I stopped by with a cigar to visit with Jack today. I hoped there will be others visiting given the date and holiday season…
Today, I thought I’d visit with Old Man Jack for a while. I didn’t drive my supercharged and unmufflered Grabber Orange Mustang to visit him although he loved it so much. It looked like rain. But I did take a cigar with me.
I know he didn’t mind the cigar.
He said it “doesn’t smell much better than the stinkin’ islands…but anything smelled better than those stinkin’ islands”.
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He would reminisce much more frequently about the war on those islands when it involved “fun memories” and I recalled one while chatting with him today at his grave. Believe me, whether it be a “fun” memory or not, a tear or two always tags along.
Old Man Jack always described the islands in the Southwest Pacific to be “those stinkin’ islands”. He had said that while things always stunk, “everything smelled like shit”. Pardon the French but those are the words expressed by the now old man who was back then a young boy of nineteen. Hell, put it into perspective. That spoiled young singer Justin Bieber is nineteen. I’ll leave it at that.
“When I got there, I wondered why things smelled like shit,” he said with his trademark grin. The one where the left corner of his mouth rises. “Well, I was a dumb shit punk myself back then.”
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We had been touring the mock up of the CV-6 carrier deck (USS Enterprise) at the Chino Planes of Fame Museum back in 2003. Our friendship had begun solidifying by then. I had taken him there primarily to see his beloved F4U Corsair so this was a side trip at the museum.
On the “flight deck” was a Douglass SBD-5 Dauntless dive bomber.
Jack in 2003 with the Douglas SBD-5 Dauntless behind him. You can make out his boyish grin.
One thing he immediately spit out was after seeing the plane was, “That rear seat is just a metal plate. You sat on your parachute for a cushion…” He then continued, “…and those were twin .30’s back there.”
He told me once a Navy dive bomber pilot “grabbed him by the collar” early on and told him to get into the rear seat “quick-like”. I remember asking him why because at that time, I didn’t know he was certified to fly. In typical Old Man Jack fashion, he quipped, “‘Cuz I was the only one there.” Accent on the “there”, please.
“Well, we were flying up there. Man, that parachute made for a lousy cushion,” he said. “Then a Zero got on our six…and then I saw these little flashes. I figured out real quick he was shooting at us.” Jack’s still got that grin on his face.
“The pilot yelled, Shoot, you son of a bitch! Shoot! Shoot! So I did.”
“The pilot kept yelling, Shoot! Shoot!“. Then I yelled, “I did! I did!”
He wasn’t afraid to say it. Jack said he got so scared he just laid on the triggers and didn’t let go. There was only about 15 seconds worth of rounds. He had fired off all his ammo.
“Man, I heard every god damn cuss word from that pilot,” he chuckled, still with that trademark grin.
But then he ended it by saying, “…And whoo-ee, I crapped in my pants… And that’s how I figured out why everything smelled like shit.”
A WWII period photo of rear gunner and the twin .30 caliber machine guns.
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I never asked him what happened to that Zero…or if they successfully dropped their bomb…or what happened to that Navy pilot.
But one thing is for sure. I would have liked to have seen Justin Bieber in that back seat behind those twin .30s.
I’m sure his voice would get even higher…permanently…and would have needed a diaper change.
Real men don’t wear diapers. Jack sure as hell didn’t. He just shit in his pants and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
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I enjoyed our chat today, Jack.
And I’ll be sure to drive the Mustang next time so you can hear it.
Day after tomorrow – two years ago – Old Man Jack left us. He would be free of his nightmares of war which plagued him nightly for seventy years. While it is self-serving to reblog your own story, I am reblogging this for the sake of men like him who gave away their youth to serve in hell. People today need to KNOW and REMEMBER. I regret the huge majority of Americans today are ignorant of what people had to do so that we can enjoy – and complain – of what we have today.
Rest in peace, Jack. I will try to visit you today to say hi.
“Koji, don’t let anyone tell you different. War makes good boys do crazy things.”
That was the first time Old Man Jack shared something with me about the war in a voice of unfeigned remorse. In turn, it was one of my first journeys in his time machine in which he allowed me to ride along.
Front row seats. Free of charge.
It was in 2002 to the best of my recollection. It was just before my littlest firecracker was born.
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KA-BAR. If you are a World War II US Marine who served on “those stinkin’ islands”, there is no explanation necessary.
A KA-BAR was a Marine’s most prized personal possession. It was always at their side.
They opened their C-rations with it. Dug foxholes with it. Chopped coconut logs with it. Hammered nails with it. Indestructible.
Most importantly, for killing. Designed for slashing and stabbing. Desperate hand-to-hand combat. To the death.
I had begun reading “FixBayonetsUSMC” when I can; he is a fellow WordPress blogger and served in the United States Marine Corps for three decades. Recently, we exchanged comments about our sailors on his blog – the author has high admiration and gratitude toward the US Navy.
Also, it has now been two years since I was honored to have served as a pallbearer at Old Man Jack’s funeral. As some of you readers may know, Old Man Jack was a sailor in the USN during WWII and endured combat. He definitely fit the “stereotype” of a salty sailor but I loved him. And I think he loved me.
His neighbor, Mr. Johnson USMC, lived next door to Jack for about 60 years. He also endured combat during WWII. Mr. Johnson and I went to his funeral together.
Now, both have passed on.
I miss them both.
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By coincidence, I received an email which contained random thoughts from sailors. Whether true or conjured up, I thought of Old Man Jack and Mr. Johnson fondly as I read them. I can almost hear Jack spitting these out while sitting in his departed wife’s blue wheelchair… in his garage complaining about my cigar. He especially liked talking about the fights they picked with the Marines.
Enjoy.
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“Most sailors won’t disrespect a shipmate’s mother. On the other hand, it’s not entirely wise to tell them you have a good looking sister.”
“Sailors and Marines will generally fight one another, and fight together against all comers.”
“Three people you never screw with: the doc, the paymaster and the ship’s barber.”
“Skill, daring and science will always win out over horseshit, superstition and luck.”
“Never walk between the projector and the movie screen after the flick has started.”
“A sailor will lie and cheat to get off the ship early and then will have no idea where he wants to go.”
“Sailors constantly complain about the food on the mess decks while concurrently going back for second or third helpings.”
“Contrary to popular belief, Chief Petty Officers do not walk on water. They walk just above it.”
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Remember and honor our people that have served – or are serving – in our military.
Uncle Suetaro (L) and my dad (R). Taken from the Hiroshima house with Mt. Suzugamine in background. Circa 1929
During my visit to my father’s childhood home in Hiroshima last summer, I was entrusted with hundreds of vintage family photos and mementos. I brought them back here stateside, promising my Hiroshima family I would “restore” them.
Well, after a good start, I developed a painful case “tennis elbow” from using the mouse so much during the retouching process. Sadly, it came to a screeching halt sometime in November last year.
But one very, very special item was entrusted with me – my Uncle Suetaro’s war diary.
Although born an American citizen in Seattle with the rest of his siblings, he was writing this war diary as a sergeant in the Japanese Imperial Army.
The last entry was a farewell letter to his Mother.
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The photo above had been secreted away behind another photo that was in Uncle Suetaro’s album. He meticulously kept the album up to the time of war. His oldest brother, my Uncle Yutaka, had conscientiously sent him family photos they had taken in Chicago and Los Angeles before imprisonment. Suetaro complimented the photos with his beautiful Japanese calligraphy, written in a silver, whitish ink.
The photo of Uncle Suetaro and my dad shown at the beginning was so very tiny – but there was something Uncle Suetaro loved about it to keep it. I wish I knew what it was.
Actual size
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Uncle Suetaro was killed as a sergeant major of the Japanese Imperial Army on Leyte apparently near a town called “Villaba”. Below is an actual page from a “war diary”, an official report written and published by the US Army. Villaba is located on the western shore of Leyte but not far from Ormoc Bay, which was a killing field for Japanese ships by US aircraft.
Source: US Army 81st Infantry Division Headquarters / Report of Operations
His remains were never recovered. In the family grave are his tiny pieces of his fingernails and a lock of hair. It was custom at that time to leave parts of your earthly body with your family as returning was unlikely.
Not much to bury… but it was better than not returning at all.
In a spiritualistic way, he had never left.
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This is his farewell letter to his Mother (my Grandmother).
It is clear it was very hurriedly written.
With the help of my cousin Kiyoshi in Hiroshima and my dad, we’ve typed up Uncle Suetaro’s farewell letter – complete with old Japanese characters and translated as best possible into English. When reading this, please remember these are the words as written as a soldier going off to fight the Americans – but he was once a young American boy born in Seattle, WA.
Cover. His name is at the bottom. 金本 末太郎ママ様 Dear Mama, 御無沙汰致しました。 I am sorry for not writing for a while. お元気ですか。 自分も相変わらず元気旺盛御奉公致しております故、何卒ご放念く ださい。 How are you? As usual, I am full of life fulfilling my duty to my country so please feel at ease. （元気で国のために力を尽くしてるので心配しないでください） 愈（いよいよ）自分も日本男子としてこの世に生を受け、初陣に臨むことを喜んでいます. More and more, as I realize I was born into this world as a Japanese male, I am overjoyed to be going into my first combat. 勿論（もちろん）生還を期してはいません（生きて帰ることは思ってはいません）。 Of course, I do not expect to come back alive.併せ（しかしながら）自分に何事があっても決して驚かないように、また決して力を 落とさないよう平素より力強く暮らしてください。 And for you, Mother, whatever happens, do not be taken by surprise and please fight back with even more energy than you normally would. 24年の長いあいだスネかじりにて非常にご心配をかけ誠にすいませんでした。 I deeply apologize for these 24 years of worry and concern I have caused you. お赦し下さい（おゆるし下さい）。 Please forgive me. 今の時局は日本が起つか亡びるかの境です。 At this time, Japan is at the boundary of either winning or perishing. どうしてもやり抜かねばいけないのです。 We must persevere. 兄さん達を救い出すことも夢見てます。 I still dream that we can free our older brothers (from forced imprisonment in America by FDR – Ed.). 自分のことは決して心配せずお体をくれぐれも気をつけて無理をしないよう長生きを してください。 Please do not worry about me but instead, please take it easy on yourself and live a long life.
(Note: Green indicates an edit inserted for clarification purposes.)
何事あっても荒槇、小林の方に相談して下さい。 If something comes up, please discuss it with the Kobayashis or Aramakis. 金本家は絶対に倒してはいけないのです。 No matter what, do not allow the Kanemoto name be extinguished. 伴の兄さんもお召の日が必ずあることと思います。 Mikizou-san will also be drafted. （荒槇幹造さんも必ず徴兵されることと思う） 歳はとっていても軍隊に入れば初年兵です。一年生です。 Although he is much older in age, he will be treated like any other draftee. As a young recruit. 絶対服従を旨とするようよく言って下さい。 Implore upon him to obey every command without question. 近所の皆さん、河野,倉本、白井、武田、永井、正覚寺、梶田、山城、山根、杉本、 辻、河野…、橋本,西本、松本繁人、小林、中本、新宅、武蔵、水入、土井、堀田、住岡、見崎、長尾、加藤、三好、内藤、島本、(Writing continues next page from here) 宮本先生、谷口先生、慶雲寺などの人によろしくよろしくお伝えください。ではこれにて失礼します。 With that, I will say farewell. 何時までも何時までもお達者のほどお祈り致しております。 I pray for all eternity for your good health and prosperity. 南無阿弥陀仏の御６文字と共に行きます。 I go blessed with the six realms of Namu Amida Butsu. サヨウナラ Sayonara 昭和19年5月3日 May 3, 1944 末太郎より ママ様へ From Suetaro To Mama-san
His farewell send-off is pictured below. Masako-san believes Suetaro wrote the letter around this time. It was at gatherings such as this when a Japanese soldier was given a “good luck” battle flag – the ones that many WWII combat veterans “removed from the battlefield” as souvenirs. There are many cases now where their sons and daughters – or grandchildren – are making efforts to return such flags to the Japanese families.
Uncle Suetaro (center) is pictured just before going off to war and his death. You will notice my grandmother is missing from the photo; that is because she suffered her first stroke knowing her last son was going to his death.
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Bertrand Russell wrote, “War does not determine who is right – only who is left.”
He is correct.
On a much smaller scale, though, Grandmother Kono was all who was left in that house when war’s end came. Her precious son Suetaro – who she kept from returning to America for the purpose of keeping the Kanemoto name going – was dead. She was now alone. I wonder how she felt.
A mother’s anguished solitude.
Grandma and four youngest children at the corner of King and Maynard in Seattle, circa 1926. From clockwise right-front: Suetaro, dad, Mieko, Grandmother Kono and Shizue.
Eighty years or so after he posed for a photo, my Grandfather Hisakichi is in an American book.
Standing “Marine-esque” in his Seattle barbershop.
Incredible to me.
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I had come to know Rob Ketcherside from flickr. We had helped each other out looking at some old photos he had of Seattle – where all my aunts and uncles were born (except one). He had some fascinating tidbits on some of my Grandmother’s photos.
Well, it turned out he was an author. He had been doing a ton of research into “lost Seattle” – skylines and communities now long gone. With his fascination for “what was” (me, too!), those sights are now basking in sunlight once again through this mesmerizing book.
It was boosting to me when he asked if he could use one of the family’s vintage photos in his book; specifically, the photo of my grandfather’s barbershop. It is on loan to me from my cousin Masako (yes, the Masako after whom my blog is named) who luckily kept these family treasures all these years. It is more wonderful in that the home in which the photos were in survived the atomic blast – as did my family.
I hope Rob (and his publisher) don’t mind a couple of pages of his book are shown herein…and I’ll be picking up a few more copies to take back to Hiroshima in a few weeks.
In the description below, Rob also mentions Masahiro Furuya and his business. As it turns out, both my dad’s oldest brother Yutaka and his best friend John Tanaka worked for Furuya… And yes, that is the same John Tanaka my Aunt Shiz married. Small world, yes? Actually, Uncle Yutaka was the matchmaker.
A close up of his photo caption from above:
Grandfather is standing at the right-rear of his barbershop. And the photo is a full pager in Rob’s book! Cool! Grandfather should be pleased. In the original print, you can see the brand names of the hair tonics popular at that time. The gal in the middle was quite a cutie, too. I wonder what happened to her. If she was still there in Seattle when war broke out, it is likely she went to the same prison camp my dad and uncle were incarcerated in.
On an interesting note, the consensus is the calendar shows January 9, 1930.
In concert with Rob’s massive research effort, gone is my father’s precious Hotel Fujii and my grandfather’s pride and joy barber shop. It was demolished to make room for “Hing Hay Park” taking its place.
Grandfather Hisakichi holding Aunt Shiz in front of the barbershop. Circa 1918.Dad on right with his youngest brother Suetaro in front of the barbershop (circa 1922). They are likely standing where the label “Hing Hay Park” is on the map above. As readers know, Uncle Suetaro was killed as a Japanese soldier by the US Army on Leyte on July 15, 1945. Dad was imprisoned in Minidoka, ID at the time of his death.
Eighty years later.
My gosh.
And like the barbershop and Hotel Fujii, my dad is the last one standing out of seven siblings and two courageous grandparents.
Thanks, Masako-san and Rob.
I kinda wish my grandparents could have seen this.
After a sergeant in the Marine Corps reached mandatory age and got mustered out, he entered civilian life and became a high school teacher. Just before the school year started, the former enlisted Marine injured his back. He was required to wear a plaster cast around the upper part of his body. Fortunately, the cast fit under his shirt and wasn’t noticeable.
On the first day of class, he found himself assigned to the toughest students in the school. The smart-aleck punks, having already heard the new teacher was a Marine, were leery of him and he knew they would be testing his discipline in the classroom.
Walking confidently into the rowdy classroom, the new teacher opened the window wide and sat down at his desk. When a strong breeze made his tie flap, he picked up a stapler and stapled the tie to his chest.
What remains of the cemetery out in the middle of nowhere.
It wasn’t the deadly black sand that greeted the US Marines on Iwo Jima.
But as we stood on out on the desert, white powdery dust would swirl up in the softly blowing arid wind… and I then realized it was upon this gawd-awful sand that my Aunt Shiz and Uncle John built their future for their family.
It was their Iwo Jima… It was called the “Manzanar War Relocation Center” by our government back during World War II.
They were forced onto these forsaken sands by FDR in April of 1942 but made the most of it. Quietly. 仕方が無い… 我慢. Shikataganai and gaman.
FDR called it relocation centers.
It’s just my opinion but political correctness be damned.
It was a prison. Complete with eight guard towers and soldiers manning .30 caliber Browning machine guns. Barbed wire fencing all around. No freedoms. Chow at specific times. Public toilets and showers. No running water in your “cell”. No cars. No soda jerks. You were classified as “Enemy Alien” even though you said your Pledge of Allegiance or were a Boy Scout.
There were ten well known ones like Manzanar. But quite a number of smaller or special purpose prisons were scattered about the US – some of which have been long forgotten. But one thing in common was they held Americans incarcerated just because they looked Japanese. Not one was ever convicted of spying for Japan.
Pictured: Aunt Shiz and my four cousins. There was no notation other than the date but if I were to take a wild guess, this may have been taken as they left Manzanar the second prison they were moved to: Tule Lake. I base it upon the barrenness of the area surrounding them. (Edit 9/27/2013)
I had never been to Manzanar. However, since Aunt Shiz passed away at the age of 95 last year at this time, I heard a call to visit. So my friend and I decided to make the 500 mile+ round trip the Friday before Labor Day weekend. It was time to go.
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Manzanar back in 1942 was an isolated, desolate desert wilderness. Hell, it still is for the most part. The 2010 Census only reported about 2,000 residents; imagine how uninhabited it may have been seventy years ago. Temperatures soar to over 110F in the summer and plummet to the 20’s in the winter. It was exactly 100F and humid when we arrived that Friday. It lies between Lone Pine and Independence on US 395.
The lonely Lone Pine train station, perhaps the 1930’s?
If you haven’t heard of these prison camps during WWII, FDR signed Executive Order 9066 (There’s those danged Executive Orders again!) ordering Japanese (Issei) and Japanese-Americans (Nisei) to evacuate from the West Coast of the United States. The FBI and the US Army were there to ensure they left. These families could only take what they could carry with many everyday items prohibited. Knives, guns, tools…and cameras because they were looked upon as the enemy.
Many family heirloom photos and letters were burned or tossed. Favorite dolls. Bicycles. Silverware. Dishes. All gone.
Here are some official US Government photos (except for my color one) from that period; please note many of these were taken by the Government and were meant to appease the public:
American workers putting together the shoddily built barracks. They only had tar paper on the outside to keep out the elements. Big gaps existed between the boards – walls or floor boards.My two littlest kids and a friend stand in front of an actual barrack from a WWII prison camp. Notice the tar paper remnants and the gaps between the wooden planks. Families actually were forced to live in these shacks.Japanese Americans were loaded onto buses or railroad cars under armed guard to be transported to the prison camps. This April 1942 photo was taken in “Little Tokyo”, an area in Downtown, Los Angeles.Japanese-Americans disembark from the railroad cars at Lone Pine, CA and are now waiting for buses to take them to their new “homes” at Manzanar. My aunt’s family may just be in the photograph.Boarding buses headed to Manzanar under guard. The US Army soldier should be concerned someone would grab his holstered .45 ACP. After all, he was amongst the “enemy” as FDR determined.A new family brings in their worldly belongings into Manzanar. Notice the dust being blown up around them. Both Aunt Shiz and my dad talked about how everything in their assigned barracks would be covered with dust…down to their Army issue mattresses and sheets. Imagine that for days on end.Arrivees at Manzanar. Note the ID tag on the evacuee at left. Everyone got one…even babies.Mess Hall chow line. You ate here whether or not it was freezing or scorching outside.
As general information, a relative said the latrines were so cramped that you almost touched each other while sitting on the toilet and that there weren’t any stalls. Just holes when the first arrivees showed up or after toilets were finally installed a little later. It was hot and stuffy inside with the stench and flies unbearable. They had to wait in line to use the latrines, take a shower or eat.
During the war, Manzanar internee Pfc Sadao Munemori – through his brave actions on the battlefield – was bestowed the Congressional Medal of Honor…posthumously. (Twenty-one Japanese-American soldiers were bestowed the Medal of Honor.)
Interestingly, two-thirds of the Japanese Americans interned at Manzanar were under the age of 18 per the National Park Service. There were 541 babies born at Manzanar; my cousin Roy was one of them. (Another cousin, Neil, was born in Tule Lake, CA while his older brother Bobby perished at another camp at six years of age.)
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It is still difficult to believe all of my stateside relatives of that time – all American citizens – were subjected to the degrading treatment depicted above. But I think my Aunt Shiz had the toughest experience raising four children – with one born in camp.
As we walked through the museum, I perspired profusely even though it had a cooling system. While my friend was intently reading a number of exhibits, I tried to occupy my mind with other thoughts; I still didn’t know how I would react to being here.
Then, I saw several faces in photographs lining a hallway honoring Toyo Miyatake. I had often seen them in my youth walking about Little Tokyo or at the temple (I am Buddhist.). The familiar faces somehow made me “feel at home” or secure in a way.
Standing is Hisao Kimura, the father of my good friend Sadao. They founded Kimura Photomart where I worked in Little Tokyo. Toyo Miyatake (seated at left) frequently came to Kimura Photomart to sit on a stool after retiring. Toyo’s son, Archie, is on his right. Please click on this link to learn more of the Miyatake heritage and connection to my family. Toyo Miyatake
Here are some other snapshots taken during the visit:
My friend intently read the information on the exhibits during our brief visit. I feel she learned “stuff” that is not in our textbooks. I was happy she took interest.At the very bottom left of the camp model, you will see a “greener” area. It housed the US Military as well as administrative staff. These barracks were more thoroughly constructed with running water and toilets.This is one bit of information that can be drawn up to the CPU. However, I am at a loss when it shows that Aunt Shiz was moved to Tule Lake.My friend appears to have a solemn look on her face while looking at the prison camp’s layout. Over 11,000 men, women, children and babies were made prisoners and incarcerated at Manzanar – all civilians.Our good friend Toyo Miyatake, who had illegally snuck in a lens, fashioned a self-made camera around it to take historical pictures from inside the camp. However, photography had been forbidden. For a more complete history on Toyo Miyatake, please click on this link: Toyo’s Camera.A recreated barrack stands alone on the desert sand beneath spectacular clouds. These recreations were MUCH better made than the original barracks as the National Park Service had to build these to Code. They even had fire alarms and exit signs. 🙂Inside of one of the re-created barracks. According to the National Park Service website, “Any combination of eight individuals was allotted a 20-by-25-foot room. An oil stove, a single hanging light bulb, cots, blankets, and mattresses filled with straw were the only furnishings provided.”The backside of the memorial at the Manzanar cemetery. I would not have appreciated being buried in such a desert to be forgotten. On the other hand, many of those killed in action were never found as well.The slightly humid desert wind blows through my friend’s hair as we stand by the memorial erected in 1943 marking the cemetery.
Lastly, a recreation of a tag each individual had clipped on his/her person to be incarcerated. While the Nazis tatoo’d ID numbers INTO the flesh of Jews, this tag served essentially the same purpose. This one reflects Toyo Miyatake:
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We walked on the same sand that Aunt Shiz, Uncle John, Hiroshi, Bessie, Shozo and Roy walked on for 3-1/2 years. We experienced the heat, although it was but 100F when we arrived there and partly cloudy. The dust that got kicked up by the warm gusts did swirl around a bit as Aunt Shiz described. My Subaru Outback was coated with that fine dust. It was almost like the powder law enforcement uses to bring out latent fingerprints. And perhaps it is TMI, but I did step inside a modern “port-a-potty” set up out in the desert. Believe me… it was hot and stuffy in there. That will suffice. But I think that they all endured that for all those years… Unbelievable.
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As we drove home, my friend asked me how I felt. I had mentioned to her I might shed a tear or two (from the dust, of course, as real men don’t cry) before we went. After pondering her question, I answered, “Elated.”
Bizarre answer? Perhaps. But I was elated I got to slightly experience what they all did 70 years ago. No, I did not have to sleep on straw mattresses in stifling cramped rooms nor eat prison-grade quality food at the beginning of incarceration. Nor line up for chow or to take a shower… Nor have to fear .30 caliber Browning machine guns pointed at me…
But I did finally see that my aunt and uncle built their future upon what they had lost – and what they learned to be important for family – on these white sands of Manzanar.
Not to bore anyone but a few of you readees may recall my dad abd older siblings were in essentially peison camps during WWII just for looking like the enemy.
Well, researchers found another prison almost forgotten due to obscurity. This prison camp was not far from Spokane.
While the prisoners were paid up ti $60 a month, they did build many mikes of road.
History is what we make of it.
But blogs like ours are sure better than the misguided media.
Masako and Spam Musubi 