I remember sitting in Yutaka Yamamoto’s living room with a number of my friends. We were waiting our turn in Yutaka’s darkroom.
Yutaka, a Japanese-American, was my first mentor in photography. My folks were concerned about their oldest boy. Every year at fair time he could never compete with his younger brother.
I tried showing lambs, my younger brother, Bryan, was better. I tried swine, he was better. Finally, my folks came across photography. Something their oldest boy could focus on and not have to compete with his younger brother. It would be his thing.
My dad asked if I was interested.
It sounded fun, so I joined the Foto Freaks 4-H club under Yutaka’s leadership.
He played a major rule in me becoming the photographer I am today, but he also impacted the man I am.
As a Foto Freak I spent a great deal of time with Yutaka in his darkroom.
It was in the basement of his farmhouse south of Morrill. I will never forget the first time I exposed a blank piece of Kodak paper, slipped it into the development solution and watched an image I had captured earlier that day appear. It was like magic and I was hooked.
The darkroom was large, but not big enough for all of us Foto Freaks, so we took turns. A few of us would go into the darkroom, while the rest of us would hang out upstairs waiting our turn.
Sitting on the floor, waiting, someone asked Yutaka how he got to western Nebraska. I was somewhat interested, but figured it would be rather boring.
I was wrong.
Yutaka began telling his story, how he had grown up in California. Everything was going great. He was a successful young man in his community, owned his own home but on Dec. 7, 1941 everything changed.
In a surprise attack, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and America was thrust into World War II.
Being an American with Japanese ancestry did not put you in high standing in those days. In fact, over 127,000 American citizens were imprisoned because they happened to be of Japanese ancestry.
In February 1942, President Franklin Roosevelt gave the executive order.
Men, such as Yutaka found themselves selling their homes and belongings for pennies on the dollar. Through it all, he made his way out to western Nebraska where he started over.
This young American boy was shocked. I hadn’t learned any of this in school and I may have been rather naive. I didn’t see Yutaka as any different than my dad, except Yutaka had a darkroom.
In Yutaka’s home that day, I learned that history is more than what you learn in school. Because of that it is important to listen to people’s stories. We all have one. Together each story makes up the beautiful, interesting, tangled and sometimes ugly tapestry we call life.
Looking back I’m so thankful for my first photography mentor and the lessons he taught me about photography and life.
Brad Staman 