This is a bit of an unusual trip for us, yet I have been planning it for about a month. It centers entirely around going to a concentration camp used to imprison Americans of Japanese ancestry during World War Two. 120,000+ people of Japanese background (most of them U.S. citizens mind you) were forcibly relocated to ten different camps in various inhospitable areas of the country. This was done in the name of “security” because FDR and the government feared that they were going to try something sneaky like espionage or sabotage in the name of the Emperor.
The Manzanar camp located in Owens Valley in California is the easiest for us to get to, which is to say this little weekend getaway is one of the more complicated trips we’ve done. Initially we looked to fly to Mammoth Lakes and back on an obscure airline that would bring us within a 90 minute drive of Manzanar. The outbound flight then canceled, so I found a way to do a one-way car rental from LAX and (hopefully) fly back. It was a four hour drive on roads that progressively lost a lane as we drove further north. We were truly in desolation.
We decided to go straight to the camp because the weather forecast was iffy for the next couple days. In this part of the country, that may all be relative. The clouds were threatening over the eastern Sierras as wind blasted us with dust. We intend to return tomorrow as well, but there are other indoor-friendly options such as the visitor center that we can check out should storms descend upon us. We picked up a map and followed the “Auto Tour” around the camp’s perimeter. Our first stop was a few reconstructed barracks with exhibits inside.
Internees were not afforded a large degree of privacy, and often hung sheets/blankets as partitions between them and other possibly completely random strangers living under the same roof. Many were in a constant battle with the dust that would blow in through floorboards. With the desert dust already coating my hair, I could understand this annoyance firsthand.
But speaking of privacy, the communal latrines offered none of it. While some camps may have later installed some basic partitions, those with IBS surely struggled. It was certainly hard to get any alone time. Manzanar had more than 10,000 internees and it was a proper town with schools, hospitals, a fire department, and numerous social clubs. The infamous Japanese phrase “Shikata Ga Nai,” (or basically it cannot be helped) served as a sort of philosophy of acceptance of something they could not control. The younger generations, however, didn’t feel the same way about their incarceration.
Exhibits talked about the so-called loyalty questionnaire where internees were asked to declare allegiance to the United States and affirm their willingness to join the armed forces. Most were surprisingly enthusiastic to do just that, but there were some (understandably) who didn’t want to pledge their allegiance to a country that put them behind barbed wire and sentries.
It really is a fascinating chapter of American history showcasing our paranoia and knee jerk reaction to something that was never a threat to begin with. Some might say, we would be wise to learn from history, but we definitely do not. I am actually working on a documentary dealing with exactly that topic — a dark page in American history being suppressed because it doesn’t sound as good as such tales of George Washington chopping down a cherry tree or Davy Crockett killing him a bar when he was only 3.
After completing the auto tour that took us by a mess hall, some orchards, a rock garden, and a cemetery, we headed to the small town of Lone Pine to check into our Air BnB. If you can believe it, there are very few places to stay in Lone Pine. The town itself exists entirely within a few blocks. It is lost in the sands of time.
We first went to the Lone Pine Market to get some beverages and snacks. Everything in the store was surprisingly expensive. A box of rice crispies was $10, a basic box of crackers was $8, so when I grabbed a 6-pack of local beer that had no price tag, I was a bit concerned what it would ring up as. The girl checking us out inquired what I thought the price should be and asked if $7 was ok. That’s probably half what it was worth, so I enthusiastically agreed. We then went to the highest-rated food place in town – a taco truck.
I had a very large and filling carne asada burrito and Nicole had a taco and quesadilla. We brought them back to our place to eat outside with our beers. The neighborhood looks beat to hell. Many buildings are missing windows, others have a preponderance of random junk on their balconies or yards.
After dinner, we walked around the town a bit, taking in the vibe. It’s partially a quaint-looking old west town and part meth den. Sometimes cute, sometimes scary. We settled in for the night and discovered they may have also canceled our return flight to Los Angeles. That’s not ideal. Either way, tomorrow we’ll head back to Manzanar and check out a few other natural sites along the way. We must be back to Lone Pine in time for the Western Film Museum and more importantly the Rock Shop (yes, that’s a store selling rocks) to still be open.
passports & pepto bismol 