Himalayan Hill + Jack =
The Year of the Draggin’

Photo by Bill Major

Laughter – not only is it great medicine indeed, but such a universal remedy!

I discovered that once again recently in India. There we were, eight of us after being served a sumptuous dinner, trying now to stay alert — or at least awake – at the sunset of a particularly grueling day, Tuesday, March 20. We had hiked five miles up (and I do mean UP!) a steep, tortuous hillside in the high-altitude Himalayan foothills to visit the Potong organic tea farm. The climb took us four hours in the blazing sun. Not a regular tourist stop, that’s for sure!

Our octet from the USA – many of us still strangers — had gathered in the Darjeeling area of West Bengal, guests of Equal Exchange (“Small Farmers, Big Change”), the Massachusetts-based, worker-owned co-op which supports small farmers throughout the world, selling fairly traded, organic coffee, tea, chocolate and snacks. My home church, the West Los Angeles United Methodist Church, has been a proud faith-based partner with Equal Exchange for many years, and I was the WLAUMC rep on this fact-finding adventure, which we promptly dubbed Tea 101.

Heading up our group was Deepak Khandelwal, Equal Exchange tea product manager, whose easy going personality, attention to detail, Indian heritage, fluency in the local language and passion for the cuisine made him our perfect guide! Our hosts that Tuesday evening were Prem Tamang and Binod Mohan, executives of Tea Promoters India (TPI), which manages six organic, fair trade tea gardens and assists the farmers with access to the world market and equitable prices for their product.

Both gents were extremely hospitable and gracious. Prem had made the trek up that now legendary hill with us and was still full of energy, possibly thinking that we Westerners were wimps! The night was younger than we felt, and we still had a Tea 101 presentation to be made by Prem and Binod. Hence the necessity for everyone to be alert. That, seriously, was no mean feat.

As tea was being served, I noticed our fearless leader, Deepak, fighting sleep, staring straight ahead, right through me and with somewhat glazed eyes. Perfect setup for one of my favorite pranks. Looking back at him, I sneered, “What are you lookin’ at?” Caught off guard, Deepak came to, trying to mumble something, but I chuckled and told him that I had just set him up with a fine opportunity to retort, “Nothing much!”

This really tickled the funny bones of our Indian hosts, who cracked up and promptly began practicing the routine with me. “Hey, Jack, what’re you looking at?” Over and over we took turns asking the question and answering, “Nothing much!” It worked every time and evoked much laughter each time. The silly routine was acted out morning, noon and night from then on, a running gag, especially between Prem and me, no matter where we found ourselves. That was how we bade adieu when we finally parted for the last time in Darjeeling, and it has been used in almost every email we’ve exchanged since!

Prem Tamang accepts special bookmarks that Jack brought from West Los Angeles United Methodist Church for students at Potong tea farm. Photo by Linda Elliott

 The mirth that Tuesday evening served to revive us, and the humor broke some new ice, giving a bunch of former strangers a welcome opportunity to relax and get a little personal with each other. Prem told us his name meant “love” in both Hindi and Nepalese. I shared with the party that I was born in the Year of the Dragon, and that 2012 (a Dragon year) was kicking off in grand style.

Earlier that day (y’know, THE HIKE!), I myself found very little to laugh about. To be honest, I loathe hiking, okay? That activity has never been nor will it ever be on my bucket list. When we got out of our vehicles and Prem said we would be visiting the Potong Tea Farm now, I asked where the heck it was. Prem pointed high at the mountain before us and handed me a bamboo walking stick. Doomed! The trail was rocky, with steps improvised here and there in the steep curves, and a tree to grab once in a while. When I stumbled to my knees, chipping a thumbnail and drawing blood, I was (1) glad I’d gotten my tetanus shot, and (2) truly relieved that I didn’t scream like a girl, especially because the four women on the expedition were Olympic jocks compared to me!

Mercifully, some young kid carried my day pack for me, so all I had to deal with was a bottle of water and the mountain. BTW, I became very fond of that bamboo walking stick! To my credit, I didn’t whine much, mainly because I had to dole out every iota of my waning energy into…well, surviving! I was given the opportunity to just sit down in the dust and the heat of day and wait for everyone else to go up, then collect me on the descent, but that offer was really too humiliating to consider, so I breathed as easily as possible in the altitude and trudged on like a real trouper. It helped to convince myself that cameras were rolling, the sun was my key light, and I was just on another movie location, performing my own stunts like Jackie Chan. All the while, I was fervently praying: “Please, God, let me die so I won’t have to climb another step!” It felt like we were all in some intense National Geographic program and couldn’t get out of our contracts.

Okay, so after about an hour, my thighs felt locked permanently in place, a really wretched place. I looked up, which wasn’t a particularly smart move, since there was obviously an annoying bunch of hiking left in my immediate future. So I encouraged myself, thinking a successful ascent by this septuagenarian in such an obviously life-threatening situation would make a fine piece for AARP magazine someday.

By the third hour, in abject desperation, I plumbed my deepest spiritual resources to rally, worthy of a Dragon, cuz right about then, this Dragon was a-draggin’! With a gasp which I feared might just be my last, I thought: “Remember the kurta!!!” That did it! I knew then I would finish the climb: I had to if I wanted one of those handsome garments. Sure, a kurta might be everyday wear for men in India, but for me in Santa Monica, it would be a costume! I had to find a kurta. And I had to conquer this Himalayan hill if I were ever to shop again!

Finally, an eternity later, I began seeing the shimmering emerald of tea fields ahead and above, ever above…bushes pruned waist high to make it easier for harvesters (mostly women) to pluck and put into big straw baskets on their backs. Two leaves and a bud, two leaves and a bud, Prem teaches us. The tea shrubs are plucked 32-36 times a year, six or seven days a week. Heavy cropping takes place in the monsoon season, and – even when tea isn’t being produced in the December-February winter months — vital pruning is done then. A tea bush requires different types of pruning every third or fourth year. This is a very exacting horticultural science, and farmers need to be certain that the bushes are neither under nor over plucked. Other vital cultivating factors in the tea “saga” include sanitation, irrigation and fertilization.

Observing the workers, we quickly surmised that they make this hike up and down at least six days a week. And we noticed that they didn’t even use walking sticks while hauling those baskets of tea leaves – two leaves and a bud, two leaves and a bud – to the processing center.

Tea harvesters. Photo by Scott Patterson

We toured several more Equal Exchange-supported tea farms and met many co-op worker-owners. At one village, there was this gigantic black pig – it looked more like a boar to me. Prem grinned when he noticed me distancing myself from the grazing beast and asked, “You know what we call that thing, Jack?” I thought I was about to learn how to say pig in Hindi, but Prem said, “Ham!” Always dapper and really humorous, Prem commanded great respect wherever he escorted our team. We came to regard our eloquent and well-informed host/guide as the mayor of all he surveys!

Today, the people managing and working the tea farms we visited are literally and proudly “planting our own destiny” with a highly perishable product for an extremely challenging global market. But these Indian laborers are toiling co-operatively — with benefits, shared profits, retirement funds and goals to advance their farms with improved productivity as well as different crops (like ginger, turmeric, organic honey). With Darjeeling tea’s renown as the champagne of all teas, the 70,000 people in the industry here are hopeful for their future and grateful for the support of Equal Exchange, TPI, and partners like my church and UMCOR, the United Methodist Committee on Relief.

After a week of sipping Darjeeling tea right where the source of the brew was planted, nourished, harvested, withered, processed, inspected, taste-tested, graded, packaged and exported, I doubt that I will ever take a cup of tea for granted again, whether loose leaf or teabag. I have a new admiration and respect for all the human effort that is required prior to my sitting back and enjoying a sip. Also, I have a great, enhanced admiration and respect for Equal Exchange and the organization’s commitment to small fair trade farms and farmers throughout our world!

* * * *
For the record, our band of travelers, besides leader Deepak Khandelwal, also included (from Equal Exchange): Scott Patterson, Midwest sales manager; Cara Ross, natural foods sales manager; and Emma Van Pelt, freelance videographer and a barista in the Equal Exchange Café. The rest of our party: Linda Dickenson Elliott, who spearheads the Presbyterian Coffee Project in Charleston, WV; Joanne Grisanti, merchandising manager of River Valley Market, a co-op in Northampton, NY; and Joann Tomasulo, marketing/owner services manager of the Lexington Cooperative Market in Buffalo, NY.

L to R: Joanne Grisanti, Linda Elliott, Jack, Joann Tumasulo, Emma Van Pelt, Cara Ross, Scott Patterson and Deepak Khandelwal

Also for the record: the “What are you looking at?” routine is from an episode of “I’ll Fly Away” starring Sam Waterston and Regina Taylor (NBC-TV, 1991-93).

And if you’re wondering whether you’re a rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, goat, monkey, rooster, dog or pig in Chinese astrology, go to www.Chinesezodiac.com.

Recommended sites: www.equalexchange.org
www.umcor.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fair_trade

A quick visit to the Taj Mahal after Tea 101! This obligatory shot by our excellent tour guide, Rinku Nitin Singh (Prudent Networks) was Photoshopped by Paul Newitt.

     The hot days we’ve had in Los Angeles this week were no reminders at all of the bone-chilling, wintery weather here on the evening of this same date sixteen years ago. That night, back in 1996, it had gotten even colder after midnight, the dark, early hours of February 25.
     Just now, while watching MGM’s “The Year of Living Dangerously” again for the first time in years, I suddenly recalled a particular significance that terrific widescreen movie has for me, and how it is linked with Haing Ngor and 2/25.
     One of the outstanding treats of the Mel Gibson-Sigourney Weaver political thriller is Linda Hunt, who plays a male journalist in Indonesia named Billy Kwan. For that performance, Ms. Hunt won the 1984 Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. The next year, in Oscar tradition, she presented the trophy to the Best Supporting Actor…and in 1985, that was Haing S. Ngor, for his performance in Warner Bros.’ “The Killing Fields”…in which he portrayed Cambodian journalist Dith Pran.
     Eleven years after that triumphant Oscar night, as he returned home in the pre-dawn hours of Feb. 25, 1996, Dr. Ngor was murdered in what police determined was a botched robbery.
     Haing S. Ngor’s legacy – his human rights endeavors, his advocacy for justice in his homeland of Cambodia, and his remarkable, award-winning performance in “The Killing Fields” – this legacy lives on.
     The Dr. Haing S. Ngor Foundation commemorates this anniversary of his death with a deep sense of respect.
     Also in commemoration, we express gratitude to the National Endowment for the Humanities, which has awarded a major grant to the Foundation to create a feature length documentary about Dr. Ngor to be written, produced and directed by acclaimed filmmaker Arthur Dong.

At Dr. Ngor's grave with flowers commemorating the 2-25-12 anniversary of his death: Cassidy Major and her dad, Bill, a longtime supporter of The Dr. Haing S. Ngor Foundation.

Jack Ong
Santa Monica, CA
2-24-12
www.haingngorfoundation.org

ANNA ONG LUM
September 28, 1933 – December 27, 2011

     Of the eight children brought into this world by my parents, Kam Fong and Jeung Shee Ong, two were born in China: an older brother — Ong Gane Moon — who died in Woh On See village at the age of 3 months, never to receive a Western name; and the third of my older sisters, Anna, who lived in the village until she was four, when she sailed to America with Mom and four San Francisco-born older siblings. Anna’s Chinese name was Ong Fui Kang, and she was seven years my senior. Following a lengthy illness, Anna died two days after this past Christmas in Honolulu, where she resided with her husband Frank.

     I want to share a bit about this older sis, Anna Ong Lum…

     When Mom and the five children left Woh On See to sail from Hong Kong at the outset of Japan’s military aggression in China, she and Anna, non-U.S. citizens, arrived in San Francisco and were detained at Angel Island Immigration Station while Nellie, Joe, John and Lily were released to village cousins in Chinatown. It was a month before Dad was informed by mail that he had to go to San Francisco to officially collect Mom and Anna at Angel Island. He was waiting for his family in Mesa, Arizona, setting up a home behind South Side Grocery in the small desert town where he had relocated – it would be cheaper to raise the family there. (And with just one or two other Chinese families in Mesa at that time, the “pioneer” Ongs would find the Valley of the Sun much more foreign than either China or the Chinatown ghetto.)

     When Anna first saw Dad, he was a virtual stranger, and she was frightened, but warmed up to him soon enough, especially because he was so gentle as he cared for her. She was a sweet, kind child, thin and not robust. Mom always told us that the lack of proper nutrition and pre-natal care in the impoverished farm village were the major reasons our “China doll” sis endured less than excellent physical health. Yet, throughout her life, Anna never once complained (to me, at least) about her illnesses and surgeries, not even the non-Hodgkins lymphoma cancer that she battled valiantly during her final years. We spoke on the phone about once a week, emailed back and forth, and she was consistently upbeat, optimistic, hopeful.

     That was Anna, aka Ann, “Magoo” (because of her lousy eyesight) and Day-Day (older sister in our Hoisan dialect). Nothing kept her down for long! Her faith in God Almighty was truly the wind beneath her wings as she confronted her medical issues head-on, never whining, ever confident that her life was in God’s Hands, and that her purpose was simply to trust Him and serve Him through good as well as trying times. She went right on singing, and that sis of mine could sing!

     I remember one hot summer afternoon back in the mid-40s when Ann was singing “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows” while stocking canned vegetables in a corner of our little grocery store in Mesa. Her clear soprano was such a joy to hear. She stopped in mid-song; we encouraged her to continue. Silence. Then the terrifying sound of a rattler. The snake had found its way into the dark coolness of the shelf Ann was stocking, and she fainted when she saw it, very possibly saving herself from a poisonous strike of that deadly desert denizen.

     Mom would tell us tales about the big goose in China that always selected bare bottomed little Fui Kane to chase and snap at. Coming of age in Mesa, Ann didn’t seem to have a much easier time there with animals either – like the morning when several of us were taking a leisurely bike ride. We were heading home when I realized that Ann had trailed far behind, so we stopped for her. In a few minutes, we saw this cloud of dust speeding toward us, pursued by a bunch of barking neighborhood dogs. Soon we spotted Anna – pumping those pedals for all she was worth, trying frantically to put some distance (ANY distance) between her and those yapping canines! She wasn’t singing that time, I can assure you.

     Besides “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” Anna enjoyed performing all the Hit Parade songs, encouraging me to sing along and harmonize. We had so much fun singing together! Some of her “greatest hits” were “Sentimental Journey,” “Tweedlee Dee,” “With a Song in My Heart,” “O Holy Night,” “The Lord’s Prayer” and “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Carousel” (“Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk alone….”) Once, when she was in the hospital in Mesa, and children weren’t allowed inside to visit, I made up a silly, childish lullaby and surprised my Day-Day by serenading her outside her window. To this day, I can croon “Sleep Baby Sleep,” and Anna could too, if she were still with us. We actually did it often on the phone. I will always remember the tired, happy look on her face when I surprised her, and that is a very cherished reminiscence indeed.

     When Dad encouraged Lily and Anna to attend the 1st Presbyterian Church in Mesa, both sisters joined the choir; Ann became the soloist. She introduced me and our kid sister Glenna to that church, and our Christian faith was sparked! Ann also influenced me in school, helping me with grammar, encouraging me to follow my passion to read and write. Day-Day had come to the United States not speaking English at all, and she embraced the learning process, developing fine study habits which she attempted to pass on to me. At Mesa High School, she was elected secretary of her senior class, and after graduating in 1951, she enrolled in various secretarial courses.

     One vivid vision I still have at Christmastime is peeking in on Ann and several dozen other young women in a comptometer training class in Phoenix. I watched in amazement as they all twisted their fingers every which way, pounding on the keys of those strange office machines to add, subtract, multiply, divide and who knows what else. Truly intense finger work…very contorted and very loud…all in rhythm to Leroy Anderson’s lively instrumental version of “Sleigh Ride”. The sight cracked me up, and when Ann spotted me through the door window, she began laughing too. Thankfully, she never did have to use a comptometer professionally, but we both always thought of it whenever we heard “Sleigh Ride”…and I know I always will.

     When Ann interviewed for a position in the business office of Arizona State College in Tempe (now ASU), she didn’t qualify for employment at the state institution, because she was not an American citizen. That prompted my Day-Day to apply for naturalization. We all helped her study for the big test. (Meanwhile, she, Mom and Dad filed Alien Registration forms at the post office every year after New Year’s Day.)

     In the mid-50s, Anna Ong, all-American girl, moved to Los Angeles and began her career as an executive secretary. She wrote letters to me regularly (in distinctive, gorgeous cursive), always prodding me to study and work hard. She was the family member I asked to write a letter of recommendation when I applied for the Elks Club Youth Leadership Award (mainly for the big $50 prize!)…and she was the happiest of us all when I won.

     While Ann was living in L.A., I once drove there in my ’60 VW Beetle to visit her and our married sister Lily, who was also residing there with her family. Somehow, Ann and I got the adventurous idea to drive back to Arizona, taking Lily’s precious 3-year old daughter Karen with us. Little Karen was quite excited, but after a few miles, the novelty of a road trip with Uncle Jack and Auntie Anna (away from her mommy and daddy) seemed to wear off, and Karen proceeded to cry (loudly) all the way to Blythe. Then she just sort of sobbed and whimpered between naps another few hours through Wickenburg, whereupon she resumed bawling until we got to Mesa. Perhaps it was that trip which convinced both my Day-Day and me that having children would be fine, as long as said children were just nephews and nieces whom we could eventually deposit back to their parents!

     In the early 60s, Ann moved from L.A. to Honolulu, where she married Frank Lum on December 18, 1974. When I was returning home from service in the Navy in 1966, I stopped to visit her in Hawaii, and saw immediately how that ethnically diverse paradise had become Ann’s true home. She was so content there, happily involved with the choir of the 1st Presbyterian Church of Honolulu, where she never missed a single Thursday rehearsal or Sunday service unless she was sick!

     Although Ann’s death has deeply grieved so many of us, we are blessed to know that she is singing at last with that most Heavenly choir of choirs, and that gives us great peace. And the last time I spoke with my Day-Day, as weak as she sounded, Ann was still encouraging me, still assuring me that everything is okay in God’s Hands!

 So to you, dear Sis… Aloha.

January 5, 2012

I chose to drop off my marked ballot at the polling place this morning. I could have mailed it in ahead of Election Day, but needed more time to fine tune my choices. As I walked home in the warm sunshine, I was revisited by memories from past election times – once in a land where we American service personnel were confined to the base because of violence at the polls…once in a nation where I had spoken of mailing in my ballot and no one could even imagine what it was like to have a political say in their destiny. On the short, peaceful walk home after voting this morning, I once again thanked God that I am an American with choices, with a say. Very humbling indeed. I prayed that my fellow Americans would vote today…to realize that it is our awesome responsibility to help protect and preserve our freedoms. God bless America! (And God bless my family, friends and loved ones.)

Chinese American Citizens Alliance & Chinese Historical Society of Southern California

Invite You to Attend a Community Memorial Tribute & Celebration Honoring Irvin R. Lai

Saturday, November 6, 2010, 9:45 am – 11:00 am

First Chinese Baptist Church 942 Yale Street, Los Angeles Chinatown 90012

(Parking in rear: access from Adobe Street off of College.)

Prominent community members and leaders will celebrate and give recognition to the life and dedication of Irvin R. Lai. Most notably remembered as the leading spokesman for California’s landmark ‘Roast Duck Bill’ in 1982, Irvin Lai had a significant and enduring impact in fighting for fair and equal opportunities of Chinese Americans in Los Angeles. Irvin Lai advocated for human rights as well as for cultural awareness and under-standing for all. Come and learn more about his heroic contributions that brought greatly improved educational opportunities, health services, and community safety to Los Angeles Chinatown. Learn also of his years of service and leadership in his church and the USC community near his business in South Central Los Angeles.

Due to venue limitations, flowers will not be accepted. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to two organizations that share Irvin’s commitment to civil rights and preserving the history, community, and culture of Chinese Americans:

Chinese Historical Society of Southern California and Chinese American Citizens Alliance (L.A.C.A.C.A. Community Action)

          About 15 years ago, two of my sisters returned to vist the Ong village in China where they spent five of their childhood years back in the 30s; there they found things hadn’t changed all that much. The remarkable progress in China’s cities hadn’t made its way to the rural farmlands: our family home had electricity for TV and a single light by the 90s, but still no plumbing or bathrooms or other modern conveniences my sisters took so much for granted in Pasadena and Orange County!

          To Nellie and Lily, it was as though time had stood still in Woh On See. As they left their tour in Guangzhou (Canton), where Mandarin — the official language — was spoken, they began to hear different Cantonese dialects from village to village throughout the Toisan/Hoiping area. Their ears told them exactly when they finally arrived in our “home town,” because our relatives there still spoke Toisanese. Exactly as it had been spoken all those decades ago.

          Because our “peasant dialect” isn’t widely spoken (or taught) anymore, it doesn’t change or grow. And because the newest generations of Chinese have been educated in Mandarin (which sounds like an entirely different language), Toisanese is therefore considered a dying tongue.

          Tell that to those who still speak it! True, fewer of us do nowadays. Yes, colloquial Toisanese has long been deprived of new words and current slang, pretty much petrified, and it is definitely not used much anymore on American TV or in movies like “The Good Earth” and “Blood Alley” or the old Westerns and Charlie Chan flicks and WWII movies. In those ancient days, most of the Chinese American actors and extras spoke Toisanese, like most of the early Chinese Americans, period! Things began to change around the time of “Love Is a Many Splendored Thing,” when the more refined/educated Cantonese and Mandarin speakers began moving from China, Hong Kong and Taiwan to Hollywood and the United States. Those moderns took over by sheer numbers, and in time, you hardly heard Toisanese in Chinatown restaurants and stores anymore. Nor did my family and I converse in it, except to be amusing.

          So imagine my surprise a few weeks ago when Doug Chin asked if I would speak at his home church in Monterey Park. Mainly, he said, because there were many Toisan-speaking congregants at Trinity Church of the Nazarene who might relate to my testimony. I am not kidding!

          In fact, this was as shocking to me (also in a good way) as the time in June when I was asked to assist in the dramatization of an actual interrogation of a young Chinese boy at Angel Island immigration station. I would translate (in English and Toisanese) for the immigration official and the kid. The script, based on actual transcripts (circa 1910, when America’s Chinese Exclusion Act was still law) was used by the Chinese American Museum in Los Angeles as part of CAM’s “Remembering Angel Island” exhibit. Commemorating the 100th anniversary of Angel Island, the exhibit opened to great reviews and is now up and running through May 2011. When CAM invited my participation, they were still seeking a young boy who could speak Toisanese in this day and age.

          To my utter amazement, they found not just one but two teenaged boys – both speaking the Toisan dialect as fluently as they speak English. They could’ve been me 60 years ago; how astonished was I that youngsters like Bobby Wu and Andrew Yu still walked the earth! We had a ball, bouncing back and forth between English and Toisanese, helping each other with the occasional word or expression that gave us difficulty (usually me). What a ”peasant” surprise!

          Then my “Pastor Jack” opportunity arrived on Sunday, Aug. 1, and Doug Chin was correct: there were indeed lots of Chinese Americans in the congregation who still spoke Toisanese. We bonded instantly! Lots of laughter, empathetic nods, frowns and the occasional tear as I joked, shared, sang and preached. The experience was sublime, one of my favorite times ever in the pulpit. Afterward, writer-producer-director Ming Lai introduced a special screening of “Journey of a Paper Son” – again, the congregation and guests were tuned in like an insiders’ clique whenever the Toisanese dialogue was heard.

          Later that week, I met up with Andrew and Bobby again when I had the pleasure of addressing them and about 40 other high school boys and girls at the Chinatown Service Center, where a Friday after-school youth outreach was facilitated by Jennifer Tang, CSC youth guidance counselor. Bobby is co-president of the LA Chinatown Youth Council.

(Photo by Thomas Liu)

          Although few of the young ladies and gentlemen had ever heard of Angel Island or paper sons, a number of them did speak Toisanese along with English, Mandarin and/or Cantonese. When Bobby’s fearless co-leader, the perky Mabel Chan, said she wanted to show me firsthand that her command of Toisanese was better than his and Andrew’s, I couldn’t resist encouraging a little spirited competition over ice cream — “So You Think You Can Speak Toisanese!”

          That’s not all! Okay, I realize this is probably more info than anyone genuinely requires, yet I beg your indulgence as I share one more little tale. At the same time all the above was happening, I was informed that the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA) had just established an Honor Roll of Asian American Pioneers in Journalism…and that I was one of the first 104 (from 1925-1975) to be thus recognized. For the record, this distinction is not at all unearned, though I was tooling around in a Chevy and not a covered wagon when – at the age of 17 — I was hired on as a reporter-photographer at the Mesa (AZ) Daily Tribune. The editor of the Trib recruited me just before my high school graduation, and I worked my way through ASU, where I majored in journalism.

          I report this for its surprise value: at the AAJA conference Aug. 4-7, not only did I meet my fellow pioneers, but at a gala dinner, was introduced to a tableful of people from Mesa and Phoenix…with many mutual friends and village cousins back in my “old country”: Arizona. Again with the Toisanese, right there at the Hollywood Highland Renaissance Hotel!!

          Until these past few weeks, not since the 50s when “The World of Suzy Wong” hit the screens had I ever spoken so much in my Chinese mother tongue. Until suddenly, this Summer…

          Why, it’s as though I’ve found a lost tribe…mine, for goodness sake!

Photos by O.C. Lee/Chinese Historical Society of SoCal

So many of us will miss Irvin Lai, but his legacy and spirit are with us!

IRVIN LAI, April 26, 1927 – July 16, 2010

Like so many this day, upon learning of Irvin Lai’s passing, I am over the initial shock – come on, the guy was, after all, elderly, in a wheelchair at times, and had battled cancer for years. For me personally, I was surprised mainly because the last time I saw Irvin, he was robust and even youthful. Yes, the shock of Irvin’s passing is over, but not the shock of what our world has lost!

So many “worlds,” in fact: the Chinese world and the Chinese American, the communities of activism, human rights, Christianity, various realms of culture, politics, civic service and leadership…such a huge loss for so many people. Because Irvin’s indomitable spirit was huge – his generosity, intelligence, sense of justice and so much more.

This past Thursday, at the gala opening night of “Remembering Angel Island,” the excellent new exhibit at the Chinese American Museum in L.A., two friends and I mentioned how much we hoped Irvin would be with us. We all knew he WANTED to attend; not that he’d said so, but of course Irvin Lai would’ve – if he could’ve – been front and center, personally greeting the 200+ gathering, which included Dolly Gee, the first Chinese American woman federal judge.

At moments like this, this sunny afternoon, I feel so happy that Irvin and I were colleagues and friends, knowing that my dear departed friend, mentor and encourager was that very day in the hospital, where he had been admitted Sunday the 11th and where yesterday he passed away peacefully.

The last time I saw Irvin was at the “Journey of a Paper Son” screening/Q&A event sponsored by the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California, held at Castelar School in Chinatown. That was Wednesday, June 2. Irvin was his exuberant, energetic, playful, talkative, stately and oh-so-Chinese-American self! He was, as usual, wonderful, addressing over 200 of us passionately, purposefully, intelligently, eloquently (and at some length) on the subject of the paper son era. I’m sure he must have tossed in some Angel Island references.

Before the program started, Irvin and I were sharing a private moment when someone came up and asked if he had a bio. “Not with me,” Irvin replied with his perfect timing, beaming that Irvin Lai smile. We all laughed. I suggested that the person just Google Irvin – there was more posted about him than he would need. As soon as the gentleman was out of earshot, Irvin, keeping an eye on the man to be sure he was, chuckled and whispered, “There’s more than I need!” Again with the perfect timing and ready smile. He loved to laugh, and that balanced all the serious sides of Irvin Lai.

It was such a joy to see Irvin when he met the gifted filmmaker Ming Lai, writer-producer-director of “Journey of a Paper Son”; just marvelous listening to the two Messrs. Lai figuring out how (not if) they were related and by whom! Young Ming was all ears, I recall.

Amazing man, that Irvin Lai. Remember the old days when Grandview Gardens had dancing on weekends? I’d just moved to L.A. in mid-1962, and that’s one of the first places recommended to me. I danced at Grandview Gardens before I’d even heard of Irvin, who owned the popular restaurant. But it didn’t take long for me to hear about him and meet him, and now I can’t even remember when I didn’t know, enjoy and respect Irvin Lai!

“He always stood up and fought for the right things,” said activist Sumi Haru, another longtime Irvin friend. Yep. And the first impression of writer Grace McKeaney, who met Irvin just once — at the “Paper Son” event: “Hard to believe he is gone…seeing and hearing him speak…such energy and verve. What a wonderful evening it was for him — he was clearly uplifted by the importance of the topic and energized and genuinely thrilled to be sharing stories with all those he loved.”

And that evening, as we shook hands saying goodnight, Irvin said, “Bless you, Jack. You’re my hero.” Always upbeat, no matter the odds, and ever the encourager. Me? Irvin Lai’s hero? All I can say to that is what I said to him: “You’ve gotta be kidding, Irv – but thanks. You’re my hero, too.”

When I got home from CAM night before last, I spent time reflecting on the evening, and again missed Irvin when I thought about the friends I saw, and didn’t, during that most significant “Remembering Angel Island” grand opening. And now, knowing he’s gone from us, I already miss him so much more.

Sat., July 17, 2010

Visitation:
July 28 7PM-9PM at the Church of the Recessional at Glendale Forest Lawn Cemetery, 1712 S. Glendale Av., Glendale, CA 91205; Tel: 800-204-3131

Memorial Service
Thursday, July 29, 11 a.m. at Alhambra True Light Presbyterian Church,  20 W. Commonwealth Av., Alhambra, CA 91801; Tel: 626-289-4106

Photo by O.C. Lee/Chinese Historical Society of Southern California

     There were many poignant moments the other night (June 2, 2010) at the “Journey of a Paper Son” screening/q&a presented by the Chinese Historical Society of SoCal in LA Chinatown. The most memorable for me (lucky emcee of the program!) occurred when introducing Ming Lai’s critically acclaimed 20-min drama. I asked for a show of hands by those present who had paper sons or paper daughters in their family history. Without hesitation, nearly half the men and women in the room raised their hands! I was stunned into emotional silence – close to tears, moved, awed by the presence of history in our midst. A truly great, spiritual experience for me, one I realized that was borne of experiences long ago and far away, fraught with sorrow, fear, risk, degradation, sacrifice and loss by countless Chinese who came to America on false papers during the era of the Chinese Exclusion Act.

Reaction to the film by Wednesday night’s assembly in the Castelar School multipurpose room had super rewards too. The Chinese in our audience laughed at all the right places, understanding totally the most subtle cultural nuances in Ming’s script, which focuses on a Toisan Chinese paper father and his American offspring. The laughter and murmurs of consent were music to my ears (and I’m sure Ming’s, too). It felt as though this particular movie was meant to resonate with this particular crowd. After the movie, we called up the hand raisers for a group photo. Perfect for the Historical Society. Then it was time to “talk story”. One after another, a number of men and women shared their memories about the paper sons/daughters in their past; a few were even paper children themselves. Every reminiscence had great similarities, reminding us that human suffering, family, love, hope and hopelessness are universal. In that regard, the themes portrayed in Ming Lai’s “Journey of a Paper Son” are as historic as they are human.

Allow me to tell you something very scary that happened in the middle of the night at 3 a.m. It began when — in bed fast asleep — I heard the familiar musical jingle signaling the turning on of my DELL laptop. I had turned it off for the night, so anyone who’s read too many murder mysteries can well imagine the stark horror I experienced hearing the Windows Love Theme!!!! I about died! Well, not really — my bed was too wet for that. Well, not really…I just felt super scared, and tried to think what was going on (being aroused or at least awakened so unexpectedly and in such a frightening, mind-numbing manner). I knew I’d left the laptop open, but it was shut down and would require the pressure of a finger on its TURN ON button to turn it on. I knew I’d locked the door. It never even dawned on me that anyone could get in through the balcony window. It was really rather scary. I don’t have a gun or a baseball bat. I don’t keep a kitchen knife by my bed. All I had to defend myself was the Roomba robot, now that it’s temporarily in my room. What could I do…vacuum the intruder to death??? I managed to relax somehow, but I was still all shook up as I got up to check things out. Unarmed, I crept gingerly and rather bravelyout of my room, under cover of that present darkness, thinking if there were a serial killer checking his email in my office that I might scare the hell out of him/her by screaming like a girl as I raced out the front door, stark naked. That would stun him/her long enough for me to escape, kinda like Doris Day in “Midnight Lace”, only without the wardrobe by Irene. So that was my plan, even as I could see the soft glow of my DELL screen in the dead of night. Not a sound. No one awaited me in the corners of the dark living room. I approached the office area with courageous stealth. Nothing. I switched on the lights, thinking I’d momentarily blind my invader(s). Nobody. Unless he/she/theylurked in the front closet, I was safe. A quick check of the closet. Safe. I was still kinda shaky as I went out on the balcony, but was revived with a deep breath of cool ocean air. Unless my criminal was hiding in the den, I would live to see another day. No one was in the den, but anyone could’ve hidden behind any number of stacks and junk in that room. I left the computer on, wondering how it turned itself on. I went back to bed and instantly dreamt that I caught Val (the Polish guy who was in charge of repairing my place) breaking and entering, and solved the mystery. This computer is really getting on my nerves, but there’s nothing like a good scare to get one’s heart rate going, I suppose. Have you had any similar experience with your computers??? This is a genuine dilemma - I think I have a Dellemon. 

Re Jack’s comments on THE SOLOIST: “We need to keep harping on the bad habit of Hollywood using white actors for what are clearly minority roles.  Not that we have a claim to those roles, but if we are constantly ignored, we’ll never make progress.  Most people don’t even consider it’s in bad taste to cast a Robert Downey Jr.  in the Spanish-American role, or Jennifer Connelly in A Brilliant Mind (her true-life character was also Hispanic).  I, of all people, encourage the casting of the best actor in any role, but, as we’ve found out, Hollywood still thinks the best actor is the white actor.  When the time comes that an Asian (Latino, Middle-eastern, black) gets to play Moses or Cleopatra, then, I rest my case.  But, good point, Jack. ”

     Henry Ong (no relation to blogger) is an award-winning playwright whose plays include MADAME MAO’S MEMORIES, FABRIC, VOICES OF HIROSHIMA, SWEET KARMA and many more.