Paul Kusuda’s column
The years go by so fast for me
The years go by so fast for me
PART 2 OF 2
By Paul H. Kusuda
Last month, I wrote how time seemed to move much slower when I was younger than when I
got much older. That’s probably the way it seems for many of us. However, memories may
be such that some people carry more painful ones than those not-so-painful. Like beauty,
perhaps memory either recalls aches or bad feelings or re-interprets in the light of after-the-
fact review and reconsideration, possibly mellowing actuality through the passage of time, or
revising via the looking-glass of subsequent experiences.
A case in point relates to those of us who were involuntarily forced to leave our homes during
World War II primarily because of our ancestry rather than for security considerations. In
1942, about 120,000 aliens and U.S. citizens of Japanese ancestry were sent to ten War
Relocation Centers. Now, some want to term them "concentration camps" despite the fact
that even though housing was worse than poor, we were treated well. We had access to
By Paul H. Kusuda
Last month, I wrote how time seemed to move much slower when I was younger than when I
got much older. That’s probably the way it seems for many of us. However, memories may
be such that some people carry more painful ones than those not-so-painful. Like beauty,
perhaps memory either recalls aches or bad feelings or re-interprets in the light of after-the-
fact review and reconsideration, possibly mellowing actuality through the passage of time, or
revising via the looking-glass of subsequent experiences.
A case in point relates to those of us who were involuntarily forced to leave our homes during
World War II primarily because of our ancestry rather than for security considerations. In
1942, about 120,000 aliens and U.S. citizens of Japanese ancestry were sent to ten War
Relocation Centers. Now, some want to term them "concentration camps" despite the fact
that even though housing was worse than poor, we were treated well. We had access to
medical services and were provided with food and clothing. We were not mistreated or tortured. We wrote uncensored
letters to people on the outside and had visitors who brought books, magazines, gifts, and materials used to provide
education for elementary and secondary school students before formal schooling could be organized about six months
after Relocation Centers were opened.
To be sure, injustice had occurred; life was hard, the entire process was unfair, but we survived and life went on, so what’s
the purpose of remembering and complaining about nomenclature? A big to-do about using the term “concentration
camp” seems to have been spearheaded by those who were fairly young when they were in the relocation centers, who
were born there, whose parents had been incarcerated, or whose grandparents had been incarcerated. They want to
rewrite history in the light of what is now known. They want to ignore what the U.S. government had to face to carry out
Executive Order 9066 despite the military’s over-suspicious expectations of potential events. I for one cannot accept the
revision of history even though it reports distasteful elements antithetical to the U.S. Constitution and concepts of American
justice.
All those tangential remarks resulted from the thought that memories can reflect the current feeling of the person who
remembers, somewhat like the idea that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Last month, I began my story of working for
Three Star Produce on weekends during my last two years of high school. Sometimes, I was not chosen at the “meat
market” on Saturdays, but usually, I was lucky on Sundays. At any rate, working on weekends reduced my time interacting
with friends or keeping up with homework. Somehow, I juggled things fairly well, and my grades suffered a little, but not too
much.
When I enrolled as a pre-electrical-engineering student at the Los Angeles City College, I continued to go to the “meat
market” early mornings on weekends to vie for work. The man who made selections got used to seeing me and usually
chose me. I lucked out.
I learned quite a bit in addition to handling fruits and vegetables -- cleaning, rinsing, stacking, storing, etc. I found out that
customers were not only picky, they also erroneously thought that market employees all had expert knowledge about the
products. Some asked about how to select the best products for eating raw or for cooking. Some asked for cooking
directions. We usually went along with the gag and pretended to know much more than we did. After all, we were told the
customers were always right. Sometimes, after the fact, I’d ask my mother or father. If either knew, I’d have the correct
information to provide customers. I became adept at providing answers to such questions as “What’s the best way to cook
beans?” “How long should I bake acorn squash as compared to hubbard squash—longer or shorter?” “How about
summer squash?” “ What’s the best way to choose a ripe watermelon?” “Which has a better taste, freestone or
clingstone peaches?” “How can I get peaches to ripen faster?" “Is it okay to fry bananas?” Hey, being an expert ain’t easy,
but it’s fun!
Something else I learned was that even though there was no customer and all the fruits and vegetables were properly
stacked, I had to keep busy—or look as if I were busy. I used a broom quite often and found out how to look efficient and
thorough. Also, I had a gimmick — I’d carry a pad and pencil while walking around the displays, stop to write something,
and keep moving. As soon as a customer needed attention, I was there, of course, but by looking as though I was busy,
when the manager came by, I never seemed to have nothing to do. That also was kind of fun.
One thing I saw but did not report was a fellow employee who cheated the store and wanted me to do the same. I refused,
but I also didn’t report him, so I wasn’t exactly without fault. We were working at a new-store opening. Customers were
buying specials, taking advantage of a number of samples being offered, and crowding the cash registers. Sales clerks
were responsible not only to resupply stocks of fruits and vegetables but also to ring up sales, collect money, and give
change. At times, the hub-bub was pretty bad, and the store manager had to be in many places constantly to keep
everything in order. The fellow employee had experience in new-store openings in the past; he also had a scheme to
increase his income beyond his pay. What a scheme! He sewed extra wide cuffs on his black trousers. They looked
almost comical, but for his purpose, they were utilitarian. When he made change for customers, he’d drop quarters or half-
dollars that wouldn’t hit the floor. Instead, they’d go into the cuffs for later retrieval. Since store openings lasted for a week
or so, the guy must have made a lot of illicit money. When some of us were working for 30 cents per hour, his take
amounted to quite a lot. And, he was a long-time employee, not a substitute as I was.
letters to people on the outside and had visitors who brought books, magazines, gifts, and materials used to provide
education for elementary and secondary school students before formal schooling could be organized about six months
after Relocation Centers were opened.
To be sure, injustice had occurred; life was hard, the entire process was unfair, but we survived and life went on, so what’s
the purpose of remembering and complaining about nomenclature? A big to-do about using the term “concentration
camp” seems to have been spearheaded by those who were fairly young when they were in the relocation centers, who
were born there, whose parents had been incarcerated, or whose grandparents had been incarcerated. They want to
rewrite history in the light of what is now known. They want to ignore what the U.S. government had to face to carry out
Executive Order 9066 despite the military’s over-suspicious expectations of potential events. I for one cannot accept the
revision of history even though it reports distasteful elements antithetical to the U.S. Constitution and concepts of American
justice.
All those tangential remarks resulted from the thought that memories can reflect the current feeling of the person who
remembers, somewhat like the idea that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Last month, I began my story of working for
Three Star Produce on weekends during my last two years of high school. Sometimes, I was not chosen at the “meat
market” on Saturdays, but usually, I was lucky on Sundays. At any rate, working on weekends reduced my time interacting
with friends or keeping up with homework. Somehow, I juggled things fairly well, and my grades suffered a little, but not too
much.
When I enrolled as a pre-electrical-engineering student at the Los Angeles City College, I continued to go to the “meat
market” early mornings on weekends to vie for work. The man who made selections got used to seeing me and usually
chose me. I lucked out.
I learned quite a bit in addition to handling fruits and vegetables -- cleaning, rinsing, stacking, storing, etc. I found out that
customers were not only picky, they also erroneously thought that market employees all had expert knowledge about the
products. Some asked about how to select the best products for eating raw or for cooking. Some asked for cooking
directions. We usually went along with the gag and pretended to know much more than we did. After all, we were told the
customers were always right. Sometimes, after the fact, I’d ask my mother or father. If either knew, I’d have the correct
information to provide customers. I became adept at providing answers to such questions as “What’s the best way to cook
beans?” “How long should I bake acorn squash as compared to hubbard squash—longer or shorter?” “How about
summer squash?” “ What’s the best way to choose a ripe watermelon?” “Which has a better taste, freestone or
clingstone peaches?” “How can I get peaches to ripen faster?" “Is it okay to fry bananas?” Hey, being an expert ain’t easy,
but it’s fun!
Something else I learned was that even though there was no customer and all the fruits and vegetables were properly
stacked, I had to keep busy—or look as if I were busy. I used a broom quite often and found out how to look efficient and
thorough. Also, I had a gimmick — I’d carry a pad and pencil while walking around the displays, stop to write something,
and keep moving. As soon as a customer needed attention, I was there, of course, but by looking as though I was busy,
when the manager came by, I never seemed to have nothing to do. That also was kind of fun.
One thing I saw but did not report was a fellow employee who cheated the store and wanted me to do the same. I refused,
but I also didn’t report him, so I wasn’t exactly without fault. We were working at a new-store opening. Customers were
buying specials, taking advantage of a number of samples being offered, and crowding the cash registers. Sales clerks
were responsible not only to resupply stocks of fruits and vegetables but also to ring up sales, collect money, and give
change. At times, the hub-bub was pretty bad, and the store manager had to be in many places constantly to keep
everything in order. The fellow employee had experience in new-store openings in the past; he also had a scheme to
increase his income beyond his pay. What a scheme! He sewed extra wide cuffs on his black trousers. They looked
almost comical, but for his purpose, they were utilitarian. When he made change for customers, he’d drop quarters or half-
dollars that wouldn’t hit the floor. Instead, they’d go into the cuffs for later retrieval. Since store openings lasted for a week
or so, the guy must have made a lot of illicit money. When some of us were working for 30 cents per hour, his take
amounted to quite a lot. And, he was a long-time employee, not a substitute as I was.
So, education can occur outside academic walls.
Some people will take advantage of others. Others
are gullible or overly trusting of people who don’t
always have the knowledge for correct responses
to questions. Other people aren’t always what they
appear to be. Out-of-school experiences opened
my eyes to the real world beyond the school world.
They helped in my maturation process. Also, they
made me less accepting of some things apparently-
knowledgeable people said. My level of acceptance
of what teachers and professors said diminished. I
viewed with skepticism political positions taken by
others. I no longer fully accepted some religious
tenets; I had questions for which responses were
not fully satisfactory. In short, I began to see that
what too-often appeared to be factual actually might
not be. However, I did not become fully cynical, just
suspicious.
The advice suggested in Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS
Pinafore is, “Now, landsmen all, wherever you may
be; if you want to climb to the top of the tree; stick
close to your desks and never go to sea; and you all
may be rulers of the Queen’s Navy.” As my wife
pointed out to me: “That’s the life of the innocent.”
Some people will take advantage of others. Others
are gullible or overly trusting of people who don’t
always have the knowledge for correct responses
to questions. Other people aren’t always what they
appear to be. Out-of-school experiences opened
my eyes to the real world beyond the school world.
They helped in my maturation process. Also, they
made me less accepting of some things apparently-
knowledgeable people said. My level of acceptance
of what teachers and professors said diminished. I
viewed with skepticism political positions taken by
others. I no longer fully accepted some religious
tenets; I had questions for which responses were
not fully satisfactory. In short, I began to see that
what too-often appeared to be factual actually might
not be. However, I did not become fully cynical, just
suspicious.
The advice suggested in Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS
Pinafore is, “Now, landsmen all, wherever you may
be; if you want to climb to the top of the tree; stick
close to your desks and never go to sea; and you all
may be rulers of the Queen’s Navy.” As my wife
pointed out to me: “That’s the life of the innocent.”