On Gold Mountain Page 33
With all this change, Chinatown’s teenagers experienced a freedom that would have been regarded as unseemly as little as five years before. In a survey conducted in 1939, 210 Chinese boys and girls said they listened to the radio, and professed a deep admiration for Jack Benny and Eddie Cantor. The teenagers also enjoyed George Burns and Gracie Allen, Jack Oakie, Fred Allen, Al Jolsen, and Al Pearce. The girls adored Bing Crosby, while the boys preferred the Hit Parade Orchestra.
Where was Fong See during all this? He was being the maverick he’d always been. He had made his reputation and maintained his strength by avoiding the traditional roles of his fellow immigrants. Of course, he’d brought his family home from China before serious bombing started, but not before his children had participated in anti-Japanese rallies to protest the selling in China of Japanese-made toys and appliances. Naturally, he was disturbed when the Japanese captured Fatsan and decided that they would use his hotel for their headquarters.
But See-bok didn’t concern himself with local anti-Japanese propaganda. He didn’t go to rallies. He didn’t care that shipping routes were closed and dangerous. In his Department of Water and Power compound he had great quantities of Japanese merchandise sitting in packing crates from numerous trips. His neighbors, who had lost relatives in the Rape of Nanking or in the numerous bombing raids of civilians, were incensed by See-bok’s attitude. It wasn’t just that Fong See wouldn’t give to their causes, but that he flaunted his Japanese merchandise, displaying it prominently in the front windows of his store. “Fong See plays two ways,” people grumbled. “He’s on both sides. We ought to hit this guy.”
For a brief moment See-bok gave the appearance of retiring. In 1939, J.J. Sugarman, an auctioneer and dealer who had been involved in the shooting of The Good Earth, approached him with an offer to buy the entire stock of merchandise of the F. See On Company, all cash. Fong See quickly agreed to the terms. Sugarman sold the merchandise at a “sale” from the store’s longtime location at 510 Los Angeles Street. Once this was completed, Fong See resumed tenancy. He became famous for this transaction. Even forty years after his death, there would be those in Chinatown who would still shake their heads in a combination of awe, disbelief, and sheer happiness that a Chinese could best a Caucasian.
See-bok had held some of the best things back from Sugarman, and prepared to start over again. This time See-bok wouldn’t have “partners.” He would work solely on his own, without having to deal with the niggling harassment of the immigration officials. But he was eighty-two, an age when travel and negotiations were hard to do alone. Chuen, his eldest son by Ngon Hung, was only twelve, too young to be of any help on a buying trip. Instead, See-bok turned to his eldest son from his marriage to Ticie. “I wish to go to China on a buying trip,” he told Milton. “You need to come. I am too old to do all of that bargaining by myself.”
“Okay, I’ll take this last trip with you,” Ming answered. He packed his bag, said good-bye to Dorothy, and accompanied his father overseas.
The 1939 trip to China would serve them both well. Fong See had taught his sons that profit could always be made during unrest. Everyone in Chinatown sensed that war with Japan was coming in a big way. Fong See knew, and Ming agreed, that now was the time to go over and get out as much as they could. Together, Ming and his father would be able to buy in bulk, separating the goods once they got back to Los Angeles.
This trip would also expand the types of merchandise both stores carried. Collecting had changed in the years Fong See had been in business. Until China’s 1911 revolution, Americans had followed longstanding European tastes when it came to Chinese antiques. Collectors filled their drawing rooms and parlors with either polychrome porcelains in rose, green, and blue and white, or monochromes—sang de boeuf, DuBarry pink, blanc de chine, clair de lune, flame rouge, and soufflé.
After 1911, royal artifacts—Ming scrolls, palace appointments, imperial robes, and Ming porcelains—had flooded the market. The following tumultuous years of the warlords had brought further hardship to China, with the result that many families were forced to sell heirlooms that many collectors and museum representatives considered superior to the royal ware. Most of these items dated back to the Sung Dynasty and included jades, early metals, paintings, jewels, and ceramics. New porcelains—snowy tings, Lung Chuans, Kuan crackles, splashed chuns or ch’iens—suddenly appeared on the market. During this same period, Chinese railroad crews were burrowing through mountains, breaking through city walls, and accidentally opening graves. As laborers unearthed works from the Han, Tsin, Wei, and Sui dynasties, a passion for primitive works took hold. Finally, as western collectors became increasingly sophisticated, they became more enamored of the great loves of the Chinese themselves—paintings, bronzes, and jades.
Sissee, early 1920s.
Ming See as a handsome playboy, 1920s.
Ray See as a handsome playboy, 1920s.
Eddy’s graduation photo, 1924.
Stella Copeland, 1924.
Bennie and Bertha at the beach, early 1920s.
Immigration photo of Ngon Hung and Chuen, 1927. (National Archives, Pacific Sierra Region)
Immigration photo of Lui Ngan Fa, 1927. (National Archives, Pacific Sierra Region)
Immigration photo of Leong-shee and her children. Top row: Danny Ho and Kuen. Bottom row: Choey Lau and Haw. (National Archives, Pacific Sierra Region)
The house in Dimtao, 1920s.
The old Department of Water and Power building on Alameda Street where Fong See set up a compound for his family and that of his brother, Fong Yun. (El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historical Monument)
Los Angeles Street. Left to right: Lugo House, F. See On Company (after the separation), and Soochow Restaurant. Ticie’s F. Suie One Company was on the comer at the far left. (Bison Archives)
Tyrus Wong.
Painting of Sissee by Benji Okubo.
Sissee outside the Dragon’s Den, late 1930s.
Exterior of Dragon’s Den viewed from Marchessault Street. The F. Suie One Company was upstairs. Late 1930s. (El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historical Monument)
Richard See, c. 1935.
Anna May Wong
Uncle Fong Yun’s family, c. 1933. Top row: Haw’s wife, Haw, Kuen’s wife, Choey Lau, Kuen, Ho’s wife, Ho. Seated: Leong-shee and Fong Yun. Bottom row: Gim, Chong, and Gai.
China City (El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historical Monument)
New Chinatown
“Howard Yip goes to work daily with the sign above displayed on his back—notice to fellow workers he’s Chinese and anxious to help smash the Japanese.” Photo and caption from the Herald Examiner, January 1942. (Hearst Collection, Department of Special Collections, University of Southern California)
Ticie, late in life.
Leslee Leong, 1945.
Fong See’s children from the second family, c. 1945. Sumoy, Gary, Jong Oy, May Oy, and Chuen.
By the mid-thirties, no single genre was more popular and sought after by American collectors than archaic bronzes, some dating from as early as the eighteenth century B.C. (The Chinese themselves had harbored a passion for these vessels since the time of Christ, when copies first made their appearance. And as recently as World War I, the Chinese still cherished their bronzes, negotiating with Germany through the Versailles Treaty for the return of an antique bronze astronomical instrument taken from the Peking Imperial Observatory during the Boxer Rebellion.) Fong See hoped that he would be able to find bronzes at a decent price.
The trip through Korea, Japan, and China proved to be strenuous and difficult. The Koreans expected Fong See to kowtow to them, which he found unimaginable, unthinkable, intolerable. The Koreans insulted him and didn’t show respect. He raged, while Ming tried to pacify him. That only made Fong See angrier and more belligerent-In China they traveled into areas already occupied by the Japanese. They went to Jingdezhen to what had once been a royal kiln, and loaded their purchases on barges and floated them down the Yangtze. Along the way, they ad
vertised for people to come to the riverside to sell their belongings. Slowly Ming and See-bok floated from Nanking to Shanghai. The Japanese stopped them, boarded their boat, and attempted to confiscate everything. One legend has it that Ming and See-bok were afraid for their lives; another says that Ming acted like “an arrogant son of a bitch” and this time it was his father who tried to calm him down, instead of the other way around.
As See-bok predicted, business was good. In Yokohama, Ming bought six cases of mushrooms (for Dragon’s Den), a rickshaw, and miscellaneous curios for $224.91 U.S. In Kobe he bought ten strings of pearls of varying quality. But most of the merchandise was purchased in China—Canton, Shanghai, and Peking. A random look at a packing slip from the P. H. Yui Company in Peking reveals the breadth and depth of type, quality, and quantity of merchandise father and son purchased.
Case number 1 (all brass): 12 pairs stirrups; 1 peach incense burner; 3 figures; 5 incense burners; 1 unicorn; 4 irons; 3 vases; 2 cows; 1 duck; 1 libation cup; 4 mirrors; 1 stove; 9 symbols; 43 ornaments. Case 67: 1 pottery horse; 2 lacquer trunks; 1 silk embroidery hanging; 2 silk embroidery bedcovers; 4 silk embroidery temple hangings; 2 silk embroidery door hangings; 230 yards of silk, satin, and velvet in white, blue, tan, yellow, and green.
All told, the goods amounted to 134 cases, weighing a total of 28,123 pounds. Cases were measured by overall weight, but also by the gross weight of particular items: plain lacquer, 1,015 pounds; lacquer inlaid with stone, 650 pounds; bone, 20 pounds; ivory, 34 pounds; horn lanterns, 20 pounds; silk embroideries, 120 pounds; porcelain, 607 pounds; Soochow jade, 58 pounds. The merchandise left Peking on November 25,1939, traveled by train to Tientsin, then was placed on the SS Norway Mam, and arrived in Los Angeles on January 18, 1940.
Ming was caught smuggling on his return, although whether the charges resulted from this particular shipment is unclear. Two sets of packing slips had been drawn up—one set showing the real prices, and another listing much lower prices. But Ming, as arrogant as his father, carried both sets of papers on his person. After Ming paid an initial duty of $1,100.30, Customs performed a more thorough search. Four opium pipes were seized, as well as thirty rawhide cutout puppets, for a 100-percent undervaluation. Yet after close inspection of the merchandise, only another $73.77 in duties were required.
Neither Ming nor his father was a stranger to these antics; both had been caught for smuggling several times before. Although they were legitimately culpable, organizational problems within China made matching invoices and packing slips almost impossible. On the other hand, duty was steep, at fifty percent or more, so quite often the exporter would draw up a fake invoice listing goods at half the purchase price.
People on both sides of the Pacific were affected by Ming’s error, as letters from the time attest. Mr. Shing of the Zing Hsiang Shing Company on Nanking Road in Shanghai wrote to acknowledge the trouble Ming was having clearing merchandise through customs at “a lower price.” “We [were] sure you had cleared the trouble long ago,” Mr. Shing wrote. “We are now having the same trouble over in San Francisco, the matter is unsettled pending investigation.” He requested that “Mr. Milton” go to San Francisco and “get the trouble cleared.”
Instead of being angry at Ming, See-bok was pleased. The way he saw it, smuggling was a bad word for an honorable undertaking. If you were smart, you did it. It was an integral part of business, and one of the skills—See-bok happily noted—that Ming had learned well.
Upon his return from China, Fong See decided to leave his Department of Water and Power compound, and rented the Methodist Mis sion’s old space on Los Angeles Street. The basement of this building housed Dragon’s Den. Ticie rented the street level and mezzanine for the F. Suie One Company. Up another flight of stairs, See-bok, Ngon Hung, and their many children took up residence.
Once his family was settled, See-bok began the arduous job of setting up a new business in his old storefront at 510 Los Angeles Street. His longtime Caucasian customers marveled at him. They took a kind of ownership of him, calling him “my Mr. See.” “My Mr. See was rich,” recalled one customer more than fifty years later. “He was a force, a builder who made things happen. The old boy had something. Well, look how I remember it. He had a bit of the pidgin thing, but I want to impress upon you the sense of dignity and quality. He left with me the memory not of a peasant in any way, though a Chinaman, of course.”
By 1940, Gilbert Leong had been dating Sissee See for six years. When he looked at her, he saw a beautiful girl. She had a perfect oval face, not the harsh features of a girl of peasant stock. Her voice was melodious, not the high screech of some Chinese girls or the broad, rough tones of American girls. Her body was slim, without the flat front and back of Chinese girls or the unseemly bulges of American girls. She wore her hair in a chignon run through with elaborate Chinese ornaments. And she was kindness itself, as any person down on his luck knew. For all of these reasons Gilbert loved Sissee, but he still hadn’t proposed. His parents were against the marriage, and Gilbert couldn’t break away from their rigid religious beliefs or their old-fashioned Chinese traditions.
The Leong family had come from the South China village of Sun Wei, known throughout the region for its oranges. In 1896, Gilbert’s father, Leong Jeung, traveled to the Gold Mountain as a laborer, entering the country as a “paper son.” He worked first as a vegetable peddler, going door to door with a pushcart. Later, Gilbert’s mother helped his father open a stall at the City Market. At the top of the market hierarchy were bonded, commissioned merchants who acted on behalf of the farmers to sell their produce. Next came second jobbers, who bought from people like the Leongs and sold to grocery stores. At the bottom were the hang chieh mei—the “walking behind the cart” men who took produce in their carts from neighborhood to neighborhood.
Everyone in the Leong family worked in the stall. Gilbert’s father and older brother stacked the fruit and vegetable crates five or six high. Gilbert’s mother helped sort the produce. Gilbert dressed the fruit, putting the best on top. As with the See family, all the money the children earned went into a family pot and was doled out as necessary by Gilbert’s mother.
After so many years of eighteen-hour days, Leong Jeung had tired of produce, and opened his restaurant in Hollywood. Gilbert had worked as a waiter there, earning more tips when he spoke pidgin English than when he spoke his college English. After the failed Chinese Garden Cafe, the family had opened Soochow in Chinatown. Soochow had been the third restaurant in the city to serve cha nau, tea cakes. Gilbert’s mother insisted on stocking a wide variety of teas—chrysanthemum, Sixth Happiness, oolong, jasmine, and poney with its strong musty flavor—which were always set on the table first. Then the waiters brought out steamers filled with char siu bao (steamed buns stuffed with roast pork) and other dumplings shaped like an ear or a pocketbook or an old man’s scrotum. When the customers finished, the waiter figured the bill by counting up the empty plates. Any dumplings left on the table were taken back to the kitchen and steamed up again.
In 1936, with the success of Soochow, the Leongs moved away from the City Market area to the Italian neighborhood of Cypress Park, at the base of Mount Washington, just east of downtown. The house looked like a Southern plantation house, with two stories, big columns in the front, ten rooms, and plenty of land. Gilbert had heard all kinds of stories about the house—that it had once been a speakeasy, the home of a bootlegger, or the home of Jim Jeffries, the former heavyweight champ. Despite the house’s rather unseemly past, the neighbors had balked at the possibility of a Chinese family moving in. But after the local minister spoke to the neighbors and introduced the Leongs, there hadn’t been any trouble.
Gilbert was a proper Chinese son and an excellent student. He had grown up listening to his mother say, “Don’t embarrass the Chinese people.” His mother was strict in this sense: Gilbert and his brothers and sister knew their English and they knew their Chinese. They grew up speaking Chinese at home. “When I speak
to you in Chinese,” his mother had said when he was a boy, “I expect you to answer me in Chinese. Don’t ever answer me in English. In the first place, I won’t understand you. In the second place, we won’t be able to develop a dialogue. Besides, how would it be for the sons and daughter of the Chinese teacher not to be proficient in Chinese?”
Gilbert started learning Chinese as a small boy, but not from his mother. His mother didn’t have time to do the normal things—darn socks or cook—never mind give private lessons to her son. She was too busy—teaching her classes, traveling up to San Francisco to buy textbooks, brushes, and ink, and working in the produce stall—for things like that. Instead, they brought over Gilbert’s grandmother. After her home chores, she sat with Gilbert at the kitchen table and taught him simple words and phrases.
When it came time for high school, Gilbert’s parents decided that he should go across town to Lincoln, which meant that he’d be passing right through Chinatown after school and could go to his mother’s class. He remembered walking up the dark stairwell and into the room, which faced out onto the corner of Marchessault and Los Angeles streets. He had known all twenty-five students—aged five to eighteen—who were divided into roughly five groups for their recitations. As for his primary lessons, they were indelibly etched in his brain.
“Each lesson will have thirty words,” his mother instructed the new students. “You will pay attention and you will memorize.” Gilbert learned quickly enough that those who didn’t follow his mother’s rules found their hands whacked with the punishing end of a bamboo feather duster.
“The Chinese language was invented by a ruler who watched how worms crawl,” his mother explained. “The worms turn left. The worms turn right. Our language has gone through many centuries of change and evolution. Scholars revise it, throw it out, reinvent it.”