A Japanese village that helped develop California's fishing industry could become container storage
On Terminal Island, more than 3,000 first- and second-generation immigrant fishermen from Japan, the issei and nisei, pioneered innovative techniques, like 6-foot bamboo poles and live bait, to catch albacore tuna and sardines. Their wives cleaned and packaged their bounties in the canneries.
Then, during World War II, the entire community was uprooted and the village razed. The only remnants of the enclave are a pair of vacant buildings on Tuna Street, now dwarfed by colorful stacks of shipping containers and large green cranes that cover the island.
The buildings are now under threat of demolition to make room for more containers, leading surviving Terminal Islanders and their descendants — now well past retirement age — to come together to try to save the last tangible connection to a largely forgotten legacy.
'These buildings are an integral part of American history that should never be forgotten,' said Paul Boyea, a board member of the Terminal Islanders Association, a group of about 200 former residents and their kin.
In the past few months, advocates have made significant progress in saving the structures. In February, Councilmember Tim McOsker introduced a motion to designate the buildings as historic-cultural monuments, a status that would provide additional safeguards against demolition. In June, L.A.'s Cultural Heritage Commission will review the motion and decide whether to advance it for a vote before the City Council.
This month, the National Trust for Historic Preservation put the buildings on its annual list of the 11 most endangered historic sites in America.
Former Terminal Islanders recall scenes of families praying at a Shinto shrine and Buddhist temple, shopping at grocery stores, and watching movies and attending dances at Fisherman's Hall. Children practiced judo and played baseball.
Boyea, 69, was born after the war and never lived on Terminal Island. But he said he's always felt a strong connection to the place where his mother was born, in 1919. His grandfather was a fishing fleet captain and president of the Japanese fishermen's association.
The two buildings on Tuna Street, the commercial corridor of the Japanese village, housed the grocery A. Nakamura Co. and the dry goods store Nanka Shoten, both established more than a century ago.
Efforts to preserve the buildings began two decades ago but gained momentum last May, when the Port of L.A., which owns a majority of the island, recommended demolishing them to create more storage space.
Phillip Sanfield, the port's communications director, said that the department is working with Terminal Island advocates to hash out plans for the buildings and that no decision has yet been made.
Terry Hara, president of the Terminal Islanders Association, described Tuna Street as the 'Broadway' of the Japanese fishing community. Hara's grandfather worked as a superintendent at a cannery, while his father and two uncles all became commercial fishermen.
Terminal Island residents observed Japanese traditions, he said, holding mochi pounding celebrations on New Year's and dancing in kimonos at Girls' Day festivals.
'It was one big happy family,' said Hara, 67. 'Nobody locked their doors and families provided for one another when the need arose.'
Geraldine Knatz, a maritime expert and co-author of 'Terminal Island: Lost Communities on America's Edge,' said Japanese residents made up roughly two-thirds of Terminal Island's population in the 1930s.
The island, known in the early 20th century as 'L.A.'s Playground,' was also home to sizable numbers of artists, writers and lumber workers. 'It was a big, diverse community,' Knatz said.
That all changed on Dec. 7, 1941, when Japanese planes bombed Pearl Harbor. The government quickly arrested hundreds of Japanese fishermen on suspicion that they were using fishing boats to spy for the Japanese military. They were sent to a federal prison; many didn't see their families for months.
The following February, the remaining residents, mostly women and children, were given 48 hours to vacate the island. Around 800 Terminal Islanders were incarcerated in Manzanar concentration camp, and when they returned, almost the entire village had been bulldozed. With nowhere to live, many former residents resettled in Long Beach and the South Bay.
'The nisei didn't talk about incarceration because of the trauma,' Boyea said.
In the 1970s, a group of survivors and descendants formed the Terminal Islanders Association to stay in touch through social events like annual picnics and New Year's celebrations. Later, members became involved in preservation and education efforts, partnering with the L..A Conservancy to set up a memorial in 2002 and now advocating for the restoration of the Tuna Street buildings.
Preservationists and descendants of Terminal Island residents have suggested converting the buildings into a museum or an education center, or a general goods store for port workers on the island.
'These buildings could serve some kind of community function while still communicating their history in some way,' said Adam Scott Fine, chief executive of L.A. Conservancy.
The number of surviving Terminal Island residents is dwindling. Less than two dozen are still alive, Hara said, including his mother, who is 100. As a descendent, he feels it's his obligation to honor the legacy they created.
'This is an American story, good or bad,' Hara said. 'We need to pass on the experience that took place to our children and grandchildren.'
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The Guardian
6 hours ago
- The Guardian
How to make the perfect peach cobbler – recipe
'If you go to a picnic in the south,' wrote the late South Carolina chef Emily Meggett, 'and there's no peach cobbler, someone's got some explaining to do.' Cobblers, a rustic variety of fruit pie that seems to have originated in the rough-and-ready environs of the American west, are now principally associated with the US south and are, as chef Brad McDonald observes, 'unglamorous' yet 'rarely fail to please'. As befits frontier food, they're extremely adaptable to a variety of climates and kitchens, too, but, as the southern food critic James Villas once explained, 'no matter how you construct a hot cobbler, the main principle is that the filling should never be either soggy or dried out and the crust must be crisp enough to create a good counterpoint with the soft fruits or berries – not to mention the obligatory scoop of ice-cream on top'. Far easier to pull off than a pie, but more impressive than a crumble, cobblers are a great way to use a bargain tray of overripe or bruised fruit, should you be lucky to come across such a thing. Peaches, obviously – but peaches in the UK will not usually be as fresh as those in the American south, which means we have to adjust our expectations accordingly. A couple of recipes call explicitly for 'ripe but firm' fruit, which does not mean those cannonballs sold as ready-to-eat in many British retailers; I speak from bitter experience when I assure you that a peach that is crunchy when raw will still be al dente once baked. Though not squashy, the fruit ought to give a little under your fingertips (a good fruit vendor should be happy to pick some out for you, though sadly our supermarkets do not offer that service, so you'll have to take it on trust or do some discreet and gentle squeezing). That said, even in the south, there's a delightfully bitchy hierarchy of peaches, with Villas instructing the reader of The Glory of Southern Cooking to 'forget most of what you've heard about Georgia peaches. Yes, Georgia peaches are certainly far superior to the pulpy, bitter peaches they grow in California, but where I go for sweet peach perfection is to the South Carolina Piedmont region, intersected by Interstate 77 and, more specifically, to the Peach Tree and other orchards in and around Filbert. Peach fanatics from as far away as Pennsylvania and Kentucky flock to the Peach Tree every summer to see and smell and taste the luscious early belles, white ladies, lorings and indian red clings'. Meanwhile, I head to the greengrocers. Controversially, I will not be peeling the fruit. Everyone peels the fruit, I know, because they seem to have an aversion to what America's Test Kitchen (ATK) terms 'any unpleasantly leathery bits of skin', but, as with apples, tomatoes and even potatoes, I happen to like a bit of chew – a skinless peach feels like a tinned peach to me, and though tinned peaches have their place (a hotel breakfast buffet), it's not what I'm after here. Plus, a ripe peach is a pain to peel. (I can almost hear the southerners murderously murmuring: 'Bless her heart'). Ripe peaches are a very wet fruit, which proves a problem in recipes such as the one in McDonald's book Deep South, where they're used raw – this proves the first clue to perhaps the most important lesson I learn about peach cobbler: the dish should always be placed on a rimmed baking sheet, because if it can bubble over, you can bet your bottom dollar it will. Cutting the fruit into chunky wedges, as he suggests, rather than slices, is a good start; too thin, and they have a tendency to dissolve into perfumed mush in the oven. Like ATK , McDonald uses cornflour to thicken those juices (Edna Lewis prefers plain flour) but, to my mind, more muscular action is required to stem the tide. While this shouldn't be a dry dish, equally, too much juice will make the topping soggy. Chef Joe Randall's recipe in the book he co-authored with Toni Tipton-Martin, A Taste of Heritage, marinates his peaches with sugar, flour and spices to draw out the juices, then simmers them until those juices start to thicken – yet with similarly liquid results. I'm beginning to suspect that ATK's claim that 'most of the juices are not released until the peaches are almost fully cooked' is correct. My multi-prong solution, like ATK's, is to drain off some of the liquid produced by mixing peaches with sugar and leaving them to sit, then to thicken that with cornflour and to pre-bake the fruit before adding the topping, to give that liquid more time to evaporate, as well as to leave enough gaps in said topping to encourage further evaporation. Everyone uses sugar, naturally, and some in quantities that are a little too much for those not weaned on sweet tea. Randall's dark brown sugar feels a little too treacly for this fresh fruit, but I like the idea of a lighter brown sugar with peaches – it just feels apt somehow. Almost everyone adds butter to their filling – I want to say it's too much, but I'm afraid it does help make the syrup deliciously rich, so omit it at your own risk. Lewis, or Miss Lewis as she was properly called and is always referred to in her book with Scott Peacock, The Gift of Southern Cooking, also adds a pinch of salt, which, like the lemon juice in Meggett's, Randall's and the ATK recipes, helps to make the peaches taste … peachier somehow. If you happen to have some knocking around, I'd also highly recommend a dash of the almond essence in Villas' recipe – not so much as to make the filling taste nutty, but just enough to enhance the flavour of the almond's close cousin, the peach. McDonald mixes the peaches with raspberries – which, personally, I don't care for when cooked (they break down completely in the peach juice, but if you like the idea, stick a handful in). She also adds vanilla and cinnamon, which we all like less than Miss Lewis and Randall's nutmeg; peaches and sugar are sweet enough, after all, without enhancing that with cloyingly sweet spices. Randall's ground cloves prove a surprise hit, but one spice feels like quite enough in a place where peaches hardly grow on trees. I thought I knew what a cobbler was until I started the research for this dish and found myself rolling out a lovely, delicately crumbly pastry for Randall's double-crust version. Peacock helpfully explains that 'in the US south, the term 'cobbler' is applied to a host of baked fruit desserts. To Miss Lewis, 'cobbler' meant a kind of deep-dish pie with fruit baked between a bottom and top layer of pastry … to other southern bakers, a cobbler might have only a top pastry crust. In Alabama, we called anything a cobbler that had fruit covered by a baked topping.' (He goes on to reminisce about 'one of the more distinctive cobblers of my childhood', from a local barbecue joint, that involved 'canned peaches covered with a box of Duncan Hines Yellow Cake mix – dry – with melted butter poured over the top'.) The most distinctive cobbler I try comes from Meggett's book, Gullah Geechee Home Cooking, co-authored with Kayla Stewart and Trelani Michelle, on the Lowcountry cuisine of coastal South Carolina, and particularly her lifelong home, Edisto Island. Instead of a top crust, the dish is filled with a buttery sponge batter topped with peaches – it's light, fluffy and very quick to make, though, good as all the recipes are, I like the scone-like toppings in McDonald and the ATK recipes best; if I'm serving up something called a cobbler, I don't want it to feel like a pie or an upside-down cake, but something distinctively different, as well as emphatically American. Both recipes use fluffy drop biscuits, rather than the flakier rolled kind – for a British audience, these are more like dumplings than rowies/butteries – which makes sense, because they're better suited to soaking up juice (and, in keeping with the spirit of the cobbler, much quicker and easier to make). The method is similar to scones, but uses a wetter dough, moistened with McDonald's tangy buttermilk, which my testers prefer to the more neutral but richer yoghurt in the ATK recipe. But we all agree some raising agent is required; an unleavened dough, though tasty, does have tendency to sit heavy as a stone upon the fruit. Adding it to a filling that's already hot helps it to cook through in time, and though the biscuit itself shouldn't be too sweet, in contrast to what lies beneath, a final topping of granulated sugar adds a delightful crunch. Miss Lewis served her peach cobbler with 'an unusual' (but very tasty) nutmeg syrup, but more common pairings are vanilla ice-cream (McDonald and Randall), whipped cream (ATK) and even, non-canonically, creme fraiche or yoghurt. But ice-cream is, in my opinion, the American dream. (Note that this is good served warm as well as well as hot, but not chilled, because that makes the topping turn a little doughy. You could marinate the peaches in advance, but don't make the biscuit dough until just before baking.) Prep 10 min Marinate 30 min+ Cook 45 min+ Rest 15 min Serves 6 About 800g ripe but fairly firm peaches (about 4-5 medium-sized ones)2 tbsp soft light brown or demerara sugar, or white sugar if preferredA pinch of salt 15g butter, diced, plus extra for greasing1½ tsp cornflour 1 tbsp lemon juice ¼ tsp almond extract (optional) ½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg Ice-cream, to serve For the topping100g cold butter 175g plain flour 2 tbsp caster sugar ¼ tsp fine salt 1 tsp baking powder 150ml buttermilk, or 145ml milk mixed with 1 tsp lemon juice or vinegar1 tbsp demerara sugar Cut the peaches into chunky wedges, scatter with the sugar and salt, then leave to sit at room temperature for at least 30 minutes. Heat the oven to 220C (200C fan)/gas 7, and grease a baking dish just large enough to hold all the fruit in a single layer. Grate or dice the 100g butter for the topping and put it in the freezer. Drain the juice from the steeped peaches and reserve. Arrange the drained peaches in the base of the rimmed baking dish. Put the cornflour in a small bowl, stir in two tablespoons of the reserved peach juice, plus the lemon juice and almond extract, if using, until dissolved, then toss this mix and the nutmeg with the peaches. Top with the diced butter. Put the peach dish on a rimmed baking tray, pop the lot in the oven and bake for 10-15 minutes, until the juices are bubbling. Meanwhile, put the flour, caster sugar, salt and baking powder for the topping in a large bowl. Add the frozen grated butter, toss to coat, then rub in with your fingertips just until the mix resembles coarse crumbs with visible pieces of butter still in there – it shouldn't be fully rubbed in. Once the peaches are bubbling, turn down the oven to 200 (180C fan)/gas 6 and stir the buttermilk into the flour to make a wet, shaggy dough. Dollop this on top of the fruit, leaving spaces between the blobs for them to expand. Top with a sprinkling of demerara sugar and bake for another 30-35 minutes, until golden. Remove, leave to cool for at least 15 minutes, then serve with ice-cream. Proper southern peach cobbler? Go on, tell me how it's really done!
The Herald Scotland
14 hours ago
- The Herald Scotland
Exam results day is unmatched in America – is that good?
Usually in those times, I have lived here long enough to have a sense of the context involved, and I can wrap my head around what I am covering. Every year, however, I have a day at work where my American brain cannot help but think: 'Why, though?' Unfortunately, it happens to also be arguably the most important single day in Scottish education reporting: SQA results day. My ambivalence about results day has grown over the years. Five years ago, on my first results day, I visited Lossiemouth High School to speak with students who had aced their exams and were on their way to top universities across the UK. It was a great day. My favourite part of this job is speaking to students and teachers. At the time, the pandemic was disrupting daily life, and we were all happy to celebrate. I never hesitate to celebrate student achievement, but over the years, results day has raised new questions as I started to think more about the young people who we do not see in the headlines. I wonder whether the spotlight we shine on success doesn't increase the disappointment of the many students who don't receive their desired result, especially on a day that is already so charged with anxiety and emotion that students might feel like they may as well be back in the exam hall. Of course, I understand that the results matter. The Scottish Government, particularly in the past decade, has made it virtually impossible for anyone wanting to heap praise or criticism to look away from attainment statistics. Beyond politics, unless some of the loftier goals that have been kicked around recently come to fruition– for example, by ending Scotland's reliance on high-stakes exams, creating new pathways to university and careers, or better recognising young people's work over the course of their careers – the fact remains that exam results open and close doors for young people. As I've continued to report on proposed changes to student evaluation, some transatlantic comparisons have come into focus. Read more In the United States, there is no results day. There is no single day when clicks on the 'Education' tab of every major outlet's website skyrocket, fuelled in no small part by readers who will not be seen there again until next August. Still, students, teachers, and communities are judged on student performance. Sometimes that judgment leads to improvements. At other times, it is unfair and masks deeper problems that children are facing. The major difference is that there is no one test—no single key that unlocks access to university. Instead, there are many. At first blush, this may sound like an improvement over the highly charged exam system in Scotland. Here, countless teachers and other education experts have argued that the threshold of three or more Highers as the key to university is outdated, but the vision of a world where those results are not so decisive is not yet a reality. In the US, the key to higher education is spread much more thinly, and the doors to university are opened by a healthy diet of alphabet soup. For years, the gold standard for students leaving high school was a score of 1400 (out of 1600) on the SAT, along with enough passes in Advanced Placement (AP) courses to boost their Grade Point Average (GPA) and earn university course credit. The SAT is a standardised test administered by the College Board, an American non-profit organisation. It covers reading, writing, and mathematics using the same format every year. For context, although Harvard University no longer requires students to submit an SAT score, 1530 is the recommendation for an applicant to be competitive. Alternatively, some students opt to sit the ACT, a similar test but with more focus on science and mathematics. Depending on where and when a student went through the US education system, they may have been encouraged to sit both, one over the other or, as happens far too frequently, told not to bother with either. Read more: The last point is an important one and speaks to another major difference in the two systems I am familiar with. As challenging as closing the attainment gap has proven in Scotland, it is at least relatively well-known. In the US, the gap is much wider than it appears on paper, because many students who are struggling the most do not even make it into the statistics. The senior phase of secondary school genuinely has no comparison. When I first explained it to him, a friend who has taught for years in the US suggested it sounded like 'bonus high school' for top students. The early exit is much more fraught in the US, meaning many students who might not carry on to the senior phase in Scotland find themselves still struggling through higher-level courses without the foundation they need to succeed. Often, these students are from poorer and minority backgrounds. If they are encouraged to sit the SAT, ACT or something similar, they are usually still at a disadvantage compared to their wealthier peers, who have better access to the multibillion-dollar test prep industry. In the context of the attainment gap, they are the demographics that Scottish education policy is trying to lift up. In the US, instead, they are often pressured through the grade levels until they finally reach the end, sometimes with very little concrete qualifications to show for it. This context has given me an unusual view of standardisation. The SQA will be replaced by a new body called Qualifications Scotland in December, and with that comes the potential for changes. As the reaper's scythe swings lower, the SQA has come under renewed criticism for having a near-monopoly on qualifications in the country, particularly in the senior phase. There is not the same level of government or single-organisation involvement in America. Instead, major companies administer the tests and dozens of international corporations and local businesses profit from test prep materials and courses. Nothing like the singular focus on one type of test on one day exists in America. Instead, results days play out in miniature at different times across the country all year long. And even though students unlock the next steps in their careers in different ways, each of these paths opens a new opportunity to be exploited. Whether I will ever fully accept the hysteria of results day is a question for another year. What I can say for sure is that, when it comes to exams, the grass is best described as yellow on both sides of the ocean.
Scottish Sun
19 hours ago
- Scottish Sun
How elite WW2 special forces unit the Chindits smashed Japanese supply lines in Burmar ahead of anniversary of VJ Day
Click to share on X/Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) THEY were the lions of the jungle – 10,000 British troops led by an eccentric genius. With their distinctive slouch hats, the Chindits were the highly trained special forces who fought the Japanese, often hundreds of miles behind enemy lines, deep in the steaming, fetid jungles of the Far East. Sign up for Scottish Sun newsletter Sign up 8 The Chindits greeting a rescue plane in a picture taken for Life magazine Credit: Shutterstock Editorial 8 Maverick British military leader, Brigadier Orde Wingate Credit: Times Newspapers Ltd 8 Only two British Chindits are left alive, one of whom is Sid Machin Credit: Paul Edwards Next Friday marks the anniversary of VJ Day, when, after six years, World War Two finally ended with the Allied victory over Japan. By the time Japanese Emperor Hirohito officially surrendered on August 15, 1945, the war in Europe had been over for more than three months and the 365,000 British troops fighting in the Far East became known as the 'Forgotten Army', after its operations in the Allies' Burma campaign were largely overlooked by the Press at the time. Today, 80 years after that victory, only two British Chindits are left alive — 104-year-old Charlie Richards and Sid Machin, 101. Sid, of Christchurch, Dorset, will be among nearly three dozen VJ veterans, aged 98 to 105, who will attend a national service of commemoration hosted by the Royal British Legion on August 15. Against the odds The veterans will certainly not be forgotten when they join the King and Queen at the moving ceremony at Staffordshire's National Memorial Arboretum. The royal couple will pay their respects in the Arboretum's Far East corner, which includes a monument to the Chindits. In early 1942 Burma's then capital, Rangoon — now called Yangon — was overrun by Japanese forces intent on pushing north to invade India. A maverick British military leader, Brigadier Orde Wingate, came up with a daring plan to create a multi-national force of lightly equipped men, who would work in small teams hundreds of miles inside enemy territory. Oddball Wingate often gave orders in the nude and sported a straggly beard, supposedly to keep mosquitoes away. When dressed, he ate raw onions which he often kept in the pocket of his filthy uniform, and he would dangle a large alarm clock from his belt to remind his men that time was against them. World War Two veterans come together to mark the 80th anniversary of their victory Wingate named his highly trained troops after the only creature in Buddhism that is permitted to use force — Chinthe, the lion-headed dragon that sits outside every sacred pagoda in Burma, now known as Myanmar. His men, including Major James Lumley, father of actress Joanna, called themselves the Chindits. Flying in by glider, they set up strongholds behind enemy lines from where groups of men would attack the Japanese, often with bayonets drawn, in hand-to-hand combat. A constant stream of transport aircraft brought in supplies that included not just ammo and food but also mules to carry equipment. I have never before listened to anybody who so compelled my attention, who dominated his audience Col Charles Mercer Light ambulance planes would land on remote airstrips hacked out of the jungle to evacuate the wounded, three at a time. Despite early setbacks, the Chindits' bravery and tenacity against the odds raised morale and showed how British soldiers could live and fight in the jungle. They also attracted the attention of Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who called Wingate 'a man of genius'. Col Charles Mercer, who died recently aged 105, recalled: 'He was quite a small man, not very military in bearing. "I have never before listened to anybody who so compelled my attention, who dominated his audience. "He was a fearless, inspiring leader.' 8 Sid today, aged 101 Credit: Paul Edwards 8 The Chindits comprised 10,000 British troops led by an eccentric genius Credit: Alamy 8 Wingate's unit adopted a strategy of near silence to avoid alerting the enemy Credit: Alamy Veteran Chindit Charlie, who was 22 when he joined the unit, recalled how, after six months of hard training, Wingate told the men they were 'on the adventure of a lifetime'. But he also warned them: 'Many of you are going to die, or suffer wounds, or near starvation. All of you will meet hardship worse than anything you have imagined.' Charlie and Sid took part in Operation Thursday, when 85 gliders towed by US aircraft took off on a moonlit night in March 1944 to pass over 7,000ft peaks to land 150 miles behind the front line. The Chindits had been ordered to relieve comrades who were holed up in a jungle base codenamed White City, but they came under attack almost every night. Whispers were the order of the day and even this made us a bit nervous and alert to every sound Veteran Charlie Richards So many soldiers on both sides died that the stench of death was overwhelming. Charlie, from Kettering, Northants, recalled: 'The whole place was getting so putrid because of the number of Japanese bodies outside the perimeter that the pilots of incoming planes said they had no need of maps for the last few miles — they could smell their way in.' Wingate's unit adopted a strategy of near silence to avoid alerting the enemy, and Charlie said: 'The rule was, everyone spoke softly, even sergeants. "Whispers were the order of the day and even this made us a bit nervous and alert to every sound.' In our main picture, taken by a wartime photographer from Life magazine, a group of Chindits wave joyfully at their RAF rescue plane but they had been told: 'Cheer, but don't make a sound.' 8 8 The Army's current 77th Brigade badge echoes the Chindits Credit: Handout The casualty rate was still brutal. Of the 400 men in Charlie's column, just 140 were unscathed. The rest were either dead, wounded or struck down by disease. Wingate, who by then was an acting Major General, died in 1944 in a plane crash aged 41. At the time he was carrying a nomination for a Victoria Cross for Chindit Lt George Cairns, who had had his arm hacked off with a sword by a Japanese soldier. Cairns, 30, killed the soldier, picked up the sword and carried on fighting. Just before he died from his wounds he said: 'Have we won? 'Did we do our stuff? Don't worry about me.' Because the nomination was lost in Wingate's plane wreckage it was five years before Cairns was awarded his medal posthumously — the fourth VC given to a Chindit.
