Mr. Lee's Story, from a WW2 oral history.
Mr. Lee and Toshi
My friend and colleague Bitra Nair extracted this story from an oral history. It was a very poignant story and we felt like it had to be retold. Thank you Bitra!
Related by Mr. Lee in his oral history.
Now, one of the other things, as I mentioned to you before about people and friendship. When we were young kids, I had a little classmate. We went to school in second, third, fourth, fifth grade together -- and he was a Japanese boy. They lived in a fish pond right next to my home, and so we were close buddies. I remember his name was Toshi Yamamoto. I remember going over to his house, eating, playing games, always there. We were inseparable. We used to do so many mischievous things together. And he was the leader because I think he was a little older than I am, but we were good friends.
Hey, there was a plum tree where we used to play marbles all the time, and I went out there and call Toshi, “Toshi, where are you?” There was no answer. Like we always did before, whenever I called, boy, he would be coming out. He didn't answer. So I ran to his house. His house was right around the edge of the fish pond where we used to play hide and seek under the house. I ran under the house and called Toshi, “Toshi, where are you?” No, Toshi. Ran upstairs into the house where he used to sleep in the house. The house was empty. “Toshi, where are you?”
I remember when I started going to school, I used to write little notes that I would send to the newspapers and say, “Toshi, where are you? Come see me.” There was never any answer.
To move that story ahead, for 71 years, I did that. I'm not saying every day, not every year, and I really wasn't worried as to what happened. But there were rumors that their family was spies; the thing is, of course, rumors were that they were spies. This is what we always thought. But yet at the same time, we didn't know whether they were killed or not. But for 71 years, I did this—trying to find Toshi because I was concerned. Where are you, Toshi? Again, for all of those years, I was hoping that one day, an old man like me would come up and say, I'm Toshi, but it never did happen.
I happened to be on TV, and I happened to get on the radio. Finally, the broadcaster said, “Jimmy, can you tell the story about your friend, Toshi?” So I did. He asked me about this. You know what happened? All of a sudden, there was a phone call to the radio station. That guy told the station that, “Hey, he's talking about my dad.” When the note came to me, I was speechless. I couldn't believe that I found him or anything. I still didn't believe the story. But he called, and I tell you, I was speechless. I couldn't say any more on the radio. I was crying, speechless, just shocked that somebody would call and say you're talking about my dad after 71 years.
On December 14, he told me that his dad died several years before. I said, “Oh gee, where in the world was he buried?” He finally told me he is buried up in one of the cemeteries of a certain place. He couldn't tell me exactly where it is.
I talked to the son, and finally, on December 20, I managed to meet the son. Not only meeting the son, but also the grandkids of Toshi and a cousin. And on December 20, we went back to the old house where the father was born and where I used to play with him.
Now, what happened to them? The thing is, during the war years, many of the Japanese here on the mainland United States were relocated. They had to be relocated and moved away. But in a way, we had about 140,000 Japanese. But the thing is when my friend, Toshi and his family came home that day, they were met by soldiers—soldiers that, what they tell me, aimed the machine guns at them, told them to go home, and remove all your belongings in 20 minutes and get out of here and don't come back.