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Chapter 6: Reflections on Memories Connected to WW II  by Mimi Lozano

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The three and a half years in which the United States was involved in World War II, December 7th, 1941 to spring 1945 was a short period of time, but marked everyone deeply who experienced it.  

I remember two separate incidences during the school year when the reality of the war and the humanity of both the Japanese and Germans touched me.  

Of course with Pres. Roosevelt's weekly fireside messages, the buy wars bonds drives, men in uniform coming and going,  Saturday movies news-reels which 

always preceded the Hollywood movies, posters,
school air raid practices . . . daily we were receiving messages of the reality of the horrors of war taking place in Europe and in the South Pacific. In addition our fathers, uncles, brothers, and friends were leaving to fight in those terrible wars.  

The pain to the families and loved ones at home can not be emphasized enough.  Those young men and women that never came back.

 

THE YOUNG WIDOW

After the attack off the Santa Barbara coast, and Los Angeles skies, Dad moved us to Ontario.  We rented a house which backed to the grammar school.  We had lots of freedom to wander around. Ontario has a lot of orange orchards. Being resourceful we would gather oranges that had fallen to the ground and sell them from door to door. 

One of these doors, was to a unit in a little wooden four-complex,  opened by a young woman.  She was married; she had a ring on. She seemed very sad and wanted to talk, even to us kids. She moved there to be closer to the base where her husband was stationed. She didn't know anyone. It was not home. After paying us for the oranges, she went in the bedroom and came out with a box. The box was filled with lingerie sets. You could see all the items were new, beautiful, silky, lacey, in many delicate colors.

Then quietly she started handing them to us, giving them to us. We were four. She emptied the box. We were giddy. We felt like princesses and wore the sweeping  items over  our clothes. 

Mom was very, very upset. She could see the quality and that they were new. She wanted us to take them back. Unfortunately, we really had no idea where we had been.

Eventually the excitement were off, and I don't really remember what happened to those beautiful emblems of femininity. What I do remember was young woman's intense sadness and the picture of a soldier in uniform on the side table.

I also remember that she begged us to come back and visit her, but we never did. I always felt bad about that, even more so when I grew up and put all the pieces together.

The scenario: She had recently gotten word that her husband was not coming home. He had died in battle. The beautiful lingerie that she was planning to model for him was a painful future that was not to be.  

LIVING IN A JAPANESE HOUSE, a barn and a pond. 

Soon after returning to Los Angeles,  I was sent to to stay with my Valdez cousins while Mom and Dad made a trip to San Antonio to attend a family funeral.  

It seemed a little strange that the house that my Valdez cousins lived in, in Stockton, was being rented from a Japanese family. The family was interned, and had made an agreement with the Valdez family, trusting their home, house and belongings to their care.    The house had a big barn and it was filled with furniture, stacked quite high, almost to the ceiling and covered with heavy rugs.   

My cousin Alba (two years younger than me), and I were told not to touch anything in the barn and not to climb on anything in the barn.  We did not, but I wondered how it must have felt to leave everything, in the care of strangers.

My cousin Alba remembers, we did not climb on the top of the barn. We did peek under the ends of the rugs, and climbed on the top of the barn.  She recalled we were thinking of some interesting ways of getting down without a ladder, superman capes.  Fortunately we were stopped before we tested it out.  

Also on the property was a pond, a Koi Fish Pond.  Of course we kids had no sense of the value of the fish; however, we surely did appreciate how beautiful they were, lots of bright colors, oranges, yellows, reds and spots of white. They were quite large, maybe 8 inches and longer. 

We would wade in the pond and the fish would swirl around our feet. They did not seem to mind us. I guess one of the adults in the house was taking good care of them because I don't recall any Koi dying.  Perhaps it was Abuelito or Abuelita Chapa.  They moved out of Los Angeles and were staying with the Valdez family too.  Grandma seem to have a connection with nature, and grandpa was just smart in everything.


A LESSON ON BASIC ECONOMICS . . . 

My grandpa,  Abuelito Alberto Chapa taught me a lesson that I will never forget. He had been an educator in Mexico, Superintendent of Schools in Sabinas Hidalgo, Nuevo Leon.  I am sure this lesson was intentional, as his action usually was, but more indirect  . . . .  not like the very direct, knuckle-knock on the head, with the "No seas tonta." comment.

No, this was special.  Grandpa would occasionally giving my cousin Alba and me a nickel,  to get an ice cream cone on the way home from school.  One Monday however, he surprised us, and instead of the nickel, he gave each of us quarter, accompanied by a sly smile.  I think now . . .he was testing us.  He thought (maybe hoped) that we would have enough sense to spread out the 25 cents, and enjoy a cone every day.  Instead, standing in the ice cream parlor and looking at all the flavors, Alba and I decided to splurge and get a Five-Decker ice cream cone. We were ecstatic.   We could get all the colors. The colors were just as bright as these scoops, but as I remember they almost all tasted the same. By the time we got home, in the Stockton heat, ice cream was running down our arms, dripping on our cloths, and leaving a tell-tale trail of ice cream on the sidewalk, a tale of our foolishness. Grandpa saw us come in.  He didn't say a word,  he just looked at us and went into the other room. We both thought he was mad at us, but years later I realized, he probably went into the other room to muffle a laugh.   It was a financial lesson,  I never forgot. Even if you have the money there's no need to be stupid about how you spend it.   Think ahead!!

                                                               GERMAN PRISONERS OF WAR IN OUR BACKYARD 

A couple of years later I was again sent up to be with the Valdez family. Uncle Gilbert and Aunt Elia had bought a house in North Stockton. I remember several times going on walks with Tia passing a fenced-in area, with a high wire fence surrounding it.

Tia said they were German soldiers, prisoners of war. I looked at the open, sunny well manicured acreage, the men looked healthy, well fed and doing some light gardening. One of the prisoners called us over to the fence.  He and Tia started talking, quickly a guard came over, and firmly, but politely directed us not to talk to the prisoners. The man seemed lonely.

However, they were prisoners, but as we walked away I could not help but contrast, the conditions of the German concentration camps with the emaciated, starving people stuffed into airless, sunless housing, seen in the news-reels, with the condition of these German prisoners.  These men looked like they were enjoying a day at the park.  It was quite evident that they were the fortunate, to have been caught and brought to the United States. 

I wondered how my uncles, Albert and Oscar were doing?  What were the conditions they were living under?

I was especially close to two of my young uncles. My uncle Oscar who as a 10-year-old was working in a car garage, was quickly identified for his mechanical knowledge and skill. He started the war serving in the Army and finished the war as a Master Sergeant in the Air Force, responsible for the maintenance of all the aircraft at his base.

My uncle Albert went into the Marines and fought in the South Pacific. He did not speak much about his experiences serving there, except once, He said, the greatest pain was to hear the screams of their buddies being tortured by the Japanese. He said the Japanese would wait to inflict the pain at night, so the sounds would be heard better.  Al said it drove some of the men crazy,  literally.  

He said one time, he was walking through the jungle, rifle raised, finger on the trigger when he suddenly  came face to face with a Japanese soldier in the same posture.  He said, we looked at each other in the eyes, locked as statues in time, realizing what the next second could mean. In a moment of two, we each dropped our rifle just a little bit and slowly walked away backwards.   Gratefully, Tio came home, with two Purple Hearts,  alive, and only part of a finger missing. 

The war was over in the spring of 1945.  That fall I started the 7th grade at Hollenbeck junior high in East Los Angeles, war memories were still fresh.  

And the evidence seem to linger in various ways. Men were coming home. More Gold Stars were hanging in windows. Crippled man were not so unusual anymore. We were grateful. As a nation we were grateful, but the heavy cost was evident.

STARTING HOLLENBECK JR. HIGH

Evergreen Elementary school was single story,  neighborhood school with 12 classrooms,  students moving up every  half year.  The student body was about 150.  

Hollenbeck Junior High's main building is a three-stories, with a gymnasium, shop, and cafeteria.  It was quite a contrast to Evergreen, with Hollenbeck Junior High, whose current student body is listed as 1176.  I remembered it was hundreds, hundreds.  Lots and lots of kids, mostly taller!! 

Junior high required trying to maneuver around physically, and understand social rules beyond " la familia " and grade school. The first incident as a freshman was realizing that old friends might have new alliances. 

Freshman were instructed to meet in the gymnasium. There were a hundreds of us freshman. 

I was really relieved when I saw Olga.  Olga was the only other Mexican in my class at Evergreen, I smiled and waved. But Olga did not smile back and turned away when I walked towards her. She was with a group of girls.  I was confused and puzzled.  We played together.  For our 6th grade graduation, we performed a Mexican dance together. The families even got together. We were about the same size. We frequently wore our hair the same way, in braids. but I was fair with green eyes and she was brown-skin with dark eyes. The two girls standing on either side of Olga had her coloring too. She seemed to be a little afraid to greet me, and walked away between the two girls, in the middle of a large group.  I stood alone wondering what had happened. 

Home rooms were assigned with some orientation information.  We found our ways to our homeroom, meeting the teacher, introducing ourselves.  It appeared that students from all the different elementary schools were purposely put into home rooms where they would be encouraged to make new friends, because no one seemed to know anyone. 

My way of starting a conversation was asking what elementary school they went to. The answer that affected me the most was when the girl sitting next to me, softly answered, "I didn't. I was in an internment camp." Even though I could see she was Asian, I had not put the pieces together. I just saw her as me, another new freshman.

Hollenbeck was a fresh new world.  Looking around me, I could the results of see lots of war in the students.  Different people, from countries like Yugoslavia, Latvia, Lithuania, with surnames and accents that I had never heard.  Most immigrating from those countries were Jews, fleeing both the Germans and Russians who continued to track down Jews, enslaving or executing them. 

We also had students who were from Rumania, also considered inferior by Hitler.  On those occasions when we had to walk to school, we passed the homes of gypsies. Their homes were rented stores with blankets covering the glass display case for privacy.  The women sat outside, with long skirts and scarves on their heads looking very mysterious.   Their small children playing on the sidewalk.

We had American families whose English also sounded a little different.  They were disparaging referred to as "Oakies" who were fleeing the damage of the lifeless dust bowl areas.  Another group were the Mexican pachucos. The girls with their high Pompadour's, short skirts, heels, and make-up, who to me seemed so sophisticated. The boys wore oversized shirts and slicked back hair. We also had a large population of African-American students.  

Hollenbeck took pride in being the most ethnically mixed school in Los Angeles.  We had a map in the office with flags stuck on it representing all the countries represented by our student population.  

In addition to the mixed nationalities, student life was further complicated with the forming of clicks and gangs,  somewhat based on where you lived. Although I joined a group, a club, I tried to keep a relationship with everyone. To avoid the complicated junior-high social scene of who sits were, who is mad at who, and general gossip, etc., I volunteered to work in the front office during the lunch period.   

It was quiet and I was learning new skills, such as running a telephone switchboard, answering the phone, learning to take messages, feeling comfortable talking to authorities. It was fun. The challenge was to match both sides correctly.  I was taking college prep classes. For my electives, continuing my interest in theater, I took choir, public speaking, and drama.  Sometimes, with no tasks, I could use that time to do some homework. All in all,  it was a peaceful time in the middle of the day. One day, I actually helped an FBI agent, who was trying to reach a student for questioning.  I did have a few few oops,  connecting the wrong people or disconnecting or disrupting a conversation, like with the principal, which I did a few times.  As I reflex back on the wisdom of the homeroom system, the value of making friends with people not of your ethnic group, heritage, or race, became very clear.  It was a wonderful preparation for life.

Because I worked in the office,  I was allowed to leave class a little bit early to get my lunch in the cafeteria. One day an African-American girl blocked my way into the cafeteria.  She was holding the door shut and would not let me enter. I explained the situation through the door, but she would not budge. Suddenly, Martha, an African-American girl my homeroom, came over, bumped her out of the way and open the door for me. I turned to thank her, but Martha did not look at me, or speak to me. I was puzzled.  Martha took care of it, then and quietly too because I never had a problems  getting into the cafeteria early again.  

I wondered why I had never had a problem with any Mexican groups trying to recruit me. I thought maybe more than just my color, it was because I was taking college prep classes, and there were very few Mexican heritage students in the college prep classes. I remember one other Mexican in the college prep classes. I believe his name was Rudy Medina. Years later I recognized him on a PBS station. He as an educator with the Los Angeles Unified School District involved in producing educational videos.

I also thought, maybe I wasn't approached because of my sister. My sister, Tania was a half a year ahead of me, and six inches taller. She was an outstanding athlete. Tania won the athlete of year award when she graduated.  

Wondered if it was something with my "star status". I tried out and got a singing solo in the school talent show. I sang A Sleepy Lagoon. Looking back on the staging, I think I solved why the spotlight light on me was so dim, almost dark. I wasn't sure anyone could actually see me, which as I reflect on the situation was probably the intent. I was small, and physically undeveloped, but had a a full and powerful voice. Mom said some of the students who went by my Dad's cleaning/tailoring shop, thought I was just lip-sinking. My Mom said, she had to convince them that it was really me. They didn't believe it. The music director knew what she was doing. Was that really little Mimi Lozano singing?

When I graduated from Hollenbeck into Roosevelt High School, I heard a rumor, adding to the "safe social cocoon" which I had enjoyed.  I was told that the word was that one of the leading Pachucas at Hollenbeck Junior High had spread the word to leave me alone.  Like Martha, she was also in my homeroom. We sat next to each other and and frequently shared stories. Apparently, she protected me like Martha had, quietly. After my experience with Olga, I never made a show of saying hello to my Pachuca friend on the grounds, when she was with a bunch of her friends. I avoided eye-contact, and respected that she did not want to acknowledge me, but in class we spoke freely. She seemed very comfortable with me, and me with her. 

Interesting in a life-view, that in spite of not belonging to any Mexican gangs during Junior High, it was a gang fight that actually came close to taking my life. 

For some reason on this particular day,  I was walking home from Hollenbeck by myself; usually my sister and I walked home together. The route passed Roosevelt High, which is very close to Hollenbeck.   I was standing on the corner waiting for the red light to change when I became aware that to my right a large gang of Latinos were heading towards me, towards Roosevelt High. They were looking past me. I turned to see where they were looking and saw another Latino gang, approaching from the left side of me. 

Suddenly I heard a cracking sound, almost simultaneously felt a wisp of air pass my right cheek and heard a thud in the wooden post of the electric street light that I was standing next to.  Instantly both groups started yelling and everyone started scattering in all directions.  

I think I was a little bit in shock, because, I just stood there.  Stunned, I realized at that moment that I had been standing in the middle of a war zone. When I looked at the lamp post, I saw clearly the small round metal circle, the back of a bullet, imbedded in the wooden post of the electric street light.  The bullet had barely missed me.  I often wonder how quickly life can change, from one moment to the next.  

Although, I came within inches of being killed,  I don't think I was the target. I think it was by chance that I was there,  and was glad to realize that at least, at that hostile encounter, like with my uncle Albert, no one was hurt, including me.