Jul 18, 2019 @ 04:56:36 from Mie
I live in Japan near now-defunct Camp Drake. I’m a photographer, and one of my photo projects is about Camp Drake. Your old beautiful images taken at Momote village and your story are fascinating ! I searched for the things about Camp Drake and Momote village, but it’s very difficult ‘cause it closed deep in the past. Could you tell me more about Momote village, if possible ?
Jul 19, 2019 @ 21:15:11 from Rita
Mie,
I’m glad you liked my pictures and story. I don’t know any more than what is in the article I wrote. Thanks, Rita
Jul 29, 2019 @ 03:33:32 from Mie
Dear Rita,
Thank you for your reply.
Do you allow me to use your story and your photos in my handmade photo book making project? Can you check Messanger? I would like to explain more about now-defunct Camp Drake photo book making project. Best regards, Mie
Jul 30, 2019 @ 00:18:20 from Rita
Yes, Mie, I can check Messenger. It sounds like an interesting project.
Aug 02, 2019 @ 14:55:55 from Mie
I have already texted to you through messenger. My FB account is Mie Inada. Please press Facebook friend request on my Facebook page, because I cannot request Facebook friend on your Facebook page.
2019/09/23 1:07 from Mie
Thank you for sending me a friend request!!
I suppose you could not read my message that I’ve sent on July 30. 〔...〕
I need your help!
I need archival photos to make my handmade book about the Camp Drake. I really love your nostalgic beautiful photos. I will be more than happy to introduce your photos in my project.
Do you allow me to use your photos, stories and some other materials such as drawings?? Your reply is very much appreciated.
2019/09/23 2:39 from Rita
Yes, Mie, I'm happy to lend you my photos and other items for your project. I'll let you know if I add some more.
2019/09/23 10:03 from Mie
I really appreciate your help!!!
Steven who is a member of your closed FB group, has sent me some photos and a letter. 〔 〕 Your photos, drawings and other things such as news paper materials are really amazing. 〔...〕 Actually, my workplace is former Nezu area and Momote village.
Dad had been commissioned a Warrant Officer while in Korea, so our ship berth was a good one by everyone’s standards but mine. We were a swinging door away from the dining room. Nauseous smells wafted from the room as I became more seasick. It was so bad that I became dehydrated and mom took me to the ship dispensary.
Now in my memory I was sick for the whole week, but upon seeing pictures of me standing on deck playing, I expect the sickness was longer in my mind and memory than actually. However the length, I do remember the feeling, the smells and the anguish. But I recovered to enjoy myself with other children on deck.
Mom was frightened that Judy (now about 18 months) would slide off the ship, so she attached her harness to something while she played on deck.
Thanks to Mom keeping many items, I’ve found that we left Kankakee, IL on November 28, 1953 on the Illinois Central bound for Chicago. On November 29, we boarded another train for Seattle. I’ve found that the MM Patrick sailed for 13 days from Seattle to Yokohoma, Japan, delivering dependents to Japan and taking soldiers home. A recent finding on Ancestry.com showed the passenger list which had once been classified “Secret”. It left Tacoma bound for Yokohoma on December 3, 1953. I remember being told it was a small converted troop transport ship nicknamed the Mickey Mouse.
Our ship docked to the accompaniment of a band and helpers to carry children from on board.
Dad was stationed at Camp Drake, the Army post in Tokyo, and we lived at Momotee Village.
We had a maid that Mom picked out. She was not too trusting of Dad, so she picked one that was not good looking!
I remember our maid using rice as glue in photo albums and letting Mike do anything he wanted. In Japan, boys are very revered and spoiled. She let Mike and Judy color the walls up the stairs with Mom’s lipstick.
Mom and Dad enjoyed the social life in Tokyo, but Mom enjoyed it a bit too much on one occasion. They returned home one evening and I watched from the stairs as Dad carried Mom into the house and deposited her on the couch. She was pretty much passed out. Not sure how it affected me, but since I remember it so clearly, it must have had an impact.
Bud and Betty Jannusch and their two children lived in Yokohama. Bud Jannusch is my dad's brother. For two brothers to be in the military and have transfers to the same countries was pretty unusual I think, but it provided a link with home. Here again I remember our times together only through pictures.
2019/08/11 12:55 from Mie
Hello, My name is Mie Inada living in Japan. I’m a photographer and I live in near now-defunct Camp Drake. I newly joined your closed Facebook Group.
I need your help. Your pictures and stories are very beautiful. Your text tells me the everyday life in Momote, that's fantastic. Can you allow me to include your images and stories in my photo project? As I introduced myself in the FB Group page, I'm working on the handmade photo book project about now-defunct Camp Drake.
2020/03/21 3:27 from Bruce
I just now saw this message. Sorry for the long wait for me to respond. Which pictures did you want to use?
2020/03/21 15:44 from Mie
Thank you sooo much for your reply! I would like to introduce your stories and photos posted in 2015, especially your post on June 12, 2015 with your mother's photo.
My project is making a handmade photo book that can tell the long history about this area. I live in near now-defunct Camp Drake, and I’m strongly interested in Camp Drake and Momota village, and I have taken pictures of remains there for several years.
I sincerely would like to introduce your everyday life that tells us that lots of Americans who have lived in this area had precious stories here in Asaka & Narimasu area.
2020/03/23 5:49 from Bruce OK
2020/03/23 9:13 From Mie
Thank you!!!
In November 1954 my mother loaded us up in a 1948 Plymouth sedan and we left San Antonio, Texas for the naval station at San Francisco, Ca. There we boarded the U.S.S. General Anderson for a 14 day trip to Yokohama, Japan, to join my dad.
Spent the first night in a hotel, ate my first hamburger in Japan and we experienced the first of many minor quakes.
My dad standing behind our residence out in the common playground area. He and I played catch here on many occasions. There was a large concrete fountain-like structure that was filled with sand in the common area.
Played little league baseball at Grant heights, on the "Typhoons".
As I remember it the Indians finished in first place and we were second that year (1955). Last game of the year, August, 1955, a sudden cloud burst of rain sent everyone scurrying from the playing fields there at GH. I ran out between two Army buses into the street and was struck by car. I came to lying on the pavement, was scooped up in the car that hit me and taken to the base dispensary.
There a couple of x-rays were made, on some HUGE x-ray machine where they had to develop the film, and after about a half hour, was put on an ambulance and sent off to the Army hospital in downtown Tokyo.
I spent 10 days in the hospital. I had suffered a brain concussion, compound basilar skull fracture, spinal fluid leaking from the left ear and a laceration across the left temple that left my face partially paralyzed for a while.
h o t o g r a p h y I n s t r u c t o r , C a m p D r a k e
My first job at Camp Drake was an odd job. I carried potatoes or other items that were produced in the United States from freight trains to the warehouse. The hemp sack with the potatoes and other items weighed between 56 - 60 kilograms - so heavy that my shoulders bled from the work.
Later through an introduction from a relative, I got a job at Tokyo Shibaura Electric Company where I learned photography. Eventually, I quit my job there and started working as a photography instructor at the Hobby Craft Center at Camp Drake. American democracy suited me.
The clubhouse of the former Tokyo Golf Club was a nice building. There was a room for jam sessions which had a great vibe. I would stop by on the way home from work and listen to the jazz jam sessions for a peek into another world.
When the Korean War broke out in 1950, volunteers from various European countries and South Koreans living in Japan came to Camp Drake to become members of the United Nations Force. They went to South Korea with the U.S. Army 1st Cavalry Division, and all my close friends lost their lives in the war......
P a s t o r , A s a k a C h r i s t i a n C h u r c h
The Asaka Christian Church was built in 1949. At that time, Asaka was called the “Shanghai of Saitama” and there was a brothel district across from the church that catered to American soldiers.
The area was unsafe and the first pastor disappeared without any explanation one year later and then a second pastor also disappeared without any explanation six months later. I was appointed the third pastor in 1951.
The area was so dangerous that I could not even walk around the neighborhood. However, I thought I should see what was happening there.
One day, I got up the courage to visit the brothel district because I needed to see what went on in the district.
What I saw there was something I had never expected to see.
Lots of small children were playing in the streets waiting for their mothers late into the night. In an effort to protect the children, I started a nighttime childcare program letting them stay at the church instead of playing in the streets.
We had a house in Tokyo and were planning to move back there. When a mother of a prostitute heard that, she said, “What will happen to us if you leave.”
Those were the words of a mother and not a prostitute. I have been living in Asaka ever since.
When my father opened up a jazz cafe, Sakae-cho was a nightlife district. People thought that he was audacious for trying to make a business from playing jazz records.
My father was fluent in English, so the cafe was bustling with Occupation Forces soldiers who loved jazz music. He got along well with them and sometimes went on trips with regular customers.
One customer brought this ashtray made in America because he said the ones made in Japan were unstable.
The bar across from here was for white soldiers only. In those days, bars were segregated with separate bars for white and black soldiers.
I was a medic with Delta 1/7 First Cavalry in Vietnam and Cambodia, '69-'70. I was decorated three times and courtmartialed twice. My writing has appeared in various publications. At twenty-one, James Aalund was not a lucky man. As he looked out a bunker port during a mortar attack, a round exploded and blew his head off. I did not know James but still recall the wounded men screaming into the radio, “Dead man! We have a dead man!”
Some months later, after a similar attack, Jeff Motyka fared better. “Doc,” he called, as our eyes met inside a sweltering aid station. Supported by two grunts, a moment later Jeff fainted from loss of blood.
Forty-three years later he told me what happened in the days after he was hit.
o n p a t r o l . S o n g
B e , V i e t n a m
1 9 7 0
Jef Motyka g e t t i n g r e a d y t o g o o u t o n p a t r o l . A n L o c , V i e t n a m
0791
I was medevaced to 24th Surgical Evac in Long Binh, lifted on to a gurney, and raced into an emergency room. The poncho covering me was removed. I was naked. The morphine had worn off. “Please don’t hurt me,” I said. A female nurse asked for my name, rank and social security number. Another nurse had to insert a catheter into my bladder. “This is going to hurt,” she said. “Close your eyes and take deep breathes.” She had good news. No blood in my urine.
I’m wheeled to X-ray. My body is full of shrapnel. My leg is fractured. I plead for morphine. “Not yet,” they say. I’m wheeled into an operating room. A tall thin man in blue scrubs introduces himself as Dr. Thomas, United States Air Force. “I’ll be your surgeon. You have shrapnel in your stomach. The femur is fractured at the knee.” He doesn’t know if that will be fixed today. He will treat the shrap wounds and whatever else he finds.[...]
When I woke up,naked beneath a white sheet, my right leg was in cast. The catheter was still in place. A feeding tube snaked down my nose to my throat. I had IVs in both arms. My belly was bandaged. I fell back to sleep.
[...] The plane finally landed at Camp Drake in late afternoon. In the distance loomed the rising snow capped peak of Mt. Fuji. Those who could walk exited the aircraft first. Stretchers bearers carefully hoisted the remaining men off the plane. No one spoke. A rumbling caravan of green army buses brought us to the sprawling grounds of the 249th General Hospital.
I was placed on a med/surg ward where dozens of beds filled the room, each occupied by a wounded man. I was surprised to see nurses in starched white uniforms,caps,and white shoes. Instead of Army fatigues, the medics wore blue or white hospital scrubs.
I had pain. All the new men had pain or discomfort. We’d been carried, lifted and flown from Saigon, then lifted again and bused to the outskirts of Tokyo. When a nurse asked, “Who needs something for pain?” every new patient raised his arm. The nurse reached into her dress pocket, produced a large bottle, from which she gave each man two pills. As we gulped them down she informed us only a skeleton crew was on hand. “On weekends, you’ll need to be patient,” she said. “And quiet.” Noise would not be tolerated. “Use the ear jack,” she told me, pointing to my transistor radio. At 8 PM when the lights went out, I fell immediately asleep.
The next day, two nurses paused at my bedside, checked my chart, and moved on. “Wait,” I called out. But, answering my question, they said I had no open wounds; all stitches were taken out in Vietnam. And
what of the blister burn beneath my cast? Wait until Monday. There was nothing they could do. “Then I’d like to see a doctor,” I said. Emergencies only; and the nurses moved on. My thigh hurt badly; I had no choice but to wait.
On Monday morning, a ward doctor ordered my cast to be cut off. He said Dr. Thomas had been mistaken. “Didn’t he know this would cause your knee to stiffen up?” he asked. In that moment I chose not to reply.
With a noisy hand-held electric saw a medic carefully cut away the layers of plaster which encased my leg. Almost immediately, a terrible stench filled the air. The blister dressing was soaked with pus and putrefied flesh. When a nurse reached over and tried to tear it off, I screamed as I’d never screamed before. Then I grabbed her. “Stop!” I yelled. “Please stop!” Thankfully she did and injected me with morphine. “You’ll have to take the dressing off yourself,” she said. “If you can’t, we’ll do it.” I tried. I really tried. But it was just too painful.
Left alone, for the first time in weeks I looked at my leg. The skin had lost all color and was now a delicate pale white. The muscles I’d gained from tramping on patrols had wasted and shriveled up. The nerve damage resulted in no feeling below my knee. I put my hand over my mouth and shook my head. This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. But it was.
An hour passed. The nurse and medic returned. The nurse took one look at the dressing and ordered the medic to hold my arms. Grabbing the edge of the gauze firmly, she removed it off in a sudden ripping tear. The pain was horrific. I’d never experienced anything like it. When I stopped screaming and shaking and had calmed down I forced myself to inspect the wound. A pool of yellow-green pus poured from a raw fist-sized crater in my withered thigh. Gently, the nurse cleaned and dried it, and slowly, the discharge turned a healthy bright red. A new dressing was applied. From then on, every day for two awful weeks it was rip, tear, rip, tear. All because the Army had screwed up my first cast. I cannot forgive the soldier who did that. I simply can’t.
Later that day the ward doctor came to my bedside. A smile played on his lips. He seemed playful, happy, amused. Without a word he touched the top arch of my right foot. Then the left. Then the right again. He looked up and smiled approvingly.
“You’re in very good shape!” he said. “Dr. Thomas was right.” In his spare time he’d read up on Dr. Thomas’ artery repair. “There’s a good chance you’ll keep that leg.” His words filled me with joy. This was my hope, the reason I kept quiet when he had criticized what Dr. Thomas had done.
“I need to make a new cast,” he said,and sent the medic to fetch the materials. “This way, I know it’s made well and set right.”
There is an art to fixing just the right f mixture of warm water and plaster of Paris in a metal surgical tub. An art to soaking gauze strips in that mixture and winding and re-winding the saturated cloth, spiraling it up and down the injured limb. To the smoothing of wet plaster, the cutting of errant loose ends. There is an art to setting the pliant cast so that it hardens just so about the fractured leg or broken hand.
The doctor fashioned a three inch square in the wet plaster. The dressing could now be changed with the cast in place. When he had finished his work, he looked at the white cylindrical mass as if it were art. “Not bad…not bad,” he said, and gently patted my shoulder. This good doctor, whose name I don’t recall, would continue to visit me every day.
The remainder of my time at Camp Drake followed a simple routine: wake up, shave, eat, dressing change, pain meds, lights out. My indispensable radio was my one escape. As well as music, I listened to sports. The broadcast of Ernie Banks hitting his five hundreth home run lifted my spirits. I recall the date well: May 12, 1970.
Three days later, joining a long line of patients, I was loaded onto the largest transport plane I’d ever seen. We stopped in Alaska but due to my injuries I stayed on board. Finally, after twenty-two wearisome hours, we arrived at Andrews Air Force Base. Little did I know how long it would be, the long road home.
[...] By December I had made remarkable progress and a few days before Christmas I bid farewell to Walter Reed. In the summer of ‘71, pending a final review, I was retired from the Army due to injuries sustained in combat.
After being grievously wounded, after a long and painful recovery, my life was turning around. There was only one small detail to complete. By law, until my retirement was final, I had to register with the draft board. [...]
[...] Finally, my dealings with the Army were over. I was married, I had a good job, my physical health was improving. At last my life looked good. But a funny thing happened on the way back from war. And it’s lasted for quite some time.
For the first few years, several times a week, I dreamed of being wounded and woke up covered in sweat, my heart racing, my body exhausted.
Wherever I was, if I didn’t feel safe, I kept a look out for troublesome people or places where trouble would likely occur.
Any sharp noise from behind put me on guard. I hated the July 4th.
At work, I could not tolerant sloppiness in anyone, or watch them make mistakes. I would lose my temper and curse them out. Frankly, I was always pissed off, and at anyone who crossed my path.
I was terrified by the unknown. What lay beyond the next corner? And the one after that?
If I smelled something burning I thought of death.
I got angry if anyone thought I was just another crazy Vietnam vet.
For thirty years I convinced myself I didn’t have a problem. Finally, in 2002, I was diagnosed with depression and PTSD. Therapy helps to manage the stress, but I’ll be in counseling the rest of my days.
Well, that’s my story, that’s what happened after I got hit on LZ Frances in Vietnam in 1970. I should have written this down long ago, but kept it hidden, even from myself. Now, it’s no longer trapped inside.
Excerpted from "In the Days After", which appears in The Best of Medic in the Green Time edited by Marc Levy Winter Street Press, 2020 ASIN: B08CMDCHK5 ISBN-13: 979-8638930783 Available on Amazon and Medic in the Green Time.com
2019/08/10 13:09 from Mie
My name is Mie Inada living in Japan. I’m a photographer and I live in near now-defunct Camp Drake. 〔 〕 I’m strongly interested in Camp Drake and Momota village, and I have taken images of remains there for several years.〔 〕 I found you on a closed Facebook group for former U.S. military family housing residents. I really need your help.
I would like to collect your stories about Momota village. If you still have old photos taken in Momota village, can you provide me them (scanned images)? I would like to include stories that the Americans lived in Momota village and their life was lovely. Your reply is highly appreciated.
Sincerely yours, Mie
2019/08/10 14:39 from Amy
Hi Mie-chan, Can you try to apply for membership again ? Yoroshiku, Amy
2019/08/10 15:50 from Mie
Thank you Amy!
I appreciate your great help!!
2019/08/10 16:07 from Amy
No problem, Mie-chan. Most of the members lived in Grant Heights and some, like me, lived in Mutsumi-Dai (next door to Grant Heights) near Shimo-Akatsuka station. I think there are many pictures in the group. I have invited you to join the group and maybe you could "introduce" yourself after you join ?
2019/08/10 16:08 from Mie
OK! I will join and introduce myself! ARIGATOU!!!
2019/08/10 16:17 from Amy
That was me in the red-striped dress in 1972/Mutsumi-Dai My father worked for the American Embassy.
2019/08/10 17:08 from Mie
Nice pic! I know Grant Heights but I don't know Mutsumi-Dai. I think you may know that but the Grant Heights area is now Hikarigaoka Park. It's a huge park!
2019/08/10 17:13 from Amy
Mutsumi-Dai was mainly for Embassy people. All of this area closed down in June 1973 and my family moved to Roppongi for our last year, 1973-1974. Yes, people did live in houses in Roppongi back then:), not really any night-life like now. I moved back to Japan (Hiyoshi) in 1977-1982 and I went to visit the old Grant Heights area/Hikarigaoka. Everybody loved living in Japan... best times of our lives.
2019/08/10 17:21 from Mie
I see! That's why we don't know Mutsumi-Dai. Yep, Roppongi is very hectic area in Tokyo! I'm happy to know that you have good memories while you lived here in Tokyo area!
2019/08/10 17:25 from Amy
I also remember going to Camp Drake a few times and being a caddy for my father when he played golf. They did have a golf course there.
2019/08/10 17:46 from Mie
Really? I've never heard of it. But the South Camp Drake was "Tokyo Golf Club" before the WW2. What a coincidence!
2019/08/10 21:55 from Amy
Okay? Didn't know that. Maybe some of the members know about it.
2019/08/11 10:08 from Mie
I found the video Shiela's bother posted on YouTube! Yes! the Camp Drake golf course was next to Momote village. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFBBVv2pZOU
2019/08/11 14:38 from Amy
Goody ! There are plenty of pictures & videos in this FB group.
2019/08/11 17:59 from Mie
Yes! Thank you again for inviting me to this group! However, I have to confirm if I can use your photos in my project. I just have texted it to a guy who lived in Momote area.
BTW, do you allow me to include your image in Mutsumi-dai? That picture is nice!
2019/08/11 22:11 from Amy
Yes, no problem ! You may use it.
2019/08/11 23:51 from Mie
I really appreciate your great help:)
2019/08/12 1:43 from Amy :)
2019/08/10 16:33 from Mie
Thank you Amy to invite me to this Facebook group!! Hi! My name is Mie Inada living in Japan.〔 〕
I’m strongly interested in Camp Drake and Momota village, and I have taken images of remains there for several years.〔...〕
I really need your help.〔 〕
It’s really sad but most of the people living near now-defunct Camp Drake don’t know that the American lived there. Each of you must have your precious story.〔 〕
I really appreciate it if you leave your comments here or text me through Messenger!
2019/08/10 from Amy ようこそ , Mie-chan !
2019/08/10 from Mie ありがとう !
2019/08/10 from Amy Mie-chan, maybe you can start finding things by using the "search this group" option on the left side of the screen. Try putting in "Momote" or "Camp Drake" in the search field.
2019/08/10 from Mie
Thank you! I will try.
2019/08/10 from Sheila
Hi, our family lived in Momote village in the early 70’s. My brother posted a video about our great times there. His name is Steve greene. I think it’s on utube.
2019/08/10 from Mie
Hi, Sheila! I found two videos on YouTube that your brother uploaded.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFBBVv2pZOU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTn7rOl116I
It's funny! Your brother shot a video from a tower!
Do you have photos taken at Momote or Grant Heights? I appreciate it if you can help me!!
2019/08/11 from Sheila
Hi, my brother has the pictures. He’s on FB and in this group.
2019/08/11 from Mie
I really appreciate your help!!! I will send a message to your brother :)
2019/08/12 0:28 from Mie
Dear Mr. Steven E. Greene, Hi. My name is Mie Inada living in Japan. I newly joined your closed Facebook group. I’m a photographer and〔 〕 I really need your help.
I would like to include your story and your photos taken in Momota area. (incl. Narimasu and Camp Drake) Could you please share your stories and photos? Do you allow me to use them in my photo project? Your reply is highly appreciated!
Sincerely yours, Mie
2019/08/12 1:32 from Steven
Hello, my name is Steve Greene and I am very interested in helping you with your project. I lived in Momote Village from 19701974. I have an extensive collection of photographs and videos from the area. Feel free to contact me. Good luck with your project.
2019/08/12 9:41 from Mie
Thank you for your prompt reply! I would be grateful if you could share your photo collection with me by using Google photo or Dropbox or some other share file system. I will never use your photos without your name. My project will include text, current photos taken in now-defunct Camp Drake & Momote area and archival photos. Since it's very difficult to collect nice archival photos, I really really need your great help!!! 〔 〕
2019/08/12 9:56 from Steven
Very nice.
The middle picture is where we rode motorcycles in the videos I put on Utube.
2019/08/12 9:57 from Mie
Yes! And a little hut is in the middle.
2019/08/12 10:56 from Steven
I could send them to you if you wish.
2019/08/12 11:06 from Mie
PLEASE!!! I really appreciate your help!!!
2019/08/12 11:09 from Steven Give me your address. I would gladly donate them for such a worthy project. Do you want me to make comments on the backs of them?
2019/08/12 11:06 from Mie
So kind of you!!! I almost cry. I will return them to you after I accomplish my project. Yes! I need your comments on the back.
The site next to my workplace with its neatly manicured lawn surrounded by a high fence, is still not under Japanese sovereignty. It is under the U.S. forces’. However, no one in my neighborhood is vociferously calling for the restitution of this land. It seems that citizens in this area are not particularly concerned with this 11.8 hectare-plot of land dotted with antennas. We do not know well what this place is and what happened here.
When I first noticed the little rickety hut on this U.S. military site, the post-World War II occupation of the past loomed before me. The small wooden hut, No. 1153, speaks eloquently and voicelessly through time. I was fascinated by its charm and started to research the local history in libraries. While doing my research, I began to imagine the stories of the people who actually lived here which the historical documents did not reveal.
Who was here?
What were they doing here?
What were they looking at?
What were they thinking about?
Through social networking sites and websites, I started contacting people who were living in the area at that time.
This hut was a mysterious device which opened a door to the days when people lived here after World War II. The days when people resided in the American military family housing near this hut. The days when Japanese people lived near the American-occupied territory. The days when wounded soldiers from the Vietnam War stayed at the field hospital at Camp Drake. I received messages from individuals from those days about their precious and unforgettable memories.
In April 2020, a state of emergency was declared due the COVID pandemic, and I was forced to work from home for a while. When I finally came back to office in July, I was surprised to see that the hut had disappeared. Evidence of the past was mercilessly destroyed, and I fear that people will forget the fact that Camp Drake existed here. Nothing else remains of the nightlife district near the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force Asaka Camp now. The inconvenient past has been conveniently erased.
The land that I am stepping upon now has most certainly been stepped upon by someone else in the past. However, the cityscape of everyday life is constantly being replaced with new buildings, so I feel as if there is no history.
The only remnants of the U.S military family housing called “Momote Village” are antennas and green lawns. We cannot see it clearly, but I know that this place where I am standing is connected to someone’s precious and unforgettable memories and experiences.
Mie Inada
Occupation Diary First Cavalry Division (Provided by Katsuji Arinaga)
Asaka and Wako Area maps (Provided by Katsuji Arinaga)
National Archives and Records Administration, NARA (Provided by Yoichi Sato)
National Diet Library
Geospatial Information Authority of Japan
URL
https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/9850599/1/1
https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/9850599/1/3
https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/9850599/1/52
https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/9850599/1/53
https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/9850599/1/21
URL
https://mapps.gsi.go.jp/maplibSearch.do?specificationId=996662
https://mapps.gsi.go.jp/maplibSearch.do?specificationId=1670567
https://mapps.gsi.go.jp/maplibSearch.do?specificationId=996663
https://maps.gsi.go.jp/index_m.html#18/35.778076/139.612146/&base=ort&l s=ort&disp=1&vs=c1g1j0h0k0l0u0t0z0r0s0m0f2
University
of Texas Libraries
Photography, edit and binding: Mie Inada
Concept, storyline, art direction: Yumi Goto, Reminders Photography Stronghold
This project was developed after participating in the 2019 Photobook as Object Workshop by Yumi Goto and Jan Rosseel in collaboration with Reminders Photography Stronghold.
Citation:
国土地理院
Marc Levy, "The Best of Medic in the Green Time", Winter Street Press, 2020
A. Laflamme photograph collection, U.S. Army Heritage and Education Center, Carlisle, PA
National Archives and Records Administration, NARA
University of Texas Libraries
Reference:
中條克俊「君たちに伝えたい 朝霞、そこは基地の街だった。」、梨の木舎、2006年
I would like to express my gratitude to the following individuals for their cooperation with my research.
Amy Stoddard
Arthur Huang
Bruce Hicks
Hachiro Sawada
Hirokazu Egawa, Pastor, Asaka Christian charch
Jeff Motyka
Katsuji Arinaga
Koji Ishizuka
Marc Levy
Rita Lynn Jannusch
Steven E. Greene
Toshio Tanaka
Yoichi Sato
Coffee shop "UMI"
