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  As Ticie began slicing the sweet potatoes into wedges, she reflected that her children were doing well considering that their place in Los Angeles society was awkward. Last year, in 1917, Ming and Ray had graduated from Lincoln High School as the only Chinese in the class. Ming and Ray were handsome young men. Both were quiet, cautious, and sometimes unsure of their places. Like their younger siblings, they’d often been excluded. How many parties had Ray and Milton missed? How many dances? How many girls had said no, they couldn’t possibly go out with them? Ming and Ray each had their own cars, the best money could buy, but only each other to drive with. Ticie worried about her elder sons’ isolation, but she knew there was nothing she could do about it.

  Workers on the railroad. (Asian American Studies Library, University of California at Berkeley)

  Work on the railroad continued, even in snow drifts. (Asian American Studies Library, University of California at Berkeley)

  Chinese laborer in a garment factory. (Asian American Studies Library, University of California at Berkeley)

  Anti-Chinese cartoons such as this one were prevalent during the years leading up to the Exclusion Act of 1882. (Asian American Studies Library, University of California at Berkeley)

  Marchessault Street in Los Angeles, 1896. (Los Angeles County Museum of Natural History)

  Fong See as a young man, c. 1880s.

  Ming, Fong See, Ray, Ticie, in China, 1901.

  Immigration photo of Fong Yun, 1903. (National Archives, Pacific Sierra Region)

  This 1908 immigration photo of Fong Yun shows how much he changed in five years. (National Archives, Pacific Sierra Region)

  Merchandise set up for an auction, sometime between 1910 and 1915.

  Ming and Ray in the F. Suie One Company, c. 1904.

  Early photo of an F. Suie One Company location, possibly Long Beach.

  Fong See outside the longtime location of the F. Suie One Company at 510 Los Angeles Street, c. 1906.

  Fong See decorates a car show, date unknown.

  Ray and Ming pose with the daughter of a customer outside the store, c. 1905.

  Family portrait, 1914. Top row: Ray and Ming. Bottom row: Eddy, Fong See, Sissee, Ticie, and Bennie.

  Sissee, 1914.

  Stella Copeland, as a “city girl,” 1912.

  Stella and her mother, Jessie, by a cook wagon, c. 1913.

  Photo of four generations, 1905: Stella Copeland as a baby, with her mother, Jessie Huggins Copeland; her grandmother Flora Elizabeth Lewis Huggins; and her greatgrandfather Chauncy August Lewis.

  Mrs. Leong’s Chinese language class at the Methodist Mission in Los Angeles. Jennie Chan (Sissee’s friend) is the girl standing just to Mrs. Leong’s left. June 1919. (El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historical Monument)

  The Leong family in China, 1919. Middle row: Mrs. Leong, her sister, her father, her mother, and Leong Jeung. Front row: Elmer, Gilbert, and Margie. Ed Leong is on the left in the back row.

  Eddy, 1919. (National Archives, Pacific Sierra Region)

  Bennie, 1919. (National Archives, Pacific Sierra Region)

  Fong See, 1919. (National Archives, Sierra Region)

  The Sees certainly had the money to send Ming and Ray to college, but none of them had considered this option. Ticie had finished high school. Her husband hadn’t even gone to school. But they had found success as businesspeople. In turn, they expected Ming and Ray—and the younger children when their time came—to work in the store. In addition, few Chinese sons attended colleges or universities. Those that did usually came from China as already accomplished students, or from American Chinese families where the rarefied tradition of Chinese scholarship was valued.

  As Ticie finished putting the sweet potatoes in a baking dish and topping them with maple syrup and dollops of butter, Sissee come into the kitchen. “Ma, Ma, come quick. Pa’s about to open the surprise.”

  “Okay,” Ticie said. “Let me do a couple of things and I’ll come down with you.”

  Ticie basted the turkey, checked its temperature, and edged the pan over to make room for the sweet potatoes. She washed her hands and wiped them on her apron.

  “Pa made us unpack everything else first,” Sissee said as she pulled her mother toward the back stairs. “Eddy and I have been pounding the nails to make them straight. What do you think is in the crate, Ma? What?”

  As Ticie walked down the stairs to street level, where the store was, and down another flight to the basement, she thought about how her husband liked to pick up odds and ends wherever he traveled. What better place to pick up these oddities than at exhibitions, shows, and world’s fairs? “It’s your love of curiosities,” she said once after he brought home a mermaid—some sort of petrified fish—from one of the sideshows at a fair he’d been to. The owner couldn’t give it away, but Suie had said, “I’ll take it.” Ticie thought it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen, but it might be a draw if they ever opened a branch of the F. Suie One Company on the Boardwalk in Ocean Park.

  Down in the basement, Sissee pulled her mother through the narrow aisles to where the boys rested, balancing on top of several unopened crates. Rice straw and excelsior lay about in fluffy piles. The wooden slates of the other packing crates had already been stacked in the corner. As Sissee had mentioned, the nails had been removed. Both wood and nails would be kept for some future use.

  “Pa, we’re here,” Sissee said. “Can we see it now?”

  Suie nodded at the two older boys, who pried open the remaining boxes. The excelsior fell away to reveal several bronze objects.

  “But what is it?” Ticie asked.

  “You’ll see,” Suie said. Bennie stepped forward, and with Eddy’s help they put the object together, stacking tier upon tier to a height of six feet. Once it was assembled, they saw a hu, a ritualistic vase, used to decorate the entrance to a temple. On its surface was a dragon rendered in bronze, with brass alloy highlighting the scales. The rest was a mishmash of Chinese and Japanese motifs. The waves drew directly from the Japanese, while the clouds and the dragon’s feet were obviously Chinese. There wasn’t a person on earth besides Suie who would have brought the vase home. To Ticie’s eyes, the hu was not a “pure” piece of art. It was just another curiosity.

  “I was next to a booth where they had things from Japan,” Suie said. “From the first day I see this bronze, I say to myself, ‘I want it.’”

  “Who do you think is going to buy it?” Ticie asked slowly.

  “I don’t care about that!” he responded. “We keep it. No one else has anything like this.”

  “Oh, Ma,” Ray groaned. Immediately recognizing his tone, Ticie braced herself for the complaint. “I don’t understand how Pa can spend money on this kind of extravagance, then make the rest of us pound nails. Why, Ma?”

  “You be quiet!” Suie snapped. “You straighten nails or no dinner for you.”

  “Come on,” Ticie said placatingly. “Let’s not quarrel. Today’s Thanksgiving.”

  Ray glared at his father, then picked up the nail straightener and got to work. Why did Ray have to act this way, Ticie wondered. They gave him everything he could possibly want, and he still wasn’t satisfied. Ticie glanced at her husband and said, “I like the piece, Suie, and I’m sure we’ll be able to use it for something. Now, why don’t we go back upstairs and leave the children to finish up.”

  On the stairwell, Suie spoke for the first time since his momentary outburst. “I am a far-ahead thinker,” he said. “That’s why I go to shows and fairs.”

  “I know, dear. I know.”

  Downstairs, Ming gazed at the hu pensively and murmured quietly to his brothers and sister, “Another of Dad’s follies.” What none of them knew at that moment was that the vase would never be sold and would always be called Dad’s Folly, a name that would make all of them laugh ruefully until every single one of them was dead.

  Several hours later, the flaring tempers in the basement were forgotten as the family gathered around the dining table
. Ticie saw the boys focus their attention on the platters of food—all the dishes that she’d eaten for every Thanksgiving since her birth. Eddy and Bennie fairly wiggled in anticipation. Although Sissee sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap, she, too, looked eagerly at the banquet before her.

  The “partners”—the many bachelor “cousins” who’d been brought over—also crowded around the table. They came to dinner in sleeveless undershirts, as though this were any other dinner in the year. They gaped at the food, the plates, the prayers, the words spoken. This evening, one young man stared at the spread as though it were something from another planet. In her heart, Ticie knew that the worker should feel that way. Thanksgiving made no sense to him, just as many things she’d seen in China seemed strange to her.

  In so many ways this was not the life that Ticie had envisioned for herself. Sometimes she wondered, What if Suie hadn’t hired me? Would I have gone to work for Madame Matilde? Would I have gone home to Central Point? Would I have married some farm boy and spent my life worrying about drought, frost, and locusts? Would my children have known nothing more of the world than what they could learn in a one-room schoolhouse? Would my older sons right now be thinking about how they would ever be able to go out on their own, how they might support a wife and children, how they—like their parents—would ever be able to make ends meet?

  On this Thanksgiving evening, surrounded by her family, Ticie knew how incredibly fortunate she was. Ticie Pruett had been an orphan; Ticie See was the mother of five children. Her family had abandoned her emotionally long before they had actually disowned her; now she had an extended family—her few white friends, all these men sitting around her table in their undershirts, even her kindly neighbors. Her family had been poor and hardworking; she still worked hard, very hard, but she and Suie had made a good life for themselves. At this moment, Ticie couldn’t have asked for anything more, except maybe a house.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE HOME VILLAGE

  1919–20

  WHEN World War I ended, thoughts of travel, luxury, and frivolous fun filled the minds of many Americans. The Sees joined in this preamble to the Roaring Twenties by planning a trip back to the home village of Dimtao. As always, Ticie saw to family arrangements while her husband focused on those involving business. At Tide’s request, Anna Mueller filled out affidavits saying that she had delivered all of the children and that they were indeed Americans. With these in hand, the family set about getting their merchant-status permits from the U.S. Department of Labor Immigration Service.

  Perhaps because the case presented seven people of varying status, the Sees went through a more difficult time than usual. First, immigration officials had to decide what to do about Letticie. The Consulate General of the Republic of China wrote a letter claiming her as “a citizen of the Republic of China, age 43 years …” Yet, looking at her enclosed photograph, U.S. immigration officials were confused. Mrs. Fong appeared American and said she was American-born, but this defied all logic. Searching back through their records to a trip Fong See had made alone in 1912, they found that he had testified to having an American-born wife. On further investigation, immigration officials discovered the “usual Chinese papers” for Fong See and his children from the 1901 trip, but no papers on file for anyone calling herself Mrs. Fong See. The only mention was found on the manifest of the steamer Korea: “Mrs. Fong See, age 24, American, no other data, no papers, wife of Fong See.”

  In a letter from the Angel Island station, Inspector W. G. Becktell wrote: “There appears to be some conflict of opinion as to whether an American-born white woman married to a domiciled Chinese merchant should be given Form 431 (for the wife of a lawfully domiciled Chinese merchant), or should be handled directly under the Immigration Law.” Inspector Becktell later added that since the Los Angeles office had made no mention of the race of Fong See, “it might be assumed that in the opinion of the examining officers she is at least part Chinese.” After a flurry of letters and telegrams, the Immigration Service opted for simplicity by omitting Letticie’s race entirely and issuing her a Form 431.

  On June 9, a round of interrogations began. Inspector Harry Blee questioned Ticie on her marriage, her children, and the nature of her husband’s business, then notified her that upon her return to the United States, she would be required to submit to the requirements of a literacy test. “I can meet the requirements, all right,” she answered tartly. Blee then questioned Richard White, who had recently retired from the hardware business to a ranch outside Los Angeles, but who still visited the Sees every Saturday for lunch or dinner; Thomas Clark, a curio dealer who bought and sold goods for Fong See at auction; and police detective Clarence Shy, who stopped by the store as often as once a day. After these inquiries were completed, Blee moved on to the See children, beginning with Milton. After establishing twenty-one-year-old Milton’s American and Chinese names, the inspector asked him to identify photographs of his parents, which he did correctly. “Can you speak Chinese?” Inspector Blee asked.

  “No,” Ming replied.

  “Have you ever voted?”

  “No.”

  “Did you register for military service during the war?” “Yes,” Milton answered, producing his papers. “Do you know any Chinese persons born in the U.S.?” the inspector queried.

  “Besides my brothers and sisters, none that I can testify to,” Milton lied.

  Moving on to Ray, who had just turned nineteen, the inspector asked him to state his name. “Ray See is my English name. I think my Chinese name is Fong Ming Fook, but I never use it.” Again, photographs were produced and identified.

  Bennie, aged sixteen, and Eddy, aged 13, answered promptly and also identified the photographs. Finally, Inspector Blee escorted Sissee, who was just short of her tenth birthday, into the room. As the youngest child, she was the most frightened. Like the rest, she was cautioned to tell the truth.

  “What is your papa’s name?” Blee began.

  “Mr. Fong See.”

  “Do you know whose photo this is?” Blee asked, setting Fong See’s Form 430 application and photograph on the table.

  “That is my papa,” she answered in a quavering voice.

  Blee presented Ticie’s Form 431 application and again queried the girl.

  “This is my mama’s picture,” she told him. He showed her photo graphs of her brothers and asked her to identify them by name. Finally, Blee asked Sissee what she did. “I am going to the California Street School,” she answered. “I am in the B4 grade.”

  Unsatisfied, Blee gathered the children together. “I show you here two other photographs, one marked ‘Exhibit G’ and the other marked ‘Exhibit H,’ which I will attach to the record. I will ask you each separately if you can identify these photographs.” The children were again sent out of the room. Then, going by age, Blee called them in one by one. Each of the boys found and identified the pictures of their parents. As the youngest, Sissee was the last to be called. Presented with the photographs, she pointed, “This is Mr. Fong See, with the G, and my mama is the one with the H.”

  As the interrogations dragged on, Fong See contacted the Chinese consul in San Francisco, which then wired the passport division of the State Department in Washington, D.C., to please forward the passports for the five native-born children without waiting for the arrival of their 430 forms. On June 18, the passport office wired back that this would be impossible. On July 1, based on evidence submitted and adduced during the investigation, the See children were found to “reasonably establish their American citizenship by reason of birth in the United States.” The Department of State concluded that they could be regarded as citizens. The passports—heavy with extra documentation stating the race for each See sibling as “Mongolian”—arrived two weeks later, three days before the family’s scheduled departure.

  While Ticie handled immigration matters, Fong See focused his attentions on what would happen to the business while he was away. In February he had filed a re
vised partner list. Wing Ho still manned the Long Beach store. Fong Yun was managing a new store at 800 West Seventh Street, downtown. (Fong See closed the Pasadena branch, because only he had the expertise to deal with those customers.) The rest of the old names were removed from the partnership list, and a dozen new ones took their place. Ming Kuen and Ming Ho—Uncle’s sons in China—were awarded “partnerships.” As a precaution against unforeseen difficulties from future immigration inspectors, Milton, Ray, Bennie, and Eddy were also given “partnerships” under their Chinese names.

  In the final hectic days before setting sail, Fong See drilled his workers on their duties during his absence. With instructions in hand, Uncle would oversee recalcitrant helpers and clerks, deal with customs officials when Fong See sent merchandise back to the States, supervise the uncrating of each piece, and provide testimony on behalf of the “false” Fong Lai for a return trip to China. At last, on July 17, 1919, Fong See and his family boarded the SS Nanking for the twenty-nine-day trip to Hong Kong via Honolulu, Yokohama, Tokyo, and Shanghai. They planned to stay in China for a year.

  *

  By the end of the first day out of San Francisco, Fong See had checked on everything of importance he needed to know, as far as this leg of the trip was concerned. He laughed when his children complained that the vessel was small and rocked miserably. Compared to the clipper ship he’d first taken to America, the Nanking, a steamer, was civilized and safe. It offered reasonable fares, decent cuisine, and accommodations for all classes. He had appraised his fellow passengers, noting which seating they were called for, and to which deck they retired after dinner. He’d seen only a few Caucasian passengers—missionaries with religious zeal in their hearts, and a handful of businessmen, their eyes glistening with the possibilities of the Far East—who took cabins in first and second class.

  Most of the passengers were sojourners who’d come to the Gold Mountain, worked as laborers, saved their money, and were now retiring to their home villages with one or two thousand dollars in their pockets. Watching them hunker down on the open-air third-class deck for what they surely hoped would be a month-long game of fan-tan, Fong See thought of something his father used to say. Put one and a half Chinese together and you will find gambling. Already a dealer was counting out buttons in sets of four from a metal cup, while other men placed their bets.