Chinese Timeline in San Diego

1870’s – Chinese begin arriving in San Diego, towards the end of Northern California’s Gold Rush.  Many who came to San Diego worked as contract laborers on the state’s railroad system and other infrastructure projects.  Others became fisherman along San Diego’s coast and south into Baja California, using skills they practiced in China’s Pearl River Delta.

1880’s – Out of a total population of 8,600, 200 were 200 Chinese, most all living in an area called Stingaree, which is now known as the Gaslamp Quarters.

1881 – Approximately 150 Chinese live in San Diego, many working on the construction of the California Southern Railroad between National City and San Bernardino.

It was also at this time that Ah Quin, moved from Northern California to San Diego, working from San Francisco and went on to have 12 children as well as become a prosperous business owner.  He became known as the “Mayor of Chinatown”. He died in 1914.

1882 – The U.S. enacts the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, specifically designed to end all immigration of Chinese citizens into the U.S. In the year before the legislation was passed, 39,579 Chinese entered the United States. One out of every 10 citizens in California was of Chinese descent.  In 1887, only 10 Chinese citizens immigrated legally.  The law was repealed in 1943.

1885 – The Chinese Mission School of San Diego was established by Lee Hong (local resident) on the corner of 13th & F Street.  With the support and help of Dr. William C. Pond of the American Home Missionary Association who worked with Chinese immigrants throughout California, the Mission taught the several hundred (mostly) male Chinese residents in San Diego to read and write English.

In late 1885, an anti-Chinese group was established to persuade local businesses to replace Chinese workers with Caucasians.

1887 – The Coronado Beach Company recruits Chinese workers from San Francisco to help in the construction of the Hotel del Coronado.

1888 – The Scott Act permanently banned the immigration or return of Chinese laborers to the United States and ended the cross border process. The bill received overwhelming support by both houses of congress and led to mass celebrations throughout California.  As a result of the Scott Act, the Chinese fishing industry effectively ended since Chinese fisherman in San Diego could no longer travel to Baja California and legally come back.  Many of these workers switched to farming jobs, many located in Mission Valley.

Early 1900’s – Mrs. Margaret Fanton, who was known to San Diego’s local Chinese as “Mother Fanton”, worked for over 40 years first as a teacher at the Chinese Mission of San Diego, but also as a superintendent.  She was the first social worker for San Diego’s Chinese population.

1935 – The Hall of China, located in Balboa Park, was officially opened on May 25, 1935. Now known as the House of China, it was the Chinese community’s effort to participate as a part of the 1935-1936 California Pacific International Exposition held at Balboa Park, San Diego.

1962 – Tom Hom, a native San Diegan was elected to the San Diego City, served as deputy mayor, and later won a seat in the California State Assembly, the first for a Chinese-American in San Diego.  He is currently the patriarch of one of San Diego’s oldest Chinese-American families and is a principal member of the Tom Hom Group, a development company in San Diego .

1996 – The San Diego Chinese Historical Society was dedicated in January, located in what was originally a Chinese mission designed by Irving Gill in the 1920s.

2000 – U.S. Census figures show that 22,762 Chinese live in the city of San Diego, making up 1.86% of the city’s population.

2003 – Archaeologists have uncovered thousands of items during excavation and construction of the new Downtown Ballpark that offer a glimpse into San Diego’s Chinese Community at the turn of the 20th century.  Some of the items include china dishes, old medicine bottles, and rice bowls.

Sources:

Murray K. Lee, A Short History of the Chinese in San Diego, California (1977)

Elizabeth MacPhail, San Diego’s Chinese Mission, (The Journal of San Diego History, 1977)

Charles J. McClain, In Search of Equality: The Chinese Struggle Against Discrimination in Nineteenth-Century America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994)

Shih-Shan Henry Tsai, The Chinese Experience in America (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986)

Jonathan Heller, Artifacts point to San Diego’s unsung past (San Diego Union Tribune, 2003)

Asia Trip – Part Two

It seems every time that I cross the border from Hong Kong to China, a customs agent gets flagged by the computer that I am a suspected criminal.  That is to say, someone by the name of “Wayne Chan” is a suspected criminal.

Each time I reach customs, they seem to go deeper and deeper into their computer files while repeatedly glancing up at my face to see if I’m a match for whichever mug shot they have on the screen.  All the while, my mind is flashing back nervously to every indiscretion I’ve ever had in my life and wondering if the jig was up.

Could they be after me for a dumpling I swiped off of my colleague’s all you can eat tray when I had only ordered a bowl of noodles?  Did the hotel clerk snitch on me for taking one too many toiletries?  Is it possible that they saw me buy that “Rolex” off a street vender in Hong Kong that was on sale for seven dollars?

China, despite all the economic reforms they’ve had over the last 20 years, is still after all, a communist country.  I have an irrational fear that if I don’t answer all their questions correctly, I’ll immediately be whisked off to some Mongolian labor camp.

My colleague, who is always with me when we cross the border (and seems amused by the whole situation), once observed that the longer a customs agent questions me, the more my voice changes.

At first, I start out speaking Chinese.  Once their questions get more pointed, I immediately revert to English.  Any further questions and my American accent becomes more pronounced. The more inquisitive they get, the more I sound like I was born and raised in California.  For some irrational reason, on a subconscious level I’ve concluded that they will assume Californians are never wanton criminals. I start using the words “dude” and “righteous” in my responses as much as possible.

By the end of the screening, I’ve become a professional surfer, spouting phrases like, “Dude!  I’m like toootally here for a righteous business convention dude!”

Do they really think a dangerous criminal would try to get through customs sounding like that while wearing running shorts and a Daffy Duck T-shirt?

Of course, this latest trip added another component to the customs process – the SARS inspection.

While the SARS outbreak was apparently completely under control by the time of my visit, government officials were still very diligent in monitoring each person as they passed the customs counter, ready to detain anyone with any telltale symptoms.  I became acutely aware of my desire to contain any impulse I might have to sneeze at that particular moment.

If I did, I suppose I could say, “My bad, dude.  I like toootally have a case of the hay fever, dude.

Watch Your Language; It May Save You (Asia Trip – Part One)

In order to give my current business trip to Asia the attention it deserves, this report will be the first in a two-part series chronicling my travels. Mostly though, I just like using the words, “Two-part series” and “chronicling”.

First, a word about my credentials as a traveler to Asia – I don’t really have any.  Actually, I speak enough Chinese to help get me by when I’m traveling through China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and when I’m shopping at the 99 Supermarket in Kearny Mesa.

The problem is, when people in China first hear that I can speak some Chinese, the rest of our conversation, no matter how complex the subject matter, is done in Chinese. When I’m trying to negotiate a business transaction, I don’t know whether my comment “I hope we can make this business a ‘win-win’ situation” really came out as “My shoe is in love with the broken toaster.”  This can get you into trouble.

When I’m with a client in Asia, in order to impress them I must give them the perception that I know what I’m doing.  Whether that is actually the case is beside the point.  I need to keep up appearances.

While I speak some Chinese, I cannot read it.  And yet, when we are at a business lunch, the waiter always gives me a menu completely in Chinese.  In order to build up my reputation to my clients as “Wayne Chan – savvy world traveler”, I nonchalantly order items off the menu as if I know what they are.  As I recall, the last lunch where I ordered off the menu consisted of three pots of tea, eight bowls of steamed rice, and 40 take out boxes of mushu.

A good rule of thumb when visiting Asia with only a partial command of the language is to keep things simple.  Don’t make special requests.  It causes more grief than it’s worth.

I once checked into a hotel and asked for a room with two double beds and a view of the ocean, close to my client.  With my Chinese, the request sounded more like this:

I want…in room that I am paying to sleep in…please make me two sleeping furniture…then stand up see water way over there with other person too.

When I travel to countries like Malaysia and Thailand, I sometimes use a handy little translation program on my handheld computer.  I recall one dinner at a Thai restaurant in Thailand (actually, wouldn’t all restaurants in Thailand be called a Thai restaurant?) where I was particularly interested in a red curry dish.  When the waiter asked me how spicy I would like it, I used my handy dandy translator to find the word, “mild”.  But after tasting the dish, I may have inadvertently substituted the word “mild” for the phrase “brain hemorrhaging-level spicy.”

Take my advice – when in China, make generous use of the phrase, “Wu swo wei” (It doesn’t matter).  You’ll be surprised how often it works.

A General’s Generational Tale

Between 1928-1936, General Chen Ji Tang was the supreme ruler of southern China. He was a leader in the ruling Nationalist party at the time, and was a rival to the party leader, Chiang Kai-Shek.  General Chen wielded enormous economic and military power in the region, and was commonly known as the “King of the Southern Skies” due to his military might.

I bring up this somewhat arcane fact not because I’m particularly interested in this period of Chinese history, nor to relate this to some facet of China’s position in the world today.  Instead, I sometimes reflect upon his life and times in a very personal way, as a contrast to my own life.  You see, General Chen was my grandfather.

He lived and led during a tumultuous time in his country’s history, when decisions had life and death consequences.  At times he led his military to fight the Japanese invasion of China, and at times he fought against the emerging Communist movement, which would ultimately lead to the retreat of the Nationalist party, pulling back to the island of Taiwan.

Growing up, whenever my father’s family would get together for a reunion, grandfather’s exploits on and off the battlefield were often the topic of discussion.  While many of the stories were undoubtedly true, I suspect through the haze of time that his legend in the family has only grown.

I have heard stories on how he single handedly led the way to modernize Southern China’s infrastructure.  I’ve heard that during the tumult of World War II, he received requests from the leaders of both sides of the war to recruit his support for their efforts.  He is said to have traveled in a bullet proof car which he acquired after machine gun fire was sprayed all along his previous vehicle while he was in transit.  I’ve been told that at a particularly dangerous period, grandfather would have his aides frisk his own children before allowing them to come into the house in case one of his enemies had successfully turned one of his own against him.

Yet even with the enormity of the times, it’s the few personal anecdotes my father tells that stand out most in my mind.  By all accounts, my father was not the favorite of grandfather.  Caught up in the drama of his times, along with having 15 + other children among his three consecutive wives, grandfather could be dismissive, distant, blunt, and bad tempered to his children, and particularly with my father.

My dad was a sickly child, constantly in and out of the hospital, and his condition in the eyes of his father was often in stark contrast to the vitality, ambition, and spirit of his closest older brother, who happened to be the favorite of the family.  I’m sure this is one of the reasons why my father does not often speak of his childhood.

In the few times my dad has spoken of his past, his life was often at odds with a family of tremendous wealth and power.  His living quarters were in a separate building from the main residence, where his parents and his favored siblings lived.  His room was sparse, with a cold, concrete floor, furnished with a hard, uncomfortable chair and a bed with very little padding.  He was often scolded for being sick, and because his illnesses affected his schooling, his grades suffered as well, which would only bring more scorn and ridicule from grandfather.

The piano was a refuge for my father, a way of escaping the starkness of his life, enabling him to revel in the beauty and peace of Mozart and Beethoven’s music.  Unfortunately, grandfather often berated him mercilessly for playing the piano too loudly while he was trying to work or nap.  He stopped playing shortly after that, and it was only a couple of years ago that he started playing again.  I suspect that may be a reason why dad always pushed me to learn the piano.

With all this, it’s one brief encounter between my father and grandfather that is the most vivid to me.  As I recall, my father, a slightly built eight or nine year old, was just berated by one of the servants of the residence.  He sat, alone, on a wood bench, looking forlornly and glum at the floor.

Grandfather, entering the room, sees his son, sitting alone, and decides to sit alongside his dejected son.

Quietly, and very tenderly, Grandfather raised his son’s small and slender hand into the air, and placed his own open hand against the palm of his son.  He looks down, into the eyes of his son, and says, “Everything will be alright.  You see?  Your hand is much smaller than mine but it is the same.  You are a part of me.”  This is my dad’s favorite childhood memory.

My grandfather passed away long before I arrived.  I wonder how he would have fared in today’s world, where our greatest struggle of the day is often just getting through the daily commute without spilling hot coffee in the car.  I wonder how I would have fared during the tumult of his times.  I suppose these are questions that were never meant to be answered.

In the end, you live your life the best you can in the times you are in.  The important thing is to honor your past, and to do your best to live up to it.

These two men – they are a part of me as well.

The Britney and Beijing Accord

It turns out that the fashion police are alive and well in China, and they have set their sights on Britney Spears.

Pop star Britney Spears is scheduled to give a number of concerts in China next year, but in light of the recent furor over Janet Jackson’s breast baring performance at this year’s Super Bowl, China’s cultural officials have taken great care to eliminate any potential “wardrobe malfunctions” during her appearances.  As a start, they have demanded to get a first look at her performance and her wardrobe.

According to one official, “Every aspect of her tour will have to undergo examination and approval.  That especially goes for the clothes she’ll be wearing.  The requirement is that they don’t show too much.”

As a Chinese-American who would like to contribute whatever I can to ensure a positive relationship between the U.S. and China, I have taken it upon myself to draft a set of standards that might help address the situation.   It is called “The Britney and Beijing Accord.”

#1    Chinese cultural officials must approve all song lyrics in advance of the performance.  However as a general rule, songs pertaining to anything of a sexual nature are prohibited.  Songs addressing topics like the weather, beautiful scenery, fresh fruit, or China’s entry to the World Trade Organization are generally acceptable.

#2     Songs featuring androgynous, half dressed male dancers moving provocatively on stage are prohibited.  However, having government officials standing at the back of the stage clapping rhythmically is acceptable.

#3     Dancers should refrain from grabbing any other part of their body during the performance.  If a “body part grab” is an intrinsic component of a particular song or dance routine, performers should restrict their grabbing to areas such as their head, shoulders, knees, and toes.  As a side note, one fully acceptable maneuver is if the performer should choose to place both hands on their knees and bring their knees together repeatedly while simultaneously crossing their hands to the opposite knee.  This is formally known as the “Hey, look what I’m doing with my knees!” routine.

#4     Removal of any article of clothing by oneself or by another performer (outside of a hat) is strictly prohibited.  Stage managers reserve the right to apply super glue to any article of clothing should said clothing appear to be nothing more than a prop.

#5     Suggestive words in otherwise acceptable songs must be altered for the performance.  The word “baby” should be replaced with the word “infant.” The word “lover” should be replaced by “husband” or “wife”, and the word “fondle” should be replaced with “look”.  Use of the word “loin” can only be used for songs addressing cuts of meat.  Likewise, words like “ache” or “throbbing” are to be used only for songs recounting a recent sports injury.

#6     Stage costumes must conceal every inch of skin below the chin.  Chinese formal silk qipao’s are acceptable, full-length body armor is not only acceptable but encouraged.

The trouble is, after following all of these guidelines, Britney’s show might only run for 20 minutes.

Bless You, Yao Ming, Bless You

I used to be a rock star.

Strange though – except for the piano in my living room, I don’t own a musical instrument.  I’ve never fronted a rock band and I don’t really sing in public.  The closest I’ve come to singing in public recently was when I was driving my seven year old son from school the other day and singing to “Sweet Caroline” on the radio at the top of my lungs with the windows rolled down and a car load of kids roaring with laughter as we were both pulled up at a stoplight.

When will I ever learn?  Windows down – play U2 or Eminem.  Windows up and no one can hear you – Neil Diamond rocks!

OK, so in the strictest terms, I’m not an actual rock star.  But I think I know what it feels like to be one – at least when I’m in China.

Here’s how it works.  In the U.S., I’m a fairly average-sized person.  Six feet tall, average build, not too big, not too small.

When I go to China, especially in some of the more rural areas, that’s another story.  A six-foot tall Chinese man in China?  I might as well wear a goose outfit carrying a sign saying, “I’m looking for duck-duck.”

It starts up the moment I get off the plane.  I have to duck under a lot of doorways.  The seats are often too small.  Walking up stairs, you often have to bend down so as not to hit your head on the ceiling.  People walking pass stop in mid-stride with their eyes bulging and mouths agape, as if Big Foot had just disembarked from the plane.

At first I got kind of a kick from it.  Waiting to board a busy subway, you’re a foot taller than everyone else trying to board as you gaze over a sea of bobbing black heads.  When I’m sitting on a bus, I usually get the bench all to myself because there’s simply no room for anyone else on the bench once I sit down.

After a while though, you quickly discover that being overly tall in any country has a lot of drawbacks. I have to answer the same question every time.  “What did your parent’s feed you?” they ask, expecting me to say, “Oh, nothing special – hamburgers, hot dogs, human growth serum, the usual things.”

Then, despite the fact that I have been to Asia countless times, I have yet to buy a single article of clothing.  Oh, I’ve tried, but I can never find anything big enough for me to wear.  I immediately start feeling like a sideshow geek.  You can see the sales people sizing me up, with a look of bemused amazement when I walk into the store.  You can hear them trying to figure it out, speaking Chinese, unaware that I understand what they’re saying.

“Someone go in the back and see if we have any shoes that’ll fit this guy.  He’s huge.  See if we still have those clown shoes leftover from the party.  Maybe those will fit.”

It’s enough to give you an inferiority complex.  You start believing that perhaps, there really is something wrong with you.  You get paranoid.  You start questioning yourself.

Am I really that big?  I seemed fine at home.  Wait a minute.  Why am I so tall?  Why do I have all these bruises on my forehead from bumping into doorframes?  Look at my hands.  They’re freakishly big!  I could strangle a cow with these hands!  I’ve got cow-killing hands!

Fortunately, I’ve recovered from my paranoia, thanks in large part, to the very large Yao Ming, center for the Houston Rockets basketball team, who ironically enough, is from China.  He’s seven feet, six inches tall, and I’m sure he really does know what it’s like to be a rock star.

I just wonder what his parents fed him?

One Man’s Medicine is the Same Man’s Embarassment

I just came back from a business trip in Beijing and all I got was a lousy T-shirt.

Actually, I didn’t bring back any T-shirts.  Instead, what I came back with was a sense of amazement.

Sky-high skyscrapers.  Locals dressed in the latest couture.  Mercedes Benz cars parked next to trendy microbreweries.

Even factory workers would drink Starbucks during their coffee breaks.

OK, a little creative license there, but you see where I’m going with this.

This wasn’t the Beijing that I remembered.  The last time I visited Beijing, it was 1980.  Beijing was so much different.  But then again, so was I.

In the summer of 1980, I was 16 years old and I joined a group of students from all over the country to attend a Chinese language program at Beijing’s prestigious Tsinghua University.

My parents thought this trip would be a good opportunity for me to learn about my roots.  They thought this trip would give me a chance to expand my Chinese language skills.  They thought I would come back with a greater appreciation of my heritage and the richness of my culture.

I thought it would be a good chance to meet girls.  After all, I and every other student who attended the program were fully aware that this program was informally known as “The Love Boat.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t really hook up with any girls during the trip.  But as a consolation, I did manage to pick up a severe case of food poisoning.

I shared a dorm room with two of my cousins.  Seeing as how they were both younger than me and with even less experience with the fairer sex, this was not the best environment I could have hoped for.  The room had a concrete floor, and each bed was covered completely with mosquito netting.  I quickly discovered that the mosquitoes were in abundance, and unless you wanted to unwillingly donate a pint of blood each night via a hundred mosquito bites, you stayed under the netting.

However, this being the summer, it was also hot and muggy, with nary an air conditioner in sight.  Coupled with the fact that the mosquito netting effectively blocked out any breeze from the windows, you soon came to realize that you had inadvertently duplicated the conditions of a Thanksgiving turkey basting in the oven.

Under these sweltering conditions, a cool, tall glass of water would have really hit the spot.  Unfortunately, the best we could do was a bracing cup of hot tea, or boiled hot water kept in a large thermos, which contained so much excess grit and minerals that you felt like you were drinking a cup of watery sand.

Towards the end of my journey in China, I came down with a severe case of food poisoning.  High temperature, extreme queasiness, a genuine feeling of hopelessness.  No, that’s not what the food poisoning did to me, that’s how I felt as a number of friends helped me make my way to the University’s medical clinic and looked inside.

I felt like I was on the set of M*A*S*H.

Still, how bad could it be?  I immediately felt more at ease when the doctor told me I just needed some penicillin.  However, I soon realized that what might be good for my health might not be so good for my image.

In front of all my friends, including a few girls I was trying to impress, I nonchalantly asked the doctor where I could pick up the penicillin pills.

The doctor replied, “We don’t have penicillin pills.”

Figuring he meant a penicillin shot, I bravely rolled up my sleeve and said, “OK, no problem.  I have had lots of shots before.”

The doctor, seeming a little perplexed, looked at me and quietly said, “Umm…we don’t give you the shot in your arm.”

After a few moments, I quickly grasped the situation and asked,  “You don’t mean to tell me you’re going to give me a shot in my…”

When it comes right down to it, buying flowers, writing a romantic poem, seeing a romantic movie…there are a lot of things a young man can do to win a young woman’s heart.  Bending over and pulling your pants down in front of your friends for a penicillin shot is not one of them.

Then again, the experience certainly wasn’t a complete loss.  I did manage to learn the Chinese words to ask, “Could somebody please cover me up with a blanket?”

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