Lefty Marshall quickly realized if he wanted to take full advantage of the Smithsonian Institution, he needed to block off an entire day. Between exhibits, artifacts and special programs, there was more than enough to see and do in the expansive exhibition halls.
But he was on a specific mission, so instead of taking time to marvel at American history, he quickly read the descriptions of displays such as the Greensboro Lunch Counter, Civil War Draft Wheel and the chip off of Plymouth Rock … and just kept moving along.
As he made his way up and down the museum’s three floors, he kept an eye on his watch; he was on a tight schedule and could only stay a limited time. After an hour of stopping, staring and starting, however, Lefty finally found what he was looking for – a small display called “Baseball Behind Barbed Wire.”
The centerpiece was a jersey worn by a man named Tetsuo Furukawa, and there was also a vintage photograph with several signatures occupying a waist-high, round table.
It was a shot of the Gila River All-Stars – donning caps, bats and gloves, and looking very much like a typical baseball team.
But this crew was anything but typical.
This contingent from Arizona was made up of men from internment camps – Japanese-Americans who had been rounded up, given 48 hours to sell their businesses and houses, and made detainees of the United States government during World War II.
The irony, of course, is that these American citizens used the National Pastime to try to gain a sense of normalcy after being herded up like cattle for no other reason than they “looked like” the enemy.
Lefty didn’t hear this version of the story back in what he now called “the old days.” In fact, it was never talked about much at all in his circles, other than the abstract explanation of, “Well, we’re at war, so ….” Yet he had learned the truth, and the truth was what sent him to this particular time and this particular place.
Lefty was reading each name in the photo when he heard a voice that broke him out of his trance and startled him ever so slightly.
“Excuse me … would you mind taking a picture of me standing next to this photo?”
He turned to see a somewhat familiar looking, thirtysomething Japanese-American man sporting short, jet-black hair with a jagged green streak that appeared to be splashed across his bangs. With a denim jacket, faded jeans, black converse sneakers, a Ramones tee shirt and backpack, he seemed out of place at a baseball display.
“The phone is already set up,” he said. “All you have to do is press the button.”
“Sure,” Lefty said. “I’ll be glad to.”
He lined up to the left of the photo, leaned in and smiled and Lefty took two quick shots before handing the phone back to him.
“This is a really sad part of history,” said Lefty. “I wish more people had learned the real story sooner. I’m a history buff, but like a lot of people, I can look back and see I buffed over a lot of history … believe me.”
Although the events had taken place in the 1940s, the man knew quite a bit about the photo, the jersey – and the story behind it all.
“I’m mostly familiar with the Heart Mountain team, the one that lost to Gila River,” he said. “I guess you could say it was like the World Series of the internment camps. When I learned there was an actual display here, I had to see it for myself. I’ve heard lots of stories about one of the Heart Mountain players, Hidenori Hatakeda.
“Oh, by the way, they call me Happy.”
Lefty swallowed hard, because he was quite familiar with the name Hidenori Hatakeda.
“Nice to meet you Happy. My name’s Lefty Marshall,” he said. “Are you a baseball fan?”
“Not as much as I used to be,” Happy said. “But I’m meeting someone here, so I thought I’d give the display a closer look.”
Turns out Hatakeda went on to play independent league ball after the war ended and he was finally released from the camp, but that was mostly for fun. A baker by trade, he restarted the business that was taken from him and ended up overseeing a chain (Sunshine Bakery) that thrived in the 1950s and 1960s on the West Coast.
“He was a baker – claimed to make the best Apple Feuillettes in the United States – his brother was a baker, and one member of the family owned a music store in El Segundo before he retired,” Happy said. “Hidenori and his family did all right for themselves.”
Comparatively speaking, Lefty lived a life of privilege; it pained him to imagine the hardships Hatakeda faced through no fault of his own.
“He was a great man and a great success,” Lefty said. “I would’ve been so bitter.”
Happy said he wasn’t.
“Hidenori … he was one of those people who always looked ahead and never looked back,” Happy said. “There’s this old wooden plaque that he had in his office, and on it is written a Japanese proverb that translates to, ‘Fall down seven times, stand up eight.’ I think in his case he was pushed down, but he got up. And he stood pretty tall.”
Lefty managed a weak smile.
“This is a subject that really interests me,” he said. “I’d love to sit down and talk about this more.”
Happy raised his eyebrows.
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
Lefty sighed.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked.
Happy nodded.
“I do … yes,” he said.
“There’s a reason why I want to bend your ear,” Lefty said. “I worked for the War Relocation Authority, and I’m the supervisor who made Hidenori Hatakeda and his family leave their home. Sometimes, the folks who run the afterlife send you back down here after you die … not really to set things right because you can’t, but to – I don’t know – try to make up for it somehow. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do … I just wish I could tell Mr. Hatakeda I’m sorry.
“I know you said you were meeting someone, but maybe you could make time for me after.”
Happy reached into his pocket and pulled out an old newspaper clipping – one with Hatakeda’s obituary. “As it turns out, you’re the person I was supposed to meet,” Happy said, showing him the yellowed piece of newspaper. “I know a good bakery about a mile from here … we can talk there and have an Apple Feuillette. I hear they make them almost as good as I did.”
