Home  >> Stories  >> The Tale Spinner #2013-04

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IN THIS ISSUE

• Carol Hansen sends some thoughts on growing older
• We get letters from Bill McNair and Pat Moore
• Betty Audet forwards a story by Joy Kogawa, who wrote "Obasan"
• Pat Moore forwards a seasonal story
• The editor remembers some of the relocated Japanese-Canadians
• Sites are recommended by Barbara Wear, Catherine Nesbitt, and Tom Williamson

Carol Hansen forwards this timely essay:

A SERIOUS THOUGHT ABOUT WINTER

Time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years. It seems just yesterday that I was young, just married, and embarking on my new life with my mate. And yet in a way, it seems like eons ago, and I wonder where all the years went.

I know that I lived them all....

And I have glimpses of how it was back then, and of all my hopes and dreams. But here it is, the winter of my life, and it catches me by surprise. How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go, and where did my youth go?

I remember well seeing older people through the years, and thinking that those older people were years away from me, and that winter was so far off that I could not fathom it or imagine fully what it would be like. But here it is. My friends are retired and getting grey ... they move more slowly and I see older people now. Some are in better shape, and some in worse shape than me, but I see the great change. Not like the ones that I remember who were young and vibrant, but like me, their age is beginning to show, and we are now those older folks that we used to see and never thought we´d be.

Each day now, I find that just getting a shower is a real target for the day. And taking a nap is not a treat anymore - it´s mandatory. If I don´t nap of my own free will, I just fall asleep where I sit.

Now I enter into this new season of my life, unprepared for all the aches and pains and the loss of strength and ability to go and do things that I wish I had done but never did!

But at least I know that though the winter has come, I´m not sure how long it will last. This I know, that when it´s over, its over. Yes, I have regrets. There are things I wish I hadn´t done; things I should have done; but indeed, there are many things I´m happy to have done. It´s all in a lifetime.

So if you´re not in your winter yet, let me remind you that it will be here faster than you think. Whatever you would like to accomplish in your life, please do it quickly, Don´t put things off too long.

Life goes by quickly. So do what you can today, as you can never be sure whether this is your winter or not. You have no promise that you will see all the seasons of your life, so live for good today and say all the things that you want your loved ones to remember, and hope that they appreciate and love you for all the things that you have done for them in all the years past.

Life is a gift to you. The way you live your life is your gift to those who come after.

CORRESPONDENCE

Bill McNair writes: Tell those who are missing any e-mail to first go to "Deleted" and see if they are located there. It has happened to me in the past.

Pat Moore writes: This is to let you know that I am happy it is Thursday and coming closer to Saturday, when I can look forward to another edition of The Tale Spinner. I won´t have to wonder whether to get up or not as I will be anxious to read the latest instalment of my favourite weekly read.

ED. NOTE: Thank you, Pat, for your kind words, and thanks to all those who have expressed similar sentiments. If it were not for comments like these, I would long ago have abandoned my effort to have my own newspaper, and have written "30" at the bottom of the last copy.

Betty Audet forwarded this delightful tale by Joy Kogawa, who also wrote the award-winning book "Obasan":

GO EAST, YOUNG LADIES

Recently on CBC radio I heard a young Sansei Redress activist complaining about what she described as a one-dimensional portrayal of Good Americans and Bad Japanese in the blockbuster movie, "Pearl Harbour". This almost inevitably led to an indignant rehashing of the WWII racial injustice inflicted on Japanese-Canadians following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour. Not having seen the movie, I cannot comment on her film critique, but I DID experience the forced assimilation of Japanese-Canadians into mainstream Canada, and can assure her that far from being the humiliating and traumatizing event that she imagines, it was for me, and I´m sure for many other Nisei, an exhilarating and liberating experience.

Since I was not a completely bubble-headed Pollyanna, I knew that not being allowed to finish my school year in 1942, and being forced out of our home in Queensborough, and having to live for two months in a converted horse stall in the Hastings Park livestock exhibition hall, was not exactly experiencing democracy´s finest hour. But after our arrival in the internment camp of Slocan, it was impossible to maintain any sense of outrage, because quite simply, I was enjoying myself too much! Indeed, I would wish every Canadian teenager the kind of wholesome outdoor activities - skating, swimming, hiking - that we enjoyed in beautiful Slocan, with its rivers and mountains and lake, as well as our indoor activities of school, concerts, and dances.

As well, in 1941 many Japanese Canadians - just like hundreds of thousands of other Canadians - were still suffering from the effects of the Depression, so that for many of our parents, life in Slocan was a curiously carefree interlude where all our basic needs, including medical care, were taken care of. The war was wreaking horrendous havoc all over the world, other Canadians were losing husbands and sons and fathers, but we were cushioned from the painful reality of war, and from the overt anti-Japanese racism of the day.

After the war ended, the process of "relocation" - i.e.: assimilation - began in earnest, and we had to think of where we should go. My brother had already moved to Montreal a couple of years before, so my parents made arrangements to move to Quebec, where there were jobs to be had in a factory in Farnham. My friend since kindergarten days, Katie Yoshino, and I opted for St. Thomas, Ontario, to work and study at Alma College, a United Church residential high school for girls.

Its principal, the Reverend Dr. Dobson, had almost from the beginning of the evacuation made his school available as a stepping stone for high school-aged Nisei girls to start a new life in the east. We would study as resident students, and earn room and board and a monthly salary by working in the dining room and kitchen during mealtimes.

Katie and I were both 18 years old when we left Slocan in August, 1946, a few weeks before our parents. Our train fare was paid for by the government, and we were each given $45 - which probably had the purchasing power of $500 today - in postal money order that could be cashed only at our destination. As it turned out, this was shrewd governmental planning, because we merrily spent whatever money our parents had given us, and had $1.05 in coins between us by the time we reached St. Thomas.

Our indulgent - if somewhat racist - government allowed us to choose between two railroad routes: either the direct Slocan City - Toronto CNR, or the scenic CPR route. We opted for the latter, which involved taking a bus to Nakusp, then a paddle wheeler ferry, the SS Minto, to Revelstoke, where we stayed overnight before finally heading east through the Rockies.

The excitement of the unfolding cross-country adventure overcame any sense of apprehension we may have felt as we set out on our journey. We were going to be independent of our parents and the Japanese community for the first time in our lives; we were going to earn our own living; we were now independent young adults! This was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives, and it was going to unfold more than half way across our vast country - in "the East" - where many evacuees had already preceded us. We were anxious to see our friend, Mary Ishii, who had moved to Toronto the year before and had become such a big-city sophisticate that she had taken up smoking!

We made two stops in Manitoba along the way. We spent two days in a little town called Molson, visiting Katie´s brother, Sam Yoshino, and his family. The taxi driver, a chatty, affable sort, who drove us to Molson, was also the mayor of Whitemouth, the CPR whistle-stop town about twelve (if memory serves me right) unpaved miles from Molson. We had found him when we stopped to ask directions at the only commercial establishment that was open at the time we disembarked from the train, just as the sun was setting.

We found ourselves in a tavern full of workmen who were just as startled as we, when we walked into their noisy, smoke-filled male retreat. We nervously asked the room at large about transportation to Molson, and our audience, after consulting among themselves for a few minutes, agreed that the only way at that time of the day - it was about 8 pm - was to avail ourselves of Whitemouth´s one and only taxi service. Since the owner and driver was among those present, Katcho and I were very quickly and excitedly on our way to surprise the Yoshino family with our unannounced visit. We reached Molson in the dark, and the mayor/taxi driver of Whitemouth dropped us off at the general store, promising to return in two days to take us back to the railroad stop.

Remembering our good Japanese manners, we bought a bunch of golden bananas at the general store to take as omiyage (presents), and following directions given us by the general store owner, we found the Yoshino home, and knocked joyously on the door, waking up the whole family, who had been fast asleep.

We spent two happy days with Sam and Sue and their four lively young children. While there, we all decided that since surprising friends with unexpected visits was so much fun, we should visit their relatives in Winnipeg, too, before proceeding to St. Thomas. Somewhat to our dismay, Sam slaughtered 14 young chickens for us to take as omiyage.

So we backtracked to Winnipeg, where we were impressed by the fact that Scottie, Sam´s 20-year-old sister-in-law, had her own little apartment. This seemed like the height of sophisticated independence to us.

We delivered the chickens to the designated recipients, shopped at Eaton´s, and saw a movie in a real movie theatre for the first time in over four years. We felt very grown up and sophisticated, and after two days resumed our journey eastward.

We traveled all the way on day coaches, since the generosity of the Canadian government stopped short of providing us with sleeping compartments. Being young, we didn´t find this much of a hardship. The conductors seemed to take a protective interest in us, and assured us that they would see to it that we reached St. Thomas safely. The itinerary given to us by Alma College was for us to transfer at Union Station in Toronto for a train to London, from where we would take the London-Port Stanley commuter train to St. Thomas. However, the conductors insisted that a much better way was to transfer at West Toronto for a series of CPR trains - not all of them passenger trains, as it turned out - which would take us directly to St. Thomas, without our having to resort to an electric commuter train for the final lap. I sensed a feeling of contempt for electric trains in these proud, locomotive railroad people.

And so we were handed over almost ceremoniously from one train to another by a succession of very kindly conductors until we finally arrived in St. Thomas - not very regally but with hearts pounding with excitement - in the caboose of a very long cattle train. Our latest CPR host, who had been regaling us with tales of cattle car adventures and misadventures, leaned out of the caboose as we approached the platform of the station, and spotting Dr. Dobson, held up two fingers to indicate that he had two passengers for him. Dr. Dobson, who had become increasingly worried when train after train had arrived without us at the LPS station in downtown St. Thomas, had finally decided to check the freight train arrivals, just in time to greet two sooty teenagers, a bit dazed and crumpled, but happy and unfazed by all the train switching we had undergone in the last four hours. Our first glimpse of Dr. Dobson was of him doubled over in laughter.

We had been in St. Thomas for about a week when Dr. Dobson summoned Katie and me to his office to meet two "gentlemen callers." Mystified, we entered his office where a twinkling-eyed Dr. Dobson introduced us to two very irritated-looking young RCMP officers. They brusquely verified our identities and demanded to know why we hadn´t reported to them upon our arrival in St. Thomas. Katie and I looked at each other in surprise.

"We didn´t know we were supposed to report to you" I explained.

"No one TOLD us!" Katie snapped. We apologized anyway, since they seemed genuinely aggrieved that they had had to come after us. I could see that Dr. Dobson was struggling to keep a straight face. At this point the Mounties would have been much happier, I think, if we had NOT been where we were supposed to be, that is, if we had been "enemy aliens" who behaved like enemy aliens. After the officers completed the required paper work, Dr. Dobson thanked them with a kindly chuckle for having once again successfully gotten their man, or girls, in this case. We could sleep soundly tonight, knowing Canada was a safer place, he teased. But he did this gently, in a way that included the young officers in the joke. Nobody was humiliated in this little incident, no one was traumatized. To be sure, the Mounties were still a little disgruntled, but I like to think that by the time they left us, their displeasure was aimed more at their employers, who had designated two obviously innocent and happy-go-lucky Canadian teenagers as "enemy aliens."

Postscript:

Katie met her true love in St. Thomas. They married and have lived happily ever since. Today she is busily engaged in various community activities, both Nikkei and "mainstream," bringing to them her joyous gift of laughter and love of life.

Mary gave up smoking, and lives a remarkably full life as a social activist and a devoted and widely traveled United Church worker whose passion is working toward correcting injustices that exist today, not those which occurred 60 years ago and have long since been resolved.

Lois received a computer from her kids on her 70th birthday, and has turned into a cantankerous and pontificating e-mail activist whose main target is other activists who pontificate, uninvited, on her behalf.

Pat Moore forwards this winter story:

SNOW PROBLEM

On a bitterly-cold winter morning a husband and wife in Ontario were listening to the radio during breakfast. They heard the announcer say, "We are going to have 8 to 10 inches of snow today. You must park your car on the even-numbered side of the street, so the snowploughs can get through."

So the good wife went out and moved her car.

A week later while they were eating breakfast again, the radio announcer said, "We are expecting 10 to 12 inches of snow today. You must park your car on the odd-numbered side of the street, so the snowploughs can get through."

The good wife went out and moved her car again.

The next week they were again having breakfast, when the radio announcer says, "We are expecting 12 to 14 inches of snow today. You must park...."

Then the electric power went out.

The good wife was very upset, and with a worried look on her face she said, " I don´t know what to do. Which side of the street do I need to park on so the snowplough can get through?"

Then with the love and understanding in his voice that all men who are married to blondes exhibit, the husband replied, "Why don´t you just leave the damn car in the garage this time?"

FROM THE EDITOR´S DESKTOP

The article by Joy Kogawa reminds me of the Issei who lived in Salmon Arm when the Japanese entered the Second World War. The families had farmed in the area since early in 1900 and were respected neighbours. Their children went to the same schools as we, and Kay was my sister´s best friend. Mike was in "senior matric" - grade 13 - a quiet young man whose hobby was photography. I remember our indignation when the local police came to the school and took Mike´s camera - as if there were any military establishments he could have photographed, even if he had been interested.

Then when the Japanese living at the coast were dispersed, a group of young men arrived in Tappen, a small village about 10 miles from Salmon Arm. One of the group was an avid badminton player, and disregarding any possible negative reactions, Ken joined us in our games at the Drill Hall. When badminton season was over, he came to play baseball with our local team. He was an outstanding athlete, great at games, and I remember seeing him do a back flip from a standing start on a bare floor.

When the war was over, Ken moved on to Toronto, where his brother already lived. There he met and married Kuni, who is still a dear friend, though Ken died some years ago. When John and I lived in Hamilton, and again in Brampton, we met with them occasionally, and on one memorable trip to Heart Lake, Jude broke her thumb while riding a toboggan. Ken and Kuni were great skiers, and managed to find enough snow around Toronto to keep in shape.

I will not comment on the injustice of the dispersal of the Japanese during the war, but it was later admitted by Prime Minister Mulroney that it had been unwarranted, and he apologized for the action and offered reparations. Some of the actions of the displaced that led to this admission were written about in Kogawa´s "Obasan."

SUGGESTED WEBSITES

Barbara Wear recommends this site for a video of "Little Richard" as a child, when he was just starting out in the music biz, in a movie with Van Johnson, in which he plays the piano using his fists and elbows and doesn´t even look at the keys when he sings:

Catherine Nesbitt forwards this link to a video of 17 Vancouver schools and the Vancouver Giants hockey team coming together to spread the idea of acceptance in honour of anti-bullying day, February 27:

Catherine also sends this link to a video of an upcoming xylophone player:

Tom Williamson urges you to listen to a speech by a 12-year-old explaining the Canadian banking system:

Tom also suggests this site for a video of a huge bear surprising a crew on an Ecobubble photo shoot in Manning Park, BC:

John Corbett´s famous voice brings us the story of a charismatic pig who earned his name for his endearing assistance to medical caregivers at an emergency rescue site. Farm Sanctuary´s "Animal Tales" project is an introduction to the magic of our sanctuaries and the farm animals who call them home. The Farm Sanctuary residents are ambassadors for all farm animals on factory farms, and each one has a story to tell:

When Jarrett J. Krosoczka was a kid, he didn´t play sports, but he loved art. He paints the funny and touching story of a little boy who pursued a simple passion: to draw and write stories. With the help of a supporting cast of family and teachers, our protagonist grew up to become the successful creator of beloved children´s book characters, and a vocal advocate for arts education:

To check out the features of the "freedictionary", which changes daily, go to