This essay, translated from Japanese, was written by Makisaburo Sasaki, my paternal 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 was born in a poor village in a half-farming, half merchant family in 1882. As I grew older, I dreamed of going to America where I heard it rained gold. On January 27, 1894, I landed in Seattle alone, taking my first step toward improving my lot.
I sailed later to San Francisco to work on a farm. Every Sunday, I went sightseeing in town. With my short legs, I walked around Market St. as though in a dream, wearing my funny-looking Japan-made suit.
It was my way of studying Americans. Japanese Town in those days was a poor excuse for a business district. Only restaurants, barbers and fruit stands had any white customers. Hotels and boarding houses catered to economically powerless Japanese.
In early summer, I traveled to Oxnard to work on a farm. Although without capital, I went into the sugar beet business with the late Mr. Honda, who was from my hometown. We failed miserably the first year. The next year, we made a little profit, enough to cover the previous year’s losses. With 18 boney horses in tow, we moved to Santa Ana in 1906. Leasing some 700 acres from a German, with the expected crop as security, we borrowed from the bank and increased our horses to 52 heads. We began to raise sugar beets, corn, and celery.
We didn’t do too well. In 1908, we marshaled our resources to try once again. But just before the harvest, it rained for days and days. The Santa Ana River overflowed, and we lost everything. Mr. Honda and I split.
In 1911, I tried to start farming on my own, but worldwide depression again dealt a blow to my ambitions, and I was at a standstill. I thought Lady Luck not only had deserted me but the God of Misfortune put a curse on me too. But I had started out with nothing, and there was nothing to do but go forward. If you let one or two failures get you down, I thought, you will not be able to ride the rough waves the rest of your life.
After a year’s rest, I again gathered what resources I could and leased 100 acres to plant sugar beets and celery. This brought unexpected profit. But just as I thought my luck had turned, an unseasonable dry spell the next year plunged me again into the depths of poverty. I tried to grow beans in Mexico, but local uprisings again dashed my hopes. Returning to Santa Ana, I leased 170 acres to grow sugar beets again, but this also resulted in failure.
Like a revolving light show, bad luck dogged my footsteps. But the United States is a nation richly blessed by nature as no other nation on earth. I was able to renew my ambition. In 1915, I moved to Del Mar near San Diego and leased 350 acres. I planted practically all of it in lima beans. Here again, the heavens fell on me in the form of heavy rains, with the San Diego Reservoir overflowing the broken dikes and drowning half of my fields. However, fortune did not desert me completely. It was a year of high prices for beans, and I did not lose money.
Human psychology is like a wheel going downhill. Once it starts, it cannot be easily stopped. The German again asked me to farm his land in Santa Ana. I leased 350 acres and planted 200 of them in sugar beets, 80 in pepper, and 70 in wheat. In three years, I was able to get out of debt.
Seeing only success ahead, I invested $11,000 in farm machinery and expanded my operations. I was sitting on top of the world. Suddenly, prices took a big plunge. Again, I had to sell everything I owned. With golden riches so close and yet so far, I felt as though I had swallowed boiling water.
One day, the branch manager of the L.A. Nichibei newspaper came to collect my subscription fee. I tried to tell him how empty my pockets were, when I stumbled and fell, and my entire fortune spilled from my pockets. Ginnosuke Yuasa, his face red with anger, grabbed the last $9.50 I had to my name.
Until autumn of that year, I didn’t have a cent to my name. In 1919, I planted pepper on 200 acres. The market for pepper took a sudden turn for the better, and from abject poverty, I was suddenly richer by $40,000. The next year, I made another $10,000.
Later the American Congress passed laws to bar immigration from Asia. California passed its Alien Land Law, and although efforts were made to circumvent, the dishonest landlords took advantage of tenant farmers, charged Japanese Americans unreasonable fees and more often than not, there were fights. At one point, I even felt like quitting farming.
Finally, in 1927, my 80-acre spinach crop was ruined by a big flood. But the pepper I planted after cleaning up the fields did better than I had expected. After so many failures, I didn’t get too upset anymore with the vagaries of Mother Nature.
Regarding the progress of us Japanese in America, I can foresee much suffering, but with effort, I know we can make opportunities. I don’t intend to go back to Japan yet. Not only am I determined to stick it out in America, but I even hope eventually to move to South America or Mexico.
[1985] Reporter’s Notes: In 1919, Mr. Sasaki married a woman from his hometown and now has two daughters, 8 and 10 years old. A man of chivalrous spirit and honesty, he does have a fondness for “forbidden water.” However, he is headstrong and courageous, a man who does not let failure daunt him. He may have certain shortcomings, but his good points outweigh them.
