A moment of silence for the Class of 1942 A moment of silence for the Class of 1942 (May 28, 2004)

62 years later, Japanese-American intern finally gets her high school diploma

By Julie O'Shea

"Pomp and Circumstance" -- it's a song Mary Sadako Kitahara has waited a lifetime to hear.

Like most excited graduates, she can't wait to try on her cap and gown, walk before beaming friends and family and proudly accept her high school diploma.

It's a moment, Kitahara said, she thinks about constantly while laying in bed at night.

"Do you think I will have to give a speech?" she asked with a thoughtful smile. "I don't know what I'd say.

"I waited for 62 years to do this. It just seems like a dream."

On June 11, Kitahara, now 81, will join Mountain View High School's Class of 2004 in its commencement ceremony -- a privilege that was denied to her in 1942.

Kitahara was 17 and just two months shy of her own high school graduation when she and her family were sent away to live in Heart Mountain, Wyo. -- an expanse of land where the U.S. government interned thousands of Japanese-American families during World War II. Her name was Mary Okumura then.

"Heart Mountain was barren land with lots of sagebrush," Kitahara recalled. "The climate was all together hot, so hot.

"Sept. 10, the first snowfall came and everyone went crazy. (The children) were so excited. But it was very cold."

After a pause, Kitahara said, "It was a strange country."

Speaking with perfect clarity, Kitahara remembers the day her life changed forever. She remembers the strawberries were just beginning to bloom around her family's rented Mountain View home. She remembers she had only minutes to pack her life into one suitcase and one carry-on bag. She remembers waiting at the train station on Evelyn Avenue. She remembers the three-day ride to Wyoming and how she kept asking "why, why, why?," like a broken record.

She also remembers the terror.

"Two plain-clothed men came to our house. They didn't say anything. They just barged into our house, took everything and started to burn it," Kitahara said, her voice barely a whisper. "Next thing you know, they told us to pack and get out of here -- 'Get on the train! Get on the train!'

"Ever since that day, my mother was sobbing for three years -- I can see her now."

Kitahara's family was forced to live in barrack-style houses behind high barbed-wire fences for more than a year before they were finally released, free to move about the country. But, Kitahara said, it would be years before she truly felt free.

It wasn't until 1990 that she finally got an official apology and a $20,000 restitution check from the federal government for her time spent at Heart Mountain.

"They had finally realized they had made a mistake," Kitahara said, a slight smile playing on her lips.

There were 100 members in Mountain View Union High School's Class of 1942, according to the city's historical association. In the spring of that year, 28 of those students suddenly stopped showing up to class. They were all of Japanese descent.

Kitahara is the only one of those students who will step forward and receive her high school diploma this year. In a way, she is the sole representative of all her lost classmates.

"This is just such beautiful story," Mountain View High School Assistant Principal Matt Neely said. "It (is) just living history."

Sitting in an armchair in her Watsonville home with World War II-era music playing softly in the background, Kitahara explained life was not always easy after she left the internment camp. Despite being warned to stay away from the coast, Kitahara was one of the first deported Japanese-Americans who returned to California.

Her hometown beckoned to her, as did a $100-a-month cleaning job for a Palo Alto family. They were kind to her. But Kitahara said she still felt her neighbors were glaring at her. Eventually she moved away, married and had children of her own.

Although Kitahara said she often thought about what might have been, she realized it was too late to try and change the past.

"During that time, I was very, very angry," Kitahara said. "It was just the same question: 'why, why, why?' Your mind is never settled."

And then, one day, earlier this year, Kitahara's mood suddenly changed. Her daughter, Janet, told Kitahara she'd finally be getting her wish -- her high school diploma.

"I'll look at it every day. It was something that was due to me all these years," Kitahara said. "This is history. This is history."

E-mail Julie O'Shea at joshea@mv-voice.com

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