On Gold Mountain: The One-Hundred-Year Odyssey of My Chinese-American Family Read online

  Still in China and secure in the knowledge that Ticie was taking care of business in Los Angeles, Fong See settled into the routine of a landed Chinese gentleman. After years of curbing his impulse to buy land, he embarked on this enterprise with a vengeance. In the village, people happily traded their mud or brick shacks for American dollars that they could exchange for huge amounts of Chinese money. Buying property in Fatsan for his hotel proved to be more difficult, for on the site that Fong See had chosen stood Bu Sing Huei Kwan, a family association temple that housed records for the Bu Sing clan dating back hundreds of years. Eventually the patriarchs of the Bu Sing fell victim to their own avarice, agreeing not only to sell the property but also the thousand clay statues that had been part of the temple’s religious decoration for as long as anyone could remember. Once the patriarchs had parted with these, Fong See encouraged them to sell the rest: a large, multi-armed Shiva with the sun and moon in each hand, and a set of carved, gessoed, gold-leafed, and painted male and female Ming Dynasty tribute figures.

  He purchased all of the temple’s carvings, including an arch that stood twenty feet high behind the main altar. The arch, of carved, gilded wood, portrayed the Eight Treasures: the pearl, the lozenge, the pair of sacred scrolls, the cups made from rhino horn, the coins, the stone chime, the mirror, and the artemisia leaf. Also carved on it were bats, the symbol of long life (Fong See recalled how his father had used dried bat to ensure longevity, good sight, and a general feeling of well-being and happiness); a rendering of a gourd, to remind pilgrims of Li T’ieh-kuai, one of the Eight Immortals, as well as necromancy and mystery. There were phoenixes, deer, doves, two-faced dragon bats—all symbols of good luck, longevity, and immortality. All of these purchases were packed and shipped to Los Angeles.

  In early 1921 the construction of the Fatsan Grand Hotel—a modern, four-story structure in a city that had never before had a hotel, let alone one with western-style toilets and bathtubs—neared completion. Fong See conducted daily inspections of the property. As he walked through the main courtyard to the wooden steps that led upstairs to the main entry for the hotel, he could see that work still needed to be done, but it was already evident that the lobby would be very grand. A large front desk of carved mahogany had been installed, which curved from the top of the stairs across the length of the room. At each end of the lobby, floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows cast a glow of Peking rose, celadon green, and imperial yellow. The window at the front of the hotel looked down to the bustling street below. The rear window opened onto a courtyard that would one day be cooled by the shade of large plants and dotted with tables and chairs for the weary traveler. Across the courtyard he observed workmen painting the building that would serve as his town house.

  Wandering through the first three floors of the hotel, examining the heavy wooden guest-room doors with their frosted-glass windows, he conjured up in his mind’s eye the Bradbury Building in Los Angeles, and instructed the architect to have numbers stenciled on each transom. On the fourth floor, Fong See saw, though he didn’t fully understand, how modern the kitchen would be when completed.

  A small army of laborers was on their hands and knees, laying tile. He had found a ceramics factory in nearby Shiwan to re-create the intricate designs he had grown to admire in the mansions and great public buildings of Los Angeles. Now, on each floor of the hotel, he found tilework in geometric patterns—some in a star of red, black, and white, others in ribbonlike designs that unraveled down the long hallways in magenta, puce, and aquamarine.

  One sunny morning late in January, sedan-chair bearers, trotting along the raised walkways between the rice paddies, carried Fong See from Fatsan to Dimtao. As he neared the village, he saw the high roof of his nearly completed villa towering over Dimtao’s protective wall. When he reached the gatehouse at the main entrance of his new compound, he was met by his architect, who guided him into a spacious courtyard. Now the courtyard was just rough dirt strewn with the detritus of construction, but in time it would become an arboretum of exotic plants and trees.

  Fong See was nothing if not a man with an opulent imagination. Just as the Fatsan Grand Hotel paid equal homage to the art deco sensibilities of Southern California and the famed ceramic works of Kwangtung Province, so too did the mansion in the village. Craftsmen from across the country had been hired and brought to this small village to make stained glass, to chisel teak room dividers inset with glass etched in cloud and dragon motifs, and to draw up exquisite ceramic designs that would then be manufactured in Shiwan, as they had been for the hotel.

  He paid attention to every detail. Sewer pipes—a mystery to both the architect and the laborers, and therefore exposed throughout the house—were embellished with glazed ceramic floral garlands in yellow, green, white, and pink. Above each of the windows were delicately rendered three-dimensional glazed birds reminiscent of those found in the thousand-year-old Temple of Ancestors in Fatsan. Decorative carved and enameled landscapes graced the second-story veranda. On the more practical side, this would be the first house in the history of the village to have glass windows and western-style toilets.

  Fong See climbed to the spacious sheltered pavilion on the roof to survey his domain—the fields afar, the brick and mud huts of his cousins and the peasants who worked in his fields below. It only pained him that his mother would not live to see the completion of these efforts—the culmination of her own hard work and sacrifice. In recent days, Fong See had hired four men to lift her onto a long rattan chair and carry her through the village to view the house. He promised himself that he would stay in China until Shue-ying died. When she joined her ancestors, he would personally see to the professional mourners and the banquet.

  For all of these efforts, the villagers praised Fong See. People liked to tell the story of the time the noodle peddler came through Dimtao while Fong See was taking a walk, and Gold Mountain See had bought noodles for each of the villagers who had gathered together to chat under a banyan tree. Because of this and his other charitable deeds, the villagers protected their Gold Mountain See during his time in Dimtao. “He is a very important person from the Nam Hoi District,” they told each other. “Whenever people ask if he is Gold Mountain See, we must deny it.” Every time they denied his identity—and another gang of potential kidnappers was thwarted—Fong See would host another banquet. He relished their approbation, which made him feel strong and powerful.

  Today, before leaving the village, he ordered a stone carver to inscribe a piece of marble with the blessing “Happiness Is Coming Through the Gate,” to be inset above the porticoed entrance to the house. Fong See also instructed an artist to paint the characters of two Confucian couplets—one stressing family harmony, the other divining family prosperity—to hang on either side of the front door. Of course, there was just one problem. Whom could he trust to take care of it all when he went home?

  Fong See had the mansion, the Fatsan Grand Hotel, and the ongoing export business for the F. Suie One Company. He also owned factories that made paper goods, firecrackers, baskets, and kites. He had built his empire on the sweat, blood, and trust of his family members. It would have been inconceivable for Fong See to bring in an outside person to manage things. Uncle was a logical choice, but recently he’d shown signs of dissatisfaction with his position within the F. Suie One Company. Fong See had then settled on Eddy, but Ticie wouldn’t hear of it.

  A year had passed since Ticie had returned to Los Angeles, and Fong See still hadn’t completely forgiven her. He still didn’t understand why Eddy couldn’t have stayed in China, when Fong See himself had been on his own, selling matches in Canton when he was only seven, and had married and gone to the Gold Mountain when he was Eddy’s age. But Fong See also knew that his disagreement with his wife went far beyond whether or not Eddy should take care of business in China.

  The way Fong See saw it, Ticie wouldn’t obey him, didn’t respect him, and refused to see him as the person he had become. He was no longer a young
Chinese man striving to get ahead in a foreign land; after years of struggle in Los Angeles, he realized that he could only achieve limited success. In China he could reach as high as he wished; he could use his money and influence in any way he chose. All of the things he had dreamed about in Los Angeles were actually possible for him in China. Here he was Gold Mountain See—landowner, exporter, headman of the village. But he couldn’t maintain this position without help.

  Without a blood relative in China on whom he could rely, Fong See decided that Ming should marry a local Chinese girl with a competent family. Through a go-between, Fong See found sixteen-year-old Ngon Hung, whose name meant “Red Face,” from Nam Bin village in Fong See’s own Nam Hoi District. Ngon Hung supported herself by making firecrackers. Each week she went to a factory where she picked up thick red paper, took it home, and, with the grace that came from countless repetitions, rolled the paper into red casings. Next she hammered the bottom to close each firecracker, leaving the top open, and finally she packed them upright into huge rounds to be returned to the factory where other workers would insert wicks and powder.

  Ngon Hung was the only child of a widow, Fong Guai King, who was rumored to be business-minded, level-headed, and organized. Indeed she must have been, for when Fong See met Guai King, even though she was a foot-bound woman, he decided to entrust his many interests to her. They negotiated a bride-price for Ngon Hung. All that was needed was a groom.

  No one living today remembers exactly what transpired, and, as is often the case with deceptions, the record is shadowy. One story is that Milton was sent for, and when he arrived in China, his father reminded him of the plight of Chinese bachelors in Los Angeles and what they wouldn’t do for a wife. But Milton balked at marrying the peasant girl. He was a playboy, after all, used to fast women and fast cars. Unwilling to lose face, Fong See married the girl himself and, in traditional fashion, the bride didn’t see her husband-to-be until the wedding night. Instead of a young and handsome groom, she discovered a man with graying hair who was already shrinking with age and complained constantly of scratchy skin.

  In this scenario, the fact that no one mentions that Milton had already married Dorothy Hayes presumably shows that the city-wife/village-wife tradition was an accepted pattern in the family. Nevertheless, immigration records show that Milton didn’t go back to China in 1921 or 1922. However, he did return in 1925, and it’s possible, though highly unlikely, that even at this late date (after Ngon Hung had already given birth to a daughter), Fong See still wanted him to marry the girl. In fact, there is another story that Milton wanted to take a second wife during his 1925 trip to China, but that the bride-price couldn’t be resolved.

  The most reliable version is that Ticie was in the store and noticed Uncle acting strangely after receiving one of her husband’s letters. She asked Uncle to translate the whole letter, but he refused. For years they had worked side by side, Ticie doing the books in English while Uncle did them in Chinese. “You’re a good woman,” Uncle is reputed to have said. “You’ve slaved alongside him and helped him make money.” Then he wrote his brother to suggest that he renounce this new marriage: “Ticie has been a good wife to you. You promised our mother that Ticie would be your Number One wife. You can’t have a better person than Ticie.” All this may be true, but Uncle still couldn’t bring himself to tell Ticie what his brother had done.

  And yet somehow word got out in Chinatown about what Fong See was up to. Rumors passed from mouth to mouth, from store to store, with the fury and speed of those who wish harm on the mighty. Jennie Chan, Sissee’s old friend, must have experienced a certain malicious glee in confronting the girl who had shown off her wealth with movie tickets and boxes of candy. “I hear your father has another wife,” Jennie said. “Everyone in Chinatown knows about it.” It was news to Sissee, just as it was news to the rest of the family. Finally, Ticie stole the letter Fong See had written Uncle, took it to a professional letter reader, and discovered positive proof that her husband had married again. As Ticie railed against Suie, Uncle tried to intervene. “Don’t be so hardheaded,” he told her. “Don’t close your heart. Don’t be stubborn.” Like her husband, Ticie didn’t listen to Fong Yun’s advice.

  For years the family maintained that this third marriage was simply a business arrangement. But as relatives have died and morals have changed, the family has loosened its view. “My grandfather had no reason other than his own whim,” says Richard, my father. “He was just a horny old man.” Sumoy, the youngest daughter of Fong See and Ngon Hung, believes that her mother was brought to the United States as a young “cousin” or “niece,” and not as a wife at all. “My mother was beautiful, and this was a chance for her to come to America,” Sumoy says. “She was surprised to be marrying my father, but she wasn’t shocked. She had been told that this person would take care of her. She wouldn’t starve, and her mother would be taken care of, too.”

  Sumoy believes her father regarded the marriage as a way of showing his status. “My father was successful, and he was telling the world he could have a teeny-bopper. He could say that he was still able to produce children and could provide for them. To have a wife from China and to keep her in the Chinese tradition made him feel stronger.” Of the marriage between Fong See and Letticie Pruett, Sumoy adds, “She had four boys, and for a Chinese family to have that many sons is a feat in itself. But to surmount the odds”—the miscegenation laws and the racist attitudes of Chinese and Caucasians—“they must have had a great love.”

  And so it was that early in 1921, Fong See, a man in his mid-sixties, married Ngon Hung, a beautiful sixteen-year-old with high cheekbones and fine skin. Within the prescribed time, Ngon Hung gave birth to a daughter whose name, Jong Oy (Deep Love), was eerily close to Sissee’s of Jun Oy (True Love). Shortly thereafter, Ticie filed for a legal separation from her husband.

  After Shue-ying’s death and burial in the spring of 1922, Fong See left China. Upon his arrival in Los Angeles in May 1922, Fong See sought the advice of the former soldier of fortune Richard White, who, in turn, directed him to the services of Mr. Ogden, an attorney. By 1924, the contract marriage to Ticie was made null and void, with no formal divorce, for it had never been a state-recognized marriage. The couple divided the La Habra and Long Beach properties, with Ticie getting the better half. In exchange, Ticie relinquished her claim on all properties in China. For child support, Fong See promised to pay twenty-five dollars a month for Sissee alone.

  Fong See kept the store at 510 Los Angeles Street, changing the name to the Fong See On Company. From now on, he would go by his true last name, Fong. Ticie closed a new Pasadena store. She also took the majority of the good merchandise—including all of the best antiques from the Pasadena and Chinatown stores—leaving her husband between $50,000 and $80,000 worth of stock. She moved her family out of Chinatown to the store at Seventh and Kip streets, one block west of Figueroa, in downtown. This store retained the name F. Suie One Company.

  Ngon Hung would have to wait several years to take her rightful place at the side of her husband on the Gold Mountain, although he traveled frequently to China to see her. In 1924, the United States government passed a new immigration law, colloquially called the “Second Exclusion Act.” Designed to prohibit the immigration of Japanese, the law also allowed the practically unlimited entry of immigrants from Ireland, Italy, and Poland, but only 105 annually from China. While the law encouraged European immigrant men to bring their wives, who had non-quota status, it completely barred the entry of women from Japan, China, Korea, and India. Even the wives of U.S. citizens were excluded. (In addition, any American who married a Chinese national lost his or her citizenship.) Over the next five years, virtually no women left China to come to California. As a result of the new law, the male-female ratio in Chinatowns across the country once again dropped. In Los Angeles the ratio hovered at ten men for every woman.

  On December 20, 1927, the American consulate in Canton finally granted Ngon Hung permiss
ion to travel to the United States. On January 3, 1927, she boarded the SS President McKinley. The U.S. Department of Labor’s Immigration Service recorded her arrival in San Francisco on February 28, 1928. Fong Ming Chuen, Ngon Hung’s infant son, accompanied her. Acquiring permission for Jong Oy to come to the United States would take several more years, as her 1921 birth gave the immigration inspectors pause. After posing as a legally married man for so long, Fong See had a hard time explaining this new family to immigration interrogators. If Fong See wasn’t “divorced” from his American wife until 1924, how could he have a daughter with another woman? If Jong Oy was an adopted child, as Fong See maintained, then what legitimate reason could there be for her to come to the United States? Jong Oy and her parents would not be together in Los Angeles until October 22, 1932.

  Statistics, transit dates, and immigration records would have meant nothing to Ticie in the devastating weeks and months following her discovery of her husband’s marriage to a sixteen-year-old girl. Ticie had been apart from her husband before. He had gone to China without her. He had traveled around the United States, going to shows and fairs for weeks and months at a time. It never occurred to her that Suie would take another wife. Of course there had been Yong, her husband’s first virgin wife, but she had meant absolutely nothing to Suie. So Ticie hadn’t worried when Suie’s absence turned into months, and the months became a year. Suie was just doing business, she assured herself. As soon as the hotel was completed, he would come home and everything would go on as before.