Never Again
by
Light beige dust
billowed lazily behind the van as we slowly cruised down the dirt road. A long ago rain-caused washout sliced a
shallow scar diagonally across the road ahead.
I inched through the rough spot, and accelerated slowly. Several hundred feet ahead, a dusty white
Nissan Sentra was parked, and a sad-faced elderly
Japanese couple walked slowly away from their car towards an overgrown tangle
of trees. He was 70-ish, and pointed to some foundations hidden under the
trees. I could see the lady nodding and
saying something to him. They stopped
and stared at the trees as I neared them.
As I passed them they looked up at the van. Copper flashes of sun glinted from tears
rolling down well-weathered cheeks.
We stopped in a large
turnaround a quarter mile west of them.
Further off to the west, the
Missing were the busy
sounds of humanity. Missing were the
busy hands of people at work, trying to make a life in this God-forsaken dry
corner of
Fifty years ago, this
location swarmed with people. Here
10,000 people, mostly American citizens of Japanese ancestry, called tarpaper
wood-framed barracks home. It was World
War II, and this was one of ten "relocation centers" scattered across
seven Western states, and established to house 110,000 Americans. These Americans were moved from sensitive
coastal and aerospace industrial areas, to places where they could be
watched. It was feared that they could
collaborate with the enemy, so the government decreed that they would be
relocated away from any possible interaction with enemy agents that just might
try to contact them.
(For those of us born
after World War II ended, it isn’t possible for us to know how the government
leaders felt. I'm not trying to
rationalize or cast moral judgment on those leaders. Right or wrong, they reacted to an extremely
frightening situation during a period in our history marked by the hysteria of
war.)
I heard the Nissan's
engine start, and the couple drove off to the east, through the washout, and
past two squat stone structures that mark the entrance to what is one of the
world's most unique ghost towns.
Manzanar...That word is
simply from the Spanish for apples.
Back in the later half
of the 1800s apple and peach orchards were established in the area surrounding
the John Shepherd ranch. By the turn of
the century, other people had settled in the area and a small railroad station
was established along the narrow-gauge Carson & Colorado Railroad. On May 13, 1911 a post office was established
in Ira Hatfield's small general store.
During the mid 1910s,
the
On December 31, 1929
the post office was closed, and Manzanar shriveled
like an apple in the hot desert sun.
Then came the “Day that Lived in Infamy”. Early in
the morning of December 7, 1941, the American military base at
On February 19, 1942,
President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order #9066. It established a number of "military
areas" in which people could be excluded, or their movements
restricted. This was in response to a
letter sent to the president from some West Coast congressional representatives
who feared the large Japanese population "could possibly jeopardize or
hinder the Nation's war effort."
Translated into common English, the proclamation said that all Americans
of Japanese ancestry were to surrender themselves for detention beginning on
March 30. In
Starting in March 1942,
Manzanar grew into a barbed wire-ringed city built to
house some 10,000 of the “relocated” people.
On June 1, it officially came under control of the
The internees were fed
military style in mess halls. To most, they were treated as if they were in
prison. Many accounts have been written
about the horrible living conditions at the camp. Stoically and bravely, the people
endured. Many established vegetable
gardens and orchards to try and obtain fresh food. Some semblance of normal life was tried
for. Unfortunately the nasty weather
extremes in this part of the state made food raising
difficult, especially for those that came from moderate coastal areas with rich
soil. The gardeners struggled against
the elements.
Many men from the camp,
and other similar centers volunteered for military duty. They were trained and sent overseas to
For those left behind,
life was a living hell. During the short
period of the camp's operation, there were over 200 deaths. Only six of the people were buried at the
camp cemetery. The other bodies were sent
to old home towns and other areas for burial.
The war officially
ended with the surrender of
Soon the buildings were
torn down. Orchards and gardens died,
and today skeletons of dry trees punctuate the concrete slabs and what little
greenery remains. At the eastern
entrance two squat stone guardhouses stand in mute testimony to a bitter
chapter in American history.
As the historical
monument plaque states..."May the injustices and humiliation suffered here
as a result of hysteria, racism, and economic exploitation never emerge
again."
To that, all I can add
is AMEN!
Each spring, as has
been tradition since 1969, a group of Japanese-Americans return to Manzanar. They come
for various reasons, but the most common is so the past is not forgotten.
Manzanar Relocation
Center (in contrast to the first small agricultural hamlet),
As my family and I
slowly walked among the foundations of barracks and viewed the sidewalks, stone
walls and dead trees, the quiet reverie was broken only by the crunching of
footsteps on gravel. The desiccated
remains of this relocation center bear mute testimony to the fear and hysteria
that swept the country a mere 50 years ago.
Here in the shadow of the most beautiful mountains in the world lie the
ugly scar of man's inhumanity to man.
Manzanar is a state
historical landmark, and has been placed on the National Register of Historic
Places. If you are in the area, stop and
visit. The skeletal remains of this
place are guaranteed to haunt you. As
you stand here amid the memories, the wind will whisper to you... “never again...never again.”
NOTE: In early
2004 a visitor center/museum opened in the renovated gymnasium located on the
north end of the site.
Location (CENTER of site):
·
Secs
10, 11, 14, 15, T14S, R35E, Mount Diablo Meridian
·
Latitude:
36.7263211 / 36° 43’ 35” N
·
Longitude:
-118.1537035 / 118° 09’ 13” W
Visitor Center:
·
Latitude:
36.727500
·
Longitude:
-118.148346
CEMETERY:
·
Latitude:
36.725470
·
Longitude:
-118.162637
This was our original GHOST TOWN OF THE MONTH
in September 1998 and in
September 2008 was resurrected in celebration of a decade of these postings.
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THIS
PAGE
FIRST
POSTED: September
01, 1998
LAST UPDATED:
September 21, 2009
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