I was born in 1935; too young to notice the condition of our living standard. All I know is that we lived in an upstairs apartment, and our mom worked at a restaurant. We seemed to have sufficient housing and food living in a small two room apartment with a small kitchen. My older brother and I shared one of the rooms.
We lived in what was then J-town where there were Japanese businesses, and a movie theater on our block. I never saw our father, who worked out on farms to earn a living, but he died when I was two years old.
I didn't even remember attending his funeral except for the fact that my uncle was carrying me at the front of the Buddhist Church where a picture was taken in 1937. He took our father's ashes back to Hiroshima to be buried at the family grave site before WWII. In 1982, my wife and I visited Hiroshima and my father's burial place to pay our respects.