My Minidoka Story

Earlier this year, we shared stories of our board members’ connections to Minidoka and why they are inspired to serve. We heard back from some of our readers who were inspired to share their stories with us. Please feel free to submit your own Minidoka story by emailing mia@minidoka.org.

I was born in Minidoka in the winter of 1943. My memories of the Camp were sparse as we were allowed to move to a little house in Twin Falls because I was ill. I got some information from the National Registry about my birth and found I had bronchitis. We moved to Twin Falls by the time I was 6 months old. I have re-read my father’s journal for the time and admire the attitudes expressed even in the time of real trial. My dad, Yoichi Ted Matsuda worked in the fall harvest and wrote:

“This place has possibilities. If we all work together and improve on it. Picked up an old nail barrel and made it into a stool. No we have something to sit on beside the bed.”

“Riding in back of a truck on the way from work. We couldn’t keep our eyes open. At the same time dust particles kept flying on our neck giving a sensation of being pricked with thousand pins. When I got home the dust was so thick on the floors that every step I took left a footprint on the floor. Wife had closed all windows but dust flew in through the narrow opening around the window. My eyes were red; my face was white. When I washed my face, it felt stingy.”

In this terrible time of self-quarantine, I read my dad’s journal and am thankful for the comfort of our home and are amazed at the resilience of the Issei and Nisei generation.

Sharon Matsuda Brooks
Irvine, CA

My great uncle, Takaaki “Frank” Yasui, passed a few years ago at 98 years of age. That year he passed, he shared a story about his time at Minidoka. He spoke of his experiences of signing up for farm work during harvest within the region. This was his way of getting out of camp and making a few dollars. He spoke of how sugar beet harvests “wrecked “ his back. But there was one story that really stood out.  

He and 5-6 others from camp signed up with a farmer out of Walla Walla. They had to get their own transportation for this job. They went by train to Pendelton, then had to catch a different line to Walla Walla.  

When the train stopped in Pendleton one evening, no one in the town would sell these men of Japanese descent any food or groceries. No one would rent them a room for the evening as the train for Walla Walla left the next day. They weren’t sure where they were going to sleep that night, let alone what was for dinner.  

My great uncle recalled that they ended up walking into the Sheriff’s office and asked if they could stay the night there. The sheriff agreed to let them stay the evening. My great uncle said they were fed a hot dinner and breakfast. He said it was the only night he ever spent in jail.  

He waited decades to tell this story. I feel that it is thus necessary to share with you to keep it at the fingertips of memory. 

Eric Ballinger 
Bend, OR