Remembering Henry Part 2

While at Marina del Ray, I completed painting the image in my sketch book and caught my flight back home.  Months went by, and the check with which I’d paid for Henry’s paintings never cleared my bank.  I called Mary who told me that it was not uncommon for Henry to forget to deposit checks.  She took care of the matter in California, and I went about my business at home.

 I learned that the next workshop with Henry would be the Fukuhara workshop at Manzanar near Lone Pine, California.  The workshop, scheduled for May of the following year, quickly became an item in my calendar.  I registered for the workshop, made reservations at the Lone Pine motel, and checked my map for directions to get there.  I figured that if I started my drive at 4 am, drove west on I-70 to I-15, through California to Death Valley and west to Lone Pine, I could do it in one day.  And, so, I arrived at the motel by 10 pm on the day before the workshop started.

Every year, Henry’s workshop started in the Alabama Hills, famous for the role they played in old-time western movies.  On the second day, it moved to Manzanar, one of the infamous internment camps (today called concentration camps) where our citizens of Japanese heritage were incarcerated during the Second World War.

 Each day began with Henry painting an image of the location chosen for our work.  The paintings were for sale, and I was able to purchase at will.  For some reason, others in the workshops had not yet discovered a reason for purchasing his work.  I wondered if they did not value the work of their instructor and mentor.  At any rate, I was always pleased to have first choice of the work.

 Over the next years, workshop participants became more and more aware of this value of Henry’s work, limiting my “first choice” opportunities.  The workshop organizers realized this and arrange for a lottery for those people who wanted to purchase Henry’s work.  Every person  wishing to purchase put names into the lottery for a specific painting and won if their name was drawn.  To say that I lost a lot of my first choices is an understatement.

 The yearly Fukuhara workshops were basically organized by Mary, Al (I always thought of him as “Big Al”), and Shelli.  I lived far away and could not be a part of that organizing effort – a HUGE effort, to be sure.  I wanted to show my appreciation for them and their work; so, every year, I arranged for dinner at The Carousel Restaurant in Lone Pine for the organizers and their spouses to say thank you to them.  The first year that husband Larry accompanied me to the workshop (Larry also painted in watercolor), we all met at the restaurant for our annual dinner.

Al was extremely important to Henry whose vision was becoming more and more difficult.  At the painting sites, Henry would have Al place the colors on his palette, be sure he had the right brush, and so on.  They often stayed in the same hotel room or suite for convenience.

 At the Carousel, there were about fifteen of us sitting at a long table.  Larry sat at one end with me on his right.  Across from me was Henry (to Larry’s left) and Mary (to Henry’s left).  Next to me on my right was “Big Al” (who had come to the U.S. by way of Egypt and Europe).  Henry of rather slight build (and, advancing age) had a somewhat reduced appetite.  I think by then that Larry had fallen for Henry as much as I.  They talked about the many things they had in common.  Farming.  The outdoors.  Growing up in a culture that was, albeit American, and also German and Japanese.  They had a lot to discuss.

It was time to order, so we did.  Henry ordered a large salad.  “He’ll never eat all of that,” said Big Al.  But, he did.  Our next course came.  Henry’s was salmon with asparagus and garlic potatoes.  “He’ll never eat all of that,” Al said, again.  Yet, he did.  And, then, it was time for dessert.  Henry ordered the house specialty of chocolate cake – a very large piece of chocolate cake!  Once again – “He’ll never eat it.”  Once, again, he did.  I think he and Larry were having such a wonderful time talking flowers, farm tools, and growing things that Henry was happy.  His hearing was not as great as he would hope.  To hear the conversations down the table was not really possible.  But, he could hear Larry, and they had a really great time.

 The next morning at Manzanar, it was time for the lottery for the two painted demos of Alabama Hills and of Manzanar.   Larry wanted the one of Manzanar.  He said to Henry, “Henry, this is Larry.  Would it be possible for me to put my name into the lottery for the Manzanar image?”  Henry turned to the women conducting the lottery and said, “This picture is Larry’s.”  It was no longer in the lottery, and I was able to purchase it for Larry.

 It was common in those years for one of us to be with Henry as he rested during our afternoon work session before he gave the “crit” of our work in late afternoon.  My afternoon was at Manzanar.  Henry had a comfortable place to sit and rest, but was wanting to talk.  I said to him that it seemed to me the U.S. Army general (John Lesesne DeWitt) who had initiated the removal of American citizens of Japanese heritage living on the West Coast to internment camps was absolutely crazy to instigate this process.  Henry replied, “No.  My father and I thought that this was a process that broke up the enclaves of Asians and eventually helped us live in other parts of the States.”  There were ten camps opened, housing 120,000 internees in these locations:  Tule Lake, California; Minidoka, Idaho; Manzanar, California; Topaz, Utah; Jerome, Arkansas; Heart Mountain, Wyoming; Poston, Arizona; Granada (Amache), Colorado; and Rohwer, Arkansas.  I realized that until my involvement with the Henry and the crew as an adult, I had never heard of internment camps, Manzanar, or Amache in my own state.  This was never in our history books!

Henry’s family owned their home out-right, so they did not lose their home as so many others lost theirs.  He and Fujiko and one daughter, as well as his siblings and families, were sent to “camp,” as he called it.  One other daughter was born at Manzanar.

 When it came time to leave camp, Henry first tried on a couple of other states, rather than returning immediately to his home in California – Idaho and Colorado.  But, those didn’t fit.  His family ended up on the East Coast.  They were wholesale florists, and he would make trips to other countries to procure flowers.  Eventually, he and his family returned to California.  As the eldest son, he had inherited the family home in Santa Monica, where he and Fujiko resided when I met him.

I would hear from Henry and, as was his custom, each note included a small painting.  It was always a joy to hear from him.  And, of course, the time came when Henry’s health kept him from joining us during the yearly workshops.

 Over the years, I have never been a very good letter correspondent.  You may guess that I was not good at responding to Henry’s communications.  I have lived to regret this flaw in my make up.  Really regret it.

 At the time when Henry’s health prevented him from attending the workshops with his name, we all missed having him with us, but Al and Shelli kept the workshop going.  At one of the workshops, Henry had sent a few of his images for the lottery.  By then, they had become prized by the participants, which – pridefully, I admit – like to think I had something to do with by purchasing the paintings each time I worked with him.  At the same time, I was saddened every time a painting that I wanted to purchase was lost through the lottery.

 There was one spectacular image that he’d sent that I really coveted.  Yes!  Coveted.  And, I don’t covet much.  This image was shades of browns.  I loved it.  So, of course, I put my name into the lottery for it.  And, thanks be to God, my name was chosen.  I was allowed to purchase that painting that I coveted. 

Here is why I truly wish that I had been better at my correspondence with Henry.  After my name was chosen to purchase the painting, many of those present told me that they were so pleased that the painting was mine.  “Henry would be so pleased to know that you have this painting,” they said.  Regret and remorse consumed me.  I realized that I really should have been a better communicator with Henry over those past years.

That last year when Larry and I traveled to LA to see Henry, I was so pleased to see him and was able to tell him what I should have been saying all of those years.  That being, just how much he had meant to me.  It may be that his death the next year, the death of one of the loves of my life, was preparing me for the time when the first love of my life would be gone.  Larry’s death in 2017 was equally hard to go through.  On this side of both events, I realize that I’ve had the best of all possible worlds, and I can go on.

Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are welcome!

More information about Henry Fukuhara can be found at

https://encyclopedia.densho.org/Henry%20K.%20Fukuhara