Bill Nishimura

BILL NISHIMURA
Family # 41665
Camps: Poston III, AZ (Address: 25-14-C) and Tule Lake, CA

Written using Bill Nishimura’s oral history interview.

Tomio, my dad, was born about 1884, and my mother Sada about 1896, both in the city of Iwakune, Japan. My dad was in Tokyo studying electricity, but came to the United States in 1907, because his dad felt there was a good chance of making money. Like many who expected a big fortune here, it didn’t turn out. So he ended up on the farm, settling in southern California. My sister Tomiiko was born in 1917. I was born in 1920 and given the Japanese name Toru. I started using the name Bill in high school.

We didn’t speak English at home. In those days, Japanese parents sort of forced us to learn the mother language. I studied at the Japanese language school for two or three hours a day. Because of that, I had a difficult time learning English in the public schools in Lawndale, where we lived. During the Depression, most of the farmers had a rough time. Whenever we were unable to pay the rent on the farmland, the owner let us grow sweet pea for the seed, which he took instead of cash.

I started working on the farm at 12 or 13. We had little time for playing around. On Sunday the farmers all worked because we had to prepare our produce for the early Monday market. The land was right along the highway. People driving by constantly yelled at us, “Oh you money-hungry Japs, working on Sundays.” That’s how they thought we were. But we had good reason for working.

I graduated from high school in 1939, 13th in a class of 125. I wanted to be an aircraft mechanic, but cash was very low, so I never attended any other school. When war broke out, December 7, 1941, my dad was fearful because he was a volunteer for the Gardena Valley Japanese Association. It was nothing subversive – no politics – it was just to help out the farmers, translate for those who had difficulty with English language documents. But due to war hysteria, authorities thought whoever goes in and out of the Japanese Association must be planning sabotage or something.

Sure enough, the FBI came, turned everything upside down, and took my father, saying, “He’ll be back in about two or three hours.” About two weeks later, we were notified where he was interned. I went to visit him and saw many familiar faces in there, a chain link fence all around, and three strands of barbed wire on top.

In spring, the government ordered all of Japanese descent on the West Coast to be evacuated. No date was set. The farmers naturally didn’t know what to do with their crops. It was too early to harvest. White people came along and hounded them. Farmers sold their crops at rock bottom prices. After finishing the August harvest, then we had to leave. I think the government knew all the way and that was a really dirty trick.

My sister and her husband Shinichiro had to leave their grocery store, with much stuff they were unable to sell at the price they wanted. We owned pianos and clothing, a tractor and farm equipment. The government sent us a notice that belongings too massive to be taken to camp would be kept at government storage, but I didn’t trust the government, so I decided to have my goods stored at the farm. After we moved out, the farm manager took everything valuable and just put the torch to it. This wiped us out.

We went by train to Camp Three of the Poston Relocation Center, AZ, on August 8, 1942. There was a partition in the barracks for each family, but no side walls. We had to fill mattress covers with straw for our army-type cots. There were knotholes, and where the lumbers weren’t fitting together, the wind and dust would come in. Poston was hot.

My dad eventually was released to join the rest of the family. I worked as crew chief at the mess hall and then first engineer in the fire department. Each job paid $19 a month.

A loyalty questionnaire came out: Question #27 asked if internees would be willing to serve in the military. I wasn’t going to volunteer, so I put “no.” On #28, asking if internees would deny allegiance to Japan and the emperor, I answered, “If my constitutional rights were restored.” The camp administrator tried to change my mind. I yelled at him, “If you were in my position – what would you do?”

Right after, in January 1944, they sent my father and me to Tule Lake Segregation Center. My first impression was smoke from coal stoves darkening the sky. When the snow melted, it was a muddy, messy place, but my block had an ofuro (outside hot bath). When the snow was coming down, it felt so good.

My former fire chief, Evans, at Poston arrived on a business trip, looked me up, and got me a special job as an inspector on the fire department there.

Our mail often had holes where censors chopped out words. Some people would smuggle notes to us in balloons inside jars of homemade pickles.

A Mr. Okomoto was fatally shot in the stomach by an MP who had fought at Guadalcanal and didn’t like Japanese people at all. Camp workers representing us asked the government not to have any more guards who had fought against Japanese soldiers. The MP was fined $1 and that was it. Case closed.

Actually, I hoped Japan would win the war at that time, but I didn’t know, because Japan was retreating. In our block there was a radio technician who made his own short wave. We got the news [from Japan] that way.

In Tule Lake, I renounced my citizenship and asked for repatriation. In that era, you think, “Is there a hope in this country?” Before the war, Nisei (second generation Japanese people) would graduate college, and have a menial job like working at a fruit stand or nursery. Americans would not hire us. And then, being put in camp like that, without any due process before the court. I just thought the only place I could go was Japan and start over there.

If I went to Japan, I had to know the language or else I would get nowhere. I joined a volunteer group called Hoshidan, formed to train everybody to keep our health intact and our minds sharp. We created our own citizens’ school. We studied Japanese geography, history, and language, and learned to respect the emperor and our elders. People who went to Japanese school didn’t go to the official camp school. We read stories in a Japanese children’s book to small children. The group grew. The government was concerned it would not be able to handle them if something should come up.

All members of the organization, about 200 people, were picked up and sent to a special internment camp in Santa Fe. Only men were there. I went there in January 1945. Later, my dad came with another group. When you worked there, it was without pay – it was voluntary. After my dad was hospitalized with stomach ulcers, I volunteered as an orderly.

I was in Santa Fe when the war ended. During that time, I always thought that I would be deported because of signing the repatriation request and being in the Hoshidan group. But as people left for Japan, the government announced, “You are not being deported. It’s your choice. If you wish to stay, you may do so.” My feelings just turned 180 degrees. I felt that the US did have some warmth in its heart. I was so appreciative. And from then on, I thought of US as my country.

Most of the Hoshidan group were released before Santa Fe closed, April 18, 1946. Remnants of the group, including Dad and me, were sent to Crystal City Internment Camp, Texas. That was really a heaven. It was for family reunions. Rooms had a sink, stove, and other things there! Shower, bathroom and tub were still outside. It was a soothing feeling to again be among families talking to each other.

I did typing work for the camp manager, including petitions that people wrote asking for release. People were released, a few at a time. I was held until May 27, 1947, longer than most. I had talked back to the officials at Poston, and that had a lot to do with prolonging my release, I think. Dad was released a month later.

Our family worked for a farmer in Visalia, California, for three years. Then we bought a house in Gardena, where I’m living now. I started a gardening business and got married in February 1952 to Michiko Kamikawa, who I had met at Poston. I have two daughters, Lynne Midori and Donna Reiko, and grandchildren.

I returned to Tule Lake on a Japanese American pilgrimage in 2000. The interest shown by many of the younger generation really amazed me. My heart completely changed. Tight-lipped before, now I want to talk to help the younger generation understand the situation, how I felt at that time, and how I managed to overcome this bad feeling and become a good citizen.

Before the war and going through all that misery, truthfully, I didn’t appreciate the country all that much. But now I am really grateful for having the family, being able to raise my kids to go through college, have a good job, and lead a good life, because of Uncle Sam. Citizens should appreciate the US. If they lived in other countries, no way they would have this type of opportunity.

Wind and Dust
This wind and dust I have to bear
How hard it blows I do not care.
But when the wind begins to blow –­
My morale is pretty low.
I know that I can see it through
Because others have to bear it too.
So I will bear it with the rest
And hope the outcome is the best.
– George Nishimura, age 16 (Manzanar, 1943)

Read this to learn more about the demographics of each of the ten facilities administered by the War Relocation Authority.

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