Oral History

Mae Ninomiya, History of Kenton, 166-174. Courtesy of the Kenton Neighborhood Association

I am the oldest with three brothers who were born in The Dalles, Oregon. I can still remember my early childhood days in The Dalles. When I was six years old my father took me to enroll in school. Since I was unable to speak English they refused to register me. So, I was taught English by our landlords.

After moving to Portland when I was seven, my father began truck farming on a little plot of land. The yield was too small to feed the six of us so my father leased some land near the Columbia River on Marine Drive, about where the present Portland International Airport is located. There, my parents grew tomatoes, carrots, lettuce and other vegetables. At time, all the farmers took their vegetables to the Farmers’ Market between Belmont and Yamhill streets. It was a very competitive market. My dad took the produce around 3:00 a.m. My mother would stay up until around midnight packing sorting the tomatoes using the light provided by a kerosene lantern.

When I was about eight or nine years old, I picked raspberries with this little, old lady. Since I could not reach the berries on the top vines, I picked the bottom berries as far as I could reach. I made every effort to pick as fast as the lady and sometimes I filled the baskets faster than she did.

One of the chores we had was to pump the water into the Japanese-styled bathtub. It was a wooden tub about thirty inches deep and about three feet square. Then we had to start the fire under it to heat the water. We took baths daily. After washing ourselves with soap and rinsing the soap off, we soaked in the hot bath. Another chore I was assigned to do, before my mother came home to cook, was to wash the rice very thoroughly and have it cooked. But, there were times when I would be so busy playing with my brothers and neighbors that I would forget to turn the heat down to a lower temperature. It was catastrophe for the rice to burn. The odor of burnt rice penetrated the entire house. There was no time to cook more. Everyone had to swallow the awful rice.

After coming to Portland, I attended Whitaker School for about two years and then attended Parkrose Jr. High.

In 1933, we moved to North Denver and Lombard Streets and I attended Jefferson High School. My first day there was an experience I will never forget. All the students went to Jefferson from feeder schools, so everyone knew each other. But I did not know anyone. I felt so small. Of course, I was not very tall and felt so alone in such a big school where you had to climb stairs and where your classes were from one long hallway to another. I came to the realization that I would have to face the world alone and meet any and all challenges.

Another challenge I faced was when my “berry picking lady’s” husband passed away and she and I rode the train to Seattle. Since she was unable to speak English I was her interpreter. We returned safely and I felt I had matured overnight.

In 1933, my father decided to operate a little fruit stand and change his occupation. It was perhaps about thirty feet across the front and about fifteen to the rear of the store. It had solid wood walls and panels in front that opened up. We sold fresh fruits and vegetables along with a few staples at Denver and Lombard Streets.

I went to school and returned home about 3:30 p.m. Then I would put on a white store apron and wait on customers. At that time you had to personally assist the customer with the selection of the items, wrap them in a paper bag and receive the cash. This job ended at 8:00 p.m. when we closed the store. I then had to study my homework. I can remember going to sleep at midnight and awakening about 4:00 a.m. to continue with my studies, especially when it was exam time. I had no time to make friends outside of school hours for about two years. Then, Tommy was able to help at the store.

Our store was extended to a little shed, where, during summer months, boxes of fruit were sold. In those days people did a lot of canning. In the spring that portion of the building was filled with bedding plants.

On November 11, 1941, we began building our home adjacent to the store, even though we had not purchased the store property. The cost of the house was $6500 and our monthly payments were $35. We had great difficulty in obtaining the loan.

When World War II began in December, and uncertainty was inevitable, we had to reach a decision to continue to build or not. We could not abandon the building, even though it was just in the beginning stages. Then, when we had to evacuate on May 3, 1942, we found ourselves in another predicament. We had the house but the store property did not belong to us.

With the sale of the store merchandise, we had the cash in hand. The landlord, Mr. Wise, finally after many years of haggling back and forth, consented to sell the property. In order to purchase the property, Tommy had to be interrogated by the FBI and other federal agencies at the Federal Reserve Bank. This took place over many hours. He later said he felt like a criminal.

To prepare ourselves and pack our belongings, we had to, first, sell the store stock. There were many shortage items at that time such as tuna fish, canned salmon, pineapple and other items. Because of the hard-to-get merchandise, we sold at ten cents on the dollar. Our loss was tremendous. Fortunately, we found a renter, a Mr. Riggs, who leased the store until our return. The rental of the store was $50 and we rented the house for $25 a month. Both lessees were prompt in their payments and they occupied the store and the house until our return in August of 1945.

(I asked Mae to talk about the camps. I was especially interested in knowing how she and her family felt about the United States interning their citizens. This was her explanation:)

Let me begin my story from the Assembly Center, the former Pacific International Exposition Building on Marine Drive. This was the first place we entered in May of 1942.

We were housed in a barn where the animals had been placed for the exhibition show. Our compartment had plywood flooring covering the entryway. The only furniture was the six cots for our family of six. Our clothes were in two suitcases we were allowed for the entire family. Since we had very few changes of clothes, our greatest pleasure was to order more dresses or necessities through the Montgomery Ward Catalog.

Our endurance throughout the hot summer days, with the penetration of animal odors and our anxiety over our future, finally came to a close in September. We were all hurdled into trains for our next home, Hunt, Idaho.

We spent our time with friends with whom we had mingled only occasionally. I feel our family life was lost during those crucial years of growing up. There was no congeniality and no conversation among my brothers and myself because each went our own way. There was no closeness among our peer groups.

Except for my parents, we all found some kind of occupation. Since I had two years of junior college I as employed as a teacher of third graders in math, English, writing, spelling, and reading. Our classes were held in the morning in the large arena. Our desks were the benches. Books and supplies were furnished to us by the Portland Public Schools.

This work was very challenging for me. The students were eager to learn and I felt that, in that short time, we were able to accomplish a great deal. I did receive a paycheck of $12 per month. the pay schedule went according to the work performed with the least being $9.

Our social life was limited but we did enjoy dancing to the big bands through recorded music. Occasionally movies were shown. Our treats were fried chicken orders brought in by a chicken specialty circle of friends. I had been dating Nug and so I did spend a great deal of time with him and his friends.

In September we were transferred to Hunt, Idaho at the Minidoka Relocation Center which was a permanent place. It resembled an army camp built on the specifications of row after row of khaki-colored barracks with a center mess hall, laundry and lavatory facilities. It was located in barren, sagebrush country. When we arrived it was so hot and windy. It did not appeal to me as a place I wanted to spend the rest of the war days.

Notice was soon given that anyone with a prospective job or school, could, upon approved application and investigation, be permitted to leave. My first ambition was to further my education, but since my parents did not approve of this, I looked for a job close by. I was able to obtain a job in Preston, Idaho, as a “nanny” caring for twin girls. They were living with their grandmother while their parents traveled. The travel time was required because he was manager of the Utah-Idaho sugar beet industry. I spent from December of 1942 to May of 1943 with them.

Nug was working as a farm laborer topping sugar beets and other odd farm jobs in Caldwell, Idaho. Since marriage was in our plans, he rented a cabin in a farm labor camp where my parents could come to spend the summer working on farms nearby. They returned to Minidoka in December of 1943. Nug and I were married on December 15th at the Minidoka Recreation Hall.

We lived at the Caldwell Labor Camp picking up all types of jobs. In the winter months we picked chicken feathers and summer months we were both able to pick peas and top onions. Nug worked for Mr. Button as a handyman and so he was employed all the year around.

In May of 1945 Nug was called to active duty and told to report to Fort Douglas, Utah. But, after 15 days, V-J was declared and the war was over. He was released to return home.

At the time of our evacuation, I was very bitter. The only country we knew evicted us from our homes and our businesses. When the controversy of evacuation began to emerge I was of the opinion that my alien folks and minor brothers would be interned. But, never did I think I would be involved since I had reached adulthood. But, my dad said “Shikata Ga Nai” (There is nothing we can do, so make the best of it.) That was his philosophy.

We did not realize the anti-Japanese feeling existed in the business world. Much to our amazement, I had to personally plead with Franz Bakery and Wonder Bread to make deliveries. They tried to discourage me from opening the store. The anti-Japanese sentiments were still high. Sunshine Dairy was very sympathetic about our cause and supplied us very willingly. I negotiated with Hudson-Duncan, a wholesale grocery supplier, but shortages appeared in many articles and they were unable to supply us. Everything canned was scarce.

Consumers had to purchase these short items by way of food stamps. My problem was solved temporarily by purchasing at the Fred Meyer Store on Chautauqua and Willis Blvd.

After examining their weekly sales ads in the Oregonian, I would purchase those canned goods by the case. Since some of them were below wholesale cost, I would be able to mark up the prices at regular profit. In that way, we were fully stocked. Then, one day, the manager questioned my business, which I had informed them, initially, was a cook in a lumber camp. I was not aware of an employee who followed me to our store. I was then informed of their policy of not selling to retailers.

As we were preparing to stock the store some of our former customers expressed their concern about patronizing us. I remember R. L. Clark, who lived on the corner of Denver and Farragut, coming to the store at night because his neighbors held resentment towards him because of his patronage. The experience was so depressing and frustrating. Every day we opened the store in the morning wondering when our customers would come back. At that time, my father patiently prayed and, with his faith and perseverance, knew that one day we would be able to overcome this public animosity. With friendly service and courtesy; the freshest, cleansed vegetables at the best prices, our customers will return. He had confidence in our people.

On many occasions, those former customers would walk across the street on the side of the Farmer’s Barn and stare at us. This went on and slowly our business began to grow. The climax was the return of my brothers Mino and Sam who had been in the European war front in Italy and Germany. They served with the famous 100th Battalion.”

Just before the flood, there were warnings about the safety of the dikes in the area. On Memorial Day, Nug arrived in Vanport as the waters rolled in from the west. With the aid of many people, he was able to drive his new green Ford up the bank before water covered everything. Also, he salvaged his two cash registers, which he was unable to remove from the trunk later. Several days later he found his pinball machines with all the coins inside.

My dad was broad-minded about everything. He was a real liberal thinker. As kids, others would criticize their parents for their narrowmindedness. He was always optimistic, always striving for the ultimate goal.

Losing his mother during childbirth, at the age of fourteen, and being the oldest of six children, his life had not always been very hopeful. He did not have a happy home life in Japan. I never knew him to be bitter or critical of people. He was always thankful to everyone every day of his life; humble to people’s praise, complimenting everyone for any small deeds and always lived his faith in Buddhism.

In 1980, just a few weeks prior to his death, the Japanese Government recognized him by presenting the Order of Emperor’s Award, which is the most prestigious citation a person of Japanese decent can receive. This award is given to individuals who have worked toward the betterment of Japan and the United States’ relationship.

His entry to North America was Canada. His friends encouraged him to come to Portland where livability surpassed Canadian conditions. He was able to purchase a questionable passport, illegal, but was not detected at the port of entry in Seattle. After he came to Portland he dreamt of “getting rich quick” so he held various jobs, such as busboy at the old Portland Hotel. He had no urge to learn English, although many who did, advanced quickly with higher incomes.

His marriage to my mother took place at the age of thirty-three. Because he had not earned enough money to return to Japan to marry her, proxy marriage was the only solution. She had to live with his father for a year until he could send the money for her passage to this country. She voiced her disappointment in his height, many times. But they lived together for 57 years.

They both worked for hours, day after day, with no vacation for years and years. This took the toll on my mother’s health. She developed osteoperosis and later had a stroke that kept her nursemaid all those years. He fed her spoonfuls of food, bathed her and moved her dead weight from side to side.

My mother’s greatest satisfaction was to receive blue ribbons in growing chrysanthemums. Her answer to her reasoning in using rhododendoron fertilizer for mums was the green leaves of the rhodies were deeper. The nitrogen content of that chemical was too strong for mums, but for her it worked magic.

I feel that both of my parents contributed greatly to the Kenton community. Since 1933, their community participation was to serve the public. The name Okazaki is well known to many people in this area.

My brother, Sam, owned the Texaco Station on the corner of Interstate and Lombard and on Denver and Lomard is the Lombard Sentry.