family, we were separate. So she never knew when we, knew about coming and our going. We never... well, it was a Japanese thing that whenever we left the house, we always said, "Itte mairimasu," which means we were going, we'll be home, which meant that she knew we were leaving the house. And then whenever we came home, no matter how late it might have been, we always cried out, "Tadaima," or, "I'm home." And the greeting from my mother would be, "Okaeri," or, "You're home now." This is tradition in all Japanese homes, but this was lost. We never said that anymore while we were in camp, and this is one of the things she regretted very much, and she felt was the disintegration of the family as a unit, and she no longer felt a sense of unity or control over those of us who were even younger. She could excuse the older ones, because after all, as adults, they did what they had to do. But that was my recollection of that particular trip to Santa Fe with her. And then we parted. I left her in the hotel room. Because it was dark, we didn't even put the lights on, I don't know whether any tears were shed. I don't recall my even shedding a tear on parting. But I caught the three o'clock bus for Denver.

LD: I know then you went and saw her at the end of the war.

EU: No, I saw her once... in fact, actually, I saw her twice later at Amache. Because at the finish, end of our basic training, we were able to get furlough. So I was home for something like two weeks. That's the time when I have records of my visit, because I have pictures in the photo albums, me in my uniform and such. My mother, by the way, was the only one, I think, in that area of camp that proudly showed three blue stars on a pennant that showed that she had three sons in the U.S. Army. She was very proud of that.

LD: She was the only one who did?

EU: Yeah, 'cause many, there may have been others who had three sons in the service, but they didn't want to show it because of the ostracism they experienced. Even when I enlisted and word of my going into the service got around, the Kibeis who were working in the kitchen used to razz us. They were egging for fights. We took a lot of heat from them. But I think we were able to prove that we were right and they were wrong.

<End Segment 4> - Copyright © 1985 The Center for Educational Telecommunications and Densho. All Rights Reserved.