Like many who feasted on turkey and cranberry sauce on Thanksgiving Day, the dear friends and family around my table shared the many things for which they were thankful. When it was my turn, I said simply, “my home and my freedom,” two things that many people – but obviously not all – have the luxury of sharing in this great country of ours.
It was a cold, kind of gray and a little blustery day here in Cody, Wyoming, as it can sometimes be in November, so we put a few extra logs on the fire and cranked up the heat just a bit. Sated, dishes done, we all gathered to watch and nap through some football. All except me, because my mood had turned somber. As I walked by my double-paned picture window after dinner, I could see – just barely – the outline of Heart Mountain.
To thousands of Americans of Japanese descent, the month of November represents far more than the month during which a nation comes together for a feast and launches the festivities of the holiday season. It is the month when a three-year nightmare shared primarily by Americans of Japanese heritage finally ended.
In November 1945, Read More