‘Beyond Heart Mountain’ book and movie are for sale

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

Buy Beyond Heart Mountain memoir published by Winter Goose Publishing. It is available as a printed book and ebook. Signed copies can be purchased from the author. The book was released February 27th. That week coincided with the 80th anniversary of President Roosevelt’s signing of Executive Order 9066 that sent 120,000 Japanese to 10 war relocation camps, that included Heart Mountain in northwest Wyoming.

Beyond Heart Mountain book and related are now for sale.

Remember to download the Beyond Heart Mountain promotional information booklet.

Boulder Community Media (BCM) produced a documentary that aired on PBS that aired in December 2021. The Nishigawa Neighborhood is a coffee table book that will soon be released.

During World War II, Cheyenne native Alan O’Hashi’s family avoided life in internment camps such as Heart Mountain.

As a Baby Boomer, Alan documents the overt and quiet racism pervasive in Wyoming and throughout the United States during and following World War II. He relates his experiences to current violence towards Asians and the issue of civility within society.

The backdrop to Alan’s account is the history of the once vibrant Japanese community in the 400 and 500 blocks of West 17th Street in the downtown area of my hometown, Cheyenne, Wyoming.

*****

“My grandmother and grandfather Ohashi and their large family lived in worked in that neighborhood where I spent quite a bit of time between elementary and high school. Having been away from Cheyenne for many years, I stashed those two blocks in the back of my mind until I learned that two classmates of mine were planning to build a housing development at 509 W. 17th St. The biggest obstacle was obtaining permission to tear down an old building. It was the last structure in the Japanese neighborhood. It was the site of a rooming house operated by Mrs. Yoshio Shuto.”

Buy the Beyond Heart Mountain movie

Buy the Beyond Heart Mountain DVD is mainly about the West 17th Street Japanese community history and a general overview of Executive Order 9066 that President Franklin Roosevelt signed that relocated 120,000 Japanese into 10 internment camps, including Heart Mountain in northwest Wyoming.

I interviewed four childhood friends for the documentary. Robert Walters formerly worked at the City Cafe. He still lives in Cheyenne, where he practices law.

Terie Miyamoto and her family-owned Baker’s Bar. It was the only racially-integrated bar in Cheyenne at the time. She now lives in the Denver Metro area.

Brian Matsuyama now lives in Seattle, Washington. He resided in Cheyenne during his childhood. His family owned the California Fish Market. Carol Lou Kishiyama-Hough is in Cheyenne. She and her family purchased the Fish Market from the Matsuyamas.

Buy the Nishigawa Neighborhood coffee table book. It’s a 11 x 8.5-inch hard-cover coffee table book with over 100 color, black and white images of the neighborhood. Signed copies are available from thanks author.

Nishigawa Neighborhood coming soon

Mrs. Shuto’s tenants were mainly Japanese residents who made their way to Cheyenne. She later opened the City Cafe across the street which became a gathering place for the Japanese in town.

My grandmother was a cook at the City Cafe. Next door, my grandfather was the third owner of a pool hall.

Whenever we went out to eat, the restaurant of choice was the City Cafe. It was a gathering place for the Japanese in Cheyenne. My friends enlisted me to do a cultural and historical survey of the Japanese residents who lived and worked there from the 1920s through the 1970s.

Buy a Beyond Heart Mountain cap are also available. They are low-profile baseball-style hats. Select Beyond Heart Mountain from the dropdown menu.

The logo is an adapted version of the Wyoming state flag. One size fits most.

Growth on Our Terms: How Communities Can Take Control of the Digital Boom

Posted on by
Reply

Silicon Prairie: Episode 1

Alan O’Hashi, here. I’m a Wyoming native, having grown up in Cheyenne. I have a new American Outlands podcast called “Silicon Prairie” about the data center land rush in the Rocky Mountain West, although these monstrosities are popping up anywhere there’s vacant rural land.

My family moved to Laramie while I was a sophomore at Hastings College in Nebraska. Upon graduation, I had no job skills and sat out the post-Vietnam War recession in grad school at the University of Wyoming. I ended up taking a job with the city administration of Gillette, in northeast Wyoming.

There, I had my first experience with an economic boom cycle.

Economic booms and busts are as much a part of the Rocky Mountain West as dust storms, pickup trucks, and someone insisting this year’s growth “will be different.” The newest growth explosion thundering across the region and the nation isn’t gold or fossil fuel extraction. It’s what I call digital foundries that crunch cryptocurrency transactions, stream high-speed video content, and feed the ever-growing brain of Artificial Intelligence, otherwise known as AI.

In this five-part series, I’ll draw on my experience watching rural communities grapple with energy-driven growth spurts.

I’ll look at what happens when gigantic Digital Foundries arrive in places built for cattle, coal mines, or low-stress living, and suddenly require enormous amounts of electricity, water, land, and infrastructure.

Along with the promises of jobs and tax revenue come less glamorous realities: the constant hum of cooling fans, industrial-scale backup generators, and massive warehouse-like buildings rising from open prairie or ranchland. What looks like “the future” in a corporate brochure can feel very different when it’s humming outside your back fence at 2 a.m.

Beneath the big promises from digital economy backers, boom-and-bust questions arise: Who gets the water? Who pays for the power? And who’s left holding the bag when the boom cycle ends?

I took my first job in the Powder River Basin at the onset of the coal boom. I remember driving from Laramie to Gillette, sight unseen, after surviving the Big Thompson Flood, and dropping out of grad school to take my first job with the city government in 1977.

When I drove into town, my first stop was 611 Kendrick Street, where I crammed into the light green, one-bathroom house I shared with four other guys. The water from the tap smelled like rotten eggs, with crud floating in it.

That was just the beginning.

Welcome to what sociologists call the “Gillette Syndrome.” Too many people swarmed into a small town. The locals quit their jobs as EMTs, store clerks, and school teachers to become dump truck drivers and coal shovel operators. The rapidly expanding population outstripped the community’s ability to keep pace.

The place was nutty back then: lots of guys with a lot of money and nowhere to spend it. Then-mayor Mike Enzi dubbed Gillette the “Energy Capitol of the Nation.” Mike went on to represent Wyoming in the U.S. Senate.

I was part of a team of carpetbagging young professionals who moved to town to increase the town’s capacity to handle growth. As much as we wanted to make things better, we all became part of the juggernaut.

Governor Ed Herschler famously coined the phrase “Growth on Our Terms.” Easygoing Gov. Ed had no problem wrestling with the fossil fuels industry. In 1975, he signed the Industrial Siting Act into law and established the Industrial Siting Council (ISC). At the time, the ISC was primarily concerned with permitting energy projects and their effects on communities.

Although many viewed Gillette and Campbell County as politically conservative strongholds for a long time, these two entities took the lead in the state by developing a comprehensive regional plan early on. Gillette had approved one of the state’s strongest zoning codes.

Gillette officials worked hand in glove with the ISC as coal mines moved through the permitting process. Companies were required to construct employee housing, pay for public street improvements, and expand parkland.

Campbell County and Wyoming have reaped the benefits of the fossil fuel boom over the past 50 years and are now seeking the next commodity. As with every other bust cycle, some folks pack up, and others will stay. This time around, what are the positive benefits and negative consequences of the digital Foundry migration coming of age in Wyoming?

What can communities learn from the coal boom? Microsoft, Meta, and Google want to expand across the vast, open prairies. The digital data boom won’t require as much labor as the fossil fuels industry, but an integrated approach can address other issues, such as electricity and water consumption, and excessive noise.

With Digital Foundries as core resources rather than standalone entities, and a little foresight, Digital Foundries can anchor successful mixed-use environments.

The commercial offices and research and development facilities surrounding the Digital Foundry are a natural fit for businesses that rely on its high-speed connectivity and computational power. This creates an innovation hub where technology companies, startups, and research institutions can collocate, fostering collaboration.

What will digital foundry communities look like? The residential component of a Digital Foundry would appeal to residents who work in the tech hub, value an efficient lifestyle, and enjoy unique amenities, including year-round fresh produce from on-site greenhouses. The development would have a distinct identity, driven by its technological and ecological integration.

A Digital Foundry is a building and a foundational anchor that can generate energy and heat and provide high-speed internet connectivity. By designing with a city planning mindset, potential problems such as the need for a steady source of power, heat, cooling, and mitigating sound pollution are reimagined as opportunities that create resilient and economically vibrant communities.

I visited a data center east of Cheyenne. Inside, I saw the behemoth brains of the futuristic cloud flashing and sending information into cyberspace. The sprawling industrial machine consumed staggering amounts of electricity and water just to keep the digital world spinning.

Digital Foundries across the West are arriving faster than the infrastructure needed to support them. In Silicon Prairie Episode Two, I’ll explore what happens when the digital economy competes with towns, farms, and families for electricity.

In episode 2, I’ll explore what happens when digital-foundry carpetbaggers roll into town promising jobs and economic development, and the community isn’t prepared to handle the sudden growth.

When Fireworks Were Legal

Posted on by
Reply

Firecrackers and weed shopping malls would be better than data centers.

I grew up in Cheyenne, Wyoming, where summer wasn’t official until the fireworks stands opened. The nearest one was biking distance from our home in the Cole Addition. In the 1960s, the neighborhood sat on the edge of town, where open prairie began just a few blocks beyond the last houses.

That was then.

When I was a kid, firecrackers an inch and a half long were perfectly legal. The Zebra brand was the gold standard among neighborhood experts. I have no idea whether this was scientifically verified, but I was convinced Zebras had fewer duds than Black Cats. Every kid had an opinion, and every kid was certain he was right.

My parents allowed a few bottle rockets in the alley, but the real Fourth of July celebration happened at the Kishiyama place south of Cheyenne. Looking back, I’m amazed I survived childhood.

One of the men who worked for my dad made an annual pilgrimage to Nebraska and returned with contraband treasures: M-80s and cherry bombs. These were illegal in Wyoming, which increased their appeal. The M-80s were legendary. The cherry bombs looked harmless enough until they detonated with a satisfying boom that echoed across the prairie.

My dad allowed me to light them, fling them as far as I could, and wait for the explosion. Today, that sentence alone would give a safety inspector heart palpitations.

The vacant land behind our neighborhood became our battlefield. My friends and I played endless games of combat among the sagebrush and dry clay. Like countless boys of our generation, we experimented with homemade pyrotechnics that seemed ingenious at the time and reckless in retrospect. We dug foxholes, created miniature craters, and generally behaved in ways that would horrify modern parents.

The miracle is that we still have all our fingers.

Then came the fire.

At some point, a fireworks stand near the city limits caught fire and exploded like the first barrage of World War III. The city responded with an ordinance requiring that fireworks sales be conducted well outside town.

When we were adults, my cousin Matthew came to town over the Fourth of July. We decided to reexperience our childhood. We bought some fireworks and looked for a place to light them off. The Kishiyamas no longer lived on their ranchette. Everywhere we went, fireworks were not allowed.

What a letdown. I don’t know where we ended up, but the experience was no fun.

Entrepreneurs, being entrepreneurs, saw opportunity where the government saw regulation.

Soon, giant fireworks stores appeared south of Cheyenne near the Wyoming-Colorado travel corridors. What had once been a few temporary stands became a regional industry. Colorado customers crossed the state line in droves. Entire warehouses sprang up to meet the demand. Fireworks became big business.

In retrospect, Wyoming may have stumbled upon one of its more successful economic development programs.

Today, when I drive past the sprawling fireworks superstores south of Cheyenne, I think about those childhood summers. I remember the smell of gunpowder hanging in the evening air. I remember bicycle rides to the fireworks stand. I remember arguments about whether Zebra or Black Cat made the better firecracker. I remember the anticipation of waiting for dusk on the Fourth of July.

Mostly, I remember a time when Independence Day felt a little more independent.

Of course, every generation looks back on its childhood through rose-colored glasses. We remember the freedom and forget the close calls. There was something uniquely American about those Wyoming summers in the wide-open spaces, imagined war zones, fighting alongside Sgt. Saunders, of “Combat!” fame. The Fourth of July was the greatest holiday on the summer calendar.

Speaking of economic development, instead of sprawling data centers, a pretty good business would be selling marijuana on the Colorado side of the state line and fireworks on the Wyoming side, straddled by a casino.

Analog Meets Digital: A wind-up watch, an Apple Watch, and the family stories in between.

Posted on by
Reply

It’s graduation and wedding season. One of my second cousins sent me an invitation. Instead of stuffing cash into a card, I sent one of my books and, as part of my ongoing Swedish death cleaning project, one of my mother’s watercolor paintings.

Maybe it’s generational, but giving money seems impersonal.

Another kid I know made it from 8th grade to high school. I’m headed out of town and couldn’t make it to his promotion exercise.

My parents presented me with a wristwatch for barely passing algebra class. I searched through a box and gave him that wind-up watch and my first Apple Watch.

Analog meets digital.

Another second cousin is getting married.

I’m sorting through boxes of family treasures that once belonged to my grandparents. Every item comes with a story attached. I remember the story, take a picture, and cut ties with the object.

The good news is that younger family members are emerging as willing custodians. Most of my inherited “treasures” have been sitting in my office and storage area long enough to qualify for residency.

It’s time for a new lease.

As I sort through the past, I think about my own high school graduation.

My parents were practical people. They sent me off to Hastings College with a set of molded steel American Tourister luggage and a Smith Corona electric typewriter.

Not a stereo.

Not a car.

Not a television.

Looking back, I suspect they wanted to make sure I had every tool necessary to launch successfully into adulthood.

In reality, they kicked me out of the nest. “Don’t come back, unless it’s for your baseball cards and other assorted childhood stuff.”

The typewriter turned out to be one of the best gifts I ever received.

I learned to touch type in summer school before I took off for college, a prison sentence.

“Can type, ‘Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country,’ 100 words per minute. Willing to learn other phrases.”

For those under the age of 50, generations developed repetitive stress injuries typing that patriotic declaration over and over.

At the time, I thought typing was another boring skill adults insisted was important.

Turns out it paid the bills.

Over the years, typing helped me write newspaper stories, magazine articles, grant applications, reports, blogs, books, and enough emails to fill several libraries.

I still make money because I can sit down and move my fingers faster than my brain can talk me out of an idea.

The luggage disappeared somewhere along the journey. The hinges on the Pullman started to go from packing it too full over the years. I think I jettisoned the luggage in Lander. Suitcase wheels came out around that time.

The typewriter is long gone, too, replaced by computers that have more processing power than NASA had when it sent astronauts to the moon.

One thing leads to another.

I’ve collected typewriters since I watched “California Typewriters” with Tom Hanks. I’m selling those at the Wyoming Writers Conference.

As I pass family heirlooms to younger relatives, I wonder which items will matter 50 years from now.

Will it be the painting?

The books?

The family photographs?

Or will it be some random object that’s unremarkable today?

That’s the secret.

The gifts that change our lives aren’t always the exciting ones. They’re the molded steel luggage that says, “Go see the world.”

They’re the typewriter that says, “Learn this. You’ll thank us later.”

Mom and Dad were right.

I hate when that happens.