ロサンゼルス生まれ、アマチ刑務所に収監され、ボストンとユタで教育を受けたリリーは、現在、夫のジョンとともにソルトレイクシティに住んでいます。彼女は 13 年間教師を務め、30 年以上ステンドグラスのビジネスを営んでいましたが、現在は半引退状態です。彼女は水彩画家であり、独創的な自伝「ガサガサガール、キャンプへ行く: 第二次世界大戦のフェンスの向こうにいる二世の若者」を執筆しており、2014 年春にユタ大学出版局から出版される予定です。
2012年8月更新
この執筆者によるストーリー
Phyla, etcetera - Part 1
2010年11月12日 • リリー・ユリコ・ナカイ・ハビー
No matter where we were, even in a prison camp, schooling took precedence, that is, after food and a place to sleep. In Los Angeles I had attended Saturday Japanese School. The Nihon gakko consisted of Every-Day-After-School students and Saturday students and naturally the EDAS ones were ahead of us in every way—reading, writing, and calligraphy. We Once-A-Week students were branded “second-rate” and were assigned front row seats, “to better hear Sensei.” Before class began, the student body lined up …
Arcadia, No. 2 - Part 3
2010年3月24日 • リリー・ユリコ・ナカイ・ハビー
>> Part 2I thought about my father, his absence, his distancing. He was an apparition that appeared briefly and disappeared over and over from my life. Like my mother, he grew up in a small rural hamlet tacked on to the fringes of a larger city. Both ended their formal educations in the sixth grade, but the similarities end there. She took on family responsibilities; he emigrated to America. My brother and I called him “Daddy.” So did my mother …
Arcadia, No. 2 - Part 2
2010年3月17日 • リリー・ユリコ・ナカイ・ハビー
>> Part 1A temporary school was organized to make up for three months of lost time. We were scattered in small clusters across the bleachers in the grandstand. The clamor was overwhelming. Most of the time I could barely hear our teacher, Miss Nakasuji. I shared a single geography text with four other kids. One page featured a photo of Japanese women, their hair swept up in smooth pompadours like huge dinner rolls. They smiled shyly and shaded themselves with …
Arcadia, No. 2 - Part 1
2010年3月10日 • リリー・ユリコ・ナカイ・ハビー
As we settled into our bewildering lives at Santa Anita, clashing mess bells dictated our days. Clang, clang, ding, ding, bong, ka-ching—a mishmash of rhythms and tones rang out three times a day. In the evenings we surrendered ourselves to the block captain making bed-checks. The first few weeks he knocked and poked his head in and counted each of us, but later he simply tapped on the door and asked us to verify our number. “Yes, we’re here,” one …
