Day 3 - Manzanar. Drive or Walk.
Manzanar was the first, and only, camp we went to that had an “auto tour” — a marked set of roads with helpful signs to guide us along our way. The idea of treating Manzanar like a “drive-through” experience seemed, and still seems wrong to me. On the other hand, the idea of wishing that one could stay longer also seems wrong, given how many people who lived there wished they had never been there at all.
In the end, we made an absurd set of compromises — half driving, half walking, doubling back, starting up the car and stopping it again, driving at a crawl, etc. We wanted to give each place the respect and consideration it deserved, and at the same time, make it out of the camp before dark.
Manzanar, like all the camps, is a big place, more than 800 acres. All of the war relocation camps were large towns; each camp had more than 10,000 ”residents.”
How many internees drove on these streets? Except for internees who drove trucks for the camp farms, or brought supplies to the kitchens, hospital, or other camp facilities, the only other people who drove on a regular basis along these roads were guards and administrative staff. Yet another reason to walk.
The old roadways, arranged on a grid, now surround lots with stands of trees and sagebrush, the occasional exposed foundation, the remains of a rock garden. In a way, the roads are the exposed skeleton of Manzanar — bones that bear witness to the city that used to be here.
Drive or walk.
The crunching sound of tire on gravel seemed like an affront to the stillness outside. We walked as much as we could.
