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MR: This is an interview with Rose Niguma, a Nisei woman, eighty-nine years old at her home in Portland, Oregon, on October 30, 2004. The interviewer is Margaret Barton Ross of the Oregon Nikkei Legacy Center's Oral History Project 2004.

RN: You really have to speak louder because the words just run together.

MR: First of all, thank you for having us in your home. We really appreciate that. Can we start out by talking about when and where you were born?

RN: I was born in Hood River, but I left there as soon I was born. My parents came to Portland, so I consider Portland my own hometown.

MR: And what year were you born?

RN: What?

MR: When were you born? What's the date?

RN: April 14, 1915.

MR: Okay. Thank you. Can you tell me why did your family leave Hood River?

RN: Well, my father had to sell his merchandise store to Yasui, see. After that, he didn't have any other option, so I think he worked for an orchard for a while. And then that wasn't his type of work, so he left right away for Portland where my uncle resided, and he and my uncle started the Hood River business from the beginning. But since that happened, my uncle returned to Portland, so my father followed after him, and Portland has more opportunities because it's a larger city. Well, they have very close feeling for Portland because my mother -- when we were allowed out, I told my mother, "Let's go to New York because of my art interest." My mother self-sacrificed, never asked for anything, but she sat down in a chair and told me, "I want to go back to Portland and die there," see. So I decided since she had so many hardship, I will do what she wished. So I came back to Portland and made preparations for her to return and my two brothers from the service.

And among the first one to return from Minidoka on the coast, East Coast, a lot of other young Niseis left earlier. And when I returned to Portland, WRA helped me, War Relocation Authority I think they're called. So I had to have an employment, but I have been trained in the camp and assembly center to become a nursery teacher. Mrs. Hayashi, wife of Reverend Hayashi, is the one who encouraged me to work and study for that because I haven't a very serious, and she found that I'm very conscience. That's how I became a nursery school teacher. And when I went to Minidoka, there was Jean Mori who headed the nursery school in Seattle, so I applied for a position there with some of the other girls there. And Jean Mori noticed that I was truly interested in children not just for the job. She knew that, so she selected me to head the nursery school in Block 39. That was on the end of the camp.

And so I started preparing for the school and the children, but I noticed and I inspected the other half of the recreation building. The floors were slivery. They're full of slivers, unsanded, so it made me angry that they would put our children in such a situation. So I went up to the administration building and met my supervisor. Her name was, I think it was, gee, so many years, Bachelor, something like that. I told her, "How can you allow children to play on slivery floor?" I says, "I want linoleum. I want large ones, and I want it all for the five nursery schools," because I knew the situation would be the same. I got it and so the children could play on it, play on that. And there are other things that I requested because I cared for the children. They ranged from two to almost five years old. Their parents were working in the farms that they initiated there and other jobs that they have around the camp because we were trying to be self-sufficient.

And they, well, I continue being head, head teacher there. And then, they needed a supervisor, so they selected me to be the supervisor of all the five nursery schools there, so I did my utmost to do the best for the children in all of them and saw to it that whatever they needed, they received it. And I had such strong conviction and I look that way that the people, there would accept my request. Well, I was working there for quite a long time. It was almost three years. But on Sundays, Mrs. Hayashi told me to take half of the camp section there to teach Sunday school class for nursery school age up to eight years of age, so I did. This was all voluntary work, so I did. I needed something like that because I was really tired of being incarcerated in there, and I resented it because I'm living this an injustice, living right into it, and I felt it daily. Well, the Sunday school was successful, but I think, teach them through the Bible, but I did tell them about Christ, the Christian values, values that they would need when they get out, when they grow older. I made it very simple and interesting so they would come back on Sunday without the parents bringing them. So they came on Sundays themselves. It was nice to see these young children. And we have the Christmas plays for them, and I told them about the Easter, about Christ's crucifixion and what he had undergone, and some of the children had tears in their eyes when I told them of Christ's suffering. And we have hymns to sing, but I am not known for my singing, so there were three other young women assisting me. And so one of the women had a relative, a young woman who played the piano, so she came and played for the piano for us so that made our singing much better for all of us.

And every Sunday morning, I go there and turn on the potbelly stove. There would be kindling there and coal. So I had a chance to go to Twin Falls, I requested it, so I bought a light colored coat with a fur collar. And I'm sure it was coyote, but I felt, oh my, Sunday, I'm going to Sunday school with my brand new coat. So I went there, and I had to start the stove. When I did, it went, and I checked to see if it was burning. I opened the door and the whole black smoke came upon my coat, so I knew that coat was ruined. And I thought, oh my, and we had no dry cleaning in the camp at all. We had to go out to Twin Falls, and that was a very rare occasion. So I told this to Adelai Issei. He cleaned the recreation hall. That was his job, and he started the warm for the recreation. So when he came, I told him what had happened to me and my coat. He felt very sorry for me. He was a very kind, kindly old gentleman. So he said, "I will volunteer and start the stove for you every Sunday before you come." And he did that, and I felt so grateful to him, and that was one of the nicer experiences I had.

But the camp situation itself was very confining. We could not go out unless we asked permission and, but the people there were not negative at all. They decided that they're since in there, they have to keep themselves occupied. They cannot just idle their time away, so they did all sorts of things. And some of the farmers started a farm out in the sagebrush, cleared the land, and they know exactly how to do and raised the produce for our table which was very nice. We had fresh produce. But their children came to our nursery school because some of the farm workers were quite young. So they brought their children over, and they also wanted their children to have some sort of education. And so we tried our utmost because we knew that these kids were way behind their counterpart outside. So we did our best to keep, make their life interesting and fun; although, there are limitations in camp.

<End Segment 1> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

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RN: Well, when I think about camp, it's rather depressing. But one thing, the people in there were very loyal to this country. And myself, it never occurred to me that United States would ever lose the war. I always felt strongly that they would not. And sometimes we had our meals and the, meals in the lunch room that we had is part of they call it mess hall. Some of the meals they cooked had spoiled items, things like that, and some people told us it's similar to the prison fare that they're having for people, prisoners in the penitentiaries. We knew that. We accepted, but I myself, sometime I skipped the meals if I didn't like them. And we had finally had canteen where they sold food stuff and other items that people would need. But with the salary that we're receiving, I received the top salary which was nineteen dollars a month. Others were eight dollars, twelve dollars, nineteen dollars. So with the eighteen dollars, it doesn't stretch very much, but I did go to the canteen, find something that I felt that I could have which was preferable to camp, so I did that.

But, in a situation like that, you're confined. Psychologically, you're not happy. You know what the truth of the situation is. So I begin to lose weight, but I went on. But I had towards the end, I had an attack of appendicitis. So when I went to the hospital, no one thought I was in any serious trouble, but I was. That's because the Issei taught their children to be stoic, not to show pain, which is not wise. The more you holler, the more attention you get see, but I, it stayed with me. So when I went to the hospital, I was in a very serious situation, but they never knew. But then when they examined me, they told me my appendix would burst, so they iced me, but there was no surgeon in the camp. So they had to call in for another surgeon from another camp, and he came in. He was a person in his mid-forties. He's at the height of his ability, so he performed the surgery on me. The incision was like a thread, and I thought, "Oh my, I don't have to worry about scar." But his assistant I'm sure was not a nurse at all. She told other aides there what, you know, to give them a lesson. She came up to my bed. She lifted up my sterilized gauze, and she rubbed her hand right on top of my incision. That gave me staph infection, so the doctor had to perform a second surgery. So this time, the scar was not like a thread. It was about half inch wide, and I never forgot that sloppy nurse. I disliked her immensely. She was actually heavy, obese. She walked: plump, plump, plump, you know. And I wanted to tell the doctor what had really happened, but I couldn't. She's always at his side because she's his aide, and I was afraid she might do something to me if I report it, retaliate, so I kept very quiet. But there are other, I couldn't sleep at night very easily. I'm in there for a month now. People kept wondering why on earth I'm in there. I never told them anything. But there was a very nice gentle Caucasian nurse that came around looking at the, peep in the ward, and she noticed that I was not sleeping. She come up to my bed, sit down on the chair, and converse with me until I could go to sleep. She's very gentle and kind, not like this other nurse at all. And finally, I decided that I spent all my time teaching Sunday school, having responsibility of five nursery schools, seeing that they all function correctly, I decided I have to leave. I gave whatever I am to give to them. It's time for me to leave because I have to think of my mother and my two brothers in the service. We have to start somewhere because we lost everything.

<End Segment 2> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

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RN: So I came back to Portland because my mother wanted to. And all the while I was on the train, I mumbled and grumbled and thought of my mother. I thought she should follow wherever I go, but I just thought, and I was mumbling and grumbling. And then I notice there was a drop of water on my cheek, and then I realized that subconsciously, I was crying because I was so happy to see all the Portland familiar landmarks. Then I told myself, "Stop mumbling. You're glad; you're happy to be home." And I said, "I am home." And I was glad because we missed the trees because Minidoka was sagebrush country. It's very dry, arid, and we have coyotes yipping and howling away at night. We had ticks. If we're not careful, we might run across a rattlesnake. We saw a rattlesnake there. And they have king snake and other pests that we never knew of. And we lived in the barracks, and the barracks were tarpaper covered. There was no insulation. So in the winters, it was very cold and the wind just howled, sounded like what you hear in tales, and it really howled. And I thought, well, it must be the Indian spirits resenting our intrusion, and I said, "Well, you shouldn't. It's not our fault." We were forced here, I told them. But we were young, so our house was on the corner; so naturally, we, the wind was buffeted more. If we were in the middle, we wouldn't have that. We'd have more warm. But that's what it was. So George, my older brother, my younger sister Marie and I all worked. My mother couldn't because she suffered from ulcers, and she wasn't very strong. But she kept our little room as clean as she possibly could. And the front part, she dug and planted a garden to keep her occupied. So that's how we lived there.

But when we did return to Portland, WRA helped us, helped me into a University Home that was a housing project that was near Portland University. It was in that section of town. When I went, when they found the room for us, I had to have a job. Because of my nursery school experience, it was a necessary position for wartime because the mothers are off during war working in shipyards, and so they thought they might try to find a job for me there. But I think the head was little reluctant because they thought they might not like me because me being a Japanese American. But Mrs. Freedman who's working for WRA told the person on the opposite phone, she said, "Before you reject her, look at her." And I felt very American, so I looked Americanized. That's why Mrs. Freedman noticed it, so she said look at her first before they even reject me. So I went to the nursery school. And tentatively, I stood on the first row and I thought, oh my, and I looked at them. There were mothers there and see what their reaction would be. So when I was looking at them and we're looking at each other, one of the mothers looked at me and smiled. I thought, oh my. I smiled back, and I thought, well, I think they accepted me. So I did work there, and they did accept me, and I worked there for about a year.

Miss Meritree was the supervisor there, and she has an assistant named Kathleen Whalen whose brother was a very prominent union person at that time. His name was Ed Whalen. They're Irish. They were both very kind. They asked me while I was working there if I was happy. I says no because my idea is to return and attend art school which was in, my ambition, but so many things kept coming up across my path that it was impossible to do because my parents separated after I graduated from high school, so that was completely out of the picture. It was Depression and business was slow, and the neighbors were suffering too because of the Depression. So there was nothing for us to complain about because we were all in the same boat.

<End Segment 3> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

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RN: But when the war started, one of the customer was managing a root beer shop. We heard banging on the back of the door, loud bang. So we opened that and he said, his face was ashen. He said, "Don't go out, stay in there, don't do anything." He was worried for us, so I really appreciated his effort in trying to help us. And it was a very terrible situation because on the telephone pole, it says that we are not to go out anywhere in addition, you know. And they told us that we could not have a camera. We had any guns, we have to get rid of it. So with the gun, we had a revolver because we're in business, and you could come across robbers, but I sold the gun to a gasoline station person there. They were very nice and our customers, I don't know who I sold that camera too, but we got rid of most of the things, and I didn't care to go into camp at all. So there were some business people and our neighbors, they asked for the government to let us stay. I have the papers with me. I kept them through all these years, and I have them right now. So you can see that they are truly Americans. They knew us for twelve years, so they trusted us.

But whatever had to be done, so Mrs. Hungerford knew some Japanese people, so she came to help us go to the assembly center. Most of the things we have, become rid of. I sold my brother's car. He was drafted before Pearl Harbor. He, George Itami, Sam Shioshi, and my brother were drafted the first I think, so they went into service. And the saddest thing about this was we had a cap, well, we had a... Shigetami, he was a florist. When my parents separated, my mother had no transportation, nothing. He didn't know who the tellers were or anything, but they came to the little store that we had, so my mother was able to do business. But there were times when we ran out of things, so Shig was there. He had his truck, so he helped my mother go and get the produce or whatever from the farmers. He was a great help to us. And my mother said, "He is my third son. He was very helpful, very kind person." But we sold his plant and his Easter lilies, and they were beautiful Easter lilies. So as soon as we put them on display, we completely sold them out within three days, and my mother was able to pay him. So business went on like that.

But return to Mrs. Hungerford, she put, we tried to put little Rusty into the carton box. Shig's neighbor asked him to drown I think four kittens, and Shig being kind of the person he was, he didn't care to drown them at all. So he came to my mother, and we already had a cat. He asked my mother to take one of the, one of them, so he'll have three left. He's trying to find other homes for them. So my mother took one, and that was, so when I came back from work, there was a little kitten there, sort of brownish orange, and she said, "Shig brought them," so I selected one of them. So we looked at him. We called him Rusty. He was a very smart cat. And we have the other older cat who's been with us for quite a number of years. But the older cat died, but we couldn't put Rusty into the box. He kept climbing out and meowing all the while. He knew something was wrong. So prior to this, he followed us out, kept meowing. He knew what was, he knew something was wrong. He was less than a year old. He's still what you might call a half grown kitten. Finally, we did put him in the box, tied it up because they won't allow any pets in the camp. I raised that cat, so, and I felt for the cat also, so tears are running down my cheeks. And the cat wasn't meowing, and the situation looked a little sad but also funny at the same time. But when I got into Camp Minidoka, I knew that Rusty will not, never adapt to anyone. He's what you call a one-man cat. So within two months in camp, I wasn't even thinking about him. And in my dream, he crossed the path in front of my eyes. His fur was matted and very thin, and I knew he had died, probably he didn't even eat. So Mrs. Hungerford, three, four days, her letter came to me and told me that Rusty had died. I knew that beforehand. I feel that his spirit had told me. And it made me quite angry that even little animals like that have to suffer because of war, and the innocent ones usually suffer the most. It made me quite angry. But all I had was my work, what had to be done. And after that appendectomy that I had, that was the last that I stayed there. I decided to leave. So I did come back to Portland, and I stayed at, my mother wanted it.

So when I brought my mother back, she sat in a chair. She's quite pale because of ulcers. But she sat in her chair, and she realized that she had come back to Portland. She blushed and her face just glowed with happiness. And then, first thing she did was Fred Meyers across the street, so she went to Fred Meyers to buy something to feel that she had returned, came back with a celery bunch, and I thought, "What on earth that we can do to celery?" But she bought that and came back and I don't know. She probably prepared a meal for it. But I thought when I saw her face glowing, I decided it was the right thing to do because she had so many hardship, and she loved Portland. She loved the American people because they were informal, and it was easy to get along with because Japanese are a little more structured. They're impeded by being politeness. So she was happy. She made friends. We lived in a house in [inaudible] Street. She was quite happy, and we had Mormon neighbors, three little boys. One was Dougie. He was only about four, and my mother had a friend from camp who had moved a few blocks down, so she had time to visit them, and little Dougie would go with her, take her hand and they go down. Wherever she went, little Dougie followed. So one day, my mother looked at me and said, "Why don't you give me one of those?" [Laughs] Well I just looked at her. I didn't say anything. But it was nice to have little children like that around. And my mother planted a Japanese herb under the porch, and little Dougie, when any other kids come by says, "Don't touch Rosie's garden. That's her garden." He protected it for her. And my mother didn't have American name. She told me I took yours because I don't have one, so they call her Rosie.

<End Segment 4> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

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RN: But there are discrimination because when I was in the first grade, when I went there, my father brought me. He misspelled my Japanese name. It's N-O-B-U-K-O, but I put C-O in there. But he spelled it N-O-B-I-C-O, and he didn't tell them my American name. But that's what they called me in grade school. Miss Sherman was ready to retire. We didn't have, they retire because they have like 1-A, 1-B. She was very friendly toward me, helped me so I could learn English quickly. And when we had recess, I was the tiniest child in the school, so the older girls would take me and they play house. They would lay me on the cold concrete and say, "You're the baby." So I tried to rise up. They push me down, said, "No, you're the baby," so I laid there on the cold concrete. So she finally heard about it. So during the recess, she kept me in the room with her. She allowed me to draw things on the blackboard, and she talked to me so my English would be better, and I think she made me her special charge. So to this day, I remember her kindness, and I never forgot it. But when she retired, I used to go to school, then I look and I see Miss Brown there, and I felt very sad because I felt quite lonely, and Miss Brown was totally different from Miss Sherman. She asked the children there because at that time, there, I guess the Japanese at that time so she, Miss Brown asked the children one morning, she said, "How many of you like Japanese? How many of you don't like Japanese?" That was very cruel. Here I'm only six years old. I felt that discrimination. There's nothing I could do, but the tears run down my cheeks, so I went home. When I went home, I told my mother I'm never going back to that school again. She said, "Well, how are you going to learn to read if you don't?" So I wanted to read very badly, so I did return. But luckily, I had her only for half a year because it's one year and it's divided into a and b, cut into half.

Miss Sherman, I kept thinking about her. And Miss Sherman one day came to school to see how the children were doing, and she called me. I know she came to see me. She missed me as much as I missed her. So we were lining up to go to recess. She said, "Nobiko, come here." And she looked at Miss Brown and said, "Nobiko is a very good girl," because I used to get up every morning help her clean the erasers for her to put on the blackboard. And the reason I did that was when I went home, I told my mother Miss Sherman is named after a salmon. See, I thought it was fish. And my mother, then I told her she's stooped and she has gray hair. My mother looked at me and said, "She got those gray, gray hair from looking after and teaching all you kids, so you respect every strand of her hair." At that time, I took my mother very seriously. So when I walked to school back and forth, I thought how could I show my respect to her? Well, I decide I go early in the morning and clean erasers for her, so I did that every morning. And Miss Sherman never knew the reason why I did it. It was my mother, but she appreciated it more. But she was really, I'm glad I had her for my first year in school, first half year in school. She gave me a very good feeling about school, and I missed her so badly that I never felt much love for anyone beyond my mother. But I decided, well, I love her next to my mother. So when she came and called me to her, we're not thought to be demonstrative as the Caucasian, but I was so happy to see her. I hugged her around her around her knees and hoped that she would return. But that was the last I ever saw of her. She never came back.

And the next teacher I had was named Miss Wandalick. She was very nice. She heard about me from Miss Sherman, so she was very nice to me. And because of that, I learned very quickly. And so one day, she had a green apple. I think it must have been Newton. And she said, "Nobiko, I have something for you." She handed me the green apple. I said, "No, thank you," because my mother had told me green apples make you sick. So I went home and told my mother what had happened. She said, "Why didn't you accept it?" I said, "You told me that green apples make you sick. That's why I didn't accept it." Well, my mother couldn't say anything. But I had very some nice teachers.

Another teacher I like was very known for, very good teacher. She was at Portmouth, and her name was Miss Dickie. I met her when she had just I suppose graduated from the teaching school. Anyway, so we were all sitting down wondering who our next teachers could be because most of our teachers were middle age. Well, she came into the room. She had creamy skin. She had black hair waved against her cheeks. She was very pretty, and she had a slightly tilted nose, a perky look. So when I saw her, I just spontaneously said, "Oh, we have a pretty young teacher," like that, and she looks at me and sort of smiled. And I really worked very hard in her room.

<End Segment 5> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

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RN: But my parents, my father worked at business probably about two, three years. He became bored and moved on, so we moved away. But she was very well known. About, I think it must have been five years ago, she died. She still taught at the school, one of the better known teachers there. And I thought about how pretty she was, and I know that she probably would have aged like Miss Sherman. I felt very sad and, but that's the way life is. So I had very nice teachers and some, probably a couple of them that I didn't like like Miss Brown. Another one I forgot her name. She thought I had taken a pencil from somebody which I never did because my mother had trained us when we were real taller never to steal. If you do, you disgrace me that I haven't taught you anything. That's what she told me. So if you really love me, don't do anything shameful. That brings disgrace upon the family. She told us that. I think the Japanese families say that.

Well, getting back to the schools and to the internment, I left there and came back to Portland. So my mother saved money from the, money that my two brothers sent her. She was their dependent. So every monthly, both of them sent her money which she never asked, but they did it on their own. She frugally saved it until she saved two thousand. And when University Home closed, she said, "I intend to buy a house." So my older brother George found a house where we are now, and she put the two thousand dollars. At that time, two thousand was quite a bit of money because it was about fifty-four years ago. And both of my brothers and my mother liked the house, but I didn't. I didn't like the location. So I thought to myself, if it was in a better location, there would be more, be more easily sold. I thought about that. But I never said anything because three of them were so happy. At least you have something to come home to that's really there, so I kept my mouth shut.

It was hard for them to adjust because when they got out of the service, my two brothers looked for a job. My job was at the nursery school, and my brother finally found employment at the VA Hospital for George because George was partially deaf. Then he himself start looking for employment. He became an auditor accountant for the City of Portland. I think he's the first Japanese American ever to work for the city. Prior to that, we have menial jobs, and the girls became housemaids. That's the only thing that was open to them. And my, George was the first one to work at the VA Hospital. So that way, they could buy this, pay for this modest house. George is a veteran, so he applied for a GI loan. They came and looked at the house. They found something wrong with the furnace, something wrong with this and that because they were biased. They didn't want him to have a loan, so we decided we don't need it. So we paid six percent and went ahead on our own. And when my cousin in the service bought his house, he received the loan because at that time the discrimination had receded, but I thought it was unfair. But it didn't matter because the house is completely paid for. That's what I'm trying to sell now. [Laughs] But it has given us shelter all these years. My mother made friends with the neighbor right away. I was very aloof because of the camp experience really hurt me. I think it hurt me more than some of the others, or others may followed the same but never voiced it. But my mother made friends right away even when she was at University Home. She'd come home with fruits and some vegetables that the neighbors had given her, and it was the same way in this house. She made friends right away. She's very open. And I think the reason was because she was in business for so long that she know how to communicate with people naturally, and she was small. She was smaller than I. She wasn't even five feet tall. But she made friends right away, and so I let her be the one to make friends. I stayed behind and did, kept the house neat, scrubbing and all that. Finally my, her brother passed away. He, his son gave us shrubs to plant, so I plant the shrubs all around there. So since it's forty or more years, they're huge, so they have to be trimmed annually.

But all these hardships that we have is not really negative. It helps us to survive in the life that we have to live. And like in art or the merit scholarship. I received top grades. The teachers were nice. But there were some students that's competitive. I worked on a cup for ceramics. I worked it very carefully because I intended to surprise my mother for Mother's Day. But somebody put three dots in it, ruined it, so I never gave it to her. Then I have design on a cloth, [inaudible], and I kept wondering to myself who had done that. Finally, she was a, I finally knew who have done that to me. But Miss Kennedy asked me to major in ceramics for her. I wasn't interested in ceramics at all. I was interested more in painting, so I just smiled at her. I didn't answer. I didn't want to tell her I don't care for ceramic. I didn't want to hurt her feeling. So my interest is in painting. And I have a first painting teacher who was really skeptical of me because I'm an internee. I may have chips on my shoulder, he thought, but he found out that I was very serious, very interested in art, picked up things right away what he had told me. So to this day, he had more influence than any other instructors I had in my painting or anything. But he always talked about one artist that he favored, his friend, but life of me, I can't recall his name. But you could see the influence in my work. He's a dots, it was freedom from painting academically, anyway. And in art, it was always wonderful for me because I could escape into my own world, shut the whole world out, just concentrate and focus on it. So it gave me a sense of peace, and I'm glad I tried so hard to have it and have so many obstacle in my path. But finally, I achieved it and got my degree. And my mother says "You're obsessed with it." She said, "It's much better to find a husband and have someone to protect you in your life and have children." Well, I didn't want that. I wanted what I wanted, so I persisted anyway. But when I got my degree, it was harder, so I went to my mother's grave and told her, "Mom, I made it." I told her. I don't know whether she heard me or not, but I think there is the other world that we do not know of. I'm sure she did.

My father himself was proud that I have talent, but he also wanted me to get married, have a lot of kids. But they separated. But when he was, time came for him to leave this world, I think he was about eighty-three. Yoneko's husband, they knew him. So Yoneko's husband asked me, "What are you, what message do you have for your father?" I said, "Tell him I have become an artist," and I'm glad, I'm sure he must have been happy. That's the message I gave him. But the art that I do is, I'm not doing it for any monetary gain, fame or nothing like that. It's what's inside of me. So even when there are times when I had to leave it for a certain reason, no matter what I did later on, the thought persisted in my mind. It wouldn't let go, so I return. And so I finally did it. I opened a studio, did my work in there. I enjoyed it, the quiet and the peace. But at the same time, my brother had become totally deaf, service gone active. He suffered the stroke, and so I have to look after him because it's so long ago. And I know if I didn't look after him, the caretakers would neglect him. So there was one time I went every other day, checked him. When I went to my studio coming back, nobody knew that I have the responsibility like that even at school because it was none of their business. I'm keeping the two worlds separate. But my brother died about two years ago. Well, I did help him for twenty-five years.

<End Segment 6> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 7>

RN: And my youngest, my brothers didn't look upon me as an artist. They looked upon me as a sister. But my youngest sister knew that. And so whenever she found something about art, she'd write to me about Picasso, and what, he has a huge sculpture there and what I thought about it. Well, I didn't tell her exactly what I thought about it, but I know Picasso was a little bit left. I don't think he liked our capitalistic country. I don't think he did very much. He never said it, but I felt it. Well, then she told me Kuniyoshi, quite famous. He came to this country in 1910, and he came from a province where my parents came from, so my sister sent a reproduction of his artwork to me. So that way, she kept in touch with me with the art in different areas. And finally, when she passed away, she left me her house, hundred thousand dollars, and I know why. She had read Less For Life about Van Gogh how hardship he had. She didn't want me to undergo that. She wanted me to continue with my art, so she left that money so I'll be a little bit more secure. That's the way she did it for me. But she wanted me to continue, but I haven't painted for a year because I fell down that darn basement stairs. I didn't fall because I fell. I tripped over something. But luckily, I didn't hit the concrete. I hit the railing. So I thought I looked, I felt my chin was dislocated. See, your chin have a hinge right near your ears, and my cheek was this way, still open. But I thought, oh my, I can't help myself because I avoided doctors as long as I could for anything I need care. This time, I looked at myself, I looked at, felt my chin. I said, "Oh no, I need help." So I put a little thing together [inaudible] put three days' cat food because I thought after three days I'll be out. So I called a cab, and I went to Seventh Adventist Hospital, and there was a doctor and nurse there attending to a patient. When the doctor looked at me, he said, "Why didn't you call 9-11? You're going to Emmanuel trauma." Before I could say anything, they must have medicated me because I was on the ambulance, and I headed out toward Emmanuel. And they did a very job on me because I didn't feel pain. After, you should feel pain.

But they gave me pain around the clock and, but I just didn't have any appetite. I didn't, food didn't appeal to me, but I was feeding myself through the IV. And I think there was some fat on my, around my middle, and I think I was eating that, so I didn't need any food. So one of the young doctors look at me, said, "You're skinny." Somebody else would say, "You're skinny," just to make me eat, you know. It didn't bother me at all. "Skinny, so what?" I thought to myself. But they put two great big dishes of Jell-o and another dessert. They don't do that at hospital, but they did. They thought I ate it, but I didn't eat it at all. It was my cousin. He's helping me, came there to see me. And he's so busy running around, teaching and all that, that by the time he came to see me, he hadn't had his dinner or anything, so he was hungry, so he ate both of them. But I think the doctors knew that I didn't eat it. They must have. So there was a cute little nurse with bangs, little short, little on the plump side. She'd come into the, my room, and she didn't say anything. She looked at me, then out she goes. So just couple days before I was to leave, my cousin said, "You know, it's going to be terribly expensive the longer you stay there." And one of the doctors there was very nice. He understood me. He said, "I could put you, get you out of trauma, put you in the regular hospital bed, but the cost would be the same." So my cousin was telling me because thinking of the expenses and his mother had been in a hospital for some sort of ailment she had. It was very expensive. So he knew that. He was telling me. And two days before I left, I don't know what happened, but I became very hungry. So I asked this little nurse with bangs, she came in the evening shift, so I told her, "Could you get me a toast with butter on it?" She was so happy that she heard it, so she got it for me. And then she told me, she says, "If you hadn't asked for that," they would have fed me through my stomach. So she was very happy for me. I thought, oh my. And I never ate a buttered toast that was so good; otherwise, you know, I don't even pay attention to what I'm eating. But that toast was truly delicious, and she was so happy for me.

So a couple days later, I left, and I'm glad I did because I wasn't covered. But I had saved in case like that because taking care of my brother, I covered him all over stuff. He won't have any problem. But me, I've always been strong and healthy. I rarely have problems, so I never thought anything would happen to me until I leave this world, but I would have to go and fall down the stairs. But at that time, I invested in my investments $50,000, came back to my bank. That was for me to have teaching plantation and all, fix a house, sell it, and go to another area if that's what I thought. All this plans went up in smoke. Well, I'm glad I had it because that help me pay the hospital bill and other things. So growing up in the depression era, it really helped. It made you frugal. You think ahead. So my hospital bill is completely paid for except I have a doctor bill, just a few left now, and I'm covered. I'm completely covered now. My cousin helped me. He says, "You should have done that while I was painting away." I should have, but I wasn't thinking about anything like that, see. But I learned my lesson, but it's kind of late, but I'm glad it helped.

Everything that's negative in your life becomes positive, and I'm also glad even that when I was in, interned, I never thought our country would ever lose. It never occurred to me that we'd lose. There were some dissenters, but most of them were very loyal, hardworking, and I felt proud of them that they were like that in such a negative situation, but they were. Well, I could say more, but I can't think of anymore to say. But we did run across hurtful discrimination, but other people have I know because when the Swedish came over a long time ago, they weren't treated very well, so I know that. But our problem is we look like we do, so we've been here over hundred years. I haven't changed my looks. I look like what I am. But I'm telling you, I have young relatives that look, they intermarriage and they show more Caucasian, and I'm sure they won't have a difficult time as I have. Our time is over. Most of us will be leaving. That's why we're having this oral history. I hope I did contribute something useful. But after all, I'm not young anymore, see. So I may have missed some things, but I think you'll have a general idea of what I'm talking about.

<End Segment 7> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 8>

MR: I have some questions about your brothers and your sister. During the internment, where was your sister?

RN: My sister, as soon as the camp opened that they could leave eastward, not west, she did potato picking in camp now. The farmers came and asked for, during the war, there are shortage of help, so they came to ask for help or Japanese helpers, so the director allowed it. So my sister never picked potato in her life, but she went out and she did that, and she saved the money, so that's how she got to Chicago. And my brother George did the same thing. He said the Idaho potatoes are very mealy, very good, and well known. And he said, "I don't know how they did that because I never did anything like that." But they pile the potatoes up. And the farmer who grew the potatoes were so surprised to have such efficient workers, hard workers, so he came back and said, "Please send us some more," and I think that's how my sister got there, but that's what she did.

What she did in camp, I don't know what she did. She had a free, you know, she didn't have the responsibilities like I did. And she went to Chicago, many of them did. And she found a job as a checker in a large hotel and restaurants, big restaurant, and she earned her money that way since the very early part, so people I think helped each other out. And she lived there. She found a... well, she's not like me. I'm very conservative. She's freer. So she went into a nightclub, and she saw a person in a band. He's a saxophonist, and he's half Japanese with a Scandinavian mother. Well, she thought he was very attractive. They found each other attractive, and that's how she married him. They had a son. But in his twenty-first year, he drove his motorcycle, came in an accident, and he killed himself after that motorcycle accident. After that, well, her husband died. She was left alone. She didn't come back to Portland at all because she said, "I'm not coming back to Portland where they kicked me out. I'm not returning." That's why she went that way. My mother didn't feel that way. She left everything she had to me in the will, so I have to go over there and try to sell her house and straighten out her affairs. Her clothing and things are all neat. She's very clean. She's like my father. But before I went there, her home had been broken into, so I didn't know what she had or what she missed because I didn't know. But I had a Japanese lawyer call me. He helped me through all this, and he has Caucasian female lawyers helping. I think he had about three partners. It was very difficult to sell her house. It was like Ladd Addition. Chicago can hardly see trees, but they had elm trees, and the garage was in the back like, and they have alley just like Ladd Addition. So I tried to sell her house. It was difficult because the black people wanted to come into the area. It's nice. So I read stories about them. I never believed it. But one woman did sell her house, and then they all started coming in to make it very difficult, so the people that want to buy would come and see little black children playing, they won't buy it. And I always thought that Chicago being bigger would be more tolerant. They're not. Portland is more tolerant than they are.

And I finally had Caucasian realtors, and one of them told me to renovate the house to make it better in order to sell. I had black people in there before. They didn't do the job at all. They missed things because I'm not there you see. They didn't paint inside the closet and things like that. But the person I had was Mr. Cross who's a German, and he did a beautiful job, very solid job. The house was sold to a black woman student counselor of one of the colleges there. She liked the house. It has brand new carpet. She brought her two little grandchildren. She liked it so much, she spent her, the whole night with two little grandchildren, slept there the night, too, on the carpet. And I said, "Well, if she liked it that much, I'm glad that she will be the owner because she will take care of the house," and I felt very relieved, and I have a black realtor because I have to deal with black people now. And he was a very wonderful nice person to work with, very nice, and I liked him very much. Finally, I got the house sold, so my responsibility was over. While I was there, the neighbor across the street Mr. Olstelo was very helpful. He told me, "Why don't you move here? The house is empty. Why don't you move here and be our neighbor?" And he's a Chicagoan, so I didn't tell him I couldn't stand the cold that they undergo there, so I didn't tell him that. But he was very helpful. That's how I got the house sold. But it took quite some time to sell it, but I'm glad I was rid of the problem.

MR: What was your sister's name?

RN: Her name is Kiyo, Kiyoko, but we call her Kiyo Marie because her sister, her name is Mary. Her sister's name is Mary, so they have to differentiate it. So my sister called herself Marie because she like Marie better than Mary. And so I call her Kiyo Marie, Kiyoko Marie, but I say Kiyo Marie.

MR: And then you mentioned earlier that you had two brothers. One of them was George --

RN: Uh-huh. He's the oldest one.

MR: What's your other brother's name?

RN: Kay. It's really K-E-I, but we're kids, so we call him K-A-Y. It's really K-E-I, but it's K-A-Y. He's been going through that.

<End Segment 8> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 9>

MR: What area of Portland did you grow up in?

RN: Oh, we grew up in different areas because my father moved, and I think mostly on the east side, northeast, north. But he started a business in Japantown when I was in seventh, eighth grade. I liked it very much. We went to Atkinson School where Legacy Center has my book that Dad, I gave it to them. The Chinese children from Chinatown and Japanese children from Japantown, they all converge into that school and studied there, and they had wonderful teachers. They're good students because their parents don't want anything less than an A or top grade.

MR: You said your father had a store in Hood River?

RN: What?

MR: You said your father had a store in Hood River?

RN: Yes. He had a store in Hood River with my uncle. My uncle had a store here, but it was two partners, but it failed. So he tried my brother, so they called it Niguma Brothers.

MR: And why did they sell that store?

RN: I have no idea, but I think Yasui bought them out or something happened. I don't know what it was.

MR: You mentioned that when you were with your mother, she had a little store. Was it a neighborhood store and where was it?

RN: No, no. It was a little store. It was in southeast area. But it was, started my father. He started various businesses. Every two years or so, he started them, and he had this store. So when he left, the store was there, so my mother could take over except my mother didn't know the buyers or anything, but she took over it, and it wasn't easy for her. But, especially during the Depression years. The neighbors, we have sometimes the potatoes, you sell potatoes. We didn't sell in small sack like now. It's 100 pound. So he sell 100 pounds of potatoes being in a gunny sack. They sort of sprout with the heat there, you know. So he's dumped it all in the back area and threw in the garbage because it began to sprout. When the potatoes began to sprout, he didn't know the potatoes are sweeter, taste better. My father didn't know that, he started, he has to get rid of them. He can't sell sprouted potato, so he had pile of them in the back. Then one of the neighbor man, my father is hard to get along with, you know, but one of the neighbors came, asked him if he could have some of the potatoes because he knows they're still edible, see. We ate rice. My mother, so my father said, no. So he asked him. So he gave this neighbor 100 pounds of these potatoes, so he could brought them home, and they were so happy because it's depression. It's nothing like depression now. That 1929 market crash, it's after that you see. So he asked him, and I was listening and I was hoping that my father assent because my father, sometimes he's moody, but he did. He gave him 100 pounds, and he was so happy. It will be their staple for a week or more, so he did that. That's how we made our living.

MR: Did you work in the store?

RN: I used to help them out. I did work. After my parents were separated, I went to work for a Japanese store. It was a grocery store by Japanese men. He started it. It was right on 23rd. And I worked there for quite a while, and we got along nicely. But this man was older than my father, and I was young yet. I was about twenty. He made passes at me. So I'd go up way up on the ladder, you know, like I'm working on the top shelf, so he can't, because I'm there and rearrange the can, did things like that. But finally I told my mother, I said, "I don't like any men older than my father making passes at me." I told her, and she understood, so she told me, well, leave it. So the money I was earning, I was giving to her so she could keep the store running, but I quit. I didn't like that at all. And he came back and ask me to return to work, but I didn't. My mother said I don't have to. Then I worked for another grocery store which is better than working as a housemaid, but another Japanese store, Japanese person running it. He and his wife had a little girl. She's about eight years old, very nice couple. And I think it was down there on Belmont Street somewhere way down there, and they're very nice to work for, and I get my meal in the afternoon, my lunch there. The wife had very nice meals for me. The little girl, she'd come home from school in the afternoon or something. She'd want to talk to me because she's the only child, so I talked to her. And then after lunch, I'd go back and help the customers. Those are the jobs I did to help my mother.

My sister went out, she's five years younger than I am, but she found work as a housemaid. That's the only thing that was open for us at that time. And she met very interesting people and she'd come back home and tell us about it. But she never gave any of her money to my mother. I was the only one that did. It didn't bother my mother. She had accepted it, and it did help her. But this nice couple, the wife became ill, and I think she was nearing forty. So I don't know what the ailment could be, could be beginning of cancer maybe, I don't know, but she had to go back to Japan, so they sold the store. She went back to Japan. She wanted to go back. She wanted to die there I think. She's very nice, very quiet, those two were a very nice couple, and the little girl was sweet, so I felt a little sad. And then another Nisei boy came and helped at the store also. The other one also Nisei helped. That's the kind of employment that was open to us. That's what I did to help my mother. Then other times when things like that happen, I returned and helped my mother run the store myself, helped her.

<End Segment 9> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 10>

MR: You said your father left. Where did he go? Did you hear from him after?

RN: Well, see, my father left, and my uncle tried to help him. My uncle's eight years older than he is, and I think back in Japan, he probably helped my father get out of scrapes because my father is sort of bratty. And, no. He was a little willful, and my uncle wasn't, but they did love each other. He tried to help. Having children, there will be interference because children have their own idea. So my father had a good friend. He did go up, when the business was slow, he took George with him and went to Alaska to work in the canneries. And then other times, he'd take my brother George with him and go to send him to work to hop yards because my uncle was a foreman. He had to find workers for the hop yards. He had his own real estate business, but Saturdays when he did that. So my father had experience, so he went to San Diego, Terminal Island, where they had cannery and fishing and all that. There were very many Japanese working there. So he's getting business, you can't tell from day-to-day what it will be. But now, he has a permanent job and permanent wages. So he wrote a letter, told my mother, "Come down to San Diego. I have a permanent job, bring all the kids with you," this and that, but my mother had enough of him, so she just tore the letter up and dumped it because he was abusive, domineering. No woman should take that. And he tried another time to get another response from her. It was same. She didn't want to return because the situation will be the same. He won't change. It will be the same. Whether he's working or not, he'll still be domineering, and my mother just didn't care for that because she was raised by a very caring father. My grandfather was very caring, and my mother was youngest of three sisters. And my mother being the youngest was my father's baby daughter, see. Then after that, two sons arrived. And in Japan, men are very important, so my grandmother dropped her, took care of these two little boys that came along. So my mother felt neglected. But it was my father, her father who replaced my grandmother and looked after her, so she felt very close to her father. Then to come to this country, no escape, marriage [inaudible] person must have been horrible for her I think. There's no escape, can't go back. But so many of them came here "picture bride." But my mother was family arranged because my uncle was married to her first cousin, see, and her first cousin was my grandmother's favorite niece. They got along beautifully. And so when she sent her over here, she thought she would be a help to her, see. And so she always felt that of the three daughters, why should she be the one to be sent to a foreign country? She felt very homesick. But she said, "The moon is the same." She heard a caw crow. She said, "Well, that's the same crow," and she sort of adjusted. Then she had her first daughter, baby daughter, but the baby daughter died at eight months, and that hurt her. She named her daughter after her younger brother.

My younger brother became a university professor. My grandmother, my mother's second sister above her was very progressive, very intelligent. She could do work a class ahead of her. She's very intelligent. She took after my grandmother because my grandmother was the one that my grandfather, he handled the finances. If there was opportunity for her to buy property, she bought it, so she was a business woman in her mentality. And my mother's sister above her had the same mentality, very bright. And she told my grandmother after she graduated from grade school, sent her to high school because times are changing, and it be better for her to have more education. But my mother had to commute from city to farm back and forth, and they had a, the tuition had to be paid. It's not like here. The tuition is paid there from the first grade on in her time, so a lot of these Isseis didn't have opportunity to have good education because their family couldn't afford it, the tuition. So my mother had four years of college, not college but high school, but it's similar to attending college because that time, women weren't that educated because they wanted to keep the woman inferior to man. So when she graduated, the teacher asked her to become a teacher of grade school. She's nineteen years old. She thought that would be wonderful. She has a career, but she didn't have it because family arranged marriage, so she had to leave for America. And she never knew my father, so she married a total stranger. So she came here, and the life was hard for her. But my grandfather was a very gentle person. He loved my mother. And so she's mentioned him now and then, but I knew that she thought of him, and I don't think the grandpa, I mean my grandfather approved of her coming here anyway. But my mother, her mother is more dominant personality, grandmother, and she came here. I knew that when my mother was dying, she had liver cancer. Her life was terrible. She had lymphoma, she had liver cancer on top of that at the prime of age. Well, her final days, she mentioned her father, and she mentioned the person that she was supposed to be married to who was a distant relative. And when she was dying from, Seventh Adventist Hospital, it was on Belmont, and I never dreamed that they opened her up, told me she had terminal cancer. There's no way of rectifying the problem. That's what they told me. She probably have nine months to live, and I thought was a horrible thing to happen to my poor mother. I felt so unfair. I thought, but I took care of her because it was not, it was 1953. It wasn't far from being out of camp, so we weren't covered or anything. And the doctor said take care of her at home because nine months in hospital will be a tremendous bill, and so I took care of her. But the doctor was young, he was quite young. I think he was about in his early forties. He came to see my mother every week to check on her, and he knew exactly when she was leaving. He was accurate. But I took care of her, and I took care of her day and probably night because I loved her. And she's my mother, I knew she suffered so much. So the doctor was, come, and then he looks at me. He says, "You take such good care of her." So I told him, "She's my mother, and I love her." That's all I said. But he was a young compassionate doctor. So he came in, checked her out three, whatever. There's nothing he could do, but he checked her every weekly. In the nine months, she never had a bed sore. The reason is I gave her alcohol bath all over, and I think that killed the staff germ or whatever that goes into bed sores like Christopher Reeves died from complication of bed sores. Even now, alcohol bath wouldn't help him because he's paraplegic. Well, I can move my mother. You know, she lost a lot of weight, so I moved her. But I gave her, besides, her skin was thicker than mine. Her hair was heavier. And when I did that, gave her the bath, she said, "Oh, it feels so refreshing." She appreciated it, so I did it every day. I think that's why she never had a bed sore. It kills the stupid germ. I don't think they do that now in the hospital. I don't know, but they did at that time. They gave them alcohol bath, so I gave her alcohol bath.

But just before she died, we're not affectionate. We're not raised that way in second generation, third and fourth. Even the second generation would be much more affectionate. But my father's real old fashioned, you know, real old fashioned, and so we don't show our emotion. But through the, and she looked at me and says, "I'm leaving now," she told me. She held her arm out to me, said, "I'm leaving now." I said, "Oh Mom, be a little bit stronger," I said. And what happened, she fell into a coma. She stayed in a coma for a while. Then she turned her face on the side. When she died, there's a white aura. You can barely see it, but it's a white aura. That's your life leaving your body. I saw that even in a fish. My father caught a rainbow trout. It was so beautiful, jewel-like color and all that, but when lying there, it turned gray, and there's that white aura. I could see it leaving, see. That's when they're dying. And my mother smiled. She didn't smile in her coma. She smiled and turned her side. Her father came for her. I knew it because she dreamt about her father. She dreamt about him. She was thinking about him, but she dreamt about him. But she fell, she smiled. I thought, "Could Christ come for her?" No. It was her father, or in her mind, she saw him. She smiled. So I want her to live longer, but I thought to myself I'm being very selfish because she's suffering, so why should her suffering be prolonged? It's freedom from the pain. Then she passed on. It's part of life too, but you learn things like that. I missed her for about a year. You're not supposed to grieve that long, but I did. Sometimes I turn a corner, I see someone that looked like my mother, so I'd hurry and look, not there. But that's life.

My life hasn't been very easy because George didn't have a good retirement. He's totally deaf. He went through a depression, took six years to get him out of it, for him to accept it, and then Kay suffered colon cancer. The doctor wasn't smart enough to see it. He could have caught it earlier, but he didn't. So my brother suffered, and there retired my art. I mean, you don't feel creative anyway or about going on. It's part of life because I just have undergone things that I have, see. I'm not the only one. But it does retire the creativity anyway. But still, whatever that's inside of me persisted. That's why I didn't give up. It just hung onto me until I fell, then I haven't painted for a year. But I have a canvas there, I've got paint there, and I'm hoping that I could paint. I don't know what I will paint though. But whatever, I hope it's better than what I've been doing.

<End Segment 10> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 11>

MR: I would like to ask about your art.

RN: What?

MR: I would like to ask about your art. When did you first know you wanted to be an artist, that you would paint?

RN: Well, I did when I was nine years old. See my father bought encyclopedia called Book of Knowledge. My mother started me out when we were about four years old with Renny Wizard, crayon and paper, and she'd tell us to draw to pass our time. That's when I became attracted. I thought, "Oh, this is interesting," and then it always interested me. But when I was nine years old, I had it when I was six, but I didn't pay very much attention to it. But when I was nine years old, I heard about Titian, the Renaissance artists, see, and their art fascinated me. And my mother kept talking about Mizuno and Furuya, the Issei artist. She knew them. My parents knew them, so she talked about them. She didn't know she was influencing me. She didn't, but I knew that they studied at the museum art school under Mr. Wentz. But their artwork never went anywhere because of who they were and that disturbed me.

So I decided the second generation artists are not going to undergo that, see, so I initiated two exhibits; one was at the Legacy Center, and the other one, the first one I started had all the Japanese American artists, graphic artists, sculptors, medical artists, I don't know, because I wasn't going to have it be like Mizuno and Furuya I told myself, so I did. I had to have a place for exhibits, so I went to Bill Naito. I asked them if he would have a space for me. He looked at me, and he said he would, and [inaudible] help me, so we had it at Erickson Bar. That's in Old Town. We had it for two weeks, but we had to raise money. We got 1,000 dollars from Metropolitan Art Commission, and I think we got another thousand from Collin Foundation. Mr. Pine was very nice, and some is really marvelous from what people are asking them. They give away money, millions. It was just a thousand. But anyway, they had it and I have to have a sculpture stand, so I went to Donald Jenkins. At that time, he was the director. He's a founder of Asian Art Council, Asian artwork. He allowed it, so I borrowed it, and there was someone there in charge of those things was a student studying with me at that time. So I was able to borrow it, and we put it up and I painted, you know. When I returned it, I painted, we painted it to return it that way. But Mr. Jenkins was very nice. He did that; he helped me. And we had several orders, and people around, they came from elsewhere. But people around Old Town says we don't have anything like this happening for us, so they appreciate it. They came, said, "We're happy we have something like this for us," they told me. And because Bill Naito had friends around that store, he practically owned Old Town, they came too, and I remember Oyster Bar coming, you know, on Second. He came and I remember him, and others came, and I thought he was nice. But that wasn't because of Furuya and Mizuno. I didn't have to worry about them anymore because the second generation artists are being recognized. In Seattle, they're much more luckier because the artists there are more open than here. So like Tsutakawa, they, he was in their group because they're more experienced, Mark Tobey, very well-known artist. But here, it wasn't like that. So they had [inaudible] originally exhibit that came from San Francisco, Japanese museum. Well, I went to see if they have any Mizuno or Furuya painting, any artwork. The art museum didn't have it. I went there and thought they might have something. There was nothing.

And when they have the exhibit at Oregon Historical Society, Mr. Cleaver there was very nice. He asked me if I was, put up an exhibit in with [inaudible] adversity. So I went around, collecting things that were made by people in camp. Several people did and it was a nice exhibit. And my cousin Mrs. Carma did a beautiful, I think a shawl or a tablecloth. It was all crocheted and fine thread. It was beautiful, so they put that in the center. So I asked them would they donate it to Oregon Historical Society. She said, no. It was their family heirloom. So hardly anybody gave up anything. They want it for their family. Here is history. That leaves the history there, but they didn't. So I thought, "Well, I'll donate my Crater Lake painting because they didn't," so I donated it to them. It's a very nice one. I could donate to Legacy Center, but it was before Legacy Center, so it's there. And Mr. Cleaver says, "I like your large paintings." I have a lot of them because I didn't intend to sell them. I was saving them for my old age when I sell them, why pay rent? She asked me to donate one of them. I should have at that time, but I thought to myself, I didn't want to donate a great big one because they cost money. So the large one cost ten thousand, see, so I didn't. But right now, I regret it. They would have history on me there, so I regret that. But I did have two exhibits, one at Legacy Center. Jim Murakami did nice work and made it very nice. Robert Dozono, my cousin, hung them. He's a professional hanger of painting. He hung those for me. And he went nationally, but the people didn't understand abstraction. So Ann Shiogi has a very minimal painting like that, three blocks of color, and one man said, "What's that?" I said, "It's minimal painting," you know, very minimal. And he said, "I could do that," but no you can't, but I didn't say anything. They don't understand it has to be representational. But Frank Okada, a very known painter, he has work up at the art museum. In order to help, he did small paintings like this. He sold them for $1000 or $1500. Nobody bought them. I thought how stupid can these people be? They know about art. And I thought I could buy them myself, but I didn't have $1000 or $1500 at that time. They're very small brush work. You have to look at them to understand. He died, very nice person. All that work and I thought I'm not getting the reaction I had hoped, you know. So I held two of them, and then finally, I decided I'm not going to break my head or heart over them. They have a tough training that, out of that in order to understand them, and they're not, they won't be spending that time that I did, see. Well, I was trying to educate them, so, well, probably your children might. I don't know.

But I decide I'll go on, do my own work because Mizuno Furuya, I couldn't locate any of their work nowhere, and I found one that a woman had. It was a copy of Egen's painting, a very poor copy, very poor work, mediocre, but that's menial. So I asked this woman, "Would you care to donate it?" She's horrified. She thought it'd probably cost millions of dollars later on. You know people have funny ideas. She didn't donate it. So that's one work I've seen. So I thought, well, I'm not going to bother her with that. So I thought, well, I'll go back to my own painting be shy. Mizuno and Furuya were, there was a very nice young person, he understood that the Issei artists worked their heart out, never got anywhere. They worked, became obscure, and disappeared, but he decided their names should be known of their existence. So he did, he initiated it and did handle several artists, and he included Mizuno and Furuya, so they're on record. Their work isn't, but they're on record, but they were one-time artists here. So I just thought when that was done, I decided that there is no work for me to go ahead and do what I was doing. So I thought, I'll go ahead and do my own work and concentrate on that. So that was the end of my art activity.

<End Segment 11> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 12>

MR: I would like to talk about your art and how you progressed through the years, the styles of art that you've used. Could you talk about that?

RN: Well, just had Louis Blunt. He was my first painting instructor. He always mentioned Jackson Pollock because he knew Jackson Pollock. At that time, Jackson Pollock was considered a new rule thing here. He didn't understand it, but I was influenced by his work because of his freedom. You don't have to use a brush. You could take a paint and drip it on this canvas. That's what he did. But he didn't just drip it like anybody else. He knew what he was doing, and he layered it, see. At that time, they didn't think much of his work. But now, his artwork is worth millions, and I think my parents' province, they own a Jackson Pollock. So I thought if I ever go there, I'll go to their museum and look up, see if I can find his artwork. I saw the freedom in that, see. First I like Mondrian work. I didn't understand all those squares, but then I realized that paint can recede and come forward, see. So he takes his blocks of square, he lays them like that together. They don't, I found that out. I didn't know at first. So I told Mr. Blunt, Louis Blunt, "It looks like a handkerchief." He looked at me so shocked. He knew, but I didn't because I'm a beginner painter. Then after I saw that look on his face, I went home and I began to study it, and I realized what it was. And see your colors can jump in and out. Average people can't see it, but we can see it, you know. So I think art is very fascinating. You're working on two-dimensional plane. You're trying to make it three dimension, give it another dimension, see. So there's so many things that I don't think you'd learn in a lifetime, all these little things. And I think I have a feeling towards art because I understand, and it's not too difficult for me. It's easy for me. But I don't know what is inside of me that comes out toward it. I know Jacky call it an obsession but almost like it because even if I stop, something pulls him back into it again. It's on my mind. So I decided when I'm a little better, I have the huge canvas there, I got the thick paint there, I'll see what happens. I don't know what will happen because art is like piano playing. You have to practice every day, see, so I don't know what will happen. But I hope it will be something nice because the frame part is expensive, and the canvas, very expensive, see, so I can't make a mistake. That's what I'm thinking. But I think anyone who goes into art will understand what I'm feeling because they themselves have the same feeling that I do. Otherwise, they won't enter into art because I'm into fine art, fine arts. You don't make money like that like you would if you're in commercial graphic art. They paint for money. We don't. We paint what we want to, express and put it on the canvas or paper or whatever, what our feelings are, you know. That's why fine art artists' work are expensive, come out of time and effort put into it. And in my case, it's not for money. You can't take money with you. The older I grow, the more I realize it.

MR: When you're not painting --

RN: What?

MR: What you're not painting, do you see the next painting in your head?

RN: Well, when I was painting, it just came right on. It's always there. For whatever came out, I paint it right out. But right now, I've been away for a year or so, I don't know. I think about it, but it's not that much because I'm older, plus I have physical pain and that dominates my time. But through that, something may come out of it, probably it's negative, but something may turn positive because my negativity things have turned positive in the long run. It gave me strength. Before I was very sensitive. Even when I came out of camp, I really was very assertive for the kids and for the people in there because I felt for them, the situation they were in. So I have become very assertive. But after I came out, I have to do other things. But all these things that have occurred, it's part of life. And from some of the negativity things like my brother George, he was in the nursing home care. The young doctor that took care of him saw that I spent too much time, that I lost weight and he saw, so he told me you're giving too much of yourself. He says, "Put him in the nursing home. They'll give him personal care." But when I did that, I heard, read so many negative things about them. I checked. I went to the State building and checked about an hour, going through that. I read complaints. Some of them were sick, and then others got very few complaints. That's the one I sent him. So I sent him to the Village. It's on 181st near Gresham. They had a very nice head teacher at that time. They have assistance now, but they really have the RN, registered nurses, so there was Miss Odella (sp). She was a head nurse. She had an assistant registered nurse, and others who worked there were registered nurses. So you can see, he's really getting good care because now there are nurse's aide or they're not registered nurses. There aren't many of them now.

MR: Well, he was lucky to have his sister --

RN: What?

MR: He was lucky to have a sister like you who took such good care, your brother.

RN: Well, my sister --

MR: No. I said your brother was fortunate to have a sister like you.

RN: Oh, like me, yes I did because he's so vulnerable. He couldn't hear completely. Then he had a stroke that made him mentally little, you know, deficient. There he was in a situation like that, and so I consciously looked after him. And my, Miss Chase, registrar at the art school, Miss Kennedy was the ceramic design teacher, they thought I was very idealistic, very sensitive, that I may have very difficulty coping with life because you know. But because of my brother, I fought for him. One of the advantages that he deserved I fought and he got it, and I really became a tough woman. It changed me. Because of his unfortunate situation, it toughened me because I was helping him, and so I'm no longer that sensitive person that those two people worried so much about me. But you could see the negativity had turned to positivity for me, see, so I'm a little tough now.

<End Segment 12> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 13>

MR: I want to ask more about your art. In this painting of the dragon, there's so much movement and color. Can you talk about your use of movement and color?

RN: Well, we had an exhibit that Roberta Kennedy started with the Japanese and Chinese artists at the Chinese Benevolent Society. She started it, and my painting was that, they have dragon dancers, you know, New Year's or whatever celebration they have these dragons. Well, dragon is not a bad force in Asia like Saint George the Dragon like west. They're not an evil force, so I never thought of dragon as being evil, to me I didn't. And so when I saw the dance movement and stuff like that and having an exhibit there, I thought, well, one thing is I just painted that, and it's semi-abstract. You could see the movement there, but the head is right there. See the round thing? That's his head. I broke it up there, and then the movement, and dragons breathe smoke and fire. That's that there. But I like the painting. That's why it's in my room. I have others. But it is colorful, but people don't know what it is until I tell them. But if you do look, you notice that if I tell you, see the dragons moving, movement and all the smoke and fire all that, see that. You have to have an eye, so I put the round eye right there where the head is. But most people, I call a pensive dragon. I don't call [inaudible] anything like that. They like the color, the movement, but they don't know what it is.

MR: Do color and movement play a big part in your art these days?

RN: I like curves. It's more general than angled, see. Some have curves; that makes the movement. I don't know why I do these things. I just do them, and it just comes to me, then I just go ahead. But that took two months to complete. Most of my artwork takes that long. The reason is that I wanted to be finished, you know. That's why artwork is really expensive. I don't think people can afford them.

MR: How do you know when you're finished?

RN: Well, you just know because all the while you're working, it comes to an end, and you know that it's end that is finished. You know yourself, see, so you don't continue with it. You go on to another painting. I don't know how to explain all this because art is very difficult to explain. It's hard to explain. And I like abstraction. I could do realistic things too like my mother there. But you see, you have a style. It's not really realistic. That I learned when I went to art school when I got out of camp one year later. Well, the teacher don't tell you do this or do that. They guide you. They somehow know, you know, then you somehow learn from that. I think it's quite subtle what you learn from that. Some people never get it and others will. And I think because artwork [inaudible] to me because there's so many obstacles. I wanted to learn to make better into really have [inaudible] express it more, more art tools that you acquire, you know. They say you're not supposed to think of technique, but what can you do to, it's tools that you use. It's very central I think, so I use them.

<End Segment 13> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 14>

MR: Can you talk about your studio; why you chose it, where it was?

RN: I was in a, first studio I didn't like. It's way out near First Avenue. The people were nice. They were happy to have me there. I didn't like it, so I moved closer to Second Street near Washington or it was Stark. I was happy there. But when you have a studio downtown, there's thieves. They, you keep your room locked. Sometimes, you forget and you leave it unlocked. Sure enough, somebody will come in and steal your purse or something, whatever, and it happened to me a few times. And there's doors between the rooms, they can go in and out. And I decided, they poked the holes in my oil canvas, and I just thought, well, I want to get out of here because I don't like it because it was just a matter, they come every two years. They go around each building, these professional thieves, so I decided, well, I'm going to move. So I went up to Tenth Street. Mr. Burnelli was kind of leery because he had artists and they're kind of sloppy. You know, you work in paint and it's sloppy. I said, "I'm neat," I told him. I'm very careful, and so I got this nice room. It faced north, but the building doesn't have a cross-ventilation, so I worked in acrylic. And there was a little room there, so I put my painting in there. I could work in the main room. The height was ten feet high, so it was nice, and I put the things up on the top and I hang them. So I worked in there very quietly. But stupid me, I left the door open. I didn't think about it, and a young man came in. He opened the door. He didn't knock. I said, "What do you want?" He said, "I want you to paint a portrait of my wife." So I said, "I don't paint portraits, but I could recommend somebody to you." So I mentioned another artist who did. He wasn't really interested. He was coming to see what he could find. So after that, I locked my door. You forget; happened twice, but I have to be very careful. I finally put Brinks in. And even if I didn't put Brinks in, somebody stole five of my paintings. I reported it to the police. They didn't do anything because the police don't know anything about art. I told him he doesn't know anything about art. They don't know how expensive it is or nothing. And I thought Chief Moose was chief at that time, so I thought maybe I'll go up to him and report it. But I didn't because he didn't take so much time involved, in and out of my studio, and I can't do my work, and I'll be constantly thinking about it. So I thought, well, I'm not going to be bothered. I'll just keep on going, so I kept on going. But I have the receipt from the police. I go back and tell them. They never found it I don't think.

MR: What were the years that you had this studio at Tenth and Morrison?

RN: I think it was in about 1980.

MR: Until when?

RN: Because as soon as I graduated, I went to the first one that was in Salem Building. I stayed there less than a year. Then I went to one on Stark Street which was called Governor Building until I started having all these things. But I have the Laverne Cross. She did that print there. She was head of the print making department at University of Oregon. And I met a few nice people there, friendly, about, then the art, they don't get much feedback from them. But Laverne used to come in once in a while from her, Eugene to come up [inaudible], and I loved her work. And she knocked on my door, you know, and we go to have lunch somewhere. But when she'd knock on the door, she bang bang like a fireman. I thought, oh, I'm having a fire, so I opened the door. There she is. She says, "Here I am," and she cheered me up. I mean I'm very serious and working, and I'm not very open. I'm private. But there she is. She loosened me up and made me very cheerful for me, so I enjoyed her every time she came in. But she passed away from cancer about maybe nine years ago. It wasn't easy for her. And her friend was Dr. Newton of that museum. He passed away I think recently. They were very nice people. So when I have an exhibit or something, they offer their help, and I'm glad they do. Well, I'm not worried about the Nisei artists anymore because they have become well known and not have to worry about them like I did with Mizuno and Furuya. Furuya and Mizuno, they're names are alike, so there is no reason for me to worry about them. So I have my brother, he's my top priority, so I looked after him and did my artwork.

MR: While you were painting in the studio, did you have a job as well?

RN: No. I have my brother, and he got enough money, so I paid his rent for the nursing home. He'd get two-thirds and one-third I get that I used for my own living expenses in art, things like that, and that's how I was able to afford a studio. And I'm very frugal with my money. I look for sales. And I'd go into Nordstrom. Once in a while, I'll buy something. But mostly I go in there to look around because I'm at Tenth and Morrison, and I'm working away all by myself, you know, really concentrate. I did that to loosen up, then I'll go into Nordstrom because it's on my way home. I go check around see if they have a bargain. A very good one, I'll snap it up. Then I'll go on down, and I'll go into Meier and Frank sometime and look around, and I do find good bargains there. And that's to get away from the studio. I'm there all alone. I don't invite people over because they interfere like one woman did come. She wanted to be my agent. She stayed two hours when I got all the work to do. She wanted to be my agent. She tried to impress me how much she knew about art which wasn't much. I didn't know how to tell her to leave, you know. And she left after couple of hours. I was so tired that I couldn't do my work, anything, so I went home to relax, you know. So I decided I'm not going to invite unless I know them or another artist.

<End Segment 14> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 15>

MR: Was there much of a social scene among the Portland artists then?

RN: Social?

MR: Yeah.

RN: There is a lot of it, but I couldn't participate in any of those things because I have my brother. I have to take care of him, and he was top priority with me, and he trusted me, so I never failed him. I was always there for him. And also, he's helping me financially for me to continue, see. My family has been good; they have helped me. That's why I'm able to, that was really my life desire.

MR: There's a lot of art going on in Portland right now, Pearl District and lots of galleries. What do you think of all that?

RN: Well, they like to have exposure, so they'll have on the street, whatever, in order to show them. But the top art are in the gallery, real good top art. Even in them, they're not usually top art. We don't have any artists that became internationally known like up in Seattle like Mark Tobey and you know. The others, we don't have that. The only artist that became internationally known who came from Portland was Mark Tobey, not Mark Tobey, Mark Rosco. He did flat pieces of art like maybe three, but the painting is luminous, very luminous, so he had a technique. He knew how to do it because I've known him personally, do one flat piece of paint, and there's just nothing but paint, see, flat paint. But his was luminous, and he did that with under painting and coating several layers, so I liked his work. But he's the only one that amounted to anything from Portland. Well, they, [inaudible], he came from the east like if he were to have CS Patches work, it will be very valuable, but they're very scarce. But hardly anyone became internationally known from here. But up in Seattle, several of them did.

MR: Did you know the artists in Seattle?

RN: What?

MR: Did you know artists in Seattle as well as Portland?

RN: Well, I know maybe one or two. I have my cousin up there in the nursing home, but I don't have a chance to go up to see her. I really didn't have much chance because I was looking after my brother, see. But Seattle never appealed to me. It's a watery pool, surrounded by water, hills like that you know, and I like Portland. We have hills, but not that many. I kept wondering in San Francisco and Seattle, I kept wondering how on earth did people have houses there? It's about 45 degrees. Well, how do they get in and out? I kept wondering to myself. But somehow they do. I never watched them.

MR: Did you ever teach painting?

RN: What?

MR: Did you ever teach painting?

RN: Well, I taught children, Saturday children's classes for eight years old. I've taught that, but I never taught artists because you have, quite a bit of patience because they'll be some adult who think they know everything, you know. They'll be hard to teach. It's hard to penetrate mentally with a person like that. But there are people like that, and I don't think I have that kind of patience. But if they have talent, I'd be tempted, that I would.

MR: I'm going to jump back now and talk about the children that you took care of during the camp experience and also at University Homes. Do you still have any contact with any of those children?

RN: No, I don't, no. It would be so many years, and the children, they would be in their, probably be in their sixties. But I have their picture, you know, in my, right there.

MR: I just wondered because you seem so attached to some of them.

RN: No, well, at that moment. No, I did that because I wanted to help them because they would be behind when they get into regular life because one person that attended high school in camp went to university to study. He said it was very difficult because they were so behind. That's what he told me, and I understand it. They didn't have top quality people there like that awful nurse that, you know, gave me staph infection.

MR: You say you don't know what you're going to paint next. Do you have a subject in mind?

RN: Well, I thought I would like to do a painting for George. He passed away, so I thought I might like to. But he's a very, very tough because it has to do with Columbia Gorge that went back and forth, see. It's on my mind, but it would be very difficult.

MR: And why would it be the Columbia Gorge?

RN: What?

MR: Why would it be the Columbia Gorge?

RN: Because he was in the Dalles. And so when I went to see him, we drove through that beautiful magnificent area there, see, back and forth, so it stayed on my mind that I went through it with George. Like I painted my sister. My sister went to Hawaii and loved it, so I painted a bit of Hawaii for her. But I have Kay now to think of, too, so I have to hurry up and get well and really get on my toes.

MR: What various mediums have you painted in? What do you like the best?

RN: Well, I tried oil. But oil, you have to use turpentine, [inaudible] varnish and all that. Some of it could be toxic, so you have to have real cross-ventilation. So now I use acrylic, and acrylic is fast drying. That's acrylic on linen, so I use linen canvas. And for stretcher bar, I don't use stapler. Stapler will rust and that will destroy part of the canvas, you know, so I use aluminum tacks and copper tacks. Copper tacks are very difficult because they're soft. I use that. Now, I don't think I'll be able to stretch couple of stretcher bars that I have. They're beautifully made by my cousin Robert Dozono. He's very particular and very, I don't think I could stretch that. You really have to stretch yourself, so I have to get somebody to stretch the impression for me. They would do before. I stretched, these are chairs I had in my studio, so you notice the paint. They're paint covered. I stood on those and I painted and stretched the bar or painted if the paint was way up high, I would do that, things like that.

<End Segment 15> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 16>

MR: Any questions? Oh, I know. I did want to ask you, when you came out of Minidoka, what kind of paperwork did you have to fill out? How did you manage that?

RN: Well, when they called you out of Minidoka, I think our paperwork things were done by War Relocation Authority, and there was Mrs. Freedman who was very helpful. And then when I was in University Home, I was there all alone. I was a little afraid because of what reaction would be, see, and at that time, they were putting up signs say, "No Japs Allowed," things like that. Well, I was there all alone, see, so I was very, very careful. And one time, I was coming home by myself from my nursery school job, must have been about five after twelve, there was three men standing there right near my room that I had. As soon as I came back, they sped in front of me, three of them. It angered me because I said, "My two brothers in service, you four ass. What are you doing just spitting at me," you know. I really was angry. But I was smart enough, so I just held my head down and that, as if I didn't see them, ignored them, and came slowly up to my room. But in the room, I threw something.

MR: Where were your brothers serving?

RN: What?

MR: Where were your brothers serving during the war?

RN: I don't know. I think there was one to Germany. He didn't have to fight long because the war was over, so he did occupation. But my younger brother, my younger brother really bright, I think his life was wasted. He, wherever he goes and wherever he had a job, people notice his intelligence, so he gets, so when he went into service, they selected him to open the 442nd combat troop, it's not a troop. I don't know what you would call it, but they select him as a first cadre to train the other young ones that are coming, he and I think it was Hinatsu and somebody else from Portland, several of them, about three or four of them. My brother is tall. He's close to six feet. Japanese are very short. They're not very tall people. Well, he's very fair and very logical. He used to get on my nerves being so logical sometimes, but he, he just from private, he went up to master sergeant. He was one of the top instructors there. Because he was such an instructor, good one, they didn't send him overseas. They kept him to teach, see. And finally, they decided to send him to OCS, Officer's Candidate School and, no, he was a very good instructor, very fair, not influenced by any [inaudible] anything like that. I think probably his height helped him too. Well, he was a master sergeant there, and Jim Onchi, he's one of the martial artists under here. He was with him. They didn't send him overseas either because he's one of the top instructors also. But they send my brother to OCS. He said he had a very hard time. At that time, I have the appendectomy. We didn't hear from him. We wondered what happened to him, you know. My mother worried. But when I was in there, a young soldier came in, and I asked him, "Do you know Kay Niguma?" He said, "Yes, he's my top sergeant. He's one of the best sergeants there, so they sent him to OCS," he told me, and that made me feel very relieved, and I told my mother. And he also was sent to Minneapolis because he had four years of Japanese studies, and he was able to write Japanese to my mother. When he wrote a letter, I had to translate it for her. But now, she got a letter with Japanese on it. It thrilled her that she could have it, and she could read it, you know, and that was nice. But he's been in the service for four years. He could have gone to Japan, made it his life career. He would have gone up. But I told him, "If you want to make it your career, do it. But if you don't," I said, "get out and find a job here, civilian work," I told him. So he decided he had enough of it. But he didn't have to go and kill anybody which I'm very thankful for, both my brothers. One of the ten commandments says, "Thou shalt not kill," see, so I'm grateful for that. But whenever I have a problem, anything, he's always there for me. I just don't say anything, he's there, so I felt like I had a good foundation until he passed away about three, four years ago. He had colon cancer. My mother had liver cancer. My uncle has lung cancer, and Mom has diabetes, different things like that. That's why I decided I'm here. I could live here. I'm not leaving it to them. I'm leaving it to medical research, so they help many, not just few, but I haven't told them though.

MR: Is there anything that we didn't talk about that you'd like to tell about?

RN: No, just that I hope I get better, so I can get back to my normal life which I think it will never happen because I'm growing older. But I wish that I can get about without using my cane, can be able to run maybe, and do a little traveling. I don't care for traveling anymore. I did when I was younger, not now. So if I go through my life without any pain, without any problem, I'll be very happy. I don't care for problem. You can't solve them when you're older. You're slower, and it's really aggravating like I tried a button. If I have expensive button, they have tiny buttons, you really struggle.

MR: Well, I appreciate the time that you spent with us today and the stories you shared. It's been very nice. Thank you.

<End Segment 16> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.

<Begin Segment 17>

RN: Well, I was thinking about, they would have to know what we had undergone because somebody else will write about it, and you'll feel fictitious maybe. This is real, it's honest, and there has been things I haven't really talked about, but we did run across discrimination, and our parents did. Like my father, when he went to San Francisco, we had that store to buy some merchandise. He was set upon by a mob, rowdy. They threw rocks at him, and I think he must have been about twenty-seven, so he can run. So he ran, and he ran into a saloon, and the bar keeper saw what was happening. He hid him behind the counter and saved his life, so I have a good feeling about bar keepers. [Laughs] I do. He saved his life. So if they came running through, he probably says that way. No, he told me that. So we have gone through things like that. But because of what we had undergone, I think it gave us strength. But we understand, too, probably empathy for others. I don't know. I hope, that's what I think. But I don't think it's all negative at all. It's part of life. I never understood that when I was younger, you know. Everything was so black and white; but now, I understand, probably that means the wisdom we acquire when we grow older. I don't know.

But I know one thing, we are born here, so we love this country no matter what we look like. As far as looks go, we can't help that. That's the way we are. But people should understand that everyone from different countries look differently because of their climate and their environment. They don't understand that. Like that black person with the curly hair, they straighten it now. But that curly hair protected them from the sun. You know, the equator is very hot. That protected them, but people don't know that, see. They judge them by their features and not realizing why, the reason for the feature, see. I think the reason, like our faces are more flatter than Caucasian. Do you know why? Because like in Mongolia, I think we come from, we call us Mongolian, different Caucasoids, Mongoloids, Negroid like that, see. In ancient time, the heat was very strong and the air that they breathe in was shorter because it warmed their whatever. Like in cold country, they have higher bridges because the air takes longer for the air that they breathe in. People don't know that, and I keep wondering why they don't. Somebody should tell them. They learn, but they don't think. I don't think they don't think. That's why different people have different facial features. That's the reason according to the environment they live in through evolution, and probably the people that have features like that survived and others didn't, see. We get a lot of that from channel ten. I find it interesting.

So I think if you live longer, you learn more things. And one thing that I thought, I read that really interested me was through stem cell experiment. They experimented on mice. They were able to grow teeth. So within five years, it will come to human. I think that's wonderful. The litters can grow tails, and they get, you know, they lop it off and [inaudible] be able to grow it, see. We haven't. But through stem cell, some things might happen like they could clone animals now. They cloned twin kittens. They're really cute. And Daisy died, but their clone doesn't live as long. They don't, and fears back where we would never know of things like that. We heard it, but we wouldn't believe it, but it has happen. So we're really progressing. But I like the teeth part because I need dental work, and I'm scared silly. It's not like regular people just getting because of the accident. My jaw really dislocated, fractured it. So whoever does work have to know what they're doing. But I did want implant until I saw what, I thought you just put teeth, you know, open it and just put it in. You don't. You make a, they bore and make a tube, metallic tube, and I thought to myself, oh no, I thought to myself, but that's the way they implant. I think I lost interest in it.

Well, we did live our lives. We're the second generation. The first generation did have a hardship, they survived. The second one did. But I think the second generation had it, and all the other generations that come later, I think we had the hardest.

MR: Why is that?

RN: Well, because we have to go into camp and... but not all Americans were like that during the war. I had my neighbors who wrote to me every time, very faithful. I have some of their cards and things in my pile back there. I didn't have a heart to destroy them, but I may have to because I'll be gone. But the petition I have, it shows real true American, so I'm keeping that. I'm going to donate it to a museum, not here. I don't know where, bigger one because it shows, it shows people with courage and the belief that they have, see. It's very strong. Not many people have it, but they did. I have it, so I kept it all these years. I don't think, even if I donate, they won't value it as much as I did. But that is all gone. It's yesterday, so we have to go into tomorrow. But tomorrow will be more harder than, it seems that every generation, it becomes harder because more population, more new development. Like computers, well, I'm computer illiterate. I don't think my mind could grasp it now. Probably if I was younger, I might. So I kept wondering about myself. I got to keep writing the things. I notice I repeat things, so I'm hoping to condense it before I get, but I did my homework so at least I'll know what I'm talking about. Is it same like the other ones that, is it similar to other people that gave oral history or each one of them different?

MR: Everybody has their own story.

RN: Were they different?

MR: And it's like making a big quilt out of all the stories.

RN: Oh, I see.

MR: Or layering the paint.

RN: If any of them said that they hold nothing against the camp's history and all that, they're lying. They're easing it because I haven't forgotten it, and I think it left a scar on me, long, long time, took me long time to get over it because it was so unfair. And then when I was at Village, you know, where the registered nurses are, cared for my brother, there was a young man from Denmark. He's working there so he could get into medical studies here. He's Danish. He said, "I don't think what you underwent in the war was right. It was very wrong," he told me. I knew what he meant. I said, "How did you know? You're from Europe." He said, "We in Europe knew," and they did. But here, they whitewashed. They whitewashed it, so people in the Midwest don't even know it occurred. But Europe, they did. That's what he told me. I was surprised. I said, "Oh, you knew," I said. But I didn't say anything more beyond that. I didn't want to talk about it. And one of my instructors came from Midwest. He said he didn't know anything about it. He wanted to know more about it, but I didn't want to talk about it. But in my case, I thought I didn't care, but I had to because of the future generation. They have to know the truth because a lot of people will write books, and you won't have to use fictitious things. Well, they're getting it right from the horse's mouth, and it's true. So I decided I better not be so private, you know. But I didn't know whether I would do a quicker one. I did my homework. I really did homework, and I ran a lot of ink out of my pens. And I thought I'm getting older, things kept coming back, you know. They didn't join the same thing over here, something different here, so I thought I'll put it all together.

MR: So as you pulled it all together --

RN: What?

MR: As you pulled it all together, did it, how did it make you feel to now be thinking about all this stuff again?

RN: No. It receded because I didn't, I've been bitter for a long, long time. But one thing, I love this art. So when I return to it, it just softens it. I don't feel that way anymore. But I did paint about Minidoka, and somebody swiped it. I don't know why they want to swipe it. I don't think they know what it was all about anyway. It's just sad. See, people are on drugs and they're desperate. I think that's it. Brinks on the door, but I think they came through the window or came through one of the sides of the windows. That's what I think. I never got it back. I don't care. It doesn't bother me because I went into bigger things. They took smaller things. They can slide through the door or through the window. They took five of them, never got them back. They cost about $5,000 each, and that's $25,000 there, but I continued on. In my house even, they stole things. I changed the locks every so many times, still they come in. They're lock pickers. They know how to pick locks. I think they're on drugs, and they're desperate for a fix, and they have to have it, so they learn.

[Interruption]

MR: So what would you like the next generation to know about your experience in your life? What's the message to the next generation?

RN: Well, I'd say, this is your country. It makes mistake, but it rectifies it that you receive 20,000 dollars. This isn't much, but it was a help. And I'd say, love your country. I did. Even if I was in camp, I never, never thought we'd lose a war. We never did. We have though. Vietnam I think we lost, didn't we? I think we're going to lose the Iraq too, and I'm hoping that we get Kerry a couple of days. I do. I don't want Bush. He ruined our economy, our environment. I don't think he had any concept. Well, he's in a very dry country in his ranch. He doesn't love the fruit trees like I do. In my painting, I put fruit trees there, Mount Hood. He doesn't feel it because he's in a drier country. Well, I never did like sagebrushes tumbling around. I never did. But you adjust to your environment and your life. I'll just say love your country. At the moment, they may look very negative, but it will turn positive. Because of diversity, it would strengthen you, your character. That's what I would say. And never take things for granted. I'm a very private person, but I opened up for their sake. After I'm gone, I hope they'll never experience what we did. If any other person undergo anything like this which is unjust or unfair, they should help the victim. That's what I say.

<End Segment 17> - Copyright © 2004 Oregon Nikkei Endowment and Densho. All Rights Reserved.