Descendant Reflections by Erik and Roland Ninomiya
Erik and Roland Ninomiya, Minidoka Descendants
I am a son of Calvin Ninomiya (June 9, 1926, Seattle - February 28, 2014, Bethesda, MD), who, together with his family -- father (Kamesaku - August 1, 1878, Okayama Prefecture - August 21, 1945 , Seattle); mother, Tetsu (Ueda) (September 1, 1891 , Mie Prefecture - January 15, 1946, Seattle); and sister, Rose (October 11, 1921, Seattle - December 23, 2016, Seattle) and husband, Satoshi Masuda -- was incarcerated at Minidoka during WWII.
The reason I am writing is that my brother Erik visited the Minidoka National Historic Site earlier today, and came across the plaque entitled "Creating Community," which describes the various efforts by those incarcerated to organize churches, operate stores and other needed businesses, and create a semblance of normality despite enduring conditions that were anything but normal.
Two of the photos in the "Creating Community" plaque are entitled "barbershop." One of those photos -- the one on the left -- is, I am quite sure, of my grandmother Tetsu, who operated a barber shop in Seattle before the family was shipped off to Minidoka. She is standing in a pair of boots, facing the man in the barber chair. Her face is half in shadow, but it is undoubtedly her.
I hope this provides a bit of additional context regarding the plaque's content. My grandmother died more than 76 years ago now, as well as years before I was born. She had a short and hard life. I suspect she would be amazed that her image is preserved today in a photo on display in a bleak patch of Idaho more than 5,000 miles from her place of birth. I know that I am.
-Roland Ninomiya
Photo by Erik Ninomiya
I was so impressed to see everything that's been done to bring the Minidoka experience to life for those of us who only know about it through the recollections of our parents or grandparents -- and more importantly, for those who have never heard of Minidoka at all.
Dad (Calvin Ninomiya) would have been so heartened! The last time he visited (well before he died in 2014), there was honestly not much to see -- the ruins of the stone entrance gate, a few sagging buildings, the dusty beginnings of an interpretive trail. Amid a sea of sugar beets, he struggled to recall the outlines of the camp that he and his family had once called home.
It means so much to now be able to see a barracks building, the reconstructed barbed wire fencing, a guard tower, the baseball field, the swimming hole off the irrigation canal. You truly get a sense of the vastness of the camp and the "everydayness" of life in Minidoka -- as well as the heartache, bleakness, and waste of it all. Unfortunately the new visitor center was closed when I was there, but I'll be back for that someday soon.
Remembering and sharing the Minidoka story was important for Dad, and I'd say it's even more crucial now given today's social and political environment. So thank you so much for all you've done. It really means the world to us.
-Erik Ninomiya
