evening, and he was looking forward to it.

"And you've become bolder." He was now in philosophical mood, moments when deep but sad insights came to him.

"What do you mean by that?" Kumi demanded. The grueling unearthing of the part had irritated her.

"Well, the dutch treat, for instance."

"But you're getting only $16 a month, Tada, and you can't afford to do the treating everyday."

"You should have stayed in the mess hall," Tada let an unconscious thought slip half jokingly from his mind.

"I suppose you'd rather have women be the slaves of men. I'm getting $12 to begin with now, the same as I was getting in the messhall, but I think I ought to be getting $16 right now.

Tada could not help wondering how a girl could change her mind about such fundamental policies so readily. He could not refrain from shooting a dart into her illogical mind. How was he to know that he was invading a domain, ruled by emotion and vanity, and where logical analysis was taboo.

"But you said that you didn't care how much you received. You said that you didn't feel inferior about working in a messhall, nor what type of work you did. In fact, I thought it was a good idea if everyone were paid the same wage. And now you think that you ought to be paid more for your work!"

Blood rose to Kumi's cheeks. "Just for that," she burst out, "I'm not going out with you tonight."

Tada was taken aback at her sudden anger. He did not want to show that he felt hurt. In an attempt to patch up the situation he coaxed, "Oh, come on. I'll come for you at 6:45."

But his pleading seemed to have no effect on Kumi.

"No, she declared, I'm not going. I mean it, too.

Just then the conversation was broken up by several young men who came up to talk with Kuni. Tada did not know what to do with himself. As if he suddenly remembered something, he pulled out his watch and saw that it was time to go. He silently took the empty pop bottle that Kumi held and uncertainly walked toward the entrance. He dropped the bottles into an empty box at the entrance and then hesitated. Should he go back and tell her not to wait for him tonight? But momentum pushed him out of the store, and he found himself trodding homeward, dragging his worn-out shoes on the hot, dusty ground, "I wonder what made her blow up like that?" Tada pondered. "I know she's timid and doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Wonder what got into her?" he muttered. "Suppose I went after her tonight just the same, would she be her old self or her new self..."

After hurriedly gulping his food in the stuffy messhall, Tada took a shower. He dressed sim-
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Could you advise people to get married here?" This seems to be one of the persistent questions among our young people. Of course, everyone realizes that youth in love will get married regardless of what the advice may be. But a sensible and expected reply, I suppose, would be, Yes; you must not let your manner of life here halt your matrimonial plans.

Just as anything else in life one ought to take marriage in his stride. At the time of evacuation some of you were going steady, or some of you were engaged, and if that's the case there is no reason why you should postpone your wedding indefinitely just because you are here.

For you who have not yet selected a suitable companion, this City is a happy hunting ground. And if you are searching for a mate who can contribute something more than good looks to marriage, again the crowded situation here which throws people together under a wide variety of conditions which help you. Chances here are pretty good in getting to know people as they really are. Posing becomes more difficult in Camp like this, although not impossible.

I do not wish to appear to be argumentative but one possible approach to the subject at hand might be to make a few comments on some of the questions asked. They are listed here without any regard to the order of their importance because the order varies with people.

1. "How can we pay for the wedding?" A trivial question to some but it really isn't to a poor man who wishes to get married. We might add that even before the wedding there is the ring. There ought to be a taboo on diamonds, and unwritten law against them. Where did we get the notion that it has to be a diamond?

Our relocation has been a blessing in disguise, a costly blessing I must admit, for our wedding has now become a simple, quiet affair. Let us keep it that way. Let us not return to the old convention by inviting a messhall full of people and thus making it a community affair. The bride I suppose is free to do as she pleases but as for the groom a few dollars should cover the cost of a simple but appropriate ceremony.

2. "Where can we go for the honeymoon?" An auto ride around the Project can hardly be called a honeymoon. Why not propose a honeymoon cottage somewhere a few miles from the Center where a couple could spend even a few days in quiet and leisure? Such a "trip" would be even more satisfactory than those hurried journeys which newlyweds in the past have taken to some bustling metropolitan center.

3. "Don't you think it would be difficult to begin a married life
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The scene was a new one from the familiar sidewalks of San Francisco, from the well-loved gardens of Los Angeles, from the farms of central California. It was a new scene of barrack-like homes and arid surroundings. It was a new scene of no luxury and less comfort.

"The change is more than purely physical. The young Nisei mother no longer plans three meals a day. She and her family eat in a mess hall, the meals planned and cooked by others. She has not backyard to tend, no private home to clean.

"Now more than ever she has work to do. Now more than ever she must feel a part of the life about her. Her life and actions are part and parcel of the greater community life, and she must be willing and anxious to share in it, that it may be closer to the ideals of beauty and truth she has always worked for in her own home."
--Ann Nisei, "Pacific Citizen"

To operate a city larger than Klamath Falls is no small responsibility," asserts Elmer L. Shirrell, Project director. Gigantic problems of resettling 15,000 Japanese evacuees in Tule Lake is executed as humanely as possible by a handful of civilians.

The staff is augmented by a clerical pool of Japanese residents who were on federal and state civil service list prior to evacuation.

By guiding and encouraging resident initiative in community welfares instead of imposing severe restrictions, Shirrell and staff have won confidence among these who work with them.

Constructive program is self-government, consumers co-operative, and a free press are indicative of democratic institutions existing even under adverse circumstances.

Shirrell has been in educational activities since his graduation from U.C. in 1914. The project director served with the World War I A.E.F. as a sergeant and was in the publishing business before his appointment to W.R.A. position.

[Caption]: "HE'S BUSY RIGHT NOW, BUT" --- A flood of farmers, truck drivers, clerks, block managers, flowing into the "Ad" office is regulated by a courteous receptionist.

[Caption]: A touch of oriental landscape designing is suggested in the Project building's yards. Co-designed by Tohzo Nishizeki and John Tanaka, nisei landscape artists, front yard of the "Ad" building is one of the first to be graced with a lawn and a fountain pool.

[Caption]: "SEE THIS, MISS" -- A staff of nearly 100 Japanese residents is employed at the Administration in stenographic, accounting, and in routine clerical work.

Drawings by Mas Inada

Just a "little cornerstone of democracy", THE TULEAN DISPATCH is a medium of accurate information of a closely knit community of more than 15,000 Japanese evacuees. Within bound of truth and responsibility, complete freedom of editorial expressions is exercised by the staff composed entirely of Japanese evacuees. Because this freedom of press is cherished even in war-times, THE DISPATCH is earnest in keeping its columns accurate, truthful, and impartial, and at the same time, allowing full divergent opinions of the community residents.

THE DISPATCH office, strategically located in the center of the Colony, shares Building 1608 with other community service divisions. Handicapped with inadequate printing facilities, 18,000 pages are rolled off an over-worked, obsolete mimeo-duplicator and are assembled, stapled before the ink is dry. Counted and bundled, circulation boys hurry distribution by means of motor vehicles.

Eleven staff reporters are constantly alert on their assignments and beats in order to assure a complete news coverage. On the gray dawn of August 13, three reporters were on hand to cover the huge fire at Canteen No. 3. A full page story of the $4000 damage appeared in THE DISPATCH on the same day.

Circulation of 4500 is nothing to sniff at. Responsibility of news discrimination of the city of 15,000 weighs heavily on the shoulders of three ex-newspaper men. Father of two daughters and a son, Managing Editor Howard Imazeki is verbally aggressive but tactfully subtle. Attending college at 27, Imazeki finished School of Journalism at University of Missouri and edited the English section of the New World Sun for four years until he retired into (Please turn page)

his father's poultry business for pecuniary reasons.

Superlative among the assembly center papers, The Pinedale Logger ranked high, both in make-up and news coverage. Logger's hard-hitting editor was G.T. Watanabe, presently co-editing THE DISPATCH. At the time of evacuation, Watanabe's toothy smiles adorned the North American Times' office in Seattle.

Exclusion order caught erudite Frank Tanabe, English major at University of Washington, deeply immersed in his devotion to books. Quiet and efficient, Tanabe gave birth to THE DISPATCH and has nursed it to its present four-page daily stature. He was affiliated with the Seattle Japanese-American Courier.

In complete charge of the magazine supplement published semi-monthly by THE DISPATCH is George Nakamura, intimately known as "Jobo". A U.C. journalism major, he was connected with the San Francisco Nichi-Bei as a feature writer. He dreams of building a home on the Berkeley hills overlooking the Golden Gate Bay after the war.