| Paul Kusuda’s column A Move to Madison, Wisconsin 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
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 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 Montey’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.”
The neighborhood had many conveniences such as public transportation access with no difficulty. A 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 Montey’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.
“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.