Uncertain Times

“Sheltering in place” has given me time to reflect on what my parents must have been going through during the first years of World War II. I only wish that I had asked them more questions while I still had the chance! I was born in April of 1942, just a little more than four months following the bombing of Pearl Harbor and when there were real concerns about an invasion of the West Coast from Japan. 

Our folks had moved into their newly completed home that dad had built in Castro Valley, he had a steady job at Caterpillar Tractor Company in San Leandro, they had a new baby, me, and the future was looking good. Then in just one day their lives were forever changed with the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

In the early days I’m sure that they were constantly glued to the radio for news, volunteer spotters were posted up and down the west coast to warn of incoming enemy planes, short supplies of groceries and gas lead to rationing, homes were required to have black-out curtains and the headlights on cars were shielded to confuse potential incoming night time bombers. Giant steel nets were hung in the water below the newly completed Golden Gate Bridge to deter enemy submarines from entering the bay.

I can’t begin to imagine what a scary time that it must have been not knowing when and if things would ever return to “normal”.  

April, 1942 was also when my dad’s high school buddy “Min” and his parents were forced to give up their South Hayward family nursery business on Whitman Street, leave most everything behind and be “relocated” into horse stalls at a temporary internment camp at Tanforan racetrack in San Bruno. Ultimately, they would be moved out of state to a remote permanent camp where they would spend the next four years. 

Dad and Min’s childhood friendship became a lifelong relationship sharing interests in photography, cars and all things mechanical. My brother, sister and I looked forward to him stopping by for an occasional home cooked weekend dinner.

I don’t know what happened to Min’s family after the war but when I was around age five or six, I went on a road trip with dad and Min to Washington State, probably to visit Min’s family. I don’t remember much about the trip but I do remember Min sleeping in our 1940 blue Buick along the way while dad and I had motel rooms. In wasn’t until later years that it dawned on me people of Japanese ancestry were not necessarily welcome everywhere. 

Min became a specialist in small engine repair and for a while rented a small shop on Foothill Blvd. and did occasional work for the new owners of the former family nursery. I remember him as a dignified soft-spoken solitary bachelor who outlived my dad but unselfishly still stopped in occasionally to check to see if mom was OK. Minora Minicura was like a member of our family and I never heard a negative word from him or any sign of bitterness for all that he had endured. 

Sheltering in place for a month or two maybe isn’t so bad and hopefully we can come out the other side with patience, a new understanding of priorities, and a deeper appreciation for compassion and for community.   -Bill