Twilight of the Nisei : Retailing: The closing of Tad and Marie Uyemura’s store is seen by some to typify the waning cultural influence of second-generation Japanese.

It is twilight for the Nisei Oriental Gift Shop, where 40 years ago a young couple named Tad and Marie Uyemura plunked down their savings and claimed their piece of the American dream.

In a few weeks the Uyemuras will close the door. The ornamental chimes clanging and dangling from the ceiling will rest silent. The shelves that once held rows of hand-painted dolls--some dressed in flowery, regal robes for the girls, others adorned with helmets and swords for the boys--will go bare.

Then the shop, the oldest and one of only a few left in the area specializing in traditional and authentic Japanese wares, will be no more.

Gardena will lose a landmark.

The Uyemuras understand this, but 40 years is enough for them. It is time to retire.

“You can’t live forever,” said Tad Uyemura, 67.”You have got to be able to enjoy your life.”

From their perch behind the counter of the modest gift shop, the Uyemuras have watched Gardena’s strawberry patches give way to mini-malls and office buildings. They have also watched as other Japanese shops closed over the years, leaving just the Uyemuras’ and a smaller one in Torrance.

But, customers said, the Uyemuras’ was special, with its 2,000 items, from 25-cent greeting cards to a $3,500 Samurai statue. And they looked forward to the old-fashioned, personal touch.

“Things are so tough and strange in other stores it was nice to come to a friendly place,” said retired teacher Alice Sekijuchi, shopping at Nisei on a recent day.

The accolades came often on a recent afternoon, and the Uyemuras collected them with grace, even embarrassment.

Bob Asamoto, 63, first walked through their door 35 years ago. It was in their store that he connected with his Japanese heritage. How far must he go now, Asamoto asked, to find something like the figurine of Kutani, the Japanese god of long life, that he had just bought?

“I redid my house, and most of the decorations came from here,” Asamoto said. “I liked coming here because of my heritage. I just feel comfortable sitting in my living room seeing all of this stuff. Maybe the young don’t feel that way, but I do.”

Henry Hamamoto, 45, a customer for 18 years, admired the way the Uyemuras made sure there were plenty of Japanese-theme greeting cards and ceremonial adornments straight from Japan. To find such items otherwise, he said, means a 20-mile trip to downtown Los Angeles.

“It’s something you take for granted,” Hamamoto said. “You always count on something being there, and then it goes away.”

All nice sentiments, but “we are not looking for sympathy,” said Tad Uyemura.

Still, it is not easy to close the book on 40 years. For Marie Uyemura, it hit home not long ago when a customer wrote a long letter of regret, including this line: “Gardena will never be the same. Where shall we go?”

“I got about halfway through it and I just started to cry,” said Marie Uyemura, 66.

For others, the passing of the Uyemuras’ store is a sign of a troubling trend: The businesses of the nisei, the second-generation Japanese-Americans born in the United States, seem to be disappearing.

The nisei, the standard-bearers of Japanese culture, are mostly in their 60s now. The children of Japanese parents, they have tried to pass on the culture to succeeding generations, but some fret the younger generations are not as in tune with the traditions as they should be.

“The nisei merchants were the backbone of Japanese-American society,” said Grace Setsuda of the city’s Japanese American Citizens League. “It looks like the nisei are fading away.”

At one time most of western Gardena Boulevard was lined with Japanese-American businesses, she said. Today it is a hodgepodge of various ethnic stores, with an increasing Latino presence. The original site of the Uyemuras’ store on the street is now an Italian deli.

There, at 1141 W. Gardena Blvd., the couple started on the bumpy road to entrepreneurship. Tad Uyemura had hoped to become an engineer, but when World War II broke out while he was in high school, he and his family were sent to an internment camp in Wyoming.

After the war, his dreams were sidelined by the need to work. He worked in landscaping just as his father had.

In 1950 he married Marie, an office worker in Los Angeles, and they set about saving up for a retail store, figuring there was a future in that line of work. They opened it as a shop specializing in baby clothing and small gifts that Japanese who are new parents customarily give to thank well-wishers.

It was hard at first. Tad Uyemura still worked in landscaping on the side.

And even now, at the end, it can be rough.

“While you are home watching TV (at night) we are here cleaning,” said Marie Uyemura.

Eventually they dropped the baby clothes and focused on the gifts, moving into the more spacious Town and Country (now Kyoto) Plaza in 1962. Through the years they added jewelry and other assorted knickknacks but made sure they carried only authentic, Japanese imported goods.

Marie Uyemura, who usually wore a floral-print Japanese blouse, picked out most of the traditional clothing and ceramics. Tad Uyemura, who would dress in a vest, dress shirt and gray slacks--the shopkeeper look--handled the books and knickknacks.

Kimonos, sake sets, hand-painted dishes, origami paper, chan-chanko quilted vests, sumi-e ink painting supplies, fans, pens, stickers, Japanese books, ikebana flower vases--all packed to the rafters. They supplied local cultural festivals and people just curious about Japan.

It all worked out for the Uyemuras. “We are comfortable but we are not rich,” said Marie Uyemura. A pause, and then: “We were rich in customers.”

And rich in memories of the mundane and the unusual.

They watched their children grow up in the store, occasionally tending the register. They watched children of customers grow up and become customers themselves. They recalled with bemusement the Hollywood costume designer who bought dozens of happi coats for use in “Karate Kid II.”

“We could recognize our happi coats in the movie,” said Marie Uyemura, still awed at the thought. “I don’t know how they found us.”

A few years ago a film producer wanted to shoot scenes in the store, but the Uyemuras balked. It would have meant closing for a few weeks.

“It would not be fair to the customers,” Marie Uyemura explained.

Now, those customers will be referred to a smaller shop in Torrance or one in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles.

Despite their long years in business, the Uyemuras do not plan anything fancy for the last day. It will be a simple passing. They will take down the clearance sale signs and prepare unsold goods for auction or return to suppliers.

Then at 6 o’clock on Feb. 28, Tad Uyemura will close the door, turn the key, and maybe sip some champagne with Marie and their two part-time workers.