A picture of 'Miss Breed,' a snapshot of war hysteria

Clara Breed, a children's librarian in San Diego, never married and never had any children. At least none of her own.

But until her death in 1994, at 88, she talked about "her children," dozens of them, Japanese-Americans who were sent to incarceration camps during World War II.

Joanne Oppenheim, 71, who has written more than 50 books for children and parents, says she never heard of "the remarkable Miss Breed until I met her on the Internet."

That was in 2001, when Oppenheim was searching for an old classmate to invite to their 50th high school reunion.

She found the classmate, as well as Breed, and another book to write: Dear Miss Breed: True Stories of the Japanese American Incarceration During World War II and a Librarian Who Made a Difference (Scholastic, $22.99).

It's aimed at readers 12 and older. Young readers "should know about a brave woman and a shameful part of our history," Oppenheim says. She dismisses the official terms "relocation" and "internment" camps as "doublespeak for 'incarceration' and 'concentration camps.'"

Oppenheim stumbled across the story searching for former classmates at Monticello (N.Y.) High School. One of them, Ellen Yukawa, was among 120,000 Japanese-Americans, most of them U.S. citizens, who were rounded up by the FBI and incarcerated after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Oppenheim's search took her to the website of the Japanese American National Museum (www.janm.org). There, she found dozens of letters from children incarcerated in places such as Poston, Ariz., and Heart Mountain, Wyo.

The letters all began "Dear Miss Breed" and they thanked her for books and toys she had sent.

Breed had known the children in San Diego as library patrons before the war and considered their incarceration a terrible injustice.

During the war, she published essays in Library Journal and Horn Book Magazine describing "her children. ... One day they were living in a democracy, as good as anyone or almost, and the next they were 'Japs' aware of hate and potential violence."

Oppenheim says wartime hysteria and racism were widespread, especially on the West Coast, which feared a Japanese invasion.

Oppenheim found no evidence that Breed was penalized for her unpopular views. After the war, she was San Diego's city librarian for 25 years. She stayed in touch with many of her "children," and in 1991 she was honored at a reunion of Japanese-Americans who had been incarcerated in Poston.

She saved the children's letters and gave them to one of her correspondents, Elizabeth Kikuchi Yamada, who, in the introduction to Dear Miss Breed, writes: "Every book that Clara Breed sent me was an affirmation that we were not the enemy. ... Every book was hope."

Oppenheim spent five years on her book, slowed by breast cancer (she's now in remission), and says she was struck by how relevant the story became after 9/11 and a new wartime debate about civil liberties and national security.

Oppenheim finished her book with one disappointment: Breed had saved the children's letters to her, but Oppenheim couldn't find any of Breed's letters to the children.

But just before the book went to press, Oppenheim called one of Breed's correspondents, Tetsuzo Hirasaki, looking for a recent photo. His niece called back to say her uncle had died but she would send a photo of him from the reunion.

She also found in her uncle's papers a letter from Breed. It became the final page in the book.

It's typed and addressed to "Dear Tetsuzo" and says in part:

"You said once that you were 'afraid' of dissension among the Japanese. I have moments of being 'afraid' of America. I want so much to have her live up to your unshaken belief in her."

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