My dad grew up in Seabrook, New Jersey—not the first place you’d expect to find a Japanese American family in the 1950’s. Yet there weren’t many options at the time since his parents could not return to California. In 1944, as World War II careened to an end, Nikkei (Japanese Americans) were permitted to leave the camps early if they found a sponsor who would take them. Ojichan (Dad’s father) was concerned that his two children, Mary and Tak, were still very young, so he did not want to expose them to the racial hostility on the Pacific West Coast.
My Grandparents
Ojichan, Isao Sugimura, was an Issei (first generation) who had been born in Kajiki on Kyushu Island, Japan (1903) before reuniting with his father, Shinjiro, in America (1920).[1] Ojichan was only sixteen when they traveled cross-country together, but was enthralled by this remarkable country. He spoke the language well since his father had taught English in Nagasaki. During the 1890’s, Shinjiro had been sent to study at Waseda University in Tokyo in order to start an English-language school in Satsuma.[2] Japan’s central government had restricted foreign visitors since the 1600’s, but Satsuma had not followed the Sakoku (“locked country”) policy because it was the southernmost region in Japan quite far from Tokyo. Satsuma interacted with many English, Portuguese, and Spanish traders long before Commodore Matthew Perry forced the rest of Japan to open its borders for trade (1853). Yet as Ojichan and his father traveled across America, Shinjiro unexpectedly died in St. Louis midway through their trip. Ojichan sent his father’s body back for burial in Japan, then decided to settle in the U.S. instead of studying in England as planned. He made his living as a farmer and landscape gardener, resided in Sacramento for a time, and enjoyed playing tennis.
Obachan (Dad’s mother), was Masako Masamitsu, whose family hailed from Kochi in Shikoku Island, Japan. She had been born in Stockton, California, but was sent to receive her formative education in Japan. She then returned to the U.S. as a teenager, but remained more Japanese in her thinking than American—a Kibei (literally, “go home to America”). My grandparents’ arranged marriage took place at the Buddhist church in Los Angeles (1937) and they lived in Orange County until the internment.
Like many Southern California Nikkei, they spent several months at the Santa Anita Assembly Center (a repurposed horsetrack), then entered the Manzanar Relocation Center with their two children: Miyoko “Mary” (3) and Takashi “Tak” (1). Their family (#5112) lived in Manzanar from June 1, 1942 to June 10, 1944, but they left before the end of the war to work at Seabrook Farms—the main supplier of vegetables for the U.S. military. My dad, George, and his older sister, Yuriko “Jane,” were born in New Jersey, so they never experienced life in the camps.
Seabrook Farms
Charles F. Seabrook became known as the “Henry Ford of agriculture” when Seabrook Farms grew into one of the largest producers of canned, frozen, and dehydrated vegetables in America.[3] As he observed the Nikkei’s plight, he recruited them for his factory to replace workers who’d gone off to war. Seabrook even paid to transport Japanese American families to the East Coast as their ticket from the camps and hired European immigrants displaced by the trans-Atlantic war. Seabrook’s employees rented homes from him along with coal and other necessities for a small fee. In return, they worked 13-hour shifts for seven days a week during the high season of spring and summer, while collecting unemployment during the winter. Ojichan was able to work year-round as a janitor, but all the employees were paid very low wages which began at $0.50/hour and never rose above $2/hour.
Obachan worked on the food processing line, packaging vegetables. The Nikkei usually worked separately from the non-Japanese (mostly black) group, with very little mixing. Sometimes, however, workers crossed the lines because it was rumored that the non-Japanese group was more fun and that the Nikkei were too competitive.
Conditions at Seabrook Farms were not much better than in the camps, but at least my family had their freedom. After the war ended, some moved back to California. Yet since my grandparents were older, they decided to remain in Seabrook until retirement.
Auntie Mary’s Recollections [4]
My Auntie Mary recalls leaving Manzanar by bus, while it was still dark, in the early hours of June 10, 1944:
I was only six years old at the time when we took a train from Reno to Philadelphia with only brief stops at the stations in Salt Lake City and Chicago. I never forgot how a young sailor on that train, still in uniform, handed me a whole chocolate bar even though the U.S. and Japan were still at war! It was one of the first acts of kindness I had ever been shown.
We arrived in Seabrook, four days later, weary and sore from sleeping upright in the train cars. Our first home was a one-room “apartment” in Hoover Village (named after the former President). Our building stood furthest from the highway and contained a pot-bellied stove surrounded by multiple beds. The showers were in a different building and we had to use outhouses. I loved the smell of my straw mattress even though I knew they had been stuffed by the first internees arriving in Seabrook stuff the straw themselves. We ate our meals at the cafeteria in the Community House where there was also an infirmary, snack bar, lounge, library, auditorium, small meeting rooms, and office. I spent a lot of time there—mostly in the library. At the Community House, we also held our Girl Scout meetings, basketball practice and games, movies (which, I think were free), piano recitals, and Christmas parties. My Scout troop even used the big fireplace to make s’mores! The Japanese and Estonian groups held special celebrations and exhibitions in the auditorium which were open to the public. It was a wonderful place to gather and one of the reasons none of us younger ones knew how poor and deprived we were.
At the original Buddhist church in Hoover Village, I was honored to be the flower girl for the weddings of all three Ono sisters! The church later moved closer to the General Store in the building which became Esther’s Hair Salon, then to the Nursery School where I played piano for the Buddhist church until graduating from Bridgeton High. Seabrook also held Obon dances from the early days and some of us even traveled to dance Obon in New York City and in Washington D.C. during the cherry blossom season. The Japanese Christian church was located in the Community House and the Catholic church in nearby Bridgeton. The Europeans built a Lutheran church on the other side of the woods beyond the cornfield. We used to play in that cornfield all the time because it wasn’t fenced in and no one ever plucked the corn.
Our family garden plot was tucked between our apartment and the edge of Hoover Village where I remember helping Pop water the plants. My favorite part was the rope swing hanging from the big tree nearby. I really loved it! Pop also planted beautiful red roses in front of our apartment which grew more than halfway to the roof. The Issei ladies had many compliments for Pop and also commented on how good a father he was. They would watch him first pushing Yuri, then George, in the stroller, while he sang to them in Japanese. I learned my first Japanese songs while walking with them, but did not realize until years later how special Pop was. I never heard of anyone else’s father taking them on trips to Philly or New York City. It was on those trips that I gained a love for planetariums and sightseeing. Pop gave us a cultural background, however limited, that few other kids in Seabrook received.
I started grammar school in September 1945 at the Upper Deerfield Elementary School. Mrs. Vineyard was my second-grade teacher. In her class, we lined up according to height, so I was always third from the end. Mrs. Viola, my third-grade teacher, caught me chewing gum in class and made me sit behind the blackboard on rollers, so the class could only see my feet. Mrs. MacDonald, my fourth-grade teacher, was the sweetest lady who even invited a group of us to visit her home near Sunset Lake. I can’t remember my fifth-grade teacher, but I had Mrs. Satterlee for sixth, Mrs. Woodruff for seventh, and Mrs. Fox for eighth. I enjoyed school and also loved learning square dances, reel dances, and singing. Every Friday, we held an assembly in the auditorium and every class took turns giving presentations. Our classes were integrated, so most of the white kids were bussed in, while the Seabrook kids included us Nikkei, Europeans, Spanish-speaking South Americans (who were second or third generation Japanese), Jamaican blacks, and other migrant worker children.
The summers were a lot of fun as well. At the beginning, they took us on a big Seabrook truck to swim at Parvin State Park—a pretty place with showers and a snack bar. We all took swimming lessons and whoever passed the proficiency test was allowed to swim out to the diving platform. I did my fair share of belly flops, but eventually made it to the high-diving board! We could also scoot across the entire lake on rowboats and canoes, but we always had to go with a “big” kid. After a few years, an outside group set up a day camp using Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) buildings which had housed German POW’s, and later, Peruvian Japanese. Most of the counselors were college students and our transport was a school bus. So, every morning, we would swim at Parvin, then walk through the woods to eat lunch at the camp. Each of our groups was divided by age and gender with plenty of space in our own rooms for activities. Once a year, we also traveled to Ocean City to swim in the ocean. The highlight of my camp days were years thirteen and fourteen when I became an assistant counselor myself. My group of second- and third-grade girls put on Agatha Christie’s play, And Then There Were None. It was the most hilarious “performance” because our head counselor was a genius. All the girls started out on stage. Then the counselor narrated, so there were no speaking parts. After a few lines, I would raise a blanket in front of the girls, who, one at a time, would secretly exit the stage. By the third or fourth “disappearance,” the audience began shouting, “Curtains!” It was a whole lot of fun.
After my sophomore year at Bridgeton High, I spent the summers in nearby Stone Harbor taking courses for college prep and driver’s training. My driving teacher also taught World History and had given me my first copy of the New York Times. In fact, he had given all of us a copy with a list of words to find as a clever way to learn new vocabulary. In my adult life, I still come across words like “ennui” and remember the meaning. Another memorable experience was studying MacBeth in English class. Our teacher, Mrs. Waugh, had just finished reading the witches’ chant: “Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble; By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” Then, in walked Mr. Smalley, the principal, and the whole class erupted in laughter!
My afterschool activities consisted mainly of playing sports and being student manager for all three varsity teams: hockey, basketball, and tennis. I especially loved playing field hockey and tennis at the courts in Bridgeton Park. We got a really good workout because we had to walk from the school to the park, then afterward to the Bridgeton station to take the bus back to Seabrook.
High school graduation was the highlight of my Seabrook years. We spent several days rehearsing in the Bridgeton Stadium, marching in and out and polishing up our acts. We told the stories of various people who had settled in the area: (1) Native Americans – The Nikkei boys did a Native American dance; (2) White settlers; (3) Blacks – Raymond Thomas sang “Old Man River;” (4) Japanese Americans – The Nikkei girls did a Japanese dance; and (5) Europeans – The newer immigrants did a dance in their cultural costumes. We then put on our caps and gowns and marched on stage to receive our diplomas. Yet when I returned home from graduation, I couldn’t get into the house. (We kids never had keys because someone was always home.) I eventually had to climb up through the window into my parents’ bedroom.
I have many fond memories of our time in Seabrook, especially of the house at 954 Van Buren Street. As kids, we played on the hill until dark in those days before television. Seabrook also didn’t have many cars, so whenever it snowed we could sled down the street right next to our apartment. Even after I graduated from high school, we still did not have cars or telephones!
Auntie Yuriko’s Recollections[5]
My Auntie Yuri also shares about growing up in Seabrook (a small town of less than 3,000 at its peak):
My first memory of Seabrook was living in the corner unit on Van Buren Street. Most of the streets were named after U.S. presidents except for MacArthur Drive after the famous general. I recall morning glories and roses planted in our front yard, particularly a climbing bush with miniature roses that you could see from the kitchen window. Pop once told me that roses were the birth flower for June, the month I was born, and I have always loved roses since.
“Gramps” the cat would climb into that same window and meow when he was hungry (much to Mom’s chagrin). She hated cats and refused to acknowledge that Gramps was “ours.” So Gramps soon learned that it was only safe to sit in the window when Pop was at home. One of my friends in second grade had given me Gramps as a kitten and his name had originally been “White Paws,” but I can’t recall why we named him “Gramps.” He used to terrorize the neighborhood dogs and loved to chase and harass them, but he also had the scars to prove it. Sadly, Gramps died when he was attacked by a pack of dogs while I was away at university and Pop buried him in the garden.
Our corner unit had two bedrooms. Mary and Tak shared one bedroom while George and I slept in the second bedroom with Mom and Pop. The crib in that room was converted into a bed for George to sleep. We would not move into the three-bedroom unit next door until Mary graduated from high school. Across the street was the Seabrook Nursery School which George and I attended. This free childcare was provided by the factory so that parents could work their 13-hour shifts—pretty progressive for the 1950’s! The preschool even had an infirmary with a nurse to provide health care services and vaccinations for the students. George and I would be dropped off every morning, then either Mary or Tak would come get us around 5:00 p.m. We had to bring our own blanket and pillow because they made us nap on cots every day after eating a hot lunch. I still remember how much I hated the canned carrots, peas, and buttered beets included in every one of those lunches (courtesy of Mr. Seabrook). When we started kindergarten, one of the teachers would walk us to Seabrook School for half-day sessions, then pick us up and walk us back to the preschool.
Pop was the embodiment of gambatte (“Go for it!” or “Do your best!”). No matter what others may do to you, keep a positive outlook. Don’t be resentful or embittered or seek revenge because the unpleasantness will eventually pass. Pop would also take George and I to Philadelphia once a year to visit the Zoo and the Ben Franklin Institute. We had no car, so we made the one-hour trip to Philly by bus. I always looked forward to it even though it took all day (which may be why I still like to visit museums). One year, Pop even took us to a Phillies’ game.
Our family owned a set of Collier’s Encyclopedias which Pop used to read to me and George. He often gave us “proficiency” tests and would mark the tests to show when we had completed them. During the winters, Mom was laid off from the factory since there were no crops to process and Pop worked less hours because the plant wasn’t fully operational. So, in those winter months, Pop spent time reading us books and magazines and having us read back to him. He wanted us to learn how to read before we started school. I still remember my favorite story about a four-year-old tiger who would only eat four-year-old meat and about the four-year-old boy he meets who talks his way out of being eaten. I also remember Pop reading the Baba Yaga stories about the Russian witch who lived in a house on chicken legs and her adventures with Prince Ivan and Little Black Sambo (which is now banned as promoting racism). The reason I own so many books today is because Pop instilled in me a love for reading.
Since Mom didn’t work during the winters, she would make manju (by cooking lima beans the entire day) and senbei (“rice crackers”). She would also prepare snacks for us like baked sweet potato wrapped in foil, which would be waiting when we came home from school. Mom loved to tell us Japanese folk tales like Momotaro (“Peach Boy”) and The Tongue-Cut Sparrow. She became very animated while telling these stories and even included sound effects.
Between our row of apartments and Van Buren Street were fields belonging to Mr. Seabrook, but residents turned those fields into garden plots for growing vegetables. Our family also had a plot and I remember going with Pop to plant seeds, water, weed, and harvest. We grew tomatoes, string beans, carrots, egg plants, napa cabbage, radishes, and cucumbers. Past the fields and garden plots was a large pear tree where a bunch of us kids often climbed and hung out. Beyond that was an abandoned baseball field that the Boy Scouts used for their activities. Then, even further back, were the Seabrook Woods (which we called the “Boy Scout Woods”), where we spent many hours exploring and playing with our friends. On the other side of the Woods, was the Lutheran Church for the Estonians.
A Valued Education
My grandparents highly valued education and encouraged all of their children to do well in school. Dad and his siblings still don’t know how their parents managed to send them all to college, but Ojichan must have taken out loans or cashed in his life insurance policy to pay for their tuition. Obachan had grown up in a wealthy home, but her desire for a good life had been dashed during World War II. So she put all her hopes in her children to do well in life and to marry Japanese.
Dad’s older brother, Tak, did not do well in high school and some doubted if he was college material. His first job was making French fries for Seabrook Farms and he had no Japanese role models to inspire him beyond a future in manual labor. Friends even told Obachan not to waste money on Tak’s education. Yet still, he attended Gettysburg College, a small liberal arts school, then Columbia University and UPenn, before receiving his PhD in Mechanical Engineering at UCLA. He later worked for North American Aviation during the space race and helped Apollo-11 accomplish the first human landing on the moon.[6]
Dad’s oldest sister, Mary, met her husband, Nobu, while working in New York City. She received a full scholarship (plus room and board in exchange for housework) to attend business school at Bryant College in Providence before starting her career with KLM Royal Dutch Airlines. As one of the perks of her airline job, she was able to take Ojichan on a round-the-world-trip which ended in Japan.
Auntie Yuri attended American University, became a corporate attorney in Oahu, and served with the Democratic Party of Hawaii. She cared for Obachan in her older years and has always delighted the many nieces, nephews, grandnieces, and grandnephews with gifts at Christmastime.
Dad married a Chinese American girl, Linda, whom he met at UC Berkeley. Obachan never fully accepted my mom for being Chinese and was also upset when Dad left his PhD program in physics after being drafted for the Vietnam War. Dad started teaching at a Christian school while he waited for his induction notice. Despite receiving a deferment from the Army, he still went on to teach for over forty years.
Dad and his siblings have come a long way since Seabrook, but their upbringing remains a vital part of their story. It was the first stop after the internment camps and a chance to enjoy their childhood as they dreamed of a better life. Seabrook showed the resolve of our family to grow beautiful flowers, raise successful children, and hold onto fond memories in the face of adversity.
[1] Shinjiro, who descended from one of the last samurai in Japan, became a merchant in Sacramento. He and his wife, Sei, had two boys, Isao and Touru. Both lived in California for a season, but Touru returned to Japan to get married and to care for his mother. He was then conscripted into the Japanese army and died prematurely of an illness (perhaps malaria) before his son, Kazunari, was born.
[2] Satsuma was a former province in southern Japan. It is now the western Kagoshima prefecture on the island of Kyushu.
[3] Charles H. Harrison, Growing a Global Village: Making History at Seabrook Farms (New York: Holmes & Meier Publishers, Inc., 2003), 8. See also, “Seabrook Farms,” Densho Encyclopedia, accessed at https://encyclopedia.densho.org/Seabrook_Farms.
[4] This account summarizes ten pages of my Auntie Mary’s handwritten recollections on June 4, 2021.
[5] This account summarizes my Auntie Yuri’s recollections in 2021.
[6] Uncle Tak’s story is told by his grandson, Max Ferguson, in Shikata Ga Nai: Growing Up at Seabrook Farms (2021).
