DAY OF REMEMBRANCE, FEB 19, 1942

When President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 on February 19, 1942, my family was living on a farm on the Oregon side of the Snake River. not far from Boise, Idaho, where the governor of Idaho, surrounding small town mayors and local newspapers were not happy with those of us with Japanese heritage being there and protested the building of Minidoka in their state. There were around 100 of us there before the start of WWII with Japan.

My grandpa Tsukamaki had organized six families to caravan to Eastern Oregon to start over with row crop farming in 1937 because of harsh discrimination in the Seattle area. The first pieces of land were not level and filled with rocks and sage brush. Some of the families lived in tents and had to put up with afternoon winds that left their beds and surfaces layered with sand. I was born in Bully Creek in 1939 on the Yuragan farm.

My dad, Sago Miyamoto, was one of the older second generation before WWII, could speak English fluently and had a lot to do with creating advocacy and relationships. Whenever anybody called him “Jap”, he made a special effort to ask them out for coffee and made friends.

Japanese were removed from Baker, Oregon, 90 miles north of us, but the Mayor of Ontario stood up for those in our area saying, “If the ‘Japs’ have to be removed from the west coast states for security reasons, they have to have a place to go.” All around were signs: NO JAPS ALLOWED! Husbands and sons were serving in the war with Japan, so everyone had issues.

Uncle Frank knew how to get along with his class mates, proving himself on the Vale basketball team becoming one of the captains. Grandpa’s first generation friends were always around for meals and conversations, talking about how they heard about better land and better deals. I often heard how we were smarter than those who called us “Jap!”.

Dad’s best high school friend from Eatonville, Wa, Chip Sakura, sent him a letter from Minidoka. So, when winter snows allowed farmers to take a break in 1943, Dad, Mom and I took a car trip to visit where over 9000 of Japanese from Seattle, Portland and Alaska were incarcerated.

I was four-years-old and remember going through the guard gate at Minidoka without much trouble. Dad must have gotten permission ahead of time. I was used to living in small bunk houses with treks to outdoor toilets, so the tiny barrack spaces seemed normal. I was excited to be around other children. Mom was envious of the women not having to cook and taking all kinds craft classes. We had blankets and slept on the barrack room floor that night with the Sakuras. We were served meals at the mess hall.

Dad arranged for several young guys to come and work on our farms. Driving home, Dad and Mom were clear, they loved being free in America. Dad was vocal, “Remember we are so lucky to be free, even if we have to work harder!”