World War II
derailed the promising career of a Japanese artist.
Now his work has been revived.
As the 80th anniversary of executive order 9066 nears.
This Seattle native has felt its impact each day of his life.
Hi, may I help you?
Yes, she just turned 92, but she has no plans to retire any time soon.
These stories and more next on CityStream.
I'm Enrique Cerna,
welcome to CityStream from Seattle's Japantown neighborhood.
A wave of immigrants in the late 1800s
led to the establishment of Japantown or Nihonmachi.
It sits at the northwest section of the International District
bordered by Yesler Avenue to the North, Jackson Street to the south
and stretching from 4th Avenue
to I-5.
The neighborhood thrived for decades.
But all that ended with the arrival of World War II and executive order 9066.
February 19th of this year
marks the 80th anniversary of that grim order.
It forced all residents of Japanese descent to leave their homes
and businesses for the harsh confines of incarceration camps.
Almost overnight, Japantown went
from a booming community to a bust.
Businesses closed, longtime friendships severed,
and the dreams of many simply ended.
One talented artist was among those who saw his livelihood, and passion
taken away.
But decades later, his work has been revived.
David Albright has the story of Kenjiro Nomura.
For art curator David Martin, a chance encounter in 1986
ignited his interest in a long forgotten Japanese American artist
when he unrolled it the painting was really in bad condition
it had holes in it, it had a big slash in it.
I asked him who the artist was, and he said it was his father.
I said, Is your father a famous artist?
And he said, Well, he was, but he's been forgotten.
The man's father was Kenjiro Nomura,
who was active in Seattle's art scene from 1910 through the 1950s.
When I saw the breadth of his work, work that he had done from the teens,
into the twenties, into the thirties, I was just overwhelmed.
David Martin is now curator of the Cascadia Art Museum.
36 years after restoring that first Nomura painting,
Martin has pulled together an exhibition showcasing Nomura's forgotten work.
His work has a wonderful freshness and vitality.
It retains its currency.
It's a real gift to us.
Barbara Johns is an art historian and author of the book
Kenjiro Nomura, American Modernist.
It tells the story of Nomura's emigration to the United States in 1907.
His early years in Tacoma and eventual move to Seattle, where he settled
in the vibrant Japanese-American enclave known as Nihonmachi.
Nomura and his colleague Kamekichi Tokita were sign painters.
They had a shop on 6th Avenue between Main and Washington.
A number of the paintings in this exhibition
are in the immediate vicinity of that sign shop
Puget Sound, for instance.
It's a view from the vacant lot immediately adjacent
that red brick building in the foreground still stands.
There's an intimacy about them.
They picture the pathways and the alleys.
The interest is more in the local view, the way one might walk through
that street.
Nomura was recognized during the thirties for the clarity of light
that he could imbue in his views.
A good gauging of how well
Mr. Nomura was thought of in the community is that
he was asked to be the first artist to have a solo exhibition
at the Seattle Art Museum when it first opened in 1933.
So he was well on his way to attaining
a very impressive national reputation until the war broke out.
World War II was devastating
to Seattle's Japanese American community.
Executive order 9066 was a turning point.
It authorized the forced removal of all people
of Japanese descent from the West Coast.
There is little written record of Nomura's reaction to these events,
but in researching her book, Barbara Johns
uncovered a story recounted by a neighboring business owner
that provides a glimpse of Nomura state of mind.
She described Nomura as being deeply upset, going out
behind the shop, lighting the burn barrel and beginning to burn his paintings.
It was one of those
graphic details that suddenly gives the author
or the reader, I hope, insight into the anguish of that time.
Nomura, along with thousands of other Japanese Americans, was first taken
to the Puyallup Relocation Center, where, remarkably, he continued to paint.
There's a series of nine watercolors and these are a really interesting shift
from his work in the 1930s.
If there were any figures in the paintings, the 1930s,
they're very secondary.
But suddenly with these drawings and paintings from Puyallup
they are filled with figures.
It's almost as if a shift in the crisis he felt a need
to document these historic times.
From Puyallup, Nomura, his wife and son were sent to the Minidoka
incarceration camp in the high desert of southern Idaho.
Here, his work
returns to a more timeless view, focusing on the landscapes.
And improbably, he succeeds in capturing the beauty
of the varied terrain where he is held prisoner.
The years following
the war were not a celebratory return to a pre-war life.
Just a year after returning to Seattle, Nomura's
wife battling depression took her own life.
Nomura wouldn't paint again until 1947,
when some younger colleagues encouraged him to pick up his sketchbook.
Quickly however, his work took a new turn
towards abstraction,
a new style
reflecting the new world he came home to after the war.
And in this work, the night of 1947
seems to culminate with this painting of Puget Sound,
and we see the buildings blocked into
becoming abstract shapes and then this wonderful
giant kelp that encircles and circles the composition.
Nomura was very much an artist of his time
after World War two abstraction
was very much in the air.
Through the early 1950s, Nomura did regain
some level of success, with his new abstract style
being selected for regional and international exhibitions.
But he never regained the prominence that he enjoyed before the war,
although he was starting to rebuild his reputation.
He had gotten sick and died
at the age of 59.
In coming decades he's been largely forgotten, and we intend that really mark his place
and not only regional history,
but also American history and American art history.
I think the story of Kenjiro Nomura
is a story of triumph and tenacity.
Nomura's work offers insight into the life of a first generation American.
One whose eye for everyday scenes and urban details
make his work both impressive examples of 20th century
art and powerful documentation of the region's history.
David Martin
believes it's a legacy worth remembering.
That's what we're all about here is reinstating reputations of artists
who really deserve it and Kenjiro Nomura really deserves it.
Many of the vistas
Nomura painted remain instantly recognizable today.
Yes, some of the open spaces are now filled with high rises.
But a century later, you can still see what he saw.
The exhibition, featuring the work of Kenjiro Nomura runs
through February 20th at the Cascadia Art
Museum in Edmonds.
Next on CityStream, his birth
coincided with a dark period in our history.
See how he and others are honoring those who endured
that difficult time.
As we mentioned, February 19th is the 80th
anniversary of executive order 9066.
One person who was directly affected by it is community photographer Eugene Tagawa.
In 1942, his family was ordered from their home
and sent to an assembly center in Puyallup.
Later, they were forced to spend years in the desolation of southern Idaho
at the Minidoka Incarceration Camp in our podcast "Chino Y Chicano,"
Matt Chan and I learned the human toll of executive order 9066
and why Eugene makes a pilgrimage to Minidoka each year.
So my mother
was nine months pregnant when she had to leave home.
Oh, with you with you, right?
Yeah, because they actually had to get up and
and out of their homes, leave their homes
in late May of '42
and I was born in the first week of June.
Wow.
So, so it was right after
they got into the camp at Puyallup that I was born.
So my mother actually got to leave
the camp to go to Pierce County Hospital.
That's where I was born.
To have you.
So, so your family had to transport a newborn,
to Minidoka
Yes, that's along with my two older sisters
who were like one and two at that time.
Wow.
So my parents and my mother's parents
were our family unit.
So what motivated you to be so passionate
about Minidoka and the pilgrimage
and, and just honoring,
you know, that tragedy in
Asian American history, I mean, why or why is it so important to you these days?
Well, I'll tell you, in 2008,
I went on my first pilgrimage.
And it was it changed
my life, actually, because
just being there.
On on the site
where I had lived.
What, 70 years before it was, I don't know, just.
Just to be there and that environment
you walk on there on the dusty ground and you feel the
the really hot sun was in the nineties because we went in late June.
And
I don't know just.
Hard to describe.
Just feeling connected to something, because
part of it, when you're on the pilgrimage, there are a lot of other people
that are there for the same reason. Right?
Just to honor their
predecessors
and every, every year, it's different
because you meet different people, it's.
This is very emotional stuff
because
I would think that, you know, even though you were a baby
when you went through this,
it's just knowing that your family had to go.
Through this ordeal,
it's important that people know history like this,
especially now in a time when we're like fighting for this democracy
that we have.
Since I was three years old when we were actually released.
I don't have any direct memories of it, I only know
what my ... stories my mother
would tell me and, uh.
So I go just to honor my parents,
because I know, I know.
Superficially, what they went to
and also my mother's, my mother's parents,
and just just to go back there and kind of reconnect and
and honor them is important to me.
And,
the reason I go, I've been going every year is because
I just want to be part of this thing where.
A lot of people, a lot of people who have never experienced that go,
and it's just, by the end of the four days, there's this bond that
that has been created with these people
and just knowing that the.
They're all connected.
It's just, it's just really a great thing.
I was going to read you this quote,
Please do.
That's it sort of jumped out at me.
That sort of
sums up what with the pilgrimage is all about.
But remember last year, last year.
During the inauguration, Amanda Gorman.
The young
youth poet laureate. Right.
She read that poem called "The Hill We Climb," right?
But in it,
right in the middle of it.
You can't have this as part of this thing, because I really
I always get all choked up when I read this.
"It's because being American"
"is more than a pride we inherit."
"It's the past we step into and how we repair it."
I thought that was just perfect.
It is.
Eugene plans to return to Minidoka again this summer.
If you'd like to watch the entire conversation with Eugene Tagawa
search for our podcast "Chino Y Chicano" on YouTube
and look for episode 44.
Hi, may I help you?
If you've been to Malecki restaurant you've likely met this woman.
We'll celebrate a milestone for "Mom"
as CityStream continues.
The city's third
Health One vehicle is preparing to roll out.
Health One is a special unit of the Seattle Fire Department,
that responds to individuals suffering a substance abuse or mental health crisis.
The new unit will be based in South Seattle, and as producer Randy Eng
explains, the goal is to reduce non-emergency calls to police.
There were so many calls for crisis intervention.
When one of the only tools we had was to have police
respond to that call, when they came in to 911
and police had such few remedies, they could either take a person to jail
or take them to Harborview Hospital when sometimes we needed a different approach.
And so we created Health One to really have that kind of approach
that's behavioral science based and a medic and a social worker come.
And they can spend as much time as they want to determine
what is the right solution for that incident.
They're really solving problems on scene, and that's really important for us.
Sometimes people need a meal.
Our team knows how to set up a meal delivery plan.
Sometimes they need their prescriptions filled.
Sometimes they need to reconnect with their care providers.
Sometimes they need an appointment set up for the next couple of days.
70% of the time,
those are the problems that they're solving on scene.
You're on a run and the hospital is not appropriate and leaving the person is not appropriate.
You just don't feel good with either option, and I've driven away from them.
That's almost every run on this route.
I would tell you the case managers is what make this special because
they do the caring for the next 90% of what this person needs
and we just facilitate them and it's a great partnership.
It's just a longer timeline.
I'm not going to fix anyone in a week, but in a longer timeline
we start moving the needle with people and getting them where they need to be.
I'll tell you one thing, if you give the firefighters a lever
and it doesn't work, they'll never pull it.
They keep pulling this lever because it works.
Mental illness doesn't take a break.
It doesn't really care about COVID.
Neither does drug addiction and homelessness.
It's all three together.
We are actually connecting those people more where they need to go.
I did nine months on this vehicle, I went back to my ladder truck,
and I've signed up for another six to nine months because I believe
in this.
Our final story
brings us here to Maneki, the city's oldest sushi establishment.
Now the reason we're here is to wish a happy birthday to Maneki's
longtime hostess and bartender, Fusae Yokoyama, also known as "Mom".
She's just turned 92 years old, and she's still working.
Maneki restaurants,
5:30 opening nearly always involves a line at the door.
"O.K., O.K."
And Fusae Yokoyama sorting reservations.
OK, I don't have anything till 9:30, I'm sorry.
At 88 Fusae drives to and from work.
I'm a bartender on Sunday and Tuesdays, and then I hostess on Thursday
and Friday and Saturday when I'm on call.
She started at Maneki in the early 1960s, when she and her husband
needed more money.
And so he asked the former owner.
My wife would like a job.
The lady says she has six kids.
How can she work?
And so he says, Well, I'll work
during the day and when I get home, she can come to work.
Many of Fusae's children and grandchildren have worked at Maneki,
but she's the only one still here.
If I have a couple of days off in a row,
the third day when it comes to work, it's harder for me.
I like to keep going.
Here we are.
Thank you.
Uh huh.
Fusae, also known as "Mom," says her coworkers help her with heavy things.
Hi, may I help you?
She keeps up on cocktail trends.
It's not like 20, 30 years ago
when I had to make Singapore Sling and Zombie and
we have a few martini, cosmopolitan and
iced tea and things like that. But
we more or less concentrate on Sake and Shochu.
OK, Gordon, you want to come this way?
I never thought of taking another
job elsewhere.
I liked working here and I was born
and raised right here in Japantown.
And so this is my home.
Bye bye, thank you. We'll see you again soon.
This story
by Diane Duthweiler was done a few years ago.
Today, "Mom" is still going strong and says
she has no plans to retire anytime soon.
That wraps up
this episode of CityStream from Japantown, if you'd like to watch
more outstanding Seattle channel programs, visit our website.
SeattleChannel.org and click on feature shows.
I'm Enrique Cerna. Thank you for watching.