Thursday, January 28, 2010

Jeremy Lin scored 30 points

Immigrant dream plays out through son

Harvard's do-it-all star learned the game from his father and a host of NBA legends

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O'Neil By Dana O'Neil
ESPN.com
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STORRS, Conn. -- The jump hook he used to score his first bucket of the game? That came from Kareem.

[+] EnlargeJeremy Lin
AP Photo/Fred Beckham In a close loss to UConn on Sunday, Jeremy Lin scored 30 points and grabbed 9 rebounds.

The perfect form on his jumper? Larry Bird deserves credit for that.

The power end-to-end drive with a dunk to finish? Vintage Dr. J.

The sweet dribble penetration and kickout? Score one for Magic.

As Jeremy Lin dissected and bisected Connecticut to the tune of 30 points Sunday afternoon, his father sat in front of a computer screen on the other side of the country, watching his videotape library of NBA greats come to life in the form of his son.

All those years Gie-Ming Lin spent rewinding his tapes so he could teach himself how to play a game he never even saw until he was an adult? All those hours spent in the local Y with his boys, schooling them in fundamentals over and over, building muscle memory without even knowing what the term meant? That silly dream, the one in which his children would fall in love with basketball as much as he had?

There it was, borne out in a gym in Storrs, Conn.

"Every time he did something good, they'd play it over and over again," Gie-Ming said from his home in Palo Alto, Calif. "I kept watching, and they kept showing him."

Soon the rest of the college basketball world might be turning its collective eye toward Jeremy Lin. Think about what the senior has done just this week for Harvard, which is off to its best start (7-2) in 25 years.

In keeping his team in the game right to the end, Lin scored a career-high 30 points and grabbed 9 boards in a 79-73 loss to No. 12 UConn. Then, in the Crimson's 74-67 upset at Boston College on Wednesday -- the second straight season Harvard has beaten BC -- Lin contributed 25 points.

So in two games against New England's annual NCAA tournament participants, Lin scored 55 points and shot 64 percent from the field and 80 percent from the free throw line.

He boasts an all-around repertoire rarely on display. Last season Lin was the only player in the nation to rank among the top 10 players in his conference in points, rebounds, assists, steals, blocks, field goal percentage, free throw percentage and 3-point percentage.

This year? He is merely second in the Ivy League in scoring (18.6 points), 10th in rebounding (5.3), fifth in field goal percentage (51.6 percent), third in assists (4.6), second in steals (2.4), sixth in blocked shots (1.2) and top of the pile in turning the heads of esteemed basketball minds, including Hall of Famer Jim Calhoun.

[+] EnlargeJeremy Lin
Brian Pohorylo/Icon SMIWant athleticism? How about leaping high into the sky to block a shot by UConn's Jerome Dyson.

"I've seen a lot of teams come through here, and he could play for any of them," the longtime UConn coach said of Lin. "He's got great, great composure on the court. He knows how to play."

And he learned how to play thanks to his father's determination.

Jeremy is not the product of some Marv Marinovich in high-tops, desperate to cultivate the perfect basketball player, but rather a 5-foot-6 immigrant who long ago fell in love with a game and realized that in that game, his own children could gain entry into mainstream America.

Gie-Ming Lin was born in Taiwan, where academics were stressed and athletics ignored. He caught an occasional glimpse of basketball and, for reasons he can't explain, was immediately smitten with the game.

He dreamed of coming to the United States for two reasons: to complete his Ph.D. and "to watch the NBA."

That happened in 1977 when Gie-Ming enrolled at Purdue University for his doctorate in computer engineering. He flipped on the television, and there it was: the NBA in all its late-1970s glory. Kareem, Moses and Dr. J, with Jordan, Bird and Magic waiting in the wings.

"My dad," Jeremy said, "is a complete basketball junkie."

Gie-Ming's first job took him to Los Angeles, where the grueling demands and long hours had him searching for some sort of athletic release.

"I thought it would be great to play basketball," Gie-Ming said.

Only problem? He didn't have the slightest idea how. He had never picked up a ball in his life.

So he turned his attention back to those gripping NBA games. Armed with videotapes of his favorite players, Gie-Ming studied the game with the same fervor he studied for his Ph.D.

"I would just imitate them over and over; I got my hook shot from Kareem," Gie-Ming said, laughing.

It took him years to feel comfortable enough to play in a pickup game, and as he bided his time he decided then -- long before he even had children -- that his own kids would grow up knowing the game from an early age.

When first-born Joshua turned 5, Gie-Ming carted him to the local Y to begin teaching him those valuable skills stored on his videotapes.

Jeremy followed, and then youngest brother Joseph joined in what became a three-nights-a-week routine. The boys would finish their homework and around 8:30 head to the Y with their father for 90 minutes of drills or mini-games.

Forget that all of the players on those videos had long since retired, that the guy with Kareem's hook shot wouldn't hit Abdul-Jabbar's armpit. Gie-Ming recognized what so many other youth coaches have forgotten over time: The foundation for success is the basics.

"I realized if I brought them from a young age it would be like second nature for them," Gie-Ming said. "If they had the fundamentals, the rest would be easy."

[+] EnlargeJeremy Lin Family
Jeremy Lin FamilyJeremy, top right, and his brothers Joshua and Joseph grew up in a hoops-loving family.

His passion soon became their passion, and as the boys grew up, those 90-minute sessions would turn into wee-hour wars, with the boys scrounging for whatever gym they could find to play.

Joshua would star at Henry M. Gunn High School. Jeremy would enroll at rival Palo Alto High, where Joseph is now a senior.

Jeremy was special. He had his father's passion, his own inner motivation and a frame that would sprout to 6-foot-3. A good enough scorer to play 2-guard, Jeremy also was a savvy enough playmaker -- thanks to his dad and Magic -- to play the point. He's a solid outside shooter, but his dad, Julius and Kareem conspired to give him a reliable game around the rim.

In other words, he was otherworldly, a kid so talented that his freshman coach stood up at the team banquet and declared, "Jeremy has a better skill set than anyone I've ever seen at his age."

Named to the varsity as a freshman, Jeremy would earn honors as sophomore of the year and two-time most valuable player in his league.

Immersed in the game as he was, Jeremy never thought he was anything but a normal kid who liked basketball.

Until, that is, the insults came at him, the taunts to go back to China or open his eyes.

He was an Asian-American basketball player, an oddity and a curiosity in the cruel world of high school, where nothing is safer than being like everyone else.

"It was definitely a lot tougher for me growing up," he said. "There was just an overall lack of respect. People didn't think I could play."

His father offered sage advice.

"I told him people are going to say things to him, but he had to stay calm and not get excited by these words; they are only words," Gie-Ming said. "I told him to just win the game for your school and people will respect you."

Once more, Gie-Ming was right. In his senior season Jeremy averaged 15 points, 7 assists, 6 rebounds and 5 steals, leading Palo Alto to a 32-1 record and a stunning 51-47 victory over nationally ranked Mater Dei in the CIF Division II state championship game.

Along the way, he converted some of the people who had mocked him. When Palo Alto played Mater Dei, students from both Jeremy's high school and rival Henry M. Gunn High crowded a local pizza joint to cheer for Jeremy and his team.

Converting people outside Northern California was more difficult. By his senior season, Lin was the runaway choice for player of the year by virtually every California publication. Yet he didn't receive a single Division I scholarship offer.

Lin doesn't know why, but believes his ethnicity played a part.

Asian-Americans make up just 0.4 percent of Division I basketball rosters, according to the latest NCAA numbers. That equates to 20 players out of 5,051.

[+] EnlargeJeremy Lin
AP Photo/Elise AmendolaIn back-to-back wins over Boston College, Lin has scored a combined 52 points on 18-of-26 shooting.

Harvard offered an education with a hefty price tag. (The Ivy League offers no athletic scholarships.) But it also offered the chance to play Division I ball. So Lin went without hesitation.

Four extremely successful years into his college career, he now finds himself packaged into an uncomfortable box. Lin is at once proud and frustrated with his place as the flag-bearer for Asian-American basketball players.

The Harvard uniform, the Asian background, it all still makes Jeremy something of a novelty. What he longs for most of all is to be a basketball player.

Not an Asian-American basketball player, just a basketball player.

"Jeremy has been one of the better players in the country for a while now," said Harvard coach Tommy Amaker, who, as a Duke graduate and former head coach at both Seton Hall and Michigan, knows a thing or two about talent. "He's as consistent as anyone in the game. People who haven't seen him are wowed by what they see, but we aren't. What you see is who he is."

But stereotypes die hard and remain propagated by the ignorant. At UConn, as Jeremy stepped to the free throw line for the first time, one disgraceful student chanted, "Won-ton soup."

"I do get tired of it; I just want to play," Lin said. "But I've also come to accept it and embrace it. If I help other kids, than it's worth it."

In their 109-year history, the Crimson have never won an Ivy League title and have managed only three second-place finishes. They have had just one league player of the year -- Joe Carrabino in 1984.

The last Harvard man to suit up in the NBA? Ed Smith in 1953.

Lin could change all of that, a thought that boggles the mind of the man who fell in love with a sport so many years ago.

"All this time he was growing up, I never thought about Jeremy playing in college or professionally," Gie-Ming said. "I just enjoyed watching him play. I'm just so proud of him and so happy for him. I told him my dream already has come true."

Dana O'Neil covers college basketball for ESPN.com and can be reached at espnoneil@live.com.

Far East Café Reunion by Raymond Chong

Far East Café Reunion – Memories and Nostalgia - Part 1 of 2

By Raymond Chong

17 Oct 2008

Michael, my brother, and I hosted the “Far East Café Reunion – Memories and Nostalgia.” Our purpose was to celebrate the life of Gim Suey Chong and the legacy of famous Far East Café with relatives and new friends. On Saturday, June 7, 2008, we gathered at the mezzanine of the Chop Suey Café in the landmark Far East Café Building for the program and lunch, the room of countless parties, in two rows of tables.

During the program, we shared memorable and nostalgic stories. We feasted on the delicious China meshi (Cantonese) dishes. We first met as mysterious strangers but left the “Far East Café Reunion” as close friends. I was simply elated by this extraordinary party in Little Tokyo.

Gim Suey Chong, my father, was a proud weekend waiter at the storied Far East Café on 347 East First Street in the Heart of Little Tokyo. Gim worked for the Jung cousins of Hoyping County from the Pearl River Delta of Kwangtung Province in China. He served the popular China meshi dishes to customers with a smile on his face from 1950 to 1974. He talked, joked, and played with his fellow waiters, busboys, and cooks. He was among his brothers in this close-knit fraternity. Gim won many arm wrestling matches during their breaks. The Far East Café and its people were a vital part of his short but vibrant life (years 1922 to 1979).

It was a beautiful sunny Saturday morning in the Southland when I arrived in Little Tokyo. I was excited as well as anxious about the Far East Café reunion. I retraced the footsteps of Gim Suey Chong along East First Street in the historic Little Tokyo district. The iconic “Far East Chop Suey” neon sign on the façade proudly proclaimed this Chop Suey eatery to the world. In front, two stone Chinese lions stood protecting the Far East Café from evil spirits. “En To Low” (Far East Building in Chinese) was etched on the front glass door since 1935. I looked at the adjacent landmark Antonin Sperl Building. Then at the old Yet Quong Low (Sun Light Building in Chinese) Chop Suey Café (aka Nikko Low), Gim Suey Chong and Moi Chung, our grandfather, lived there and worked for Quock Den Jung and Hoie Wing Jung.

Omoide No Shotokyo (Remembering Old Little Tokyo) is sidewalk public art that honors Japanese Americans, their history and neighborhood. Etched into the sidewalk concrete in front of the building was "Far East Café (1935)." A reminder of how Little Tokyo used to be. Another memory in the sidewalk were the words of Little Tokyo resident, Penny Akemi Sakoda that reads: "My memory of hotel living are vividly etched in my mind. I hear the familiar sounds of the shamisen koto, and shigin being sung, and the constant clanking of the street car." Toyo Miyatake’s camera sculpture is nearby.

My imagination wandered to the days of Gim Suey Chong at the Far East Café. It is lunchtime on Saturday. Patrons were sharing quiet conversations in the booths. Upstairs in the mezzanine, a family was joyfully celebrating a birthday of a loved one with drinks and food. The cooks were in their usual frenetic pace in the kitchen as they created their succulent dishes in the fiery woks. A strong aroma of the tasty foods waffled in the air. Gim Suey Chong and fellow waiters were smoothly serving the China meshi dishes. From the front counter, Look Mar admired the scene of the good times among his guests at the venerable Far East Café.

At 11 a.m., I walked into the old Far East Café, now known as Chop Suey Café. Dark red booths on the red concrete floor, stood ready for the patrons. Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling to cast an ambient dark red hue over the dining room. Black formica tables with soy sauce jars and round wood chairs. The lacquer wood panels were lined with advertising posters of Chinese girls of the 1930’s hawking cigarettes and other goods. Near the entrance, you can see the glass front counter where Look Mar greeted patrons, handled transactions at the cash register, and dispensed sweets to the kids. On the wall, two photos showed Look Mar, Do Mar, Mayor Thomas Bradley, and various workers.

Michael put together a beautiful program for the party. It included: the creative “China Meshi Dreams” by Tony Osumi, the legacy of Far East Café, and the life story of Gim Suey Chong, our father. Near the reception table, Michael put up a poster of the Far East Café. It included “Valley Girl's Memories of the Far East Café” by Jennie Kuida, “A Dark Show Fell on My Chop Suey” by Naomi Hirahara, “Far East Café Groundbreaking Ceremony" by Wataru Ebihara, "The China Meshi Manifesto" by Tony Osumi, and “Far East Building – A Salute to Preservation” by Restore America.

At noon, I happily began our program. I warmly welcome our guests for this unique occasion of memories and nostalgia for the Far East Café. I gave them a brief description for today’s China meshi menu for lunch. I talked about the importance of chop suey in American cuisine. The Issei and Nissei community enjoyed the delicious China meshi dishes of that era in America.

Tony Osumi, an aficionado of the Far East Café, had written a nice poem entitled “China Meshi Dreams,” an ode to the classic China meshi dishes.

China Meshi Dreams

relaxing in a hot tub of seaweed soup
nori and egg whites swirl
pork shoulder bobbing
translucent broth
cover my shoulders
lowering my chin to take a sip

chashu
roasted brick red
chunks hang plump
like apples on a chashu tree
seedless
warm and ripe
there for the picking
licking fingers
shamelessly
not even my own

homyu
pungent and fresh
melting in my mouth
with hot mustard and shoyu
whipped into circles
golden as Van Gogh’s Starry Night
new research finds:
homyu
fat free
sodium free
and lowers your
cholesterol

shrimp and lobster sauce
ladled thick on steaming rice
a priceless
chawan treasure
overflowing with
orange rubies
black bean pearls
and egg white satin
magically
the last shrimp
reappearing after every bite

chicken chowmein
pan fried timelines
thread through
shiitake and china pea
weave and tie us
to our pioneer past
every glazed noodle
guaranteed to have
an issei on the other end

pakai
bell pepper and onion
witness the marriage
of pineapple and pork
with vinegar presiding
honeymooning
for seven days
and six nights
on a romantic
lazy susan

almond duck
cradled by lettuce
spruced up with nuts
born from hard times
scraps of duck meat
pressed between
heaven and earth
working peoples’
salvation--with gravy
my father says,
Almond Duck?
as hard to describe
as the grand canyon’s
beauty

I eagerly told the story of the old Far East Café in Little Tokyo. In 1935, five Jung cousins, from Le Chung Laundry in Mason City, Iowa, opened this establishment during the heyday of Little Tokyo. Anna May Wong, the famous actress, attended their grand opening. Far East Café was a popular gathering place for good Chinese food. Countless parties were held in the mezzanine. Issei and Nisei enjoyed the China meshi dishes among families and friends. They have strong sentiments for the Far East Café.

George Wakiji vividly described the fine dining of the old Far East Café:

In my younger days (pre-World War II) when I lived in Pasadena, California, it was always a treat to go to Little Tokyo in Los Angeles to eat China meshi, the popular Cantonese cuisine, at the Far East Café. I can still vividly recall the dark cherry wood panels, which covered the walls and booths. Sometimes when we had a family gathering on Sunday, I recall eating in a secluded mezzanine section in the back of the restaurant. Hanhichi Wakiji, my father, held court there. We never failed to order the same dishes each time. There was always pak kai (sweet and sour pork), pea chow yuk (Chinese pea and pork), chow mein (with chicken and pan-fried noodles), and wor shu op (almond duck). My favorite was cha shu (roast pork). In the ensuing years, I have eaten in many Chinese restaurants around the world, but have never found cha shu that matched the Far East Café version.

James Hajime Wakiji, my older brother, always had to have an order of hom yuk (pork hash with salted fish). After our return from incarceration from the Gila River Relocation Camp in the Arizona desert during World War II, I with my good friends played in the post-World War II Nisei Athletic Union (NAU) softball and basketball leagues in the greater Los Angeles area. After the games on Friday evenings, we invariably stopped in Little Tokyo and headed for the Far East Café. We gorged ourselves on the best Cantonese cuisine. In those days, they served the steamed rice in large rice bowls, which were mounded high. I remember that in addition to all the Chinese dishes I would down at least four of those bowls. Nowadays I would eat an eighth of that amount of rice. The Far East Café experience during my youth and adulthood are memories. Nevertheless, I will always remember and cherish it.

Part 2 >>

* If you want to share your stories and photos about the Far East Café, please contact Raymond Chong at 510.915.9810 (mobile) or raychong(at)prodigy.net (e-mail).

© 2008 Raymond Chong

Far East Café Reunion – Memories and Nostalgia - Part 2 of 2

  • en

By Raymond Chong

24 Oct 2008

>> Part 1

As part of the Far East Café Reunion, I gladly shared with the guests the story of the colorful life of Gim Suey Chong (1922-1979), my father. He had a humble beginning in Yung Lew Gong Village in Hoyping County of China. At nine years old, he took an epic sojourn from the Port of Hong Kong to the Port of Vancouver, across continental Canada aboard the Canadian Pacific Railway, to arrive at the Port of Boston in 26 days. He lived at his father’s Imperial Restaurant in Central Square in Cambridge.

Gim Suey Chong lived with his father, Moi Chung, at Yet Quong Low Chop Suey Café (aka Nikko Low) from 1936 to 1941. He graduated from Belmont High School as a member of the Winter 1941 class. Gim learned aviation mechanic trade from Curtiss Wright Technical Institute of Glendale.

During World War II he maintained the world famous “China Clipper” and other seaplanes for Pan American Airways on Treasure Island in San Francisco. During the post World War II years, he was partner, as well as waiter, at the renown Kubla Khan Theater Restaurant in San Francisco Chinatown with the colorful Eddie Pond.

In 1950, he returned to Los Angeles to stay at an apartment above popular Little Joe's Italian American Restaurant in Los Angeles' Chinatown. He worked for Lockheed California Company in Burbank as inspector from 1950 to 1979. During weekends, he worked as a waiter at Far East Café for his Hoyping cousins. He married Seen Hoy Tong of Santa Barbara. They raised two sons, Raymond and Michael. He died early in 1979.

At the reunion, Henry Fong, son of Lung Fong, talked about the Nikko Low Chinese Restaurant. Dr. Roger Pating briefly spoke about the Kubla Khan. William Tom proudly described his young days as a waiter at the Far East Café. He also related about his experience as an Olympic gymnast during 1956 Summer Olympics in Melbourne, Australia. Dr. Andrew Chong remarked that Far East Café was a fun workplace for everyone. He proudly worked as a busboy for $5.00 plus $0.50. He remembered Jimmy as a fun guy to be around with in the dining room.

But we couldn't talk about the Far East Café without tasting the food. Ming Chong, the headwaiter, from Vietnam and his assistant served the China meshi efficiently. In quick order, we feasted on tofu seaweed soup, cha shu, bok choy, sweet and sour pork, chop suey, hom you, and pressed almond duck. Soy sauce and hot yellow mustard were passed around and everything was washed down with cups of hot tea. The atmosphere was filed with gaiety and camaraderie. We closed the lunch with delicious gelato from Piccomolo.

Our honored guests included:
Tony Osumi and Jenni Kuida and Maiya, their daughter.
George and Betty Wakiji
Henry Fong, son of Lung Fong, principal owner of Nikko Low Chop Suey Cafe, and Jane, his wife.
Dr. Roger Pating, son of Eddie Pond, principal owner of Kubla Khan Theater Restaurant, and Isabelle, wife.
Dr. Andrew Chong
Archie Miyatake, son of Toyo Miyatake, the famous Mazanar incarceration camp photographer, with Taketo, his wife
Bill Watanabe, Executive Director of Little Tokyo Service Center,
From Little Tokyo Historical Society, Kiku Harada, Bill Shishima, Carole Fujita, Nancy Uyemura, Joseph Janenti, Sumi Tsuno, Hector Watanabe, Yuko Aoyama Gabe, Megumi Sumita, Frances Nakamura
Bobby Okinaka and Yoko Nishimura of Discover Nikkei
Gwen Muranaka, English Editor for Rafu Shimpo, later wrote “Far East Memories” article.
Susie Ling from Chinese Historical Society of Southern California made a brief visit.

Bill Watanabe, Executive Director of Little Tokyo Service Center, strongly felt that the Far East Café had a major impact on the Issei and Nisei community. After the end of World War II, they returned from the internment camps in despair. He wrote:

Return of Japanese Americans after World War II to Little Tokyo

When World War II broke out, all of the Japanese along the west coast of the United States were forcibly removed and incarcerated in camps in the interior portions of the country. Thus, from 1942 - 1945, Little Tokyo was devoid of any Japanese or Japanese American presence, and the area was occupied by others who came to Los Angeles from the south and midwest and were in need of housing.

After World War II ended in 1945, many Japanese Americans sought to return to southern California but they found there were few places for them to live. A number of families were housed temporarily at the Koyasan Temple on First Street in Little Tokyo - including members of my own family (Bill Watanabe's family). According to some folks who recall those days, after spending years in the camps and losing most if not all of their possessions, they had little spending money. They would go to the Far East Café across the street from the Koyasan Temple and the Chinese owners of the restaurant, who were familiar with many of these returnees, allowed them to eat "on credit," asking to be paid when they were able to do so. It could truthfully be said that this kind of goodwill helped to make the Far East Café, along with its famous cheap and tasty menu, the most popular and well-known restaurant in the entire Japanese American community.

Gary Miyatake, son of Archie Miytakte, reflected on the importance of Far East Café in Little Tokyo. His poignant remarks were:

Being that my family had a business in Little Tokyo, my views are a little different. My best friend was a member of the owners. They were the Mars (Jungs). Do Mar was my best friend. With that, I met Andrew Chong who remains a very good friend.

Far East Café was a favorite among the many people who visited Little Tokyo. Many people felt comfortable in places like the Far East Café. It is very important to have places like that. There is a lack of that now days.

After lunch, we interviewed folks near the Far Bar. Bill Watanabe, Bill Shishima, Carole Fujita, George Wakiji, William Tom, Lena Ho and Ming Chong sat down with our video crew. Later in the evening at the Monterey Palace Restaurant, we interviewed five people including: Steve Situ, Pauline Chin, Gary Miyatake, Dr. Andrew Chong, and Raymond Chong. They repeated a common theme about the hard times in Little Tokyo and happy times at the Far East Café. It was a bright spot in their harsh and bleak lives during the Great Depression and after World War II.

Before the program, I gave the records of War Relocation Authority of Hanhichi and Taneo Wakiji, parents of George Wakiji. Henry Fong kindly loaned me photos of the Lung Fong, father, in front of Yet Quong Low Chop Suey Café. I gave Chinese immigration photos of Lung Fong, Hanako Nishi Fong, and Von Chung Fong (aka Henry Chong) to Henry Fong. I was able to distribute some more historical photos to other guests as well.

I was overwhelmed by the enthusiastic response to our “Far East Café Reunion – Memories and Nostalgia.” I was ecstatic for this special occasion. This party was a surrealistic experience for me to be among patrons and workers of the Far East Café. People were happy to relive the good old days at Far East Café, either as patron or worker. Our program enlivened their precious memories. Their level for nostalgia runs deep in their hearts.

My mind is warmed by thoughts of this chop suey eatery for Gim Suey Chong, my father. Today, after my return to Texas, I cherish and value my new memories and nostalgia of the Far East Café and its people. The Far East Café was a unique place in the heart of Little Tokyo.

Many thanks for their help to:
Clinton Crosby of Lazy Mule Productions for videotaping our program and interviews.
Kevin Chin for conducting the interviews.
Lloyd Ho for shooting photos at our program.

* If you want to share your stories and photos about the Far East Café, please contact Raymond Chong at 510.915.9810 (mobile) or raychong@prodigy.net (e-mail).

© 2008 Raymond Chong

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Paper Sons



Immigration Stories, From Shadows to Spotlight

Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times
Tun Funn Hom with his wife, Yoke Won Hom, and his daughter Dorothy at the reopened Museum of Chinese in America.

By NINA BERNSTEIN
Published: September 29, 2009
Frail and dignified at 88, the man leaned on his cane and smiled as the story of his immigration in 1936 flashed behind him on a museum wall. Like tens of thousands of others who managed to come to the United States from China during a 60-year period when the law singled them out for exclusion, the man, Tun Funn Hom, had entered as a “paper son,” with false identity papers that claimed his father was a native citizen.
100 Years in the Back Door, Out the Front (May 21, 2006)

From top, Mr. Hom as a younger man and during his military service, which eased his path to citizenship. At bottom, Mr. Hom, his wife and his daughter Mary after he became a citizen.
For years, it was a shameful family secret. But Mr. Hom, a New York laundry worker who helped build battleships in World War II and put three children through college, outlived the stigma of an earlier era’s immigration fraud.
A narrow legalization program let him reclaim his true name in the 1950s. His life story is now on permanent display at the Museum of Chinese in America, which reopened last week at 215 Centre Street. And it illuminates an almost forgotten chapter in American history, one that historians say has new relevance in the current crackdown on illegal immigration.
“When we think about illegal immigration, we think about Mexican immigrants, whereas in fact illegal immigration cuts across all immigrant groups,” said Erika Lee, the author of “At America’s Gate: Chinese Immigration During the Exclusion Era, 1882-1943.” The book traces how today’s national apparatus of immigration restriction was created and shaped by efforts to keep out Chinese workers and to counter the tactics they developed to overcome the barriers.
The current parallels are striking, said Professor Lee, who teaches history at the University of Minnesota. And though some descendants of paper sons do not make the connection, many others have become immigrant rights advocates in law, politics or museums like this one, which hopes to draw a national audience to its new Chinatown space, designed by Maya Lin.
“In the Chinese-American community, it has only been very recently that these types of histories have been made public,” Professor Lee said. “Even my own grandparents who came in as paper sons were very, very reluctant to talk about this.”
For Mr. Hom, who was a teenager when he arrived to work in his father’s laundry on Bleecker Street, the past is now a blur. “It was so long ago that I hardly remember,” he said, as his wife, Yoke Won Hom, 82, straightened the lapels of his suit for a photograph.
But when his memory was still sharp, his daughter Dorothy transcribed 48 pages of his taped recollections, which became the basis of a four-minute first-person narrative produced by the museum. It is one of 10 such autobiographical videos that form the museum’s core exhibit.
“To get into the U.S. under the laws back then, I had to pretend to be another person,” Mr. Hom wrote. His father had bought him immigration papers that included 32 pages of information he was to memorize in preparation for hours of interrogation at Ellis Island.
Such cheat sheets were part of an elaborate, self-perpetuating cycle of enforcement and evasion, historians say. The authorities kept ratcheting up their scrutiny and requirements for documents, feeding a lucrative network of fraud and official corruption as immigrants tried to show they were either merchants or native-born citizens, groups exempt from the exclusion laws.
Mr. Hom was allowed ashore as Hom Ngin Sing, a student and son of a native. In reality, his father had made it to the United States only about six years earlier, through a similar subterfuge, like an estimated 90 percent of Chinese immigrants of the period.
Like many poor families from Taishan, a region that sent many emigrants to California during the Gold Rush of 1849, the Homs had deep ties to the United States. Mr. Hom’s great-uncle, for example, died in the San Francisco earthquake of 1906.
But unlike any other immigrant group, the Chinese were barred from naturalizing. That bar was part of the Chinese Exclusion Act, which was passed in 1882 after years of escalating anti-Chinese violence in the West spurred by recessions, labor strife and a culture of white supremacy.
The law was expanded in 1892 with a measure that required all Chinese to register with the government and subjected them to deportation unless they proved legal residency, which required the testimony of at least one white witness.
In a comment that reflected the tone in Congress, one senator asserted that the government had the right “to set apart for them, as we have for the Indians, a territory or reservation, where they should not break out to contaminate our people.”
Lawyers argued that the law was repugnant to “the very soul of the Constitution.” But it was upheld in a sweeping Supreme Court decision of 1893, Fong Yue Ting v. United States, which held that the government’s power to deport foreigners, whether here legally or not, was as “absolute and unqualified” as the power to exclude them. That finding reverberates today, said Daniel Kanstroom, a legal scholar and the author of “Deportation Nation.”
Long after exclusion laws were repealed by Congress in 1943, after China became a World War II ally, that vast power over noncitizens was deployed in raids against immigrants of various ethnic groups whose politics were considered suspect.
In the 1950s, Mr. Hom and his relatives, like many Chinese New Yorkers, suddenly faced the exposure of their false papers in just such an operation. The government was tipped off by an informer in Hong Kong as part of a cold war effort to stop illegal immigration.
“We were very scared,” said Mrs. Hom, who worked at the family’s laundry, first in the Bronx, then in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. “Everybody was very worried on account maybe they all be sent back to China.”
But in a government “confession program,” Mr. Hom and some of his relatives admitted their illegal entry; because Mr. Hom had served in the military, he received citizenship papers within months.
As someone who never made it to high school, he now beams over his children’s professional successes and his six multiethnic grandchildren. His son, Tom, is a dentist in Manhattan; his daughter Mary is a physician in the Syracuse area, and Dorothy, an interior designer, works with her husband, Michael Strauss, a principal with Vanguard Construction, which recently completed DBGB Kitchen and Bar, Daniel Boulud’s latest restaurant.
At a time when debates about immigration often include the claim that “my relatives came the legal way,” referring to a period when there were few restrictions on any immigrants except the Chinese, the Hom family has a different perspective.
“One’s status being legal or illegal, it’s two seconds apart at any point,” Dorothy said. “For some, the process is more difficult than others.”

Harvard's Hoops Star Is Asian


Harvard's Hoops Star Is Asian. Why's That a Problem?
By Sean Gregory Thursday, Dec. 31, 2009

Harvard's Jeremy Lin drives by Boston College's Biko Paris during the first half of an NCAA basketball game in Boston on Dec. 9, 2009
Elise Amendola / AP


Certain truths are tied to March Madness, that time of year when the NCAA men's basketball tournament turns every cubicle dweller into a college-hoops junkie. That batty lady who picks the winners based on the cuteness of the mascots will crush you in your office pool. Duke will have a guy who gets under your skin. And the Harvard basketball players will be locked in the library instead of pulling off a Cinderella upset.

It's been 64 years since the Crimson appeared in the NCAA tournament. But thanks to senior guard Jeremy Lin, that streak could end this year. Lin, who tops Harvard in points (18.1 per game), rebounds (5.3), assists (4.5) and steals (2.7), has led the team to a 9-3 record, its best start in a quarter-century. Lin, a 6 ft. 3 in. slasher whose speed, leaping ability and passing skills would allow him to suit up for any team in the country, has saved his best performances for the toughest opponents: over his past four games against teams from the Big East and the Atlantic Coast Conference, two of the country's most powerful collge-basketball leagues, Lin is averaging 24.3 points and shooting nearly 65% from the field. "He's as good an all-around guard as I've seen," says Tony Shaver, the head coach of William and Mary, which in November lost a triple-overtime game to Harvard, 87-85, after Lin hit a running three-pointer at the buzzer. "He's a special player who seems to have a special passion for the game. I wouldn't be surprised to see him in the NBA one day." (See Dick Vitale's top 10 NCAA moments.)

A Harvard hoopster with pro-level talent? Yes, that's one reason Lin is a novelty. But let's face it: Lin's ethnicity might be a bigger surprise. Fewer than 0.5% of men's Division 1 basketball players are Asian-American. Sure, the occasional giant from China, like Yao Ming, has played in the NBA. But in the U.S., basketball stars are African Americans first, Caucasians second, and Asians ... somewhere far down the line. (One historical footnote: Wat Misaka, a Japanese American, became in 1947 the first nonwhite person to play in the NBA.) (See the classic sports photography of Walter Iooss.)

Lin caught the hoops bug from his father Gie-Ming. Before he emigrated to the U.S. in the 1970s, Gie-Ming would scour Taiwanese television for highlights of NBA games. Once in the States, he studied Larry Bird, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and the classic Los Angeles Lakers–Boston Celtics games from the 1980s. "I cannot explain the reasons why I love basketball," says Gie-Ming, a computer engineer. "I just do."

By the time Jeremy was 5, Gie-Ming was taking him to the local YMCA in Palo Alto, Calif., to play ball in a kids' league. For Jeremy, it wasn't exactly love at first sight. "He stood at half-court sucking his thumb for the entirety of about half his games that season," says Jeremy's older brother Josh, 24. "It came to the point where my mom stopped going to watch his games." Then Jeremy asked his mother Shirley to start coming to the Y again. Before Shirley would commit, however, she wanted to know if he'd actually try. "He responded with something along the lines of 'I'm going to play, and I'm going to score,' " Josh says. She showed up, and Jeremy scored the maximum number of points one player could amass under the kiddy-league rules. "From that game on, he just took off and never looked back," says Josh. (See the top 10 sports moments of 2009.)

Throughout Jeremy's childhood, Gie-Ming would take him to the YMCA after he finished his homework. They would practice and play in pickup games. "Many Asian families focus so much on academics," says Gie-Ming. "But it felt so good to play with my kids. I enjoyed it so much." Jeremy won a state championship as a senior in high school, but he received no Division 1 scholarship offers (Ivy League schools cannot give athletic scholarships). Yes, he was scrawny, but don't doubt that a little racial profiling, intentional or otherwise, contributed to his underrecruitment.

Some people still can't look past his ethnicity. Everywhere he plays, Lin is the target of cruel taunts. "It's everything you can imagine," he says. "Racial slurs, racial jokes, all having to do with being Asian." Even at the Ivy League gyms? "I've heard it at most of the Ivies if not all of them," he says. Lin is reluctant to mention the specific nature of such insults, but according to Harvard teammate Oliver McNally, another Ivy League player called him a C word that rhymes with ink during a game last season. On Dec. 23, during Harvard's 86-70 loss to Georgetown in Washington, McNally says, one spectator yelled "Sweet-and-sour pork!" from the stands. (See pictures of the college dorm's evolution.)

In the face of such foolishness, Lin doesn't seem to lose it on the court. "Honestly, now, I don't react to it," he says. "I expect it, I'm used to it, it is what it is." Postgame, Lin will release some frustration. "He gets pissed about it afterwards," says McNally. "I have to tip my hat to him. I don't know how I'd react. The type of dude I am, I might not be as mature as Jeremy."

Lin's maturity could lead him to the ministry. A devout Christian, Lin, who is an economics major, is considering becoming a pastor in a church near his Palo Alto home. "I've never really preached before," Lin says. "But I'm really passionate about Christianity and helping others. There's a beauty in seeing people change their lifestyles for the better." (See pictures of John 3:16 in pop culture.)

Before settling on a career, however, Lin has some on-court business to attend to. Harvard has racked up some impressive wins early in the season. The team upset Boston College in early December and knocked off a 9-2 George Washington team on Dec. 30, 66-53. The Crimson, who play next at Seattle University on Jan. 2, should challenge two-time defending champion Cornell for the Ivy title; a league championship would give Harvard that elusive trip to the NCAA tournament. And Lin wants to give pro basketball a shot — most likely overseas or, who knows, maybe in the NBA.

"I can definitely see him being in ministry," says Steve Chen, Lin's mentor and the pastor of the Mountain View, Calif., church the Lin family attends. "But right now, God has gifted him in a specific way, and he's going to go after it hard." If Lin leads Harvard to the tournament, he'll be off to a pretty holy start. Consider it his first miracle.

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1951044,00.html#ixzz0drVDz1Jd

Father of Chinese Rocketry

A life in interesting times: Tsien with Marble (right)
at Los Angeles Harbor in September 1955, preparing
to board ship to China.

Tsien Revisited

First he was accused, then detained, then deported. Any of this sound familiar?

But there was a twist to this tale. A Caltech professor talks about his long friendship with the Caltech-trained scientist who became the “father of Chinese rocketry."

This past December, Frank Marble, PhD ’48, and his wife, Ora Lee, went to China to visit and help honor their longtime friend Tsien Hsue-Shen, PhD ’39. Many Caltechers, along with Americans who lived through the Red Scare days of the ’50s, have at least a glancing familiarity with Tsien’s story: a brilliant student and later colleague of aerospace pioneer Theodore von Kármán, commended by the U.S. Air Force for his contributions to its technological development after World War II, the Chinese-born scientist was accused of harboring Communist sympathies and stripped of his security clearance in 1950. Tsien and those who knew him best said that the allegations were nonsense, and no evidence ever came to light to substantiate them. Despite that, and over a barrage of protests from colleagues in academia, government, and industry, the INS placed him under a delayed deportation order, and for the next five years he and family lived under U.S. government surveillance and partial house arrest. In September 1955 they were permitted to leave for China.

Received with open arms in his homeland, Tsien resumed his research, founded the Institute of Mechanics, and, as one of the world’s leading authorities in aeronautics, went on to become the “father” of China’s missile program, a trusted member of the government and Party’s inner circle, and the nation’s “most honored scientist.”

Early in the INS saga, Tsien and his wife had planned to visit China so that their parents could meet their American-born grandchildren for the first time. But the INS impounded his luggage and charged him with concealing classified documents—the most “secret” of which, suspected of containing security codes, turned out upon inspection to be a table of logarithms. In the meantime the FBI had decided that Tsien posed a security risk and imprisoned him in San Pedro; he was freed two weeks later after Caltech president Lee DuBridge, among others, flew to Washington to intervene on his behalf. These incidents undoubtedly helped Tsien to conclude, as he confided to friends, that he had become “an unwelcome guest” in the country in which he had spent his whole scientific life. In any case, he was determined to avoid such problems again, and when he sailed to China, he deliberately left all of his research notes and papers behind.

Tsien dining with Mao.

Among the handful of people who saw the Tsien family off in 1955 were Frank and Ora Lee Marble. Marble and Tsien had struck up a warm friendship as aeronautics colleagues, and the Tsien family had stayed at the Marbles’ Pasadena home during their final weeks in the United States. After Tsien’s departure, he and Marble corresponded intermittently; then, with the onset of the Cultural Revolution in China, Marble stopped hearing from him. In 1979 Caltech named Tsien a recipient of the Distinguished Alumni Award in recognition of his pioneering work in rocket science, but Tsien, although he sent a gracious acknowledgment, did not come to campus to collect it.

Time passes. In 1981, Frank and Ora Lee received an invitation from the Chinese Academy of Sciences to come to Beijing and teach combustion technology and English. respectively, at the Academy’s newly established Graduate School of Science and Technology, a small research institute partly modeled on Caltech. Shortly afterward, the Marble and Tsien families were reunited for the first time in 25 years. Marble recalls his feelings before they met. “We had had very different experiences and lived in such different circumstances. Would our old, easygoing friendship and discussions resume? Or was that something that just wasn’t going to happen?” After half an hour, he says, he had his answer. “There was no obstacle.”

Tsien with Marble in Beijing in 1991.

The two families kept in touch after that and saw each other again in China in 1991. In the years since Tsien had returned to China, Marble had taken on the project of collecting and organizing the extensive research notes—two large file cabinets worth, it turned out—that Tsien had left at Caltech. Tsien repeatedly said he did not want them back, telling Marble at their 1981 reunion, “Frank, American students need them much more than Chinese students.” A decade or so ago, however, he had a change of heart, and, with the help of Tsien’s colleague Cheng Che-Min, PhD ’52, Marble returned the collection to China. Some papers went to the Institute of Mechanics, founded decades earlier by Tsien, and others now form the core holdings of the Tsien Library, which the Chinese government had established at Xi’an Jiatong University, about 600 miles southwest of Beijing. The Chinese Academy of Sciences subsequently brought out selections from the collection as an elegant, coffee table-type book entitled Manuscripts of H. S. Tsien 1938–1955, whose publication coincided with the December 2001 symposium cele-brating Tsien’s 90th birthday.

In December 2001, receiving Caltech’s Distinguished
Alumni Award. From left, Tsien, Ora Lee Marble,
Frank Marble, and Tsien’s wife, Tsiang Ying.

When Marble went to visit Tsien for that event, he went both as a friend and as the official emissary of Caltech and President Baltimore, bringing with him the Distinguished Alumni Award that the Institute had presented to Tsien in absentia 23 years ago. Tsien is now permanently confined to bed, so Marble made the formal presentation at his bedside in a ceremony that received widespread coverage in China, and at last provided a fitting coda to Tsien’s long, complicated, and never completely sundered association with Caltech.



Marble, who is Caltech’s Hayman Professor of Mechanical Engineering and Professor of Jet Propulsion, Emeritus, spoke with Caltech News editor Heidi Aspaturian about his recent trip and earlier visits with Tsien in China.

Tsien does not speak much English any more, but his family tells me that he still understands it quite well. He was thoroughly aware that I was presenting Caltech’s highest honor to him at the official request of David Baltimore, and I think he was deeply impressed with and appreciative of that.

We weren’t able to talk much during my most recent visit, but when I saw him in 1991 and again in 1996, we had some very interesting conversations. I think in general we both felt less constrained than we had during our reunion in 1981. One comment he made to me in 1991 particularly stands out: “You know, Frank, we’ve done a lot for China. People have enough food. They’re working and progress is being made. But Frank, they’re not happy.” He felt very bad about that—almost, I think, a little bit responsible for it, although it was not an area he was involved in at all. His area of activity was military and civilian rocketry, and this was strictly a personal observation. That was about as far as he ever went in saying that things were not ideal.

He obviously has good memories of Caltech. He speaks of the Institute most fondly, and I think that he feels that his time on campus was one of the most enjoyable of his life. In a letter that his wife, Tsiang Ying, wrote us after our recent visit, she said that Tsien still loves to reminisce about Theodore von Kármán and the wonderful times he had at Caltech and to tell the old von Kármán jokes. So I think he stills feels very emotionally tied to the Institute. But it’s important to remember that during the entire five-year episode with the INS, Caltech was very good to him. The Institute continued to honor his professorship and to respect his reputation. My understanding is that Lee DuBridge, who vigorously supported Tsien, had difficulties with the Board of Trustees, some of whose members were embarrassed by Tsien’s situation.

Once Tsien returned to China, I don’t think he ever made another trip West. He did travel once to the Soviet Union. Evidently he did not endear himself to his hosts, and he never went back. Otherwise, so far as I know, he did not leave China. I would guess that this was largely by choice—he never was a great one for traveling. I think that he felt he had so many things to do at home that he had no real desire to go elsewhere.

Tsien never spoke to me about how his life and scientific career in America had ended. He was not a person for looking back or for ruminating about how things might have been. He was very much a realist, and my feeling is that he just tuned those last five years in America out. I do know that he felt, at least when all this started, that he would be able to do better work in the United States than he would initially in China, where research conditions at the time were very primitive. I believe that once he returned to China, what he found there was pretty much what he had expected. But he did have very able people working with him. Many of them had studied in the United States, and they were devoted to him. I met a few of those who had worked with him in the early days, and they had the highest praise for the way he had laid out and directed the program for rocketry development. I think that Tsien also had the great personal advantage of being technically and scientifically on top of things, and he also had the ear of the government. By virtue of his expertise and reputation he could convince officials of what needed to be done and accomplish things that other people couldn’t.

He did not talk about his experiences during that era. We were both very careful to avoid discussion about anything that touched on sensitive issues. We would talk about every other subject—family, music, literature, and some scientific work that was mutually interesting. He was very enthusiastic and intrigued about some of the work I was doing on combustion processes in vortex flows and told me, “Frank, you have been more honest to von Kármán than I have.” What he meant was that I was still involved in the fundamental research areas that von Kármán had worked in, but that he
was now in a very different mode of operation.

Tsien, of course, became a high-ranking, trusted Party official, but it was evident that he had had trouble during the Cultural Revolution. I heard from his colleagues, but never directly from him, that like many leading scientists and intellectuals, he wrote one or two letters of “confession.” Ying, his wife, had a very interesting experience. She was head of the Western Vocal Music Department at the Beijing Conservatory, and commuted between work and home on a motorbike. Apparently the Red Guard was after her in some way and so for several months—maybe as long as a year—she just lived at the conservatory until she thought it was safe to go out again. Her students brought her food and other necessities.

I also spoke to one of Tsien’s close colleagues, Ch’ien Wei-Zhang. He had earned his doctorate in Canada, was a postdoc at Caltech, and had worked with Tsien at JPL. He also went back to China and pursued a very productive career there. During the Cultural Revolution, the Red Guard accused him of all sorts of things, and he wound up spending some time in the countryside, stoking an open-hearth furnace for a time at a steel-manufacturing facility. He had a very difficult time of it. So both Tsien’s family and his research circle were affected, although Tsien himself does not talk about that period beyond referring to it as “the 10 lost years.”

Many people have said that during his last years in Pasadena Tsien was bitter. I never sensed that. He was no doubt hurt, but I never saw him brooding about it. It was something that had happened, and, as he saw it, he had to react in a way that was appropriate. When he felt he was no longer welcome, he resigned from all the technical societies and sometimes his letters were a bit curt. That was about the extent of it. Apart from the first six months between the cancellation of his security clearance and the INS hearing, he and his family more or less went on with their lives as usual. Their circle of acquaintances and friends did narrow, which must have been hard. A lot of his former colleagues had become a bit afraid of associating with him socially.

His children were both born here, and they have spent time in the United States as adults. His son did graduate work at Caltech. His daughter studied medicine on the East Coast and has had quite a successful practice there, but she recently decided she would return to China this summer. Each of them now has a little boy. One of the tender-est pictures I have of Tsien shows him sitting in the backseat of his chauffeur-driven car with one arm around each little four-year-old grandson.

I do think that after his problems with the INS, Tsien lost faith in the American government, but I believe that he has always had very warm feelings for the American people. That came through again and again in the public statements he made, both here during the INS hearings, and after he returned to China. But once he went back to China, I don’t think he wanted ever to deal with the United States in an official capacity again. When Caltech’s former president Harold Brown visited China as secretary of defense in 1980, Tsien avoided seeing him. When I saw him the next year, I said, “Tsien, you made a big error. Harold Brown is a great admirer of yours and a brilliant guy.” And he said, “I know. It was a mistake on my part.” But that is how he felt about it.

Looking back, I think the most remarkable aspect of the five years he was detained is the resilience with which he returned to his teaching and research, making this period one of his most productive and innovative. He was instrumentally involved in the development of the Daniel and Florence Guggenheim Jet Propulsion Center, Caltech’s academic focus of instruction and research in jet propulsion.

There’s always been a kind of single-mindedness about his work. He decides what is to be done and he organizes it and does it. He does not stop to think halfway through, is this really what I should be working on? And I believe he adopted the same attitude once he returned to China. He did not take time to indulge in speculation or fantasies about “what might have been.” He never indicated to me that he had. He was confronted with a new set of problems, and he devoted himself to working full time to solve them.

ian Xuesen obituary

Scientist regarded as the father of China's space programme

* Buzz up!
* Digg it

* Kerry Brown
* guardian.co.uk, Sunday 1 November 2009 18.31 GMT
* Article history

Qian Xuesen

Qian Xuesen in 1955. Photograph: Bettmann/Corbis

Qian Xuesen, who has died aged 98, was one of the greatest Chinese scientists of the modern era, and a man widely regarded as the father of China's missile and space programme. His life spanned nearly a century, from the final few days of the Qing Dynasty, through the Republican period, from 1912 to 1949, and on to the 60th anniversary of the People's Republic of China (PRC). It also embodied the conflicts between the US and China, the two countries where he was to be based most of his life, and between which he was forced, finally, to choose.

Qian was the son of a government official, born in the city of Hangzhou in the coastal province of Zhejiang. He was educated at Shanghai Jiaotong University, and, in 1935, with the help of a scholarship, went first to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in the US, and then, a year later, to the California Institute of Technology (Caltech), where he was to be awarded his doctorate, and be based for the next two decades.

It was while in California, during the second world war, that his research concentrated on jet propulsion. With a number of other key US scientists, responding to the German V1 and V2 rockets, he devised a range of highly effective missiles, which proved crucial in the final stages of the war effort. Qian also participated in the Manhattan Project, which developed the first atomic bomb. As a result of this, he was made the first director of the Daniel and Florence Guggenheim Jet Propulsion Centre at Caltech in 1949.

In the same year, however, the communists won their final push to become rulers of the PRC, exiling the Nationalist leadership under Chiang Kai-shek, whom the US had largely supported, to the island of Taiwan. Qian was immediately suspected of being a communist sympathiser, with claims being made that his name had appeared on Communist party documents as early as the late 1930s. His application for US citizenship was subsequently denied, and he was detained after applying to leave America. One US official at the time called this the "stupidest thing this country ever did". In 1955, Qian was allowed to return to China.

The US's loss (one of Qian's colleagues in the 1930s had called Qian a scientist of genius) was China's gain, at a critical period in its development. Qian was immediately allowed to establish an Institute of Mechanics in Beijing, and to work within the state-established Chinese Academy of Science. His skills and knowledge were absolutely critical at a time when many of China's most talented scientists had refused to return home because of the political changes that had taken place there. A symbol of the respect and trust Qian enjoyed was his admission to the Communist party in 1958. He started work on what was to become the Dongfeng missile.

As a result both of his work, and of support from the Soviet Union (despite the fact that relations between these two countries had deteriorated badly in the late 1950s), China was able to test its own atomic bomb in 1963-64. A mere 15 years after its founding, it had joined the elite nuclear club. This was a seminal moment in the country's development.

Qian seems to have been largely unaffected by the tumult of the Cultural Revolution, from 1966, probably because he was working in such a key national strategic area. While chaos reigned in the rest of China, military and technical research continued unaffected.

In 2009, as China is preparing to build a space exploration launch pad on the island of Hainan, and has set itself the aim of getting a Chinese man on the moon in the next decade, Qian's contribution to China's space and missile programme should not be underestimated. Much of the technology behind the Shenzhou rockets, launched into space from the 1990s onwards to much national fanfare, can be traced back to research that Qian undertook. And much of that was based on what he had studied in the US during his 20 years there.

After his retirement in 1991, he maintained a low profile, despite being garlanded with awards. He is survived by his wife, the highly acclaimed Beijing opera singer Jiang Ying.

• ian Xuesen obituary

Scientist regarded as the father of China's space programme

* Buzz up!
* Digg it

* Kerry Brown
* guardian.co.uk, Sunday 1 November 2009 18.31 GMT
* Article history

Qian Xuesen

Qian Xuesen in 1955. Photograph: Bettmann/Corbis

Qian Xuesen, who has died aged 98, was one of the greatest Chinese scientists of the modern era, and a man widely regarded as the father of China's missile and space programme. His life spanned nearly a century, from the final few days of the Qing Dynasty, through the Republican period, from 1912 to 1949, and on to the 60th anniversary of the People's Republic of China (PRC). It also embodied the conflicts between the US and China, the two countries where he was to be based most of his life, and between which he was forced, finally, to choose.

Qian was the son of a government official, born in the city of Hangzhou in the coastal province of Zhejiang. He was educated at Shanghai Jiaotong University, and, in 1935, with the help of a scholarship, went first to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in the US, and then, a year later, to the California Institute of Technology (Caltech), where he was to be awarded his doctorate, and be based for the next two decades.

It was while in California, during the second world war, that his research concentrated on jet propulsion. With a number of other key US scientists, responding to the German V1 and V2 rockets, he devised a range of highly effective missiles, which proved crucial in the final stages of the war effort. Qian also participated in the Manhattan Project, which developed the first atomic bomb. As a result of this, he was made the first director of the Daniel and Florence Guggenheim Jet Propulsion Centre at Caltech in 1949.

In the same year, however, the communists won their final push to become rulers of the PRC, exiling the Nationalist leadership under Chiang Kai-shek, whom the US had largely supported, to the island of Taiwan. Qian was immediately suspected of being a communist sympathiser, with claims being made that his name had appeared on Communist party documents as early as the late 1930s. His application for US citizenship was subsequently denied, and he was detained after applying to leave America. One US official at the time called this the "stupidest thing this country ever did". In 1955, Qian was allowed to return to China.

The US's loss (one of Qian's colleagues in the 1930s had called Qian a scientist of genius) was China's gain, at a critical period in its development. Qian was immediately allowed to establish an Institute of Mechanics in Beijing, and to work within the state-established Chinese Academy of Science. His skills and knowledge were absolutely critical at a time when many of China's most talented scientists had refused to return home because of the political changes that had taken place there. A symbol of the respect and trust Qian enjoyed was his admission to the Communist party in 1958. He started work on what was to become the Dongfeng missile.

As a result both of his work, and of support from the Soviet Union (despite the fact that relations between these two countries had deteriorated badly in the late 1950s), China was able to test its own atomic bomb in 1963-64. A mere 15 years after its founding, it had joined the elite nuclear club. This was a seminal moment in the country's development.

Qian seems to have been largely unaffected by the tumult of the Cultural Revolution, from 1966, probably because he was working in such a key national strategic area. While chaos reigned in the rest of China, military and technical research continued unaffected.

In 2009, as China is preparing to build a space exploration launch pad on the island of Hainan, and has set itself the aim of getting a Chinese man on the moon in the next decade, Qian's contribution to China's space and missile programme should not be underestimated. Much of the technology behind the Shenzhou rockets, launched into space from the 1990s onwards to much national fanfare, can be traced back to research that Qian undertook. And much of that was based on what he had studied in the US during his 20 years there.

After his retirement in 1991, he maintained a low profile, despite being garlanded with awards. He is survived by his wife, the highly acclaimed Beijing opera singer Jiang Ying.

• Qian Xuesen, rocket scientist, born 11 December 1911; died 31 October 2009, rocket scientist, born 11 December 1911; died 31 October 2009

Biography: Qian xuesen (Tsien Hsue-shen)

Tsien Hsue-shen (simplified Chinese: 钱学森; traditional Chinese: 錢學森; pinyin: Qián Xuésēn) (11 December 1911 – 31 October 2009) was a scientist who made important contributions to the missile and space programs of both the United States and People's Republic of China. NASA documents commonly refer to him as H.S. Tsien.[1]

During the 1940s Tsien was one of the founders of Jet Propulsion Laboratory[2] at the California Institute of Technology. During the red scare of the 1950s the United States government accused Tsien of having communist sympathies. Tsien was wrongfully imprisoned [3] at Alcatraz. Stripped of his security clearance, Tsien decided to go back to China. After being under house arrest for 5 years, from 1950-55, Tsien was released in exchange for the return of US pilots captured during the Korean war. Notified by U.S. authorities that he was free to go, Tsien immediately arranged to go back to China in September of 1955 on American President Lines, Pres. Cleveland via Hong Kong. He returned to China and led the Chinese rocket program, and became known as the "Father of Chinese Rocketry" (or "King of Rocketry").

Asteroid 3763 Qianxuesen was named after him.

Early life and education

Tsien Hsue-shen (pinyin: Qian Xuesen) was born in Hangzhou, the capital of Zhejiang province, 180 km southwest of Shanghai. He left Hangzhou at the age of three when his father obtained a post in the Ministry of Education in Beijing. He graduated from the Shanghai Jiao Tong University in 1934 and in August 1935 Tsien Hsue-shen left China on a Boxer Rebellion Indemnity Scholarship to study at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

In 1936 Tsien Hsue-shen went to the California Institute of Technology to commence graduate studies on the referral of Theodore von Kármán. Tsien obtained his doctorate in 1939 and would remain at Caltech for 20 years, ultimately becoming the Goddard Professor and establishing a reputation as one of the leading rocket scientists in the United States.

It was shortly after arriving at Caltech that Tsien was attracted to the rocketry ideas of Frank Malina and a few other students of von Kármán, and their associates, including Jack Parsons. Around Caltech the dangerous and explosive nature of their work earned them the nickname "Suicide Squad."

Career in the United States

Left to right: Ludwig Prandtl (German scientist), Tsien Hsue-sen, Theodore von Kármán. Prandtl served for Germany during the World War II; von Kármán and Tsien served for US Army; after 1956, Tsien served for China. Notice that at that time Tsien had US Army rank. Interestingly, Prandtl was doctoral advisor for von Kármán; von Kármán was doctoral advisor for Tsien.

In 1943, Tsien and two others in the Caltech rocketry group drafted the first document to use the name Jet Propulsion Laboratory; it was a proposal to the Army to develop missiles in response to Germany's V-2 rocket. This led to the Private A, which flew in 1944, and later the Corporal, the WAC Corporal, etc.

During the Second World War, he was amongst many scientists who participated in the "Manhattan Project".[citation needed]

After World War II he served under von Kármán as a consultant to the United States Army Air Force, and was eventually given the "assimilated rank of colonel". Von Kármán and Tsien were sent by the Army to Germany to investigate the progress of wartime aerodynamics research. Tsien investigated research facilities and interviewed German scientists such as Wernher von Braun and Rudolph Hermann.[4] Von Kármán wrote of Tsien, “At the age of 36, he was an undisputed genius whose work was providing an enormous impetus to advances in high-speed aerodynamics and jet propulsion.”[2]

During this time, Colonel Tsien worked on a designing an intercontinental space plane Tsien Space Plane 1949. His work would inspire the X-20 Dyna-Soar which would later be the inspiration for the Space Shuttle.

Jiang Ying in 1947

In 1947 Tsien Hsue-shen married Jiang Ying (蒋英), a famed opera singer and the daughter of Jiang Baili (蒋百里) - one of Chinese nationalist leader Chiang Kai-shek's leading military strategists, and his Japanese wife.

In 1949, Tsien became the first Director of the Daniel and Florence Guggenheim Jet Propulsion Center at Caltech [5].

Soon after Tsien applied for U.S. citizenship in 1949, allegations were made that he was a communist and his security clearance was revoked. The Federal Bureau of Investigation located a 1938 US Communist Party document with his name on it. Tsien found himself unable to pursue his career and within two weeks announced plans to return to China. After his announcement, the U.S. government imprisoned him on the isolated island off Long Beach. Undersecretary of the Navy Dan Kimball tried to keep Tsien in the U.S. commenting "It was the stupidest thing this country ever did...he was no more a Communist than I was and we forced him to go."[6]

Tsien became the subject of five years of secret diplomacy and negotiation between the U.S. and China. During this time he lived under virtual house arrest. Tsien found himself in conflict with the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service, including an arrest for carrying secret documents which ultimately turned out to be simple logarithmic tables. During his incarceration Tsien received support from his colleagues at Caltech including Caltech President Lee DuBridge, who flew to Washington to argue Tsien's case. Caltech appointed attorney Grant Cooper to defend Tsien. Later, Cooper would say, "That the government permitted this genius, this scientific genius, to be sent to Communist China to pick his brains is one of the tragedies of this century."[7]

[edit] Return to China

In 1955 Tsien was released and deported from the United States together with his wife and their two American-born children as a part of post-Korean war negotiations to free American prisoners of war held by China. He went to work as head of the Chinese missile program immediately upon his arrival in China. Tsien deliberately left his research papers behind when he left the United States. Tsien joined the Communist Party of China in 1958.

Tsien established the Institute of Mechanics and began to retrain Chinese engineers in the techniques he had learned in the United States and retool the infrastructure of the Chinese program. Within a year Tsien submitted a proposal to the PRC government to establish a ballistic missile program. This proposal was accepted and Tsien was named the first director of the program in late 1956. By 1958 Tsien had finalized the plans of the Dongfeng missile which was first successfully launched in 1964 just prior to China's first successful nuclear weapons test. Tsien's program was also responsible for the development of the widespread Silkworm missile. Tsien also contributed a great deal to the PRC's state of Higher Education. He was the first Chairman of the Department of Mechanics of University of Science & Technology of China (USTC), a new type of university established by the Chinese Academy of Sciences (CAS) after the founding of PRC and aimed at fostering high-level personnel of science and technology necessary for the development of the national economy, national defense construction, and education in science and technology.

In 1979 Tsien was awarded Caltech's Distinguished Alumni Award. In the early 1990s the filing cabinets containing Tsien's research work were offered to him by Caltech. At first Tsien refused but was finally convinced by his former colleagues to accept the work. Most of these works became the foundation for the Tsien Library at Xi'an Jiaotong University while the rest went to the Institute of Mechanics. Tsien eventually received his award from Caltech, and with the help of his friend Frank Marble brought it to his home in a widely-covered ceremony. Tsien was also invited to visit the US after the normalization of Sino-US relationship. But he refused the invitation because the US government only offered a compensation without apology for his detainment.

Tsien retired in 1991 and maintained a low public profile in Beijing, China.

The PRC government launched its manned space program in 1992 and used Tsien's research as the basis for the Long March rocket which successfully launched the Shenzhou V mission in October 2003. The elderly Tsien was able to watch China's first manned space mission on television from his hospital bed.

Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, in his novel 2010: Odyssey Two, named a Chinese spaceship after him.

[edit] Late life

In his later years, since the 1980s, Tsien advocated scientific investigation of traditional Chinese medicine, Qigong and "special human body functions". Some people claim that Tsien actually did not spend his effort on Qigong, but that he just expressed that people should consider the widely spread and practiced Qigong in a scientific manner.

In 2008, he was named Aviation Week and Space Technology Person of the Year. This selection is not intended as an honour but is given to the person judged to have the greatest impact on aviation in the past year.[8][2]

In 2008, China Central Television named Tsien as one of the eleven most inspiring people in China.[9] He died at the age of 97 on 31 October 2009.

[edit] Scientific papers

  • Tsien HS Two-dimensional subsonic flow of compressible fluids // Aeronaut. Sci. 1939
  • Von Karman T, Tsien HS. The buckling of thin cylindrical shells under axial compression. J Aeronaut Sci 1941
  • Tsien, HS 1943 Symmetrical Joukowsky Airfoils in shear flow. Q. Appl. Math.
  • Tsien, HS, "On the Design of the Contraction Cone for a Wind Tunnel," J. Aeronaut. Sci., 10, 68-70, 1943
  • Von Karman, T. and Tsien, HS, "Lifting- line Theory for a Wing in Nonuniform Flow," Quarterly of Applied Mathematics, Vol. 3, 1945
  • Tsien, HS: Similarity laws of hypersonic flows. J. Math. Phys. 25, 247-251, (1946).
  • Tsien, HS 1952 The transfer functions of rocket nozzles. J. Am. Rocket Soc
  • Tsien, HS, "Rockets and Other Thermal Jets Using Nuclear Energy", The Science and Engineering of Nuclear Power, Addison-Wesley Vol.11, 1949
  • Tsien, HS, “Take-Off from Satellite Orbit,” Journal of the American. Rocket Society, Vol. 23, No. 4, 1953
  • Tsien, HS 1956 The Poincaré-Lighthill-Kuo Method, Advances in Appl. Mech.
  • Tsien, HS, 1958, "The equations of gas dynamics."
  • Tsien, HS, "Rockets and Other Thermal Jets using Nuclear Energy", The Science and Engineering of Nuclear Power, Addison-Wesley

[edit] Monographs

  • Engineering Cybernetics,Tsien, H.S. McGraw Hill, 1954
  • Tsien, H.S. Technische Kybernetik. Übersetzt von Dr. H. Kaltenecker. Berliner Union Stuttgart 1957
  • ТЕХНИЧЕСКАЯ КИБЕРНЕТИКА
  • Hydrodynamic manuscript facimile, Jiatong University Press, 2007 ISBN 978-7-313-04199-9

[edit] References

  • Chang, Iris (1995). Thread of the Silkworm. Perseus Books Group. ISBN 0-465-08716-7.
  • O'Donnell, Franklin (2002). JPL 101. California Institute of Technology. JPL 400-1048.
  • Harvey, Brian (2004). China's Space Program: From Conception to Manned Spaceflight. Springer-Verlag. ISBN 1-85233-566-1.
  1. ^ "Biographies of Aerospace Officials and Policymakers". NASA. http://history.nasa.gov/biost-z.html.
  2. ^ a b c Perrett, Bradley (2008-01-06). "Qian Xuesen Laid Foundation For Space Rise in China". Aviation Week & Space Technology. http://www.aviationweek.com/aw/generic/story_generic.jsp?channel=awst&id=news/aw010708p1.xml.
  3. ^ Perrett, B. (January 7, 2008), Sea Change, Aviation Week and Space Technology, Vol. 168, No. 1, p.57-61.
  4. ^ Chang, p109-117.
  5. ^ http://www.galcit.caltech.edu/history/index.html
  6. ^ Perrett, B. (January 7, 2008), Sea Change, Aviation Week and Space Technology, Vol. 168, No. 1, p.57-61.
  7. ^ Naval War College China's Nuclear Force Modernization
  8. ^ Hold Your Fire, Aviation Week and Space Technology, Vol. 168., No. 1, January 7, 2008, p. 8.
  9. ^ Person of the Year, Aviation Week and Space Technology, Vol. 168., No. 12, March 24, 2008, p. 22

[edit] External links

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsien_Hsue-shen