Heidi M. Pascual*
Publisher & Editor
* 2006 Journalist of the Year for the State
of Wisconsin (U.S.-SBA)
Publisher & Editor
* 2006 Journalist of the Year for the State
of Wisconsin (U.S.-SBA)
| For more Asian American stories in Wisconsin, click: |
| Moving to Madison in 1951 |
By Paul H. Kusuda
In 1950, Atsuko and I were married in Chicago. Since I was research analyst for the Illinois Department
of Public Welfare’s Division of Child Welfare, we lived in an apartment in Springfield. I was a state
employee while Atsuko had a job with the U.S. Post Office. A little after a year, we moved to Madison,
Wisconsin.
We knew only the person who had urged me to move to Madison — the director of the Division of Child
Welfare and his wife, both of whom lived in their home in the Nakoma area of Madison’s Westside.
Early on, we got to know Carl (a fellow state employee) and Margaret (Margie) Sam who were about to
move from an apartment to their new home in Monona, a suburban village next to Madison. They had
two youngsters and needed larger quarters. So, we moved immediately into the first-floor front
apartment of an eastside Madison house that had been divided into four apartments, two downstairs
and two upstairs. The accommodations were okay for a couple, but we could see that they would be
inadequate for a family.
The neighborhood had many conveniences such as public transportation access with no difficulty. A
In 1950, Atsuko and I were married in Chicago. Since I was research analyst for the Illinois Department
of Public Welfare’s Division of Child Welfare, we lived in an apartment in Springfield. I was a state
employee while Atsuko had a job with the U.S. Post Office. A little after a year, we moved to Madison,
Wisconsin.
We knew only the person who had urged me to move to Madison — the director of the Division of Child
Welfare and his wife, both of whom lived in their home in the Nakoma area of Madison’s Westside.
Early on, we got to know Carl (a fellow state employee) and Margaret (Margie) Sam who were about to
move from an apartment to their new home in Monona, a suburban village next to Madison. They had
two youngsters and needed larger quarters. So, we moved immediately into the first-floor front
apartment of an eastside Madison house that had been divided into four apartments, two downstairs
and two upstairs. The accommodations were okay for a couple, but we could see that they would be
inadequate for a family.
The neighborhood had many conveniences such as public transportation access with no difficulty. A
Paul H. Kusuda
bus ran on the street on which we lived, Atwood Ave., and another bus line went through Schenk’s Corner, just a block away.
There was a theater nearby, Eastwood (now called Barrymore), an A & P across the street and a Kroger a half a block away,
Schenk’s Department Store, a block away, a bowling alley across the street, a Rennebohm Drug Store also a block away, and
little shops lining Atwood Avenue. It was a compact neighborhood with everything needed within walking distance. It even had
a Neighborhood House a couple of streets away that later became the Atwood Community Center (moved about a mile away
recently and renamed Goodman Community Center). There was a gasoline station next door to the apartment and another across
the street about a half a block away, now an eating place called Monty’s Blue Plate. The area is considerably changed even
though the four-plex apartment remains.
One upstairs neighbor was particularly nice to us. In fact, when Atsuko was in labor, the man drove us to the hospital twice,
once when she was in false labor. He was a University of Wisconsin student in natural resources and later became a State
Department of Natural Resources warden, a goal he had told me about. His help was welcome because at the time we had no
car; we couldn’t afford one until at the time. Atsuko worked at Truax Field, so with our combined income, we were able to save
enough to pay for a used car, one that a fellow church member, a used-car salesman, told us was a “cream puff.” As it turned
out, it really wasn’t, but it lasted long enough to meet our needs.
By the time our daughter was a couple of months old, we found a larger apartment in the nearby suburb called Blooming Grove,
later annexed to the City of Madison. It was an old farmhouse that had been divided into two side-by-side apartments each with
separate entrances and each with upstairs bedrooms. The owner lived in the other half of the apartment, and both households
had a view of Monona Drive. They had children who liked to play with ours. Our second daughter was born there.
Getting settled was one thing. Another was getting to know people. Most of those whom we got to know were fellow workers
where I worked and fellow workers where Atsuko worked. Later, after we became members of a newly-established Monona
Methodist Church, we got to know more Madisonians. Most were Caucasian, and a few were African American; all were friendly
and helped us to get to know the city.
We found out that very few Japanese Americans lived in Madison; many lived in Milwaukee, Minneapolis-St. Paul, and Chicago.
We got to know most of the Japanese Americans who lived in Madison because my immediate supervisor Blanche I. Neyhart
introduced us to her friends Iwao and May Hara. (Iwao worked for an accounting firm and was jokingly called O’Hara. May was
very active in church work.) Through the couple, we got to meet many other Nisei who had come to live in Madison.
We were invited to join a group of Nisei (Japanese Americans) and Issei (their parents) who met monthly at one another’s home.
The first year or so, we could not invite the group because our apartment was so small. Nonetheless, we joined in with the
monthly get-togethers. The Issei were able to talk Japanese with each other and play cards, Canasta, I think. The Nisei men
played really-inexpensive poker since none of us had money to spare. The Nisei women enjoyed getting together, four playing
bridge and others talking with each other about what I don’t know. They also put together snacks for all of us to enjoy after an
hour or two of get-together time. So, we got to know one another, and it was nice to be with others who looked like one another.
People of color need that kind of fellowship with no need to be alert to possible signs of racial prejudice, being relaxed, and to
be free to act “normally.”
No matter how any society believes it to be “color blind,” most people of color cannot escape their sense that prejudice and bias
exist even though not visible or sincerely denied. People of color may be accepted as individuals; however, that acceptance
may not be transferred to the group. Hence, a Nisei could be accepted as an individual, but the Japanese might be seen as
sneaky, uppity, devious, cold or devoid of humor or even emotion, standoffish, sly, etc. How is it for any person of Asian
American ancestry, an African American, a Hispanic American, a Native American? If a group of three or four young people of
color is seen walking together or in a shopping area, is the reaction that of caution or suspicion? Would the reaction be the same
if the group happened to be three or four Whites? The answer is best made by the reader because a “color-blind” answer made
publicly would likely not be: “Of course. I judge people by their action, not by their color!” Hmm. My personal conviction is that
racism is within ALL of us. Society’s goal cannot be elimination of racism but rather the non-manifestation of it.
There was a theater nearby, Eastwood (now called Barrymore), an A & P across the street and a Kroger a half a block away,
Schenk’s Department Store, a block away, a bowling alley across the street, a Rennebohm Drug Store also a block away, and
little shops lining Atwood Avenue. It was a compact neighborhood with everything needed within walking distance. It even had
a Neighborhood House a couple of streets away that later became the Atwood Community Center (moved about a mile away
recently and renamed Goodman Community Center). There was a gasoline station next door to the apartment and another across
the street about a half a block away, now an eating place called Monty’s Blue Plate. The area is considerably changed even
though the four-plex apartment remains.
One upstairs neighbor was particularly nice to us. In fact, when Atsuko was in labor, the man drove us to the hospital twice,
once when she was in false labor. He was a University of Wisconsin student in natural resources and later became a State
Department of Natural Resources warden, a goal he had told me about. His help was welcome because at the time we had no
car; we couldn’t afford one until at the time. Atsuko worked at Truax Field, so with our combined income, we were able to save
enough to pay for a used car, one that a fellow church member, a used-car salesman, told us was a “cream puff.” As it turned
out, it really wasn’t, but it lasted long enough to meet our needs.
By the time our daughter was a couple of months old, we found a larger apartment in the nearby suburb called Blooming Grove,
later annexed to the City of Madison. It was an old farmhouse that had been divided into two side-by-side apartments each with
separate entrances and each with upstairs bedrooms. The owner lived in the other half of the apartment, and both households
had a view of Monona Drive. They had children who liked to play with ours. Our second daughter was born there.
Getting settled was one thing. Another was getting to know people. Most of those whom we got to know were fellow workers
where I worked and fellow workers where Atsuko worked. Later, after we became members of a newly-established Monona
Methodist Church, we got to know more Madisonians. Most were Caucasian, and a few were African American; all were friendly
and helped us to get to know the city.
We found out that very few Japanese Americans lived in Madison; many lived in Milwaukee, Minneapolis-St. Paul, and Chicago.
We got to know most of the Japanese Americans who lived in Madison because my immediate supervisor Blanche I. Neyhart
introduced us to her friends Iwao and May Hara. (Iwao worked for an accounting firm and was jokingly called O’Hara. May was
very active in church work.) Through the couple, we got to meet many other Nisei who had come to live in Madison.
We were invited to join a group of Nisei (Japanese Americans) and Issei (their parents) who met monthly at one another’s home.
The first year or so, we could not invite the group because our apartment was so small. Nonetheless, we joined in with the
monthly get-togethers. The Issei were able to talk Japanese with each other and play cards, Canasta, I think. The Nisei men
played really-inexpensive poker since none of us had money to spare. The Nisei women enjoyed getting together, four playing
bridge and others talking with each other about what I don’t know. They also put together snacks for all of us to enjoy after an
hour or two of get-together time. So, we got to know one another, and it was nice to be with others who looked like one another.
People of color need that kind of fellowship with no need to be alert to possible signs of racial prejudice, being relaxed, and to
be free to act “normally.”
No matter how any society believes it to be “color blind,” most people of color cannot escape their sense that prejudice and bias
exist even though not visible or sincerely denied. People of color may be accepted as individuals; however, that acceptance
may not be transferred to the group. Hence, a Nisei could be accepted as an individual, but the Japanese might be seen as
sneaky, uppity, devious, cold or devoid of humor or even emotion, standoffish, sly, etc. How is it for any person of Asian
American ancestry, an African American, a Hispanic American, a Native American? If a group of three or four young people of
color is seen walking together or in a shopping area, is the reaction that of caution or suspicion? Would the reaction be the same
if the group happened to be three or four Whites? The answer is best made by the reader because a “color-blind” answer made
publicly would likely not be: “Of course. I judge people by their action, not by their color!” Hmm. My personal conviction is that
racism is within ALL of us. Society’s goal cannot be elimination of racism but rather the non-manifestation of it.