So my research has begun.
I knew some of it from my family. We're talkers, you know. When we get together, on those rare occasions, we tend to talk about the past. Isn't that just a natural thing in life, to talk about things you can all relate to? My mom and her brother, my uncle, will talk about growing up. How he punched his fist through their wall. When she knocked her mother's tooth out. Their trips to the Boardwalk, and the beach, all piled into the station wagon with no seatbelts. Going to that Elton John concert with her neighbor. Graduation. College. It's all there, tucked away in the back of their minds, these stories that emerge when families come together. Stories that make you laugh, and make you cry. Stories that make you wonder what the hell you were doing. Stories that make you really look back upon your childhood and appreciate it. And realize how much you failed to appreciate it when you were living in that very moment.
So my family tells stories. We gather round my grandpa's living room, some sitting some standing, because there's not enough room for all of us anymore, and we tell stories. My grandpa has a big family, all things considered. Two kids, two in-laws, and six grandkids. Not bad for a guy who only had two kids. My mom talks about her neighbors growing up, how they all had lots of siblings. It was a Catholic New Jersey neighborhood, after all, where birth control was shunned and new family members were looked at as a blessing from God. Her friends growing up had large families: 4 siblings, 5, 6. My mom had an older brother, six years her senior, who didn't have time for her. The stories they tell reflect that.
My mom tells me stuff about my grandpa, too, when he's not around. Some of it she got from her mother, before she died. My mom's mother died in 1975. So my mom's own information is a bit limited. But she tells me information when she knows it, or remembers it, and I store it away for future opportunities, such as this one.
What I do know about my grandpa, then, is a collection of facts, stories, and pictures. He's not one to talk about himself. We don't ask him about the war, because he doesn't ever talk about it. My mother claims she can remember him saying one thing about the war the entire time she was growing up. It's not a subject he talks about, so it's not a subject we talk about. The internet is an amazing thing, though. One quick google search can start anyone on the path to looking up information. Since 2004 the National Archives has posted more war documents online for people to look up. About more than just WWII. WWI, Vietnam, Korea (ok, if you're reading this, I know the last two were just "conflicts", not wars. But in the National Archives they're all grouped together). It's all there. Type in a key word, phrase, or number, and you can receive a plethora of information on the screen in front of you, all waiting for you to dig through it. It's amazing.
So here's what I know about my grandfather. The short, the dirty the ugly. The weak foundation I'm starting my search on. What I know, you know.
My great grandfather, Archie K. Kumasaka, was born in Japan in 1890. His family immigrated to Hawaii when he was still a child (remember, Hawaii was not a U.S. state at this time. His family could not get a full passage into America, and so they used Hawaii as a stepping stone) where his father worked on the sugar plantations. Eventually, at an unknown time, they made their way to America, settling in San Francisco. My great-grandfather and his family were in the city during the 1902 earthquake.
Don't worry, though, they were all fine. Made it out, and, eventually (again, the time is unknown) my great-great-grandfather moved his family to New Jersey. He traveled cross-country in hopes of better work.
So in enters my great-grandfather. It's early in the 20th century. He's young, a Japanese-American, and is trying to make a name for himself. He settles into Keansburg, New Jersey and does what any young hopeful does: he opens a store.
Kumasaka's Department Store, as seen here in a postcard. He opened it on Main Street in Keansburg, and hired some employees. One was a young woman by the name of Florence Riker.
Florence came from a fairly affluent family. Her family name was also attached to a fairly well-known island in New York City.
Yeah, that Riker's Island. As in the one where the prison is built. What a claim to fame. :) She grew up in a nice neighborhood, though, with a nice family. When she was in her early 20s she got a job at Kumasaka's Department Store. She was a cashier, at, what my family assumes, was her first real job. And she fell in love.
It was a match made for no one but themselves. When Florence came home and announced that she was marrying her boss, a Japanese immigrant, her parents were furious. She was a white American, her family didn't associate with people like that. They worried what the town would say, what the neighbors would think. Florence didn't care. On the other end, I'm sure Archie was receiving the same sort of lecture from his family. Not only was he marrying one of his employees, but he was marrying a white girl, someone who didn't understand his family, or his culture, or his way of life.
They were married not soon after.
The marriage was a happy one for both of them. They were the odd couple, by all accounts, but it worked for them. My great-grandfather worked hard at his store, and became well known in his neighborhood. People began to look past his image as an immigrant, as a Japanese man, and saw him for the honest, caring person he was. His store was successful, and he opened more of them. Some opened on the New Jersey beach, others in small communities like Keansburg. Florence helped him run the stores, when she wasn't caring for her kids.
They had three children. The first child, a girl, was born in 1920. They named her Violet. In 1922 Archie, my grandfather, was born. He was named after his father. In 1934 a final child, a girl, was born. They named her Florence, after her mother.
In the back rown, from left to right is my mother's mom, Florence, her mother Florence, and Violet.
The family grew in happiness, encouraged by the success of their stores. My grandfather worked with his father in his spare time, helping him with inventory, stocking, and cleaning. He grew up considering himself to be an American first, with his Japanese heritage just a characteristic of who he was.
As the war approached, it would soon change.
I am going to leave off there. Duties around the house call. Oil changes for cars, laundry, that much. I will try to continue later today. Maybe tomorrow.
Until then,
E
