Clattering Sparrows (10 page)

10

SAN FRANCISCO’S CHINATOWN IS the oldest and one of the most historic Chinatowns in the world. Established in the 1850s, it is the most prominent center of Chinese activity outside of China. Located in downtown San Francisco, it is bordered by Powell Street and the Nob Hill District on the west; Kearny Street and the Financial District on the east; North Beach, Green Street, and Columbus Street on the north; and Bush Street and Union Square on the south.

Within Chinatown there are two major thoroughfares—Grant Avenue with its famous Dragon Gate on the corner of Bush Street, offering an overabundance of stores, restaurants, and mini-malls that cater mainly to tourists, and Stockton Street, less frequented by tourists, but depicting an authentic Chinese look and feel reminiscent of Hong Kong with its produce and fish markets, stores, and restaurants. In addition numerous smaller side streets and alleyways also provide an authentic quality.

San Francisco’s Chinatown was the port of entry for early immigrants from the southern provinces of China from the 1850s to the early 1900s. They were predominantly male and came as laborers to build California’s growing railway networks, most famously the Transcontinental Railroad, or as miners either employed or independent hoping to strike it rich during the Gold Rush.

An Lei was born to Chinese immigrants and grew up in the world of Chinatown. After her parents and brothers were killed and their immediate neighborhood completely destroyed in the 1906 earthquake that partially leveled the City, her uncle arranged a marriage for her to a friend’s son. When racial tensions boiled over into full blown race riots during the City’s rebuilding process, her new husband decided to move to Washington, D.C. He had many relatives there who encouraged him to pursue the better prospects of supporting a wife and family.

Although An Lei was barely sixteen and quite immature and inexperienced, her husband Han Chou was kind to her, and she grew to love him deeply. His uncle owned a large restaurant in downtown DC, and he hired Han to do his books. He was good with numbers and had a good sense for business, and as word spread, he soon had other accounts as well. They were happy and content with their lives. An Lei became pregnant early in their marriage but the child, a boy, was stillborn. It would take years and two additional failed pregnancies, before their daughter Mai Ling was born.

Shortly after Mai Ling turned ten, Han Chou suddenly fell ill and died. An Lei not interested in remarrying as her relatives and friends urged her to do, chose instead to raise Mai Ling herself, living comfortably in the house Han had provided for them. Her deepest regret was having arranged her daughter’s marriage to Su Ling’s father, Hu Chen, especially when she died in childbirth, and he took no interest in the child whatsoever.

Raising Su Ling became An Lei’s salvation. It was like getting her daughter back. An Lei was mortified when Su Ling’s father and his wife were arrested and protecting Su Ling became her main priority. She feared if they stayed in Washington, D.C., and someone learned that Su Ling was his child, they would no longer be safe there, so she made the decision to leave when the school year ended.

She returned to San Francisco’s Chinatown because it was the only other place she knew. She had a few distant relatives and friends still living there, and with the money she realized from the sale of the house on Bladensburg Road, she felt certain they could live anonymously blending in with the Chinese community.

The house sold quickly and once the deal was completed, her cousin shipped their furnishings to San Francisco. In just three short months, An Lei and Su Ling were settled into their new surroundings, and just in time for Su Ling to begin school in the fall. Their first three years passed insignificantly, and An Lei felt quite content with the choices she had made.

Two weeks prior to Su Ling’s graduation from high school, An Lei received a call from her cousin in DC. Several months earlier, he had called and told her of the small article that had appeared on one of the back pages of The Washington Post, stating that the trial of Hu Chen and his wife had resulted in their deportation to China. It was recently learned that they had both been executed by the Chinese Government upon their return to the country. The property and the buildings which housed the Columbia Laundry, as well as their house further up the street, were confiscated by the government and sold at auction. He assured her that they were surely safe now and hoped his news would put her remaining worries to rest.

Now he was calling with further news. Hu Chen had an uncle living in DC who was well into his nineties and in failing health. He had no remaining relatives having outlived them all. Several days prior to his death, he contacted An Lei’s cousin requesting that he pay him a visit. During the visit he related a most bizarre story.

When Hu Chen remarried, his wife brought substantial money to their union. These funds allowed them to purchase the Columbia Laundry and remodel their living quarters. He had consistently been a hard worker since coming to America and quite satisfied with his small hand laundry, but Hu Chen soon came to realize that he had been “chosen” as a good husband for his new wife because of his American contacts. He alone ran the day-to-day business of the laundry, and his wife through her family ties in China obtained the illegal workers and ran the drug business, both of which he wanted no part whatsoever.

Although at the time of their marriage, Hu Chen was quite well off, he never disclosed any of his own holdings to his new wife other than the building that housed the small hand laundry. He confided in his uncle and added Su Ling’s name to his accounts so that if anything happened to him, the money would go to her. While Hu Chen had seldom acknowledged Su Ling’s existence, he admired An Lei’s devotion to the child, and as he watched her grow into a beautiful young lady, he was surprised to discover that he felt genuine love for her. Now that Hu Chen was dead, his uncle, as he lay dying, summoned An Lei’s cousin and gave him the passbooks for Su Ling.

There were three passbooks in all totaling almost $100,000.00, but no deposits or interest had been posted for over ten years. Upon contacting the banks, her cousin learned that until Su Ling was eighteen, she couldn’t touch the accounts, but with her 18
^th
birthday only two months away, the wait would be trivial. At that time working through her bank in San Francisco, she could request to have the accounts transferred without making a trip across the country to the east coast.

For the first time since their hasty exit from Washington, D.C., An Lei was at peace with herself. And for the first time, she realized that Hu Chen had loved her daughter and Su Ling. He had goodness within him all along, and she felt sorry for what had befallen him. The money would be put to good use—all for Su Ling. Her college education to further her artwork was now assured.

That evening at dinner, An Lei related to Su Ling what her father had done for her. She also told her that he had died, a fact that she had not shared with her several months previous when her cousin had called with the news.

***

In the fall, Su Ling began her studies at the San Francisco Art Institute. The Institute was founded in 1871, and as one of the most prestigious schools of higher education in contemporary art, boasts an illustrious list of alumni and is known for its programs where creativity and critical thinking are fostered in open, innovative, and interdisciplinary environments. The Institute is known for focusing on educating artists who will become the creative leaders of their generation. It offered all that Su Ling was seeking, and it was located on Chestnut Street less than one mile from their house. She was not interested in leaving the area and An Lei.

So like thousands of other young men and women who grew up in San Francisco’s Chinatown in the 1950s and forward, Su Ling graduated from high school, attended a four-year university, and went forward with plans to launch her professional career in the art world. She wanted above all else to continue her painting that she loved and to make An Lei proud of her accomplishments, though the latter was totally unnecessary.

In her last year of college, Su Ling met fellow student David Wu. When his father was transferred to San Francisco from Los Angeles, he decided to leave UCLA and enroll for his last year at the Institute. David and Su Ling quickly became friends. They spent most of their spare time together and An Lei grew genuinely fond of the young man. She was pleased that Su Ling had a friend, and if it grew beyond friendship, she would welcome it. Not since leaving DC had Su Ling brought friends home, and An Lei was delighted for her.

By the time they graduated, they had fallen in love. David went onto Stanford University to earn a masters in Art History, and Su Ling secured a position at the deYoung Museum in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. It was a minimal position, but it would allow her the time to paint in preparation for the Annual Art Show held each year at the Institute to present new artists to the public. She had been one of five chosen to participate and she eagerly accepted. She would be allowed to exhibit a maximum of ten small to medium size paintings.

When the Show opened in mid-May, the crowd attending was unbelievable. The response to their advertising was overwhelming and many who attended were from the east coast. When it was over, she had done quite well and all of her paintings had sold for a total of $3,600. In the days that followed, she was contacted by several merchants and decorators offering to market her paintings.

One bright sunny morning, Su Ling packed up her painting supplies and set off for the beach. She had been commissioned by a local interior decorator to paint a grouping of four small paintings for a client’s new home. The area where she set up her supplies was quite deserted, and as she painted her familiar butterflies and flowers, two young boys suddenly raced past kicking up sand that ended up in her paints. Annoyed at first, she smiled as she watched them continue running along the beach. Without thinking, she dabbed her brush in the paint and continued painting. Amazed at the texture that the sand contributed to the flower, she quickly went over what she had previously painted until the picture was finished.

When she returned home, along with all her supplies, she carried a bag of sand which she had collected from the beach. And so was born a new dimension in her painting. From this time forward she no longer painted without adding a specific amount of sand to the oils depending upon the texture she wished to achieve.

When David graduated from Stanford, they were betrothed, and wedding plans were initiated between the two families. Since Su Ling’s parents were both deceased, they decided on a small gathering of fifty people. The ceremony took place on a knoll in Golden Gate Park on a beautiful and crisp early fall day.

An Lei made Su Ling’s Qi Pao, a one-piece wedding frock. The dress was red which is considered good luck and a strong color that can drive away evil spirits. It was made of silk and ornately embroidered with gold and silver designs. The morning of her wedding day, a Shang Tou (hair dressing) ritual was performed. Her hair was tied up in a bun and a lovely butterfly hairclip inserted. Both An Lei and Mai Ling had worn the clip before her. She chose not to wear the customary piece of red veil to cover her face during the ceremony. On her tiny feet she wore gold slippers.

The reception was held at the Golden Dragon in Chinatown where the small group invited to witness their vows enjoyed a sumptuous feast that included certain foods that are commonly served at the traditional Chinese wedding banquet—fish pronounced the same as abundance to assure the newlyweds will enjoy wealth; roast suckling pig served whole to symbolize the bride’s purity; pigeon to imply a peaceful future; chicken, which also means phoenix, cooked in red oil to signify the wish for a prosperous life ahead for the newlyweds; and lobster literally called “dragon shrimp” in Chinese, served together with chicken at a wedding banquet to indicate that the dragon and the phoenix are harmonious together, and that the elements in the family are balanced.

After their marriage, they purchased the house on the Kearny Street side of Portsmouth Square and An Lei moved in with them. Su Ling recreated her studio in the new house and continued to paint at home. Quite well known by now, she had a steady following of decorators and designers that commissioned paintings for their clients. In addition, these same decorators and designers featured her paintings in their showrooms, and as a result, many were sold.

In their second year of marriage Su Ling gave birth to a son, a beautiful boy they named Michael. He was a rambunctious little boy who loved his Great-grandmother as much as she loved him. To An Lei he was a blessing beyond measure. She spent time with him as she had with her daughter and granddaughter, and told him stories as she had once done with Su Ling, Judy, and me. When Michael was four years old, Su Ling became pregnant again.

***

In the mid to late sixties, powerful street gangs became more prevalent in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Times were changing, and many American born young Chinese men were unhappy with their strict old world parents and their beliefs. This restless situation bred a vulnerable group of youngsters that were easily lured and recruited into these street gangs and into the Chinese underworld.

The continued rise in violence was as perplexing to the many good people who were simply trying to live their normal lives, as it was to the San Francisco Police Department. The SFPD was at a great disadvantage since more often than not, by the time they showed up in response to a call, the gang members had long since scattered and were nowhere to be found.