Father and Son

Contributed by Dan Hirano

Contributed by Dan Hirano

This photograph is of me on my dad’s knee in Topaz. Why it was taken is anyone’s guess, but I’m glad it was taken. It shows not only a man with his son, but it also portrays a landscape that is both harsh and bleak. Perhaps, it was done that way for a purpose—a simple chair set in the middle of a barren open space, unmistakable barrack in the dust as a backdrop, simple dark clothes for a chilly day. Every element basic, austere like Topaz life itself. Thank god for either the morning or setting sun casting its glow across the entire shot.

And look at my dad’s shoes. Those are not work shoes, those are Oxfords—cleanly polished and meant to be worn for an occasion. He must have been on his way to or coming back from somewhere special. Was it a meeting, or the doctor’s office, a funeral? Or was this his normal dress, because as a block manager, according to my brother, my dad had to often interact with his captors.

Well, he even cuffed the left leg of his pants high so we could see his fine shoes. The man was vain, vain just like his son.

Dan Hirano was born in the laundry room in Topaz in 1942 because the hospital had not yet been built. When the War ended, his family was one of the last to leave Topaz. They settled in San Francisco’s Japantown, where they lived until moving to Berkeley in 1951. Dan received a Bachelor of Architecture degree from the University of Oregon and practiced as an architect until retirement.