This essay, translated from Japanese, was written by Genzo Nakahiro, my maternal granduncle. It originally appeared in a 1932 publication called The Fighting History of the Japanese in America, a collection of personal essays written by the Issei, the first generation of immigrants in the U.S. This re-published essay appeared in the 75th Anniversary of the Nanka Ehime Kenjinkai commemorative book in 1985. – K. Moriyama
I wanted to be a great man, an active man. That was the dream of my youth. To research dyeing techniques as my goal, I came to America in 1904, landing in Seattle. It was early spring, and the wind blowing down from Mt. Ranier was cold as frozen steel. But the sight of the mountain covered with heavy snow in a foreign land was quite a pleasant one.
Since I didn’t know the language or how things were done, I went to work as a dishwasher in a restaurant. But the pay was so low, and we had to work like machines for such long hours that I quit after a short time. Then I worked for the railroad at $1.25. Those of us without experience simply dug the ground with shovels. It was hard work. Salty sweat stung my eyes, every joint in my body ached, and I could hardly sleep at night. Since I wasn’t trained in physical labor, nothing was easy for me. It didn’t look as though my pay would go up, even if I persevered, so I left and went to Tacoma. Again, I was washing dishes. Fortunately, I got a chance to become the night cook after two months. I stayed on that job two years. Later, I had a chance to work for Mr. Kyuhachi Nishii, who was from my hometown in Japan. He was a pioneer restauranteur in Seattle. Because of him it was said that Japanese restauranters in Tacoma were limited to people from Ehime Prefecture.
I forgot all about studying dyeing techniques and became feverishly involved in the restaurant business. I opened my own in 1909. Man is a selfish being. While working for others, he complains constantly about long hours and hard work, but once the show is on the other foot, he will only work 24 hours a day but even wants to work 30.
However, even though I worked myself to the bone, the business went bankrupt in three years, due to hard times. Later, I married and moved to Portland Oregon, to open a liquor store. At that time, Japanese business was under of control of S. Ban and Furuya, and it was not easy for a small retailer to get his foot in the door. However I worked hard, and my business prospered. Unfortunately, my wife died in 1910. I was inconsolable and lost hope. Soon afterward, Oregon went dry, and all the liquor stores had to close.
I went to work as a cook in a hotel for $95 a month. At that time, my older brother’s son died. I left Portland and went to San Francisco. I worked in a liquor store there. Then the whole country went dry, and the man I worked for went bankrupt. I did not receive a penny for the year and a half I worked for him. With $5 in my pocket, I became a hobo for a time.
There are gods who kill you but there also are gods who rescue you. I made a tanomoshi group to raise capital, and with the help of Mr. Aoki of Taiseido, I returned to Matsuyama in 1917 to remarry. For a man who had so long been alone, it was like spring rain on a seedling. We were poor, but we were happy. The next year, my eldest son, Yasuhisa, was born. At the time, it was the height of picture-bride marriages, and with each ship from Japan, 300 to 500 brides landed in Seattle or San Francisco. I decided to take orders for western suits and dresses from the brides and bridegrooms, but the Japanese government, the ambassador in Washington, the consul general in San Francisco, and most of the elders in the Japanese community felt that the anti-Japanese feeling was being caused by picture bride marriages. They negotiated with the Japanese Foreign Ministry, and the practice was prohibited. My business never got off the ground.
In 1920, I started to drive a taxi for the Eimoto Hotel, while on the side, I would take orders for gifts that those returning to Japan needed. I began to connect with Yokohama and was on the verge of making it, when the Great Earthquake of 1923 in Japan caused me to lose my customers, my capital my merchandise, everything.
When Lady Luck looks the other way, there is no sense in being impatient. I intended to plot my future at leisure, but had to eat. I went around to friends and acquaintances for help, but none would lend a hand. Some hurled insults at me and told me to get out. Truly, nothing hurts like poverty.
However, I kept on trying. Two or three friends responded to my prayers and I was able to buy a car. I again went into the same type of business with new immigrants as my sales target. But the United States Congress passed a law prohibiting any more immigrants from Asia. In Japan, they were boycotting American goods. Failure piled on failure for me. But Mr. Kameo Yano, who went back to Japan with his children because of the Oriental Exclusion Act, came back. To help him catch up with his business, I accompanied him to San Jose.
After working in his fruit orchard for four or five days, I suddenly experienced a sharp pain around my navel one morning. I couldn’t stand it and fainted. Mr. Yano, who was at my side, took me to a doctor immediately. The doctor said I had appendicitis and had to be operated on right away. I wrote to everyone I could think of, asking for monetary help so I could go to the hospital. Not one person replied. With tears of shame, I told the doctor I was penniless and couldn’t go to the hospital, even if I died. The doctor stared at me for a while but told me this was no time to be caring about hospital fees. Dr. Ochiai threw me into a white hospital. Like a magician, he freed me from my illness in a matter of an hour. I stayed in the white hospital for nine days and 11 days longer at the Japanese Hospital, after which I left cured.
In 1923, I decided to move to Pasadena. My friends advised me to stay in San Francisco, but I went to my younger brother Kyuji’s and worked there from October to May. In March, my eldest daughter, Sumiko, was born. Because of certain reasons, I left my brother’s store and went to ask the advice of my cousin, who was farming in a big way in Santa Ana. Makijiro Sasaki agreed to help me. My zodiac for the year told me that the southeast direction was the luckiest for me. With Mr. Sasaki’s help, I bought some lumber and built a store with my own hands.
By June of 1925, I opened my store. On opening day, I made $103.40 from canned goods and groceries. I was the pioneer on Washington Blvd when I first opened my store. There were no others around, but people stopped their cars to buy, and the business prospered. On weekdays, I was making $60 to $70, and on Saturdays, $150. I was so busy that one day, I fell fast asleep while eating. Once I worked without sleep for two to three days.
But there is a limit to human energy. Finally, in July, I added a worker. Business continued to be good, and I increased my employees by two more by the end of the year. After 20 years in the United States, I was finally able to greet a decent New Year.
But there were those who were jealous of my success. One white man kept sending me threatening letters. I let it all blow over my head, until he finally gave up. They are always talking about white supremacy, but they are poor in spirit. I do not feel at all hopeless about all this anti-Japanese action. I myself don’t feel that I want to settle permanently in the United States. I’ll leave it up to my children, but I want them to learn Japanese.
[1932] Reporter’s Notes: Without progress, there is only regress. Success, money, do not matter. What matters is having the fighting spirit, of which Mr. Nakahiro has plenty. He served as vice president of the Pasadena Japanese Association. He is married to a graduate of the Matsuyama Girl’s School, who is a gentle, understanding lady. Addendum: Mr. Nakahiro has since sold his business and is now operating a restaurant in San Francisco.
