“He didn’t like to complain. He didn’t like it when we complained. But his parents and his generation had to persevere through so much adversity.”
— Brent Yoshida, on his grandfather
Yoshio Bill Yasuda
Nisei
Yoshio Bill Yasuda was born in Glendale, CA. Shortly after the Pearl Harbor attacks, his father was arrested by the F.B.I. and detained in Tuna Canyon Detention Station and Lordsburg Internment Camp. About a month later, Yoshio, his mother and his two siblings were sent to Manzanar. Yoshio was sixteen years old at the time.
While at Manzanar, Yoshio immersed himself in community activities. His name appeared numerous times in sporting events covered by the Manzanar Free Press. When Yoshio turned 18, he registered for the draft, listing his barrack as his mailing address. Soon after, he, his mother and two siblings were transferred to Crystal City, where they were reunited with his father for the first time in over a year.
When Yoshio’s family returned to Los Angeles after the war, they no longer had their grocery store business or home to return to. They moved into his uncle’s home in Inglewood and took odd jobs—clerking, landscaping, cleaning houses—to make ends meet. Shortly after, Yoshio left home to serve in the U.S. Army and returned in 1949. The following year, he married Akemi Nancy Morita, whom he met while incarcerated in Crystal City.
Nearly three decades after losing his family’s grocery store business, Yoshio and Akemi opened their own grocery store in the South Bay in 1970, which they operated for 17 years. Yoshio mainly spoke about the positive experiences he had in Manzanar and Crystal City until he passed away in 2007.
Yoshio’s family information as it appears in the Final Accountability Roster for Manzanar. Courtesy of Densho Encyclopedia.
Yoshio registered for the draft while incarcerated in Manzanar. He left home to serve in the US Army shortly after his release from Crystal City. Courtesy of the Yoshida Family Collection.
“Yosh” Yasuda—Yoshio’s nickname—engraved on the foundation of a roundabout, one of the few remaining structures at Manzanar.
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Brent Yoshida
Yonsei
Brent Yoshida is the maternal grand-son of Yoshio Bill Yasuda. He was born in Los Angeles.
Growing up, Brent says he and his family used to visit Manzanar regularly on the drive up to family gatherings at Mammoth Lakes. “It was literally dirt, barbed wire, and [a] roundabout where my grandpa’s name is written,” he says. “He would just say, ‘I used to live here.'” Yoshio did not share much else about his incarceration, and the children were encouraged not to ask questions.
It wasn’t until Brent, who currently works as an actor, landed a role in a short film—that of a young man incarcerated at Manzanar, around the same age Yoshio would have been—when he began to confront his family history. “Before, I would say that I’m Japanese, but it wouldn’t carry any weight to me,” he says. “We filmed in a barrack setting, and that really opened my eyes to what [my grandfather] had to experience. And the more I put myself in there, the more I started to identify with it.” He shares that wartime incarceration has instilled in him a sense of duty to share stories both within and outside of his community. “I feel a responsibility to make space for what happened—not just for Japanese, but for anyone who has gone through suffering.”
“It was literally dirt, barbed wire, and [a] roundabout where my grandpa’s name is written. He would just say, ‘I used to live here.'”
— Brent Yoshida
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Eryn Yoshida
Yonsei
Eryn Yoshida is the maternal grand-daughter of Yoshio Bill Yasuda. She was born in Los Angeles area.
Eryn says she first learned about the incarceration of Japanese Americans in a classroom, not from her grandfather. “As a curious little girl, I would ask more questions, but [he] tried to keep it more lighthearted and generic for us,” she says. She rarely recalls Yoshio talking about his incarceration, even at post-war gatherings with other incarcerees.
Over the years, she pieced together her family history through curriculums she developed as a teacher and through her own research. “A part of me doesn’t believe I’m in a place to tell his story,” she says. “There are so many things that he might have gone through that [he’s] never going to be able to tell.” In recent years, Eryn says she now understands why her grandfather only shared positive experiences from his incarceration. “[He] wanted us to have a positive outlook on the country we live in and the people that are here with us now. More importantly, his daily actions and words exemplified the qualities of the person wanted me to be through his leadership and his heart. For that, I am truly grateful.”