Paul Kusuda’s column
RELOCATION CENTER TO CHICAGO
RELOCATION CENTER TO CHICAGO
Part 1 of 2
By Paul H. Kusuda
May has a personal memory that comes to me only once in awhile. It was on May 16, 1942, that
our family was involuntarily moved from Los Angeles to be incarcerated in the Manzanar
Relocation Center near Death Valley, California. (Note: That involuntary move was made
necessary by President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066 as described in my
articles in the February and March 2011 issues of ASIAN WISCONZINE.)
After a few days in the camp situation, we saw in the distance the majestic Mt. Williamson, a
very scenic view. Most of us didn’t really appreciate the view right away. The problem, of course,
was that we were forced to live in hastily-built, tar-papered 20’ by 100’ barracks designed to
house, on a temporary basis, World War I enlisted bachelor soldiers who were not officers.
By Paul H. Kusuda
May has a personal memory that comes to me only once in awhile. It was on May 16, 1942, that
our family was involuntarily moved from Los Angeles to be incarcerated in the Manzanar
Relocation Center near Death Valley, California. (Note: That involuntary move was made
necessary by President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066 as described in my
articles in the February and March 2011 issues of ASIAN WISCONZINE.)
After a few days in the camp situation, we saw in the distance the majestic Mt. Williamson, a
very scenic view. Most of us didn’t really appreciate the view right away. The problem, of course,
was that we were forced to live in hastily-built, tar-papered 20’ by 100’ barracks designed to
house, on a temporary basis, World War I enlisted bachelor soldiers who were not officers.
Desolate isolation would be an apt description. It was a good place to leave as soon as possible.
On May 2, 1943, I was permitted to leave. So, I was one of the few who spent but a year in a camp setting. (There’s a
reason why I was an early out, but that’s another story.) My father, mother, older brother, and younger sister spent a couple
more years there. In fact, my sister graduated from the Manzanar Relocation Center High School after I left, and in later
years attended annual high school reunions held in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Though a graduate of Los Angeles High School
and an inabsentia graduate of Los Angeles City College, I never attended a reunion. If such had been held, I was never
notified.)
Before leaving Manzanar, I received a federal government check for $25.00 and a one-way ticket to Chicago (bus and train).
I also had a $25.00 U.S. Wartime Savings Bond given to me by an elementary school teacher in Manhattan Beach,
California. She donated teaching materials she had scrounged up and had delivered to Manzanar before the Camp’s
education system was established. I was a non-certified junior high school teacher of English and mathematics for a few
months before the end of the school semester in June.
There were a few conditions to be met before anyone could leave a Center. Security clearances were obviously needed.
That included FBI, military, and other approvals. Also, a person had to have housing and employment assured in advance
and documented.
In my case, a representative of the American Friends Service Committee (Quaker Society) gave assurance that hostel
space would be available for me in Chicago. As for employment, I said that Chicago being such a big city with innumerable
manufacturing and other jobs available to non-skilled workers, I’d have no trouble finding work.
I had turned down work opportunities available in other cities because of the decision to go to Chicago since it had the
best school of social work education — the University of Chicago School of Social Service Administration. The second
best school of social work in the country was Columbia School of Social Work in New York. While in Manzanar, I had
decided to switch from engineering to social work.
When I first applied to leave Camp, I turned down a job offer in Cleveland. If I had taken it, housing, room and board, and a
weekly paycheck were guaranteed. However, the room was above a mortuary, and the work involved helping with
responsibilities related to its functions. It would have been a way out of the Camp, but “No, thanks!”
I arrived in Chicago with my suitcase and portable typewriter purchased while attending LACC as a pre-engineering
student. I was met by two AFSC women who escorted me from the Union Station to the Illinois Central train stop to board
an IC from the Chicago Loop area to Southside Chicago, 55th St. and Stony Island St.
We did a lot of walking and finally got to 57th and Woodlawn Ave., Meadville Theological Men’s Dormitory, living quarters
primarily for Unitarian seminary students. The hostel to which I thought I was going was filled, so AFSC arranged the
alternative. Meadville was accepting students and others who were non seminary students to enable first-hand
interchange of ideas and experiences. At the time, I was a nominal member of a low Episcopalian church in L.A. and a non-
student. But I was happy to be accepted and felt at ease with the group.
I stayed at Meadville for a relatively short time while looking for non-skilled work. The people were friendly and the food was
good, but I was not yet a student although I planned to attend the U of C. So after a couple of weeks, I found a one-
bedroom apartment, planning to return after gaining student status at the University.
On May 2, 1943, I was permitted to leave. So, I was one of the few who spent but a year in a camp setting. (There’s a
reason why I was an early out, but that’s another story.) My father, mother, older brother, and younger sister spent a couple
more years there. In fact, my sister graduated from the Manzanar Relocation Center High School after I left, and in later
years attended annual high school reunions held in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Though a graduate of Los Angeles High School
and an inabsentia graduate of Los Angeles City College, I never attended a reunion. If such had been held, I was never
notified.)
Before leaving Manzanar, I received a federal government check for $25.00 and a one-way ticket to Chicago (bus and train).
I also had a $25.00 U.S. Wartime Savings Bond given to me by an elementary school teacher in Manhattan Beach,
California. She donated teaching materials she had scrounged up and had delivered to Manzanar before the Camp’s
education system was established. I was a non-certified junior high school teacher of English and mathematics for a few
months before the end of the school semester in June.
There were a few conditions to be met before anyone could leave a Center. Security clearances were obviously needed.
That included FBI, military, and other approvals. Also, a person had to have housing and employment assured in advance
and documented.
In my case, a representative of the American Friends Service Committee (Quaker Society) gave assurance that hostel
space would be available for me in Chicago. As for employment, I said that Chicago being such a big city with innumerable
manufacturing and other jobs available to non-skilled workers, I’d have no trouble finding work.
I had turned down work opportunities available in other cities because of the decision to go to Chicago since it had the
best school of social work education — the University of Chicago School of Social Service Administration. The second
best school of social work in the country was Columbia School of Social Work in New York. While in Manzanar, I had
decided to switch from engineering to social work.
When I first applied to leave Camp, I turned down a job offer in Cleveland. If I had taken it, housing, room and board, and a
weekly paycheck were guaranteed. However, the room was above a mortuary, and the work involved helping with
responsibilities related to its functions. It would have been a way out of the Camp, but “No, thanks!”
I arrived in Chicago with my suitcase and portable typewriter purchased while attending LACC as a pre-engineering
student. I was met by two AFSC women who escorted me from the Union Station to the Illinois Central train stop to board
an IC from the Chicago Loop area to Southside Chicago, 55th St. and Stony Island St.
We did a lot of walking and finally got to 57th and Woodlawn Ave., Meadville Theological Men’s Dormitory, living quarters
primarily for Unitarian seminary students. The hostel to which I thought I was going was filled, so AFSC arranged the
alternative. Meadville was accepting students and others who were non seminary students to enable first-hand
interchange of ideas and experiences. At the time, I was a nominal member of a low Episcopalian church in L.A. and a non-
student. But I was happy to be accepted and felt at ease with the group.
I stayed at Meadville for a relatively short time while looking for non-skilled work. The people were friendly and the food was
good, but I was not yet a student although I planned to attend the U of C. So after a couple of weeks, I found a one-
bedroom apartment, planning to return after gaining student status at the University.
A little more than a year later, I returned to
Meadville. Some of the people whom I had
met earlier were still in residence. The
Housemother, Ms. Helen Parrish, was there
and greeted me warmly as did the
Cook/Housekeeper Lorraine. Best of all, a
tall seminary student from Texas who had
taken special interest in me like an older
brother, was there. Dave Carson was a good
friend, and others referred to us as Mutt and
Jeff. I ran into him years later when he was
involved in the start-up of Group Health
Cooperative in Madison, Wisconsin.
Meadville. Some of the people whom I had
met earlier were still in residence. The
Housemother, Ms. Helen Parrish, was there
and greeted me warmly as did the
Cook/Housekeeper Lorraine. Best of all, a
tall seminary student from Texas who had
taken special interest in me like an older
brother, was there. Dave Carson was a good
friend, and others referred to us as Mutt and
Jeff. I ran into him years later when he was
involved in the start-up of Group Health
Cooperative in Madison, Wisconsin.
