Finding Life

By Peter Sowa

When the attack on Pearl Harbor occurs, sixth-grader David is a Japanese child who has been raised Christian in America. Suddenly, many people view David and his family as the enemy. Japanese Americans found themselves sent to evacuation centers. They could bring only what they could carry, and most of their belongings were either sold or stolen in their absence. David could hardly believe it was happening; wasnt America supposed to be the land of the free?

Davids family was sent to Poston I, where 10,000 people dwelled in barracks surrounded by barbed wire and secured by armed guards. The living space was minimal, and privacy was nonexistent. Even so, there was a sense of hope, as people found time to laugh and attend church. The church brought Christians together from all across the West Coast, and David made friends that would last long after the evacuation centers closed.

Following Davids familys stay in Americas makeshift Japanese prison, they moved to Chicago, where Davids true path to adulthood began. Surrounded by gang fights consisting of white versus black, the Japanese new kid had nowhere to goexcept to God, who would find a way to show David how to live a life of peace amidst chaos, love within hate, and ultimately salvation in the depths of damnation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Apr 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458201973

Peter Sowa

Peter Sowa was a Japanese child, raised as a Christian in America. He and his family experienced extreme prejudice after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and they were eventually sent to an evacuation center. Later, Sowa earned his master’s degree, spent two years in the US Army, and taught at the University of Wichita. He is also the author of two earlier novels.  

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Finding

Life

Peter Sowa

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Finding Life

Copyright © 2012 Peter Sowa

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-0196-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0197-3 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012902065

Abbott Press rev. date: 2/6/2012

Finding Life is the story of growing up. David’s parents were not typically Issei, the initial Japanese generation in this country. They were Christians and Christians among Japanese are scarce; so, their son was given an uncommon Nisei, second generation, rearing.

The Nisei culture with its prejudices, pride, pretensions, and failings is unavoidably a part of this story. The culture is unique and differs from its parent, the Issei, and worlds apart from the third generation, the Sansei.

David was living in Anaheim California when Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, and on the following Monday, David quickly learned that some his former friends rejected him as an enemy Jap while a few went out of their way to assure him that their friendship would continue.

Soon after the war began, travel for the Japanese on the West Coast was restricted, and Issei men began to vanish. Months later, the families were informed that their men were being detained by the government. As his friends were disappearing, David’s father, being a Christian, decided not to worry about it and said that he would trust in the Lord.

Since Japanese aliens could not purchase land in California, the Japanese lived in rented homes, so, when they were sent to the evacuation centers and were allowed to take only what they could carry in their hands, household goods had to be sold for a fraction of their value or abandoned. Christians who belonged to the Japanese Free Methodist Church in Anaheim were able to store their things in their church.

David’s family was sent to Poston I, where 10,000 people dwelled in a mile square surrounded by barbed wire and secured by armed guards. The people lived in barracks, ate in mess halls, endured the desert heat, the dust storms, the terrible drinking water and had time to laugh, go to craft classes and take judo. The older Nisei flirted looking for future mates.

Church services were available for David’s family on their first Sunday in camp. The Japanese do not make friends easily, but during their confinement, Christians became very close to other Christians from different parts of the country. These friendships were cherished long after the evacuation centers were closed.

When the government decided that the incarcerated were not dangerous but expensive to retain, they encouraged internees to leave the camps but would not allow them to return to the West Coast until the war ended.

Staying in Poston was a waste of time; so, after a year and a half in camp, David’s father moved the family to Chicago. They did not know the city, and David enrolled in a tough school. On his first day, he was told that the boys at McKinley High School never fought with their fists. All carried knives and guns were brought to school for gang fights, but his new found friends protected him from the black and white gangs in the school and the hoodlums in the neighborhood.

David believed in God and he knew that the blood of Christ could wash away his sins; yet, he could not feel the presence of the Spirit. He wondered if he was excluded from God’s elect because he fought in hostile situations instead of turning his other cheek. Eventually older mature Christians led and guided his spiritual growth.

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Before the 20 th Century, during the latter part of the Meiji era, Masako Oda was born in a small village on the island of Awaji off the coast of Kobe, Japan. Like the others of her generation, Masako received only four years of formal schooling; however, she was taught by her mother how to make threads and weave a cloth called " kanekin ". Those skills gave her a decided advantage when she went to work for a local garment factory. She was quickly promoted and eventually had sixty weavers placed under her direction. As a Supervisor-Inspector she was responsible for her group’s rate of production, quality control and training.

Masako worked at this factory for approximately four years, and during that time she shared an upstairs apartment with another Supervisor-Inspector. It was during her first year on the job that she was introduced to Christianity, and soon after, she was regularly attending services at a nearby church.

Three years after her conversion, Masako confided to Aiko Ogino, her pastor’s wife that she wished to be further educated. The woman contacted her friend at the Aoyama Gakuin in Tokyo, and made arrangements for Masako to enroll. This school spanned all levels of education from elementary school through college.

When Masako’s mother heard about this opportunity, she was delighted and immediately began making futons and garments that she would need in Tokyo.

On the day that Masako was to leave the island, her relatives converged on her parents’ home and demanded that she be dissuaded from pursuing this foreign and disgraceful course of action. Masako was already on the dock awaiting her passage to the main island when she was summoned home.

When she arrived at her home, angry relatives confronted her with a torrent of wild accusations. You are a disgrace to our family, her aunt screamed at her even before Masako was seated to face her accusers. Her uncle, the husband of the one who first spoke, said, We will be looked down upon by all our friends and neighbors. A cousin of Masako’s age said, We are not foreigners. Our family is no different from others in the village and you are making us look different—bad. Another aunt, her mother’s older sister said, Advantageous marriage opportunities for our children will be diminished if you pursue this disastrous course. How can you be so selfish! You had a decent job why didn’t you stay there?

When the initial turmoil subsided, Masako’s mother drew her aside and said, Postpone your ambitions until they’ve left. Be patient, their zeal will soon be spent. Their fervor will only continue for a moment. It won’t last. Their strident opposition will burn itself out. Then, you may go without a fuss.

But even as Masako was listening to her mother’s reasonable argument, the words of her Lord from Luke 12:9 came to her, But he that denieth me before men shall be denied before the angels of God.

Masako felt that she had no choice. The warning was clear. There was to be no waiting for an advantageous hour to declare her faith. Convenience was not an option. She returned to her place in front of the group and said firmly, I am a Christian, a follower of Christ. I will trust and obey my Lord always, and after I have prepared myself as He directs, I will pursue whatever course He will have me follow.

Her uncle, her father’s oldest brother who was seated directly in the center and before the others stood up and said, If that is your decision, this family withdraws all its love and support. You are a non-entity! You are not to take anything from this house with you. He pointed to the entrance through which she had entered and shouted, Leave!

Masako looked around the room and felt their collective hostility. Her mother did not look at her but was in the corner of the room behind the others, weeping.

It was strange how she felt when she stood up. She was completely alone, and yet, she felt not alone. She felt removed, apart, but unlike gaps in a dream, years later, she could distinctively remember the features and even the facial expressions of each and every one in that room. She gazed from one side of the group to the other, and then, slowly she bowed low, once in every direction to include all those who were there. Only the rustle of her garments could be heard as she stepped back retreating from that half-circle of relatives before her. She bowed once again, turned and walked out of the house.

As she went down the narrow streets from her house to the church, she was well aware that the houses lining those avenues had been standing since she was born, and yet, somehow, they were different. The world had changed.

When she arrived at the parsonage, she felt slightly apprehensive as she knocked on the door, but when the minister’s wife, Mrs. Ogino, came, opened the door, and looked at Masako’s face, she immediately, without a word, took Masako into her arms.

Masako held Mrs. Ogino tightly while tears flowed down her cheeks. Damp spots watered from her nose and eyes were spreading on shoulder of Mrs. Ogino’s garment. When Masako finally released her, Mrs. Ogino said, What happened? You were supposed to be on your way to Tokyo.

Slowly, Masako told her how she was called from the dock, how all her relatives descended on her, and how they threw her out of the family when she would not recant.

Well, said Mrs. Ogino, "let’s comply with your uncle’s demands. Hanao wo kitte kimono mo irete okuri kaeshi masho. We will sever your zori (slipper) straps that go between your toes, and since you cannot walk in zori’s so cut, it will signal that you cannot return to your father’s house. Your clothes will be washed and neatly folded and placed in the zori and these items will be returned to your father’s house. I will give you fresh Christian clothes to wear. They will symbolize the new life that you now have. You must not be like Lot’s wife and look back at your past with regret."

On the other side of Awaji in another small hamlet on the edge of the sea was where the Sagawa family had lived for generations. There were, at the end of the 19th Century, three children in the family. Kazuichi was the eldest. His sister Yoriko was next, and his brother Uji was the youngest.

When Kazuichi was a little boy, vendors regularly went through this village hawking their wares. They shouldered long poles with baskets on each end containing their merchandise. At each street, the vendors would set their burdens down on the ground and approach the wives down that street who might be interested in their wares. After taking their orders and delivering them, they would take up their poles and baskets, and go to the next street advertising their wares with loud voices.

On one occasion after a vendor left his pole and baskets to solicit orders, Kazuichi decided to play vendor, but since he was a little boy and not strong enough to lift the two baskets of merchandise, he took just the pole. He went down the next street yelling, "fresh vegetables here: nappa [Chinese cabbage] and daikon [white radish]!"

When the vendor returned to where he had left his goods, he was aghast. His pole was missing. He could not move his merchandise without a pole. The baskets were large and had to be held on the ends of the pole away from his body. Without his pole, he was helpless. A passerby informed him that little Kazuichi Sagawa had taken his pole and was going up and down the next street hawking his pretended wares. The vendor was indignant. He felt highly insulted. Here, he was working very hard to support his family and a little boy was making fun of him. He went directly to the Sagawa home and complained to Kazuichi’s father.

Mr. Sagawa was amused, but to right the wrong, he caught up with Kazuichi and took the pole away from him and returned it to the vendor. Then, he purchased both baskets of merchandise to placate the man’s injured pride.

Every afternoon, those who worked for Mr. Sagawa would take a break and have oyastu [a snack], and Kazuichi, when he was a little older than when he made off with the vendor’s pole, decided to take advantage of the situation and help them with their snacks. The workers laughed when they saw him coming saying, ‘Yaa, mata kita-zo [Here he comes again]." Frequently, Kazuichi was sent to purchase the snacks.

In this village a very small man married a very, very large woman. It was not unusual during certain times of the year for unexpected squalls to suddenly drench the village. This once occurred while the little man was outdoors taking his bath in a tub. His wife wishing to protect her husband from the weather picked up the tub, the water, the man, and all his dignity and ran into the house. The villagers were delighted and the little man was furious. He raised his voice, "Baka! [Stupid!] he shouted. What do you think you’re doing?" Even after voicing his wrath in the strongest terms that he could possibly command, he had to repeat himself several times. He bellowed and he roared, and she, poor woman, had not a word to say. The damage could not be undone.

There lived in this hamlet an infamous drunkard who periodically went on a binge, and while, his poor family cowered. He went through the house breaking the furnishings and smashing dishes. He made a lot of noise to convey to the whole neighborhood, the depth and seriousness of his fury.

One evening, while he was having a tantrum, Kazuichi, who, by then, had grown up to be one of the strongest sumo men in the village, entered the house. The man stopped screaming and stared at this intrusion in disbelief. How could anyone barge into his home while he was still climbing toward the zenith of his fury? As he watched in disbelief and horror, Kazuichi began going through his house breaking and throwing things with great abandon.

The drunkard followed Kazuichi’s destructive path until he caught up with him and said, What are you doing?

I’m helping you, Kazuichi said cheerfully as he threw a plate through one of the shoji panels.

No, no, no, the man said pulling on Kazuichi’s arm.

Don’t you want everything broken? said Kazuichi.

No, said the man.

Then, why are you breaking things and scaring your family?

I got drunk. I get angry when I drink too much sake. I’m sorry for what I did, but I don’t need any help destroying my house.

Well, if you change your mind, said Kazuichi cheerfully, I am just down the street. This was truly enjoyable so I want to help.

The man was never known to be destructive again. Occasionally, he would raise his voice, but never so loud that he could be heard down the street as far as the Sagawa house.

Kazuichi’s father’s principal business, before the days of refrigeration, was to take live fish from the fishermen and deliver them to retailers. He had twelve little boats built with tanks in them to keep the fish alive. Each boat was manned by five men. It was a good business and it allowed Kazuichi to visit all parts of Japan and Korea.

Kazuichi did learn to speak Korean, and years later, at a flower shop he had in Los Angeles, he would speak to a Korean woman in her native tongue and since his accent was almost flawless, the woman accused Kazuichi of pretending to be Japanese.

Once when Kazuichi hired a horse to cross the Korean peninsula, he found that the only horse that he could rent came with a guide, and his guide, who led the animal by its bridle, could not be hurried. He walked at a slow comfortable pace.

Why can we not go a little faster? Kazuichi asked.

Why?

So I can sooner arrive at my destination.

If you needed to be there earlier, the guide replied, why did you not start yesterday?

Kazuichi related to his sons that he was once caught by a mini-insurrection in Korea. The people in the vicinity where he was staying attacked the small contingent of Japanese who were residing there.

Did you get hurt? said David.

No, he said, "those farmers had no fighting skills. They pushed and shoved with their hands and feet, and if you covered up, you could not get hurt. The Western practice of striking with a knotted fist in that day was uncommon in the East, and on their feet, the people wore zori (slippers) with soft soles.

What did you do?

When the trouble started, one of the men went on horseback for help.

Did they send a troop of soldiers? said David.

A troop? No, they sent one soldier.

A soldier? said David, Just one? Is that all? What could he do?

When he came, the mob ran away.

From just one soldier?

Japanese soldiers were brutal—crazy—and not accountable for their actions. Soldiers maimed or killed with impunity anyone who dared to challenge or refused to obey their orders.

Kazuichi crossed over the water from Japan to the peninsula many times, and the Sea of Japan is noted for its severe weather. During a storm, he told his sons, their sails would be taken down, the anchor would be hung off the stern, and the bow would be headed into the wind toward the on-coming surf. . . . our boat, he said, would rise up on tall mountains of water from where the horizon could be seen stretched out in every direction. Then the boat would slide down into deep canyons surrounded by towering walls of water. We would lash ourselves to our craft and hold our breath as the waves washed over our deck.

What happened when a big wave came over? How long could you hold your breath? said David.

Big waves go over big boats. Small boats ride over big waves, but the pounding of small waves can weaken a small boat. Holding our breath until wave passed over us was not a problem.

Did your boats ever breakup and sink? said David.

"O-jii-san-no [grandfather’s] boat broke up. He and the others hung to wooden debris for 24 hours before they were saved."

Was he sick? How long did it take for him to recover? said David.

"Ah, furo [a hot bath] that night was enough."

Kazuichi couldn’t recall being taught to swim. We all knew how to swim, he told his sons, but to teach adult visitors, we took them out to sea for a couple of miles and threw them overboard.

Threw them overboard? said James. What if he started to drown?

We would take him out of the water if he really started to drown, but that never happened. He would sputter and swallow a little water. Salt water is not good to drink but it’s buoyant, not like fresh lake or river water. No need to panic. The boat would be kept out of the learner’s reach and everybody on the boat would shout instructions and encouragement.

What about under currents?

Under currents? Under currents do not pull you down like the White people say. Just ride the current out to sea. It will not take you more than two or three miles out, maybe five at most, and when the current dies, swim back to shore a different way. It is not a problem if you do not panic and wear yourself out. We have all done it

What about cramps? Did you ever get cramps? said James.

Cramps? What cramps?

Well, they tell us in school not to go into the water for an hour after we’ve had lunch, said James.

Aah, said Kazuichi disparagingly, when working, we stuffed our mouths with lunch and dove back in the water. Tangled nets do not wait.

You’ve never had cramps? said James.

No, never, said Kazuichi shaking his head. "But we were not like the Okinawans who were more at home in the water then on land. They would anchor their boats several miles off shore and swim to our island. They never bothered with a skiff. When their business with o-jii-san [grandfather] was done, he would offer to take them back on a dory, but they would refuse. They would dive into the water and swim back to their ship. Okinawans herded fish into nets. We could not do that."

Some in the Sagawa village never ventured over the hills behind their town nor had they ever seen the other side of their island. But Kazuichi wanted to see more of the world; so, just before he was twenty, he left home.

In Tokyo, a mining corporation was offering enormous wages, and although the promised compensations were real, the costs of food and lodging that they charged their workers were astronomical, and the workers had no other source of food and housing. They were quickly enslaved by debt, and those attempting to flee were brought back and flogged before the others. When he saw this, Kazuichi waited for an opportune moment and fled at night into the darkness. He hid in the bushes while guards with torches looked for him. He did not move even when they were very close. Eventually, they left the area where he was hiding, and Kazuichi to keep a low profile crawled to the beach and slipped into the black water. He was at home in the water and he swam quickly and silently to where he remembered some skiffs were moored.

He had no problems working in the dark. He loosened the knot that secured the boat furthest from the shore and quietly pushed it ahead of him until he was at some distance from the beach. Then, he crawled into the boat from its stern, and knowing full well that sounds carry over the water, he quietly rowed until he was out a good distance into the sea. Then, he made his way around to the main island and abandoned the boat. It drifted away from him and out to sea. Kazuichi swam to a deserted part of the beach, and eventually found his way back to Awaji.

In Awaji, Kazuichi convinced his brother Uji into going to the United States with him. The two hired on as deck hands on a transpacific vessel. When the ship neared Seattle, Kazuichi dove over the side and swam ashore. A policeman picked him up on the beach, took him home, gave him a bath, warm dry clothes, and food. You know, Kazuichi said to his sons, Americans are much more tolerant and generous than the Japanese.

Kazuichi found Uji several days later and discovered that his brother walked off the gangplank. Kazuichi did not know this, but at the time of their crossing, workers were needed on the West Coast of the United States. Japan attempted to keep her citizens by putting up barriers to immigration, but immigrants, once in the United States, were welcomed. American restrictions imposed on Asians entering the country came later.

In those days, Japanese footwear, the zori and geta, were all the same size. A large foot hung over the back of the sandals and a small foot would not reach all the way back. When Uji realized that big shoes and small were priced alike in America, he purchased the biggest shoes available; larger, he reasoned, gave you more for your money.

Uji would not eat oatmeal. He was adamant in his objection, No! Absolutely not! He refused to taste the cereal. Kazuichi and his friends tried to convince Uji that oatmeal prepared and eaten in America was not the awful cereal they had back home. But Uji would not listen. He could not imagine oatmeal in America being different from what they had at home, but just a few weeks before returning to Japan, he relented. He put a spoonful of the cereal in his mouth and decided it was wonderful. For the remainder of his stay until he sailed for Japan, he ate nothing but oatmeal morning, noon, and night.

Before his brother returned to Japan, Kazuichi told Uji that he could have his inheritance. Kazuichi did not want the obligation of having to care for less fortunate relatives that attended the inheritance.

There were wonderful things to do and to see in America. Kazuichi worked on the railroad and watched lumberjacks in the northwest. He signed on a commercial whaler and later recalled how All around us, the sea turned red from the blood of a harpooned whale.

He wrote to his brother, The mouth of the Columbia River is so crammed with traps that you cannot imagine a single salmon getting through; but, during their season, the river upstream churns with fish.

From Alaska, he wrote, "I met a most successful Eskimo hunter. He brought in more polar bears skins than anyone else, and the man attributed his great success to a gun that he got in a trade.

"I asked him to show me this marvelous weapon. I saw it and was appalled. The barrel was bent. It was turned down. The poor native had been gypped, but didn’t know it. I said, ‘That is not a good gun. The barrel is bent. How can you shoot anything but the ground with that?’

"But the man insisted. He said that this piece was best. ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘Good gun, best gun. You come. You watch.’

"I was worried about going with a hunter who had a gun with a bent barrel, but there was no question about his ability. He killed more polar bears than anyone else. Well, I came to America to see, and I decided that this might be worth seeing. So I went with him.

"An attacking polar bear gets up on his hind legs right in front of his quarry and spreads out his front paws to engulf his victim, but before he strikes, he growls.

"We went to where there were bears, and when I saw a bear in the distance, I positioned myself a good distance behind my Indian hunter. I reasoned that if I was standing far enough away, I would be no threat to the bear, and if it ate the Indian, it would not chase me with a full stomach.

The bear saw us and stopped what it was doing. Then, he focused on the Eskimo that was walking toward him. The Eskimo kept walking until that huge animal came lumbering toward him. Do you realize how much larger a living polar bear is than a dead one? Seven feet is big, but a seven-foot attacking bear is enormous. The Eskimo stopped and just waited for the bear to reach him. When the huge beast got right up to the Indian and I was about to leave, the bear reared up on his hind legs with his forepaws spread wide and snarled just as I was told it would do. At that moment, the Eskimo shoved the bent barrel of his gun into the bear’s open mouth and fired. The height of the bear, the bent barrel and the open mouth were all exactly right for the hunter. The bear fell over backwards with the back of his head blown off.

Did you go again? Uji wrote from Japan.

No, wrote Kazuichi. Once was enough.

When Masako completed her studies, she was sent as a missionary to Takasago, a town near Kobe on the island of Honshu. Once a week, she took part in the evangelism meeting at Kakogawa, an hour train-ride from Takasago. She would stay the night at the family home of one of the converts. Her contribution to these evangelistic events was music.

In Takasago, she had an upstairs apartment, and her neighbor, the wife of the Chief of Police, turned out to be a childhood chum from Awaji. Masako’s stipend was $12.00 a month, and from these wages, she managed to save enough to purchase a piano.

Her work was exciting, challenging and fun. Nurses, schoolteachers, police men and students loved to hear the gospel and sing the songs she taught. Every day, they would come to her apartment before and after work and asked if they could sing the hymns that she had taught them.

In Los Angeles, a Doctor said to Edith Dawson, Mrs. Dawson, you must get out of town and move to the country where there is fresh air and quiet.

Gabe, Gabriel Dawson, Edith’s husband, took her immediately out of the city. He moved her to the Northeast end of the San Gabriel Valley, near the city of Upland and acquired a small house close to the mountains.

Approximately a quarter of a mile from their residence was a large camp of Japanese laborers, 48 orange pickers with 2 women to cook for them. The residents of Pomona were trying to drive them out of the area. Store windows displayed large placards that read Japs get out. They were openly persecuted, and Edith, herself, was afraid of these strangers although she had never heard of laborers retaliating against their persecutors. Still, she imagined that they had drinking bouts in their camps resulting in brawls that would spill over into the nearby Caucasian neighborhoods.

Gabe Dawson harbored no such concerns. He went to the camp and asked if anyone there could do their laundry. They said that they would welcome the work but they didn’t have the facilities to do it. So, it was agreed that the laundry would be done at the Dawson home.

When Mr. Ando came to do the work, Edith was so curious about these strange, yellow, slant-eyed people that she got out of her sick bed and went to the door of the room where he was working. The door was ajar so she was able to peek through the opening. The man had such a gentle, relaxed demeanor and no hard features that signaled potential violence. Her fear of the Japanese vanished.

As the fall season turned to winter, Edith’s condition worsened, and the doctor in Upland declared, It’s tuberculosis, and there is not much hope that she will get better. Tuberculosis was a sentence of death, but it came as no surprise. Most of Edith’s father’s side of the family died of this dreadful illness.

The people in the labor camp knew that someone in the Dawson home was seriously ill, and Mr. Ando kept the laborers apprised of her condition. Pneumonia set in around the holidays, and on Christmas, the men from the camp came one by one with gifts and words of sympathy.

When Edith’s mother who had come to care for her placed the presents on her bed, it was half covered with dishes, vases and lovely trays. When Edith saw their offerings of friendship, her gratitude exceeded the weariness and pain racking her debilitated body. Turning toward the wall next to her bed, she prayed, Lord, if I am healed, I will serve you by being kind to the Japanese as long as I live. Within moments, she had her answer. She knew that she was going to live and that she was given her purpose in life.

Some mysterious healing balm coated her burning lungs. A stillness—a soothing quiet—a peaceful calm engulfed her soul, and she went into a deep untroubled slumber. Her fever subsided, and with the cessation of coughs and hemorrhages, her strength slowly returned.

When Edith had recovered sufficiently, she baked a large cake, and with her husband, she took it to the Japanese camp. When the couple knocked at their barracks, the men were reluctant to let them enter and have them see their sparse primitive quarters.

Their understanding of English was limited, and Edith and Gabe could not recognize a word of Japanese, but as she attempted to communicate her appreciation for their gifts, they responded with broad smiles, handshakes, and much bowing.

As soon as the initial tenseness had been dispersed, Edith said, Now, since you were so kind to me, I would love to do something for you.

Teacher, they said, please teach us to talk English.

Edit was delighted. All right, she said, you come to my house on Friday, and I will do my best. To her surprise, 21 young men came to study.

Since Edith had no training as missionary, she did not preach, but confined herself to English instruction. She did pass out 50 gospel tracts to occupants of several camps, but that was the extent of her ministry until one of her students came to her and said, Teacher, why can we not have church meetings like you Americans?

Is that what you want? she said, surprised and pleased.

Yes, he said.

Silently, even as they were conversing, she praised the Lord, and she said under her breath, Lord, how am I to proceed? I’m not a preacher. When the man left, she went straight to her room to speak to the Lord.

As she was asking the Lord for guidance, it came to her that a Quaker minister, Marjory Stanton, lived five miles away. She realized that this was not a coincidental thought. She got off her knees and immediately called her friend’s home.

Marjory, she said, if I invite Japanese farm laborers to my home, will you come and speak to them?

Oh gladly, said Mrs. Stanton. I know they need to hear about the Lord, and I felt burdened by their needs. I prayed about it, but it hadn’t come to me as to how I could accomplish what I felt was the will of Jesus. Yes, oh yes, oh my yes, gladly, will I speak to them. I’m excited and most happy. This is an answer to my prayers.

On the following Sunday, Edith hitched up their old horse and buggy and drove out to the Stanton home. They had a word of prayer and then together they returned to Edith’s house where they held their first meeting.

Events followed in rapid succession. Mrs. Stanton’s sister had a vacant house in town centrally located from all the labor camps in the surrounding area. She was delighted that her house could be used for this purpose, and the Nazarene Church furnished it with an altar rail, chairs, and an organ.

Mrs. Stanton preached and Edith played the organ. Services were held every Sunday afternoon, and after services, Edith would hitch up her horse and buggy, drive out to where the men were living and the two women would hold ‘camp meetings.’

Initially, the camps were composed of men without women and subsequently, the arrival of women raised a multitude of problems. Edith made a concerted effort to call on every woman who arrived from Japan.

Many picture brides and their future spouses had exchanged fraudulent letters. Some men sent pictures of homes they did not possess. Both sent pictures of more comely companions. But most made the best of it, and many raised large families.

The women asked Edith how to buy and prepare American food since the availability of Japanese food in the Pomona area was limited. So Edith added a cooking class to their curriculum. Mr. Masuda, an earnest Christian, made his home available for these classes, and the Nazarene Church contributed a table, dishes, a stove, and all the necessary cooking equipment for these lessons.

Broken English and sign language were used for instructions, and at the end of each lesson, they ate what they had prepared. There were many hours of happy fellowship in these classes.

The women were afraid of American doctors. Circulating rumors declared that the Caucasians physicians practiced their experiments on them. As a result, these poor women journeyed all the way to Los Angeles to see Japanese doctors, but as the barriers of language diminished and the distance to Los Angeles seem to get longer, they began to put their trust in local physicians.

Edith once took a picture bride, a Mrs. Oya, to the doctor. The doctor gave her a shot, and on the way home, the woman began to shake. Since her own house was much closer than the woman’s house from where they were, Edith decided to take Mrs. Oya to her home. The woman was very heavy, much bigger than Edith, and there was no one at her house to help. Gabe was at work, and the woman had to be carried. Somehow, Edith managed to get her into the house.

The woman’s hands were icy cold and her fingers and lips had turned blue. Edith covered her with blankets and placed hot water bottles under the covers. She was certain that Mrs. Oya needed professional care but she couldn’t leave the woman while she went for help. She turned to God. The shaking subsided and Mrs. Oya’s body temperature returned to normal. After a few hours, Mrs. Oya was able to walk and Edith took her home.

Later, the two recounted their experience and laughed about how Edith had to struggle with Mrs. Oya’s weight. Mrs. Oya and her husband were eventually saved, and they joined the Salvation Army in another town.

At times, Edith took men to the doctor on her buggy, and when there was no one else to care for them, she brought them home. Once, she had five patients, and Gabe worked hard to support their needs. He welcomed the men into his home and never complained.

The Dawsons engaged a carpenter to cut out six big letters, NIPPON. The letters were painted gold and mounted on a board. Edith thought it was a beautiful sign. They hung up in front of their house. Some in Upland objected to it, but the Dawsons owned the property and they were well within their legal rights.

Mr. Hendricks, their next door neighbor, asked Gabe, Why did you put up that sign?

Gabe said, We want all the Japanese passing by our house to know that they are loved by those who live here.

Mr. Hendricks gave Gab a strange look, shrugged his shoulders and shaking his head returned to his own house.

During the period that followed, the Dawson home bustled with socials, meetings, services, meals and prayers. After Sunday school class, Edith would have the men stay for lunch. She was afraid that once they went back to their camps, they would not return for the afternoon services. At times, she had as many as 20 for lunch.

The Dawson’s aging mare was a remarkable animal. It was gray and very old and very, very skinny; and no matter what she ate, oats or barley or hay, she gained not an ounce. But in spite of her pitiful appearance and dreadful spirit, Edith and Marjory Stanton needed that old mare to take them on their visitations. On stormy days, Babe was not inclined to budge from her quarters, and although she managed to win Mrs. Stanton’s sympathy, she was still needed for transportation. Many times, the two would begin by coaxing and ended by arguing and scolding. Once they were on the road, just in case, Babe changed her mind, Edith armed herself with some old biscuits. In her opinion, Once biscuits are cold, you know, they really shouldn’t be served; but they’re just fine for throwing at the ears of stubborn old horses.

On some stormy days, Edith and Marjory would have to wade in water up to their knees to get from the buggy to the entrance of some of the homes they were visiting.

One night, the two women were on a dark road shaded on both sides by huge Eucalyptus trees. Edith could scarcely see the old horse pulling their buggy. Abruptly, Babe stopped.

They didn’t know why she stopped, but they sensed danger. Let’s pray, said Marjory.

You pray, said Edit, While I whip the horse.

Before Edith could get Babe to move, two burly black figures came out of the shadows. When they seized the mare’s bridle, time stood still. Everything was suddenly frozen. Edith with her mouth open was afraid to breathe. Then, a voice from behind them cried out, What do you want? and another voice shouted, What are you doing? The bridle was dropped and the black silhouettes slipped back into the darkness from whence they came.

Christian men from the mission had challenged the ruffians. God had led them to be behind the two women. They were heading to the same service that the women were planning to attend. They thanked God and together with the men, they praised the Lord and joyfully went to their meeting.

Lillian Steward, a former missionary to Japan who was forced by ill health to return to the States, spoke Japanese fluently. During her convalescence, she was living in Upland with her sister. Marjory Stanton, and Edith and Gabe Dawson happily conceded their leadership to her.

During the next ten years, many of those saved went on to South America and others returned to Japan. One soul, Hiroshi Kitagawa, attended a Nazarene Bible College; and in Japan, he became a Bishop in the Nazarene Church, and it was during this same season that Yasuo Minami became a Christian.

When Lillian Steward felt sufficiently healed, she went again to Japan and returned in terrible health. The small congregation in Upland prayed for healing but they were resigned to losing her. Mr. Minami prayed, but with a difference, he had faith that was sufficient. Lillian Steward’s health was wonderfully restored and she rejoined their mission again as their leader.

Frequently, Caucasians attempted to drive the Japanese out by throwing rocks at their homes and feces on their persons as they rode to work on their bicycles. The Japanese were never known to retaliate.

Mr. Yamane driving his truck to market was struck by another vehicle. He was knocked to the ground and was left there with a broken spine. The other driver, a Caucasian, did not even stop. The victim lost the use his legs and all sensations in the lower part of his body. With crutches, he managed to move about, and fortunately, he had friends who were willing to care for him.

Mr. Yamane had much time to reflect on his condition. His future was grim. His bitterness grew, and his hatred for all things American mounted. Edith didn’t know anything about his condition or the circumstances by which he arrived at this state when she first knocked on his door. No one answered.

When Edith found out about him, she asked visiting ministers from Japan: Rev. Sasao, Dr. Kagawa, Rev. Kida, and Rev. Tsuchiyama to speak to him; but they were not allowed to approach his bed to penetrate his silent shield of resentment.

Edith prayed for him and she came to believe that the Lord would have her force her way into Mr. Yamane’s house. First, she was determined to put aside all her pride. Then, she decided that she would be rude, and even play the fool, if necessary, to enter the house. After her spirit, mind and feelings were properly prepared, she armed herself with a picnic lunch and a pumpkin pie—all the Japanese that Edith knew loved pumpkin pie.

When she got to the house, she knocked; but as usual, no one answered. So she called out, I’m coming in. She pushed the door open and entered the house. The man and woman inside were shocked.

She put her basket down on their round wooden table and then, without a word she knelt at the man’s bedside. I’m sorry, you were hurt, she said.

I don’t want your sympathy, he said.

Surely, you must get lonely, she said. You have friends to care for you, but you have so many hours by yourself.

I prefer to be alone, he said.

During the several years that she had been in this ministry, Edith made a concerted effort to become conversant in Japanese and diligently studied and observed the Japanese rules of etiquette. She knew that she had broken all the rules, but she felt that her Lord would have her persist.

Mrs.Yamane, who appropriately had not spoken, appeared angry and bewildered. Her indignation was visibly apparent in her face. Edith ignored the signs and calmly said, Let’s make some tea.

The woman did not answer nor did she offer to help. Not even a chair was offered. Edith ignored their rudeness and brought two chairs to the table by herself, and as they watched, she spread her lunch on the table. Edith was well aware that no guest served tea under any circumstance.

The young man watching her every move from his bed could not repress a smile. He is probably thinking, she thought, How could anyone, even from her boorish culture, be so ignorant of common etiquette, but that was of no consequence, Edit had placed her pride in the Lord’s care and was trusting that He was guiding her actions.

In Japanese, she asked the Lord to bless the food, and then she invited her host and hostess to partake of it. By this time, all the rules and formalities had been so badly trashed that there was no acceptable way to re-establish proper protocols; and they found the food tempting.

As they ate, Mr. Yamane slowly began to speak. His English, hidden until then, was excellent, and he related to Edith how great was his anguish and pain.

A great victory had been achieved and no further rudeness was necessary. The door to their home thereafter was always opened from the inside for Edith, A chair was brought for her, and tea was always served. But Edith had no idea what she was to do next.

Shortly after this, Edith received a phone call from Yamane’s neighbor asking her to rush over to the Yamane home. Gabe hitched Babe to the buggy while Edith dressed to leave the house. She rushed off, and when she arrived, she discovered that it was not Yoshiro, Mr. Yamane, but Sachiko, Mrs. Yamane, who was critically ill. Mrs. Yamane spoke no English; so, Edith had Mr. Yamane go with them to the hospital.

The doctor at the hospital determined that Mrs. Yamane had to undergo surgery on the following day. As they headed for home, Edith said to Mr.Yamane, You cannot go home. There is no one there to cook for you. You must come home with me.

The announcement appeared to have surprised him, and Edith thought that he was about to refuse; so, she said, I’m not taking you home. We are on our way to my house, and I do not intend to stop the horse at your house to let you off.

He smiled and said nothing, but from that moment, he was a different person. That evening, he seemed to enjoy the family. He demonstrated for Edith’s son, Rudolph, all sorts of jujitsu techniques. Rudolph was a strong boy and enjoyed wrestling, but he was confounded at every turn by this cripple who was able to best him. By bedtime, both were exhausted.

Mrs. Yamane recovered, but before the two went home from the hospital, Edith asked him to go and listen to Reverend Tsuchiyama, who at the time, was preaching every Sunday.

The way of salvation was clearly explained in the first sermon that Mr. Yamane heard, and he was eager to hear more. Eventually, he was converted. His bitterness left and he became a happy person. He was eager to return to Japan and tell his mother and others about the good news.

Before his departure, he said to Edith, If I live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget your kindness.

After Edith overworked or experienced duress, she would incur a high fever that would last for approximately 24 hours. Then a hard chill would set in followed by severe coughing. Blood would appear in her saliva. These attacks left her spent, and these assaults were becoming progressively worse. The doctors were unable to help. A shot to relax and put her to sleep was their best effort.

On New Year’s Eve, Yasuo Minami came to the Dawson home and said, Tonight, we have an all-night prayer meeting. I am taking your case to the Lord. Even if I die at the altar, I do not expect to leave until God gives me an answer.

God did answer, and Edit was healed permanently. Each time, she experienced the tenseness that preceded the impending incursion of her former malady, she would turn to God and say, Lord, remember brother Minami’s prayer. Immediately calm would ensue.

Yasuo Minami returned to Japan to study for the ministry with the intention of returning to the United States to serve among the thousands of Japanese people in Los Angeles.

When his education in Japan was about to be completed, the church leaders in Japan felt that it would be best if Mr. Minami returned to the United States as a married man. They approached Masako Oda, but she was reluctant to give up her work in Japan.

He needs a wife, one said. You are most suitable, another added, but she had no desire to go to the United States. She had her own work to do in Japan, but persistence, persistence and greater persistence on the part of the church leaders overcame her resistance. Masako married Yasuo Minami and the two sailed for America.

In 1919, members of the Women’s Missionary Society enlisted Mrs. Maude Thornton, a former missionary to Japan, to spread the gospel in the burgeoning Japanese population in Los Angeles. The General Missionary Board of the Free Methodist Church acknowledged the need by formally appointing her to open a mission.

There was a Japanese Free Methodist Mission in Port Los Angeles, which for a time was a Japanese residential and occupational center, but when the congregation moved to Terminal Island, the mission was closed.

Sadami Mizukami, an ordained elder, was one of the founders of the Port Los Angeles mission, and Maude Thornton enlisted him to help establish a mission in central Los Angeles.

The two decided to convert into a mission an old garage located on Jackson Street near Alameda. Enlisting the aid of Mrs. Thornton’s son and daughter and a number of volunteers, they scrubbed that old brick structure clean until every oily smudge was gone from its walls and concrete floor.

In 1922, the mission was moved to 809 E First Street and was formally designated as the Free Methodist Japanese Church. The first pastor of the Church was Rev. Minami. His education was completed and he was properly married. Maude Thornton was the Sunday-School Superintendent.

Soon after these appointments were made an active Sunday school, Sunday afternoon services, weekly English language classes at night, day classes in the homes of wives and mothers, and Sunday evening street meetings on First and San Pedro were organized.

God gave to Rev. Mizukami a huge, deep, clear voice. His words during an ordinary conversation could be heard in every corner of a large hall crowded with people. With this great instrument he preached the gospel on the streets of Little Tokyo, the heart of the Japanese community.

It was at one of these street meetings where Kazuichi Sagawa first heard the gospel. At the end of the service, he followed the group back to their church, and there he gave himself to the Lord.

Edith Dawson who was by then licensed to preach was asked to take charge of the Japanese Nazarene Church on Mariposa. The previous pastor, Will Eckles, decided to go to Japan as a missionary. Edith accepted the assignment and moved to Los Angeles, but since she felt that the members preferred a male pastor, she confined herself to teaching evening English classes, visitation, and playing a little street organ for the street ministry.

When the district became hostile to the Japanese and petitions were circulated to oust them, the members moved away and the Nazarene Church was closed. Some joined the Holiness Church on the West Side of the city, pastored by Rev. Kuzuhara. Others went to the Free Methodist Church on First Street.

Edith and Lillian Steward felt that the Nazarenes were more concerned with Japan than with home missions; so, they brought their love for the American Nihonjin [Japanese] to the Free Methodists

Musical instruments were not permitted in Free Methodist services, and this restriction was an obstacle for Edith, but the denomination decided that a piano would be allowed since the First Street church was regarded as a mission.

Since she was born with straight hair, Mary Abe was told by her Sunday school teacher that curling her hair would be a sin. When she did cut her hair, her teacher would not speak to her for a whole month. She was also told not to wear bright colors or any kind of jewelry.

Years later, Mary said, I remember when Mrs. Dawson came. She was wonderful. She was wearing bright clothes and a long string of beads. Her hair was short and curled. She talked a lot and gave us lots of love. She taught my sister and I how to play the mandolin, and then, she took us around to various churches to perform. I did the driving because Mrs. Dawson didn’t drive automobiles. In those days, you could get your driver’s license at twelve—that’s when I got mine.

Masako and Reverend Minami were living with the Dawsons when their first baby arrived. Physically Masako had not adjusted to American food so the milk in her breast dried up. She couldn’t feed her child. But when she told Edith that they would have to move, Edith pleaded with her to stay and promised to alter their menu to accommodate Masako’s needs.

After his conversion, Kazuichi decided to settle in the Los Angeles area and stay close to the Church. He made his living as a fish peddler. As he made his rounds, whenever he heard that a customer on his route had children, he would go to their home and invite the children to Sunday school. If any interest was apparent, he would drive by that home on Sunday morning to take them to church.

Kazuichi had a winning manner and won the trust of many of his customers. They frequently confided in him. He would always listen, infrequently advise, and when, a woman’s touch was needed, he would have Edith Dawson accompany him. Her love of God that she shared with others was her most effective instrument, and she had a talent for finding appropriate doctors and hospitals for her charges.

In a hotel on East First Street lived an insane woman and her troubled husband. The woman became extremely agitated when anyone attempted to approach her, and because of her disruptive behavior, the owner of the hotel said that the couple would have to leave. Her husband asked Sagawa for help.

To take her to the psychopathic ward of General Hospital, she had to get dressed. But when her husband or Sagawa tried to approach her, she would have hysterics. Kazuichi called Edith and brought her to the hotel.

When Edith entered the room, the woman, hair disheveled and dressed in a soiled gown, was on the bed sitting as the Japanese do with her legs folded under her. Her eyes opened wide with surprise and fright when she saw a ‘White’ woman enter the room. Edith removed her own shoes, sat on the bed next to her, and took the woman into her arms. The woman’s guarded tenseness made her rigid. Her limbs were stiff and hard. Edit held her tightly and told her again and again in Japanese, I love you, and I am so sorry for you. You are very ill.

As her mood changed, the tenseness in her arms eased and she became pliable. Edith persuaded her to stand, and then, she gently washed her soiled face and hands, combed her hair, and had her put on fresh clothes.

Abruptly, the woman objected, I’m not sick. I don’t want to go to the doctor. Edith realized that her mood was rapidly reverting to hostility; so she threw a coat around her and called Kazuichi and the woman’s husband who were waiting outside. They rushed in and all three managed to get her down the stairs and into Sagawa’s panel truck.

After being examined, the woman was committed to the insane asylum in Norwalk. Four months later, the woman said to husband, How did I get here? What am I doing? Who helped? When her husband told her about Edith Dawson, the woman wished to meet her.

Edith took a bus out to Norwalk and met a lovely, new lady. The doctor attributed the woman’s illness to her excessive addiction to tobacco. She had no friends in America and her husband was so busy working that he was unable to keep her company. She took refuge from her loneliness in cigarettes. In the hospital, her forced abstinence settled her nerves. She regained her strength and her mind was cleared. The doctors recommended that she avoid crowds; so, she did not attend services. Her husband often went to the church on East First.

A young man came to the United States to make money, but he was so lonely that he began to lose his mind. He paced the floor at night and was forever packing and re-packing his trunk. Those on the floor below his hotel room complained to the management about his behavior,