Shim Kanazawa, Part 1

I was about to interview Shimeji Ryusaki Kanazawa; before I even met her, I suffered from hero worship.

During World War II Shim functioned as liaison between the Japanese civilian population and the U.S. military. She inspected the living conditions of the Japanese POWs, of the internees in the Hawaii camps, and she accompanied Japanese families on their Trans-Pacific sail to internment camps on the Mainland. For the work she did during the war years, Shim has been called the “Florence Nightingale of Hawaii.”

The sun was intense the morning I visited Shim Kanazawa. I walked from the University of Hawaii, through Manoa, past the university president’s residence to Oahu Avenue. The streets in the college hill area where she lives are broad sweeping avenues, richly lined with shower trees, royal palms and tall hedges of bougainvillea. Some of these Manoa homes are called “bungalows.” There are expanded Craftsman cottages, Georgian and Victorian homes with hipped gables, double-hung windows and homes that are grand compilations of add-ons over the years, mixing nooks, crannies, screened porches and triple garages.

Walking through the neighborhood, it’s easy to conjure days when horse-drawn carriages rode passed the graceful homes of the Castle, Cook, Gulick and Atherton families. These days, those same streets are jammed with University of Hawaii students’ cars. Every inch is taken up and there are other signs of the student traffic. Bare muddy paths have been carved out by students burdened down with laptops and backpacks. Amidst the students are the local joggers, dog walker and young mothers in single-file pushing baby strollers.

Shim Kanazawa’s house is graced with trees, shrubs and blossoming vines. The entry is a gated white archway that was covered with stephanotis. As I closed the gate behind me and walked up the sloping front yard, I spotted Shim in her front window—we waved at each other then she met me at the door.

Shim opened the door. Her eyes were piercing and her manner was regal. I followed her through the living room to the dining room, past photos of her family, former governors of Hawaii and presidents of the United States. It took me a few minutes to realize she was using a walker to maneuver. Her age and her slight stoop are masked by the strength of her presence—her body is irrelevant to who she is.

We settled at the dining table. Shim was ready for me. She had portfolios of documents, newspaper clippings and photographs stacked in chronological order. Her documents were orderly, but our conversation started haphazardly. I had walked two miles in the heat to get to her house, and once seated and ready to work, I began to sweat. Inconspicuously and elegantly, Shim served me ice water and set tissues on the table.

I told her I was interested in her activity during the war and that I had seen a photograph taken of her in 1943. I explained that in the picture she wore a tailored business suit, a fashionable hat and a flower corsage. As soon as I began my description, she pulled a photo out of a manila folder and handed it to me. “This one?” she asked.

There it was—a close-up of a young woman, not yet twenty-seven years old. Her hat was at a definite angle, her dress was understated; it was dark, with cloth covered buttons and at her collar was pinned a white orchid corsage. This was the photo of the young woman I wanted to know about.

I looked at Shim then back at the photograph, it was hard to reconcile these two faces as being the same woman. Shim Kanazawa was 90 years old. (year of interview: 2005) Her hair, pulled back off her face, is raven black. Age has wrinkled her skin, broadened her nose, and she now wears fine-framed eyeglasses. But the fullness of her lips, the width of her smile, and the peak of the chin of her heart-shaped face still showed through.

Since the late 1950’s, Shim Kanazawa has worked as an advocate for youth and for the aged. She has served as the Chair of the Hawaii Commission on Aging, the Chair of the Policy Advisory Board for Elderly Affairs, Chair of the White House Council on Aging in Hawaii, and was appointed to the National Advisory Committee on Aging by Presidents Carter, Regan and Clinton. Her list of achievements read like a litany; any single accomplishment could be considered a lifetime contribution. But it was not that part of her life I wanted to focus on. I wanted to know about the “country girl from Kamuela” who became the Administrative Secretary to the Swedish-Vice Council during World War II. Shim’s appointment to that post was an act of serendipity.

I asked her if it was true that the Vice-Consul hired her without meeting her. “Yes,” she answered. “He hired me based on the recommendation of a friend of his.”

It happened that in February 1942, a protocol signed by the Consul-General of Japan and Gustaf W. Olson, Vice-Consul of Sweden, decreed that the Swedish Government would handle matters concerning Japanese citizens living in the Territory of Hawaii. This duty was “Protecting Power” over all Japanese citizens, included those being held in internment camps and Japanese prisoners of war. The scope of responsibilities for that duty taxed the staff of the consulate to an extreme. Added to that was the fact that Gustaf Olson was also the administrator for Queen’s Hospital and an assistant in the emergency medical plan for the territory. Olson quickly realized he couldn’t give adequate time to his consulate duties and needed an assistant. He sought out his friend Eldon Morrell, Director of Vocational Education and told him he was looking for “a girl who could speak English and Japanese, who could work with the Japanese population, but most of all she has to have a Red Cross heart.” Morrell told Olson he had just the girl—Shim Ryusaki. Morrell told Olson, “She’s a country girl who came to Honolulu only a few months ago, and she has the heart, the intelligence and the commitment for the job.” With Morell’s endorsement, Olson hired Shim Ryusaki without ever meeting her.