<Begin Segment 4>

SG: Do you think your, the experiences your parents had being the first generation affected what they wanted to give their kids, or how they raised you?

GK: Well, their, I can see now that they're gone. And when I look back that they worked hard, and their opportunities were limited, you know. They didn't have a chance to go to college or, of course, because of the language skills and other reasons. And they worked hard. And most of the reasons why they worked was to give us the opportunity, their children, and so they did their best in that. And of course, when the war came by, those opportunities went down the tube too because no matter how, they could barely eke out a living for themselves. And at least during the war, most of their kids that had to go to school had to do it mostly on their own. And it was a good thing that there was, for me, that there was a GI Bill, and I was able to take advantage of that.

SG: So it, for them it was important for, really, for education, they really instilled that?

GK: Yeah. Of course, a lot of things happened during those years, the war started. The war started, and I'm a sophomore in high school here in Portland, and I'm in a complete dilemma because I knew I had a Japanese face. I was going to high school where most of the students were Caucasian. Nobody said anything to me or made fun of me. But within my own mind, I knew that I was different. And in fact, I knew I was different because many of our friends said less to me than they normally would have. They just didn't know what to say to me. So I dropped out of school after Pearl Harbor and sat at home for about a week, waiting for something to happen, and nothing happened. And I thought to myself, my gosh, this is December and January, and we don't know what's going to happen. If I just sit here at home doing nothing, I'm going to lose my credits. So I reenrolled in high school and finished out the term and was able to get my credits. But it was a very unsettling time, you know.

And then of course, evacuation came along, and we had to get rid of all of our furniture and pot and pans and personal belongings because we could only take what we could carry. And on, in the early May of 1942, we moved into the Portland Assembly Center which was a big building north of, in North Portland. And as a family of five, we were assigned a little cubicle, and the cubicle was large enough for five cots, one for each member of the family, and so that was our home. The cubicle didn't even have a door. It just had a piece of canvas that was the entryway to the cubicle from the hall. And it was a strange life. But I was fifteen at the time and a Boy Scout, and camping was, my forte. I enjoyed camping. And so when we had to sleep on a straw mattress, it didn't bother me. And when I had to sleep on a cot, that didn't bother me. And there was nothing to do in this little cubicle. So in the morning, we just got up and said, "Hi Ma, hi Pa, and hi Sis, good-bye," and I was out of there. And of course I was out of there, and then we, all of our friends got together. And so we got together, and we stayed in line and had breakfast together. And after breakfast, all of the friends went out and played baseball together, and we horsed around together, and we found creative things to do together all day and all evening, and we weren't having such a bad time, you know. Not only that, there's so many young, young girls our own age that we could look at. And so it was not a nice place to live. But for a young fellow, we were, I was having not such a bad time. Until one day, it got pretty hot, and the assembly center is a large building. And when the sun beats down on the roof, it gets like an oven inside. And I thought, well, I'll go outside and cool off in the shade. So I went outside of the building on the north side of the building which is the shady side. And on the north side, there's a street that goes right next to the building. And so I was sitting there on the ground with, leaning against the building and kind of enjoying the shade and the coolness, and somebody hollered, "Hey, George." And I looked up, and there's a car going along the road, and from the back window of the car was my old friend Evan. And Evan and I went to elementary school for eight years together, every single day. And all I had time to say was, "Hi, Evan," and the car had rolled down the road. Then at that instant, my eyes focused on the barbed wire fence between us. And for the first time, this kind of happy-go-lucky kid kind of sobered up and wondered, there's something cockeyed going on here. There's Evan who I grew up with, here's me, and there's that barbed wire fence. Why? And I, for the first time, I started to ask some questions. So the funness kind of went out the window after that instance. And if you ask me now, What did your mother and father do?" I knew what I did, and my answer would be I don't know, you know. I never sat down and asked them. Here, I said, "I played ball all day." What did you do? We never got a chance to ask each other. And even years after following that, I never thought to ask them that question, and now they're gone. And so I'm counting, I'm translating my mother's diaries, and I'm hoping I can find some of those answers there.

<End Segment 4> - Copyright © 2003 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.