Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Interview with my mother 3

I loved my single life.

I worked in Honolulu for the Hawaii Visitors Bureau for seven years. My friend Peggy Kainuma had gone to business school with me. She and i had planned to move to New York together, but when the time came, she hadn't saved enough money, so we agreed she'd join me later. George Peabody, who had a PR firm in New York, was passing through Hawaii on his way to visit an account in the Philippines and asked my bosses who he might hire and they recommended me. I left Hawaii on March 15, 1952. My boss' wife, who was from Scarsdale outside New York, let me borrow her camel hair coat, which she didn't need in Hawaii. After I arrived in New York, I had it cleaned and sent it back to her.

At first I looked for jobs with transportation companies, figuring I might be able to get reduced-price tickets, but I wound up going to see George Peabody, and he hired me. His offices were across from the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. Through my work connection with the Philippine Association, I met my friend Kiching, who was an accompanist for her cousin, a mezzo-soprano named Conchita Gaston. They wound up moving back to the Philippines. Their family was rich; they owned plantations, although not as big as McBride. Rich people.

About three months after I arrived in New York, I met Peggy in Buffalo, where her sister was, and she came to live with me. She went home after a year and a half. She said, "Next time, I'll come to the west coast," but she came back to New York.

I loved that life -- here was so much to do! We went to lots of plays and concerts, and movies when it was hot (to take advantage of the air conditioning). We'd come home at 2 o'clock in the morning. At first, we lived on the west side, at 85th Street, a block from Central Park. The west side was more exciting, with lots of stores and restaurants. The east side was more tony. It was good fun! We lived next door to my brother Tom and his wife Mildred. We'd take turns cooking. Mildred was a hairstylist and always cooked dinner on Wednesday, which was her day off. A couple named Mary and Bill Kochiyama used to invite all the Hawaii kids. I'd always take them a can of coffee because they had to many visitors. I met lots of Hawaii kids, expecially after I moved uptown to 109th Street, near Columbia University.

New York was safe in those days. My friend Shirley's uncle, who was a city bus driver, used to pick me up at 125th Street and take me to his house in Queens. I stayed over there my first Thanksgiving in New York. Shirley had been a nurse, and had a real mean figure.

I had lunch with my friend Ruth every day. She had a laugh that would make her turn red in the face. Americans didn't usually do this, but because she was European, we'd hold hands when she walked. When she married a Portuguese student, she kept it a secret at work -- she didn't want them meddling in her private life.

After I moved to 58th Street, my sister Tomie came and lived in a women's dorm -- like the YWCA, but not the Y. She came and visited me in the hospital when your sister was born. She stayed in New York about two years, then she went back to Hawaii and wound up moving to San Francisco.

She'd been married to the son of a family my parents knew from back in Japan. His father came to my parents and promised they'd take good care of her. Old Japanese style, a new bride was like a servant, and my parents worried because she wasn't well. As part of her dowry, they gave a washing machine, which most people didn't have back then. Her husband was nice, but her mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law were hard to get along with. Once she came home or a visit and told my parents, "I'm not going back." She'd been married about two years. My oldest sister Chiyoko worked in a store that had a lunch counter, and Tomie's ex-husband came in and asked after all of us by name except her, so my sister volunteered that she was doing fine. He wound up marrying one of Tomie's friends.

Although he never spoke of it, I think my father was very angry with that family. My parents treated us as if we could do no wrong. Once a woman had a piece of firewood and was ready to hit her child with it. My mother snatched it away and hit her. "Does that hurt?" she asked. "You're bigger than your child!" Later she felt sorry and took the woman some cans of fruit as a gift. The woman said, "No, I want to thank you for what you did."

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