Monday, August 13, 2012

Moon Fun Chin - Flying Tigers



Chinese American Hero: Moon Fun Chin

chinese-american-heroes-banner2
We lead off with another unheralded and virtually unknown hero who had undertaken many dangerous missions and along the way saved many lives. He is 95 year old Captain Moon Chin who is not a military officer, but was an airlines Captain who began flying when he was 20 years old left the US to join the Chinese National Aviation Corporation (CNAV), a subsidiary of Pan American Airlines which then was taken over by the Chinese Nationalist Air Force in partnership with the US government. Chin rescued many US Army Air Corps personnel, US Air Force air crews, and hundreds of civilians fleeing the Japanese military advances in China and throughout SE Asia. In 1942, he air evacuated Lt Colonel James Doolittle (which enabled Colonel Doolittle to eventually become General [4 star] Doolittle) who had just bombed Tokyo and was being ferociously pursued by an angry Japanese ground forces. Chin flew Doolittle to safety in Calcutta. There were many American and a few Canadian pilots who joined CNAV to help the war effort against the Japanese invaders, but Capt Chin was the only volunteer pilot who flew from 1933 until the end of WW II. He personally mapped the Himalayas (the so called ‘Hump’) which had to be used to transport fuel and supplies to the resistance as the Japanese had cut off all other logistics routes. Be sure to read his bio for other heroic stories about Capt Moon Chin and how he was credited with military service even though was never in the military.
Following Capt Chin, we have another unheralded heroic veteran, US Air Force Colonel Richard F. Hum, who served three wars, WWII, the Korean War and Vietnam. Hum’s major contribution was actually during the Cuban missile crisis in 1962 when he personally briefed then President John F. Kennedy on the significance of the surveillance photographs taken from U-2 and other platforms which revealed the Russian ICBMs and ground support equipment that had been installed in Cuba and a real military threat to the national security of America. In his military career, Colonel Hum received 5 Legions of Merit awards, an extraordinary achievement and unmatched at the time.
Next, we have another unknown and forgotten hero, Major Arthur Chin (a colleague, but not a relative of Capt Moon Chin), who was also a volunteer to left the safety of Portland, Oregon, to become a fighter pilot hunting for Japanese Zeroes. He found a few, and shot down eight (8) Japanese fighters, becoming the first American Ace, but this was before Pearl Harbor, and the US had not officially started fighting Japan, so his heroic battle achievements are absent from US military records. Chin suffered severe burns over much of his anatomy after a crash landing and had a difficult life after the war.
Our next heroic veteran has been introduced before but that was because of his civilian service as the first Chinese American judge. Judge Delbert Wong, before his civil service, was a World War II navigator on B-17 bombers who flew 30 bombing missions into German territory. In his class of 30 navigators, only two survived their high risk bombing missions.
Our last hero for this week was also introduced before, and she is Ms. Heidi Shyu who was appointed Chief, United States Air Force Scientific Advisory Board, reporting directly to the US Air Force Chief of Staff and Secretary of the Air Force. For a woman and an Asian woman to hold such a high level technical position is most unusual. That person would not only have an extraordinary scientific mind, but also be extremely capable to manage and successfully complete the complex systems development requirements of the US Air Force. Her span of control would have included the most advance aircraft and unmanned aircraft developments, but also space communications, computer systems and other highly classified projects requiring more than a Top Secret clearance.
Today, Chinese American scientists and engineers comprise about 15% of the technicians and engineers in our national laboratories including research centers like the Stanford Linear Accelerator Center. With parents who strongly encourage their young people to study hard and study math, Chinese Americans will continue to make more than their portion of contributions to our nation’s scientific leadership and keep our national security strong.
For additional information about Chinese American heroes, please visit the website at www.chineseamericanheroes.org .
moon-fun-chinName in English: Moon Fun Chin
Name in Chinese:
陈文宽 [陳文寬]
Name in Pinyin: Chén Wénkuān
Gender: Male
Birth Year: 1913
Birth Place: Toisan, Guangtung, China
Rescue Pilot honored by Congress
Profession(s): Aircraft Mechanic, Pilot, Airline Executive
Education: 1930, Public School 18, Baltimore, MD; 1933, Commercial Pilot License, Curtis Wright Flying School, Baltimore, MD.
Award(s): 1995 Distinguished Flying Cross; 1995 Air Medal; Presidential Unit Award; World War II Victory Medal; Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal with 1 silver star, United States Government.
Contribution(s): At the age of 20, Moon Chin went to Hong Kong and joined China National Aviation Corporation (CNAC). He was initially a copilot, then became a captain in 1936 and flew transport missions before and during WW II. He charted and flew many dangerous flights over ‘the Hump,’ the Himalayas, which are the highest mountain ranges in the world. In March 1942, he safely evacuated Lt Colonel James Doolittle from Kunming in China, transiting from Burma to Calcutta in India after the famous Doolittle bombing raid on Tokyo. Moon and the other brave Hump pilots, both civilian and military, took tremendous risks delivering the critical war materials that helped stop the Imperial Japanese military attempt to conquer China and South Asia. Flying in unarmed cargo planes with minimal communications, limited navigation tools, and flying missions in bad weather or at night to avoid Japanese fighters, many hundreds of flights disappeared, the only sign of their passing being the wreckage littering countless Himalayan mountainsides. Moon and his colleagues were truly brave heroes.
Moon Chin also rescued many US Army Air Corps, US Air Force, and Republic of China (Taiwan) Air Force crew members oftentimes during very dangerous periods of open war such as during WWII or the secret battles of the Cold War up until 1955. His most daring rescue occurred in 1954 when a US Air Force C-119 crew bailed out over the sea in bad weather between Guam and Taiwan. Chin, then the Chairman of the Board for Fu Hsing Airlines, personally flew a PBY Catalina flying boat, found the crew, landed in the water, and rescued 6 of them in stormy sea conditions. Two USAF amphibious aircraft at the scene had refused to land due to the turbulent waters, but Chin ignored the danger and landed anyway. The rescue effort took over 5 hours because landing and taking off again was so difficult. One of the rescued air crew, Major A W Gristad, described Capt Chin’s skill in landing and taking the seaplane off as “the best piece of flying I have ever seen. Captain Chin truly lived up to his reputation as the best ‘water man’ between the West Coast of America and the China coast.” Joining in the praise of USAF aircrews, General William Chase, Chief of the Military Advisory Group at the US Embassy in Taipei added his own commendations to Chin.
Much later, by US Senate resolution, Capt Moon Chin and other Hump pilots received the Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal in 1995. As a sign of the tremendous respect felt by the US military for him, Moon was credited for US military service from 1941-1945, even though he never served in the military.


EARLY AVIATION IN CHINA:
Captain Moon F. Chin Recalls his Experience with the
China National Aviation Corporation


The San Francisco Airport Museums Oral History Program was initiated in 1997 to preserve first person accounts of the development of aviation. Transcribed oral history interviews are placed in the San Francisco Airport Commission Aviation Library and Louis A. Turpen Aviation Museum where they are catalogued and made available for use by scholars, historians, and the public. The Oral History Program serves to increase awareness of historic achievements in aviation by documenting this legacy for the benefit of current and future generations. For its 2003 annual giving, the San Francisco Aeronautical Society began underwriting the San Francisco Airport Museums Oral History Program.

The following edited excerpts are from oral history interviews conducted with Capt. Moon F. Chin between February 2nd and March 5th of 2004 by Mauree Jane Perry of Making History Associates. The full transcript will be available to the public at the San Francisco Airport Commission Aviation Library and Louis A. Turpen Aviation Museum.

Capt. Chin began his flying career with China National Aviation Corporation (CNAC) in 1933 as a copilot on the Shanghai–Peking route. He became a captain in 1936 and flew transport missions before and during WW II that included flights over the Himalayas—a region known as “the Hump.” He joined the Central Air Transport Corporation (CATC) in 1946 as head of operations where he acquired aircraft, hired and trained flight crews, and initiated operations on Mainland China. CATC became part of Civil Air Transport (CAT) of Taiwan in 1947. In 1964, Capt. Chin founded Foshing Airlines with service from Taipei to Taitung.


Moon F. Chin - Spring 2004
Photograph by Gabriel Branbury

Mauree Jane Perry: How soon after you started working for CNAC did you begin flying the actual Shanghai–Peking flight?

Capt. Moon F. Chin: Well I applied for the job in January 1933, and I joined March 1, 1933. I think I waited two months. I had to start work as a mechanic since I had experience as a mechanic. So from the first of March until the middle of the month when we started flying to Peking, I worked everyday on the airplanes as a mechanic. Even after I started flying to Peking and back, I still had to work as a mechanic until I was transferred from land planes to seaplanes.

Q. What navigational tools did you use in 1933?

A. We didn’t have any. (Laughing) No navigation—no instrument flying. In fact, in those days we didn’t have autogyro, we didn’t have directional gyro. Later I learned by myself what we called “one–two–three.” You only look at three instruments: the air speed, the climb indicator, the bank and turn—you know the ball and the needle. That’s all we needed. We had oil pressure and gasoline, but those had to do with the engine. I’m talking about flying. We had a compass, of course, the bank and turn, and the air speed. So you watch the three instruments. You start with the air speed. Then you go to climb indicator, then you go to the bank and turn. (Laughing) So you keep going around. See, what I learned mostly on instrument flying was when I flew from Chengtu [now Chengdu] to Chungking [now Chongqing]. I became a captain in 1936. Every chance I had I tried to fly one–two–three. We called it that because you looked at one instrument going round so you keep the air speed, the climb indicator, and the bank and turn—and once in a while you look at compass to see the direction you’re going in.

Q. So after you became a captain in 1936, where did you fly?

A. I flew everyday between Chengtu and Chungking. In the morning I would take off from Chengtu to Chungking and then on to Hankow [now Hankou]. After the Hankow plane came in with the Loening the next day, I would carry those passengers back to Chengtu. The DC-2 used to fly from Shanghai to Hankow to Chungking to Chengtu. That’s what I did for one year.

Then, around 1938, I was sent to Shanghai. They gave me two weeks leave to go to Hong Kong. When we returned after one week, that’s when the trouble started in Shanghai. Then I left for Nanking [now Nanjing] and never went back to Shanghai until 1945. So after Shanghai was bombed [in 1938] I went back to my old route.

Only sometimes I would fly to Rangoon or wherever they wanted. Sometimes to Hanoi. Sometimes I would fly to Guilin on that peculiar plane, the Dolphin, a stagger wing Beechcraft, a British twin-engine plane. This place was very hard to go to—all mountains, and the weather was very bad.

Q. So you would wake up in the morning and not know where they were going to send you to fly that day?

A. When I used to fly, before Pearl Harbor, I was based in Chungking. When the planes came in from Hong Kong, I would either go with them as a copilot or I would take the plane back from Rangoon or Hanoi. Then the pilot would take them back to Hong Kong.

Q. When did you start flying to Hong Kong?

A. Oh, that’s after Hankow was lost in 1938. Before Hankow was lost, I was stationed in Chungking I was just flying a seaplane from Chungking to Hankow. Q. You liked your work? You were flying as a copilot or pilot. You went all over southeastern China, Burma [now Myanmar], Hong Kong, Indochina [now Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, and West Malaysia]. You had different routes, different airplanes to fly. You were paid. You were married. Were you in danger?

A. I liked my work. I didn’t feel I was in danger.

Q. What about navigation tools. How had they changed?

A. You see, before I was transferred and I was in Chungking, I was more or less not alone but I did most of the work for the Chinese Air Force. In the old days, between Chungking and Chengtu, I would fly to the northwest border with Russia. I would take the pilots or mechanic to get the Russian fighters. They didn’t have radio, so they depended on us to lead them-—like a bird following the goose. We had the radio, and we had the Telefunken directional finder. The fighter planes’ range was very short. So we would lead them to this airfield. I circled until the first squadron refueled. Then, when they were ready to take off, the second squadron would go down and refuel. If there was an air raid, then I would just wiggle my wings and make a circle and go towards Chengtu. At the same time, there would be a signal on the field that an air raid was going on. They couldn’t land until the refueled planes were coming up.

One time I was supposed to lead a bunch of Russian bombers with Chinese pilots to Guilin. They asked me to go to Chengtu and pick up some drop-able tanks, made of bamboo. They put them under their wings to get longer range. When they finished using that gas, they just dropped them because they didn’t have use for it anymore. Because they didn’t have metal, they made the extra gas tanks out of bamboo.

Q. Let’s talk about some of the various planes you flew. A. The first plane I flew for CNAC was the Stinson. It was the biggest plane I had flown at that time. Five passengers plus the pilot and copilot. It was a high wing. Before they had the smaller tires, later they had the balloon tires because they could land on paved field where you have soft mud and things like that. It moved better than the regular tire. And then the next plane I flew was the seaplane, an amphibian Loening that flew from Shanghai along the Yangtze River.

Q. Was it difficult to learn to fly a seaplane? A. No. The flying is all the same except when it lands in the water. In a seaplane you pull back on the controls to get the plane on the step, they call it. In a land plane you can drive forward to get the tail up. But in a seaplane, you have to get up on the step and once you are on the step, then you fly it like a regular plane.

Q. Did you have a preference?

A. Not exactly, but before you got on a seaplane you learned how to sail a boat. That was part of the training, because when you are on the water you have to learn about the wind and the current. On the Yangtze River you have downward flow. So they gave us a little sailboat, and we learned how to go downwind, crosswind so that when you get on the seaplane, it is the same thing as on a sailboat. If the wind is stronger against the current, you go into the wind. But if there is no wind, then you go downstream with the flow of the water. If the wind is strong enough and with the water, then you go against the current and into the wind.

You practiced in the little sailboat on the river. The only time you have current like that is only when it is high tide or low tide. So when it's low tide, maybe you go against the wind, so you have to practice different times of the day. It’s very good. When you have the engine off, you are drifting against the current. If the engine is dead and you have no power, you have to find a way to get the plane to drift so you get onto a corner where you beach the plane. You drift awhile and later on you get going. Later on they added a little rudder in the water, and then we had a cable.

As a copilot the only thing you had in terms of training was when the pilot was taxiing. You had to lie on your belly on the lower wing and when he approached the floating drum you had to grab that rope and tie it on to the side of the hull, and he would cut the engine when you signaled that you got it fastened. Sometimes he would go too fast, and you couldn’t hold on to it to get the rope wrapped around. So he wouldn’t cut off the engine until he was sure that you had the engine tied.

Being a copilot in the wintertime was terrible because it was so cold. Lying down on your belly, you’d get all wet. Afterward you got up with the wind blowing and the propeller blasting; you know, you could feel your hands getting frozen.

Q. How many captains were there at CNAC in 1938? A.Not many. About four American and four Chinese captains. C. L. Sharp was No. 1. Then there was Woody and Pottschmidt. At that time I was flying the seaplane between Hankow and Chungking. They were flying the land planes. So we would meet each other during different times. Two of us flew the Commodore. Sometimes we flew the Douglas Dolphin.

Q. You liked the Dolphin? It had 8 seats and flew 140 miles per hour, and had a range of 720 miles.

A. That was much better than the Commodore. That only went 110 miles per hour. Maybe less. We used to say it took off, landed, and cruised at the same speed. (Laughing) The Dolphin was a good plane to fly. But I remember that every time we landed I had to walk down the top of the wing spar and push the nail back in. The wing wasn’t metal; it was plywood covered, no fabric. It was glued, of course, to the metal frame and rib. After so long, the wing would start flapping. So after we landed, when we would go up on the wing to gas the plane, we’d walk down the spar to push the nail back in. Actually, the nail was not doing any good. It was the glue holding it together.

Q. So you were based in Chungking during the war. The question is why were you even flying all the way to the Russian border?

A. Because we flew to Yining. That’s where the Russians brought the planes over to China. In 1937–38 the Russians flew the planes themselves. But later on, they didn’t have the pilots. They just sold the planes to the Chinese. They didn’t fly over. The Japanese were protesting over this.

So the planes would come from Moscow and would land over on the Russian side. Then they would pull them by hand over the Chinese border and they would tow them down to the airfield here. The airfield is closer to the border actually. I remember when I flew there the town was not much.

Yining is the Chinese airfield on this side, and this is the Russian airfield on the other side. Alma Ata is the Russian base. SAS used to fly in and out of and stop there on the way to Scandinavia. Anyway, before we used to go from Chengtu. Lanchow [now Lanzhou] and Chengtu and Chungking.

The Chinese Air Force was in Chengtu. Chungking was the wartime capital. Xi'an is here. This is the area where they tested the atomic bomb. This is the end of the Great Wall, the end of the Himalayas that goes all the way to the Great Wall. Hami is here. Turpan is the second lowest place in the world. Below sea level. But the mountains here are over 15,000 or 16,000 feet.

Q. Had these western routes [across the Northwest Frontier] you flew ever been flown before?

A. No, never before.

Q. So how did you know where the mountains were and how high they were? When you chart a path in such difficult territory, how do you go about it?

A. First he [C. L. Sharp] gave me the report. They took off from Peshawar, the northwest frontier of India at that time. He described this area. He was already flying around 30,000. The B-24 can go up that high. But we could only go around 20,000 feet. After he couldn’t see Yarkant, he said he followed the Yarkant River. There were sandstorms. This area is all desert.

Q. What is it that you did that the B-24 couldn’t do? A. They started from India, trying to survey, and they couldn’t see so they turned back.

Q. I see because of the dust storms and because they were so high up in a B-24. But you were in a DC-3 and could stay under the clouds?
When you chart a path, what do you do?

A. We studied where the path was so we could get through. There are three paths we could get through. We only looked at the one path, but we could see the other side, and we went through it. If we couldn’t see the other side, we didn’t go through. (Laughing) There is another pass near Afghanistan. After Afghanistan there is Russia, so there are four countries that touch.

So, in the summer of 1942 we went south to New Delhi, then to Karachi, then to the northwest frontier near Peshawar, what they called in the old days, the Northwest Frontier. It had many troubles before in the old days. Then we spent the night there. The Air Force gave us dinner. They all wore gloves, the British. (Laughing)

Q. Where did you get your gas supplies?

A. We still had the U.S. Army with the star and the two bars indicating it was an American plane. When we left Calcutta we got gas. We got gas at Kunming, that’s where the Chinese Air Force was. But when we went there, they didn’t have the high octane.

Q. I wanted to ask you where you were when Pearl Harbor occurred? A. I was in Hong Kong. Pearl Harbor was on December 7. But in Hong Kong it was the nighttime on the 8th. On the morning of the 8th I was still in bed. I saw a formation of fighter planes start coming down. I thought they were practicing. From my bed I could see the Pan American Clipper in the water. I saw the tail of the DC-2 in front of the hangar. All of a sudden I saw water spraying up. They were machine-gunning that Clipper. But the Clipper had been waiting to go to Manila, so it had a lot of gas in its tank, and it caught fire right away. I don’t know if they actually dropped a bomb on the Clipper or not, I didn’t see. But I saw the DC-2’s tail start to burn, and I saw the Clipper burn first.

After it was over, I drove my car to the market to buy some rice. I saw the DC-2 burn up. Then when I got home, I got a telephone call to prepare to leave that night. The company called me. “Get ready to leave tonight?” I said, “But all the planes burned up.” He said, “No, one plane didn’t get hit. We pushed it off the airfield. And the two planes didn’t come back last night.” So we still had three airplanes, you see.

Q. So now let’s talk about the Doolittle experience. After Pearl Harbor, Jimmy Doolittle and his sixteen U.S. Army B-25 bombers broke through Japanese defenses on April 18, 1942, to strike Tokyo and other cities in broad daylight. It was a daring and dramatic raid. Then he flew on to China.

A. On my regular flight out of Chungking, we were delayed, and we didn’t know what the reason was. We saw the American ambassador and all hanging around. When the party came down and they all got near the cabin door, we were sitting in the cockpit. I was the pilot. But I didn’t see who was coming. It was April 1942. Then they got around the entrance door to the plane, and then I saw people climb up on the plane and the others got away. They cleared us to start the engine, and we took off for Kunming.

Less than an hour before we got to Kunming, we got a warning that there was an air raid going on. So we found an airstrip in the mountains and we landed there. We landed on this place and we got everybody out of the plane and we hid in a ditch. We had a crew of four, and then of course about eight or ten passengers. Doolittle was one of them. The others were regular passengers. And when I got down, he came next to me and I saw his name, Doolittle. First I saw his clothes were pretty dirty. When he came over to me in the ditch, I told him I remembered him back in 1933 in Shanghai.

Then when we got clearance, I got all the passengers on the plane, but he didn’t get on the plane. He just stood there near the wing tip talking to me. He said, “Which way are you going to take off?” This airfield was not level, it was uphill, and we were parked in a down part of the hill. I told him I was going to take off downwind. Usually a plane takes off upwind. Then he said, “O.K. If you were going to take off upwind, then I was going to stay here.” (Laughing) Then of course there was some telephone wire on a bamboo pole in a ditch or something. Only a couple of telephone wires. So he said, “What about those?” I said, “Gee, if we don’t make it we’ll just take the wire with us.” (Laughing) He got on the plane.

Then when we landed in Kunming, General Chennault was waiting. They saluted each other and drove away. So when it was time to leave, they came in and got in the plane. We were supposed to go to Dinjan. That’s what he thought. But the instruction was to get to Myitkyina, which is in the northern part of Burma. We were supposed to pick up the radio operator and the company personnel and equipment because that was the last day they were going to be there.

Q. Did you know what was happening politically in Myitkyina, that is, that it was under attack?

A. Yes we knew that because we were supposed to pick up the company personnel.

Q. Were you frightened?

A. Oh no. (Laughing) When we were flying we should have been flying northward, and Doolittle wrote me a little note on a piece of paper, and he gave it to the radio operator. The operator—no first he asked the radio operator, “Why are we flying north?” The operator told him because we were going to Myitkyina. Then he wrote on a piece of paper that the ambassador in Chungking told him Myitkyina had fallen that afternoon. I told the operator, no, the company would have warned me not to go to Myitkyina if it had already fallen. I didn’t pay any attention to him.

Then when we got to within twenty-some odd miles of Myitkyina, I saw a plane up in the air on the way to Dinjan. It looked like the last plane. I couldn’t see what plane it was, but it looked like it was on.

Then when we got to within twenty-some odd miles of Myitkyina, I saw a plane up in the air on the way to Dinjan. It looked like the last plane. I couldn’t see what plane it was, but it looked like it was on its way to Dinjan. Then we got to Myitkyina. We saw all the people leaving the airfield. That was the last plane. So they all left. A big crowd. They were trying to get out on that plane. When they saw us approaching they all returned, rushing back to the airfield because they thought another plane was coming in for them.

So when we landed, we found out that all the people we were supposed to pick up had gone on that last plane—the radio equipment and all the personnel, because we were late. Because of the air raid we were delayed a couple hours. So the radio operator didn’t know what we were doing. See, before we got to the airfield, he had disassembled his radio equipment so he didn’t know what was going on. Then all the refugees wanted to get on the plane. We started loading them.

Q. Whose decision was it to load the refugees on the plane?

A. Well, they all crowded around. They all wanted to go. We tried to take as many as we could.

Q. So it was your decision?

A. Yes, well, actually Doolittle helped. We had to take the ladder away because we didn’t want people climbing up. We picked the older people and the ladies with the kids. In fact, we had a lady get on board but her husband couldn’t get on board so she jumped back out. He looked very healthy, see. So she jumped back out.

When we were nearly packed, Doolittle wanted to know what the hell I was doing. I said, “We do that quite often.” After we were all full, we closed the door. Then we got everybody out of the way so we could taxi and take off. I figured that since we had a full load, we shouldn’t go to Dinjan, so we went direct to Calcutta. We just had enough fuel to reach Calcutta.

Q. And this plane that usually held only twenty-one people held how many?

A. Seventy, I think. Just packed in there. Sitting on the floor. Standing up. Then we landed. We found when we opened the cargo door we had another eight people packed in the cargo area. When we landed in Calcutta, the American embassy people came. Doolittle disappeared. He didn’t go through customs. He didn’t go through immigration. I didn’t know what was what. Then the next morning I looked at the paper and read that he had bombed Tokyo.

Q. You hadn’t known that he had bombed Tokyo?

Nooooo. If I had known, I wouldn’t have taken the chance to go through all that. I had no idea.

Q. You land and you see all the refugees climb out of the plane. You see the extra people climb out of the cargo, and then you saw that Doolittle didn’t have to go through customs. Did you say goodbye to him. Did he say goodbye to you or give you a thumb’s up?

A. No, he waved. I saw him talking to the people meeting him, people from the consulate. When I read the papers the next day, I said to myself, he went to all that trouble, and then I almost got him killed. We talked to each other a couple times, before the war ended and after the war. We just said hello to each other.

Q. If you had known you were carrying this important man, would you have done anything differently?

A. I wouldn’t have gone to Myitkyina.

Q. But you know the airline, the company, must have known you were carrying Captain Doolittle?

A. They knew he was on board, but they didn’t know he had bombed Tokyo. Nobody did. See the news didn’t come out until after he left Calcutta.

Q. What did you do for oxygen if you were flying up to 15,000 feet?

A. In early days we only had portable oxygen. Later the planes had the low-pressure oxygen system in the aircraft. But we didn’t use it until 8,000 feet. Usually we didn’t use it until 10,000 feet. In 1943 I came to the United States, and I flew the DC-4. I was checked out at American Airlines at La Guardia Airport. I liked this airplane. In those days it was a big airplane. (Laughing) Of course, any time you have a big airplane like that there were more things to handle. But it was very easy, for every Douglas airplane was almost the same.

Then at the end of 1943–44, we had the C-46 Commando. It could go about 1,400 or 1,500 miles.

Q. Where did you fly this transport plane?

A. During the war, CNAC got delivered one or two a month. We started getting it the end of 1943. When I flew for CATC, we bought nine of those from the Foreign Liquidation Com-mission. It was like surplus, planes that were left in Shanghai.

Then the C-47s, I bought two of those in 1946. They were brand new. Never been flown, just shipped to India. I bought them for $5,000 apiece. I bought them for CATC. The company bought them. I bought two of them for training. I used them mostly flying between Shanghai and Nanking when they asked me to go to a meeting. These were trainers, not for passengers. We needed them for training, since we were starting a new company.

Q. Why did you use this particular plane to train pilots for the new company?

A. For basic training. At that time after the war, we figured we had to train from the ground up. Of course, CATC bought six of the Convairs. It was the first new plane after the war. The DC-6 came out right after that. I was checked out on that in 1949. Q.Who checked you out? A.We had sent twelve crew over here to train with American Airlines in Ardmore, Oklahoma. Then, when they ferried the planes back, I flew back and forth with them on the trips.

Originally when we purchased these planes, they were from Shanghai. But when we got the planes, Shanghai was almost gone, so we used the planes between Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Bangkok. Two of the planes arrived, and they didn’t make a single trip because there was no place for them to go.

_________________________
Photograph by Gabriel Branbury.
CNAC luggage label, 1940s, San Francisco Airport Museums, gift of the Pan Am Association.
Published as a supplement to the Spring 2004 issue of FAM 14, the newsletter of the San Francisco Aeronautical Society.
Copyright © 2004 San Francisco Aeronautical Society. All rights reserved.
Contact SFAS@sfoArts.org for San Francisco Aeronautical Society membership information.


This will be the cover of the book, "The Life Next to the Spinning Propeller" by Li Wang.
The book should be published around Christmas of this year, 2007.




The following three links will show a three page article written by Liu Xiao Tong of Chengdu, China, about Moon F. Chin.
Page one
Page two
Page three

Liu Xiao Tong has written these two books:



If you would like to share any information about Moon F. Chin
or would like to be added to the CNAC e-mail distribution list,
please let the CNAC Web Editor, Tom Moore, know.
Thanks!

Monday, August 6, 2012

China Town of Rancho Cucamonga

Report expected on historic China House in Rancho Cucamonga

Created:   08/02/2012 07:06:13 AM PDT

In the 1880s, Chinese workers who had helped build the transcontinental railroad settled in an area of Rancho Cucamonga near the present-day intersection of San Bernardino Road and Archibald Avenue.
They found work in vineyards and farms, digging irrigation channels, and making fireworks. Hundreds of Chinese immigrants lived in a small area of town where the present-day intersection of Klusman and San Bernardino Avenues is today.
Nearly a century ago, a fire burned down the wooden homes the Chinese workers lived in. Replacement living quarters came in the form of three two-story clay block structures, that housed dozens of workers each. All that remains of the former China Town of Rancho Cucamonga is a single two-story clay block home on the northwest corner of Klusman and San Bernardino.
Ed Dietl, a member of the Rancho Cucamonga Historic Preservation Association, wants to preserve a part of this history for present and future residents. Dietl said he believes the deteriorating building, which is made of unsupported clay blocks, will eventually fall on its own in the near future.
"When that happens then we'll have to knock it down because it will be a health hazard for all the people who try to walk through the area," Dietl said.
"What we'd like to do is take it down nicely and preserve some of the bricks, and build a nice pyramid or corner stone or something on the property with a brass plaque saying at one time there was a Chinatown here."
Dietl shared interesting tidbits about the building's history. After the last Chinese resident left the home in the 1940s, a family moved into the home after which they installed heating, air, and plumbing.
The children in the family were delighted to find secret tunnels underneath the building. Others later found smoking pipes and bottles - the artifacts from the earlier inhabitants near the former outhouse in the backyard.
Dietl also believes the former residents of the home are buried underneath the property.
"We think that most of the people that died on this property were buried on this property because there was no Chinese cemetery.
Dietl also related a legend about a former resident, who had lived in the Chinatown for 50 years, and had lived in the home before he died at the age of 87. Two days before his death, he gave newspaper confetti to a woman he had been working for and asked the woman to spread the confetti over his grave in order "to keep the devil away."
Dietl said the woman could still see the man standing over his grave amidst the confetti.
"I'm sure there's ghosts here," Dietl said. There's a lot of history here."
Officials
Edward Dietl, of the Rancho Cucamonga Historic Preservation Association, is interested in keeping the history of the China House, alive. The home, which was built in 1919, is the last remnant of a once thriving China Town, near the intersection of Archibald Avenue and San Bernardino Road. (Neil Nisperos/Staff Writer)
with the Cucamonga Valley Water District, which owns the property, said they are developing a historic preservation plan, said Jolynne Russo-Pereyra, assistant general manager of the Water District.Russo-Pereyra said the plan is to hire a historic preservation consultant. Preliminary ideas include photographic documentation and drafting engineering records, preservation of the bricks, and the placement of a plaque or monument commemorating the site.
"The structure is very dilapidated and very unsafe and we've been in communications with the city about this but we'd like to memorialize the significance of it, so we'll be bringing in a historic preservation consultant," Russo-Pereyra said.
At a recent Rancho Cucamonga Planning Commission meeting, Dietl asked officials and planners for a report on what the city with the water district to preserve the site.
Officials said a report on the property will be presented at the next Planning Commission meeting in August.
"We love the old property and we want to do everything we can to preserve a little bit of Cucamonga's history. We'd love to do it because it's disappearing rapidly and there's no money anymore. The best thing is to donate the piece of property to a historical association or do some work on the property to fix it up so it looks pretty nice. This is a really nice old area of Cucamonga which shows the way it existed and we're not doing ourselves any favors by leaving it the way it is."

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Old Los Angeles Chinatown Revisited

Sonoratown, Little Italy, China City, Chinatown, Los Angeles, Ca.

from  Elisabeth L. Uyeda's Blogg    Los Angeles Revisited

Memories of visiting Chinatown during my youth conjure up not curio shops, nor restaurants with names like Forbidden Palace, nor of walking through Gin Ling Way, Chung King Road, or Bamboo Lane.  Rather, the places remembered from the 1960s were plain with storefronts nondescript compared to the central plaza.  Our family's weekly destination to shop and eat meant heading to the outskirt around New High, Ord and Spring Streets.

Image courtesy Seaver Center for Western History Research
Above shows the Mandarin Restaurant at 643 North Spring Street.  At the far right of the picture was Sing Lee Theatre (established about 1963) at 649 North Spring Street.  (Not that my family ever dined at the Mandarin - we only ate Cantonese cuisine - I didn't experience Mandarin-style food until the 1980s in Monterey Park.)

Image courtesy Seaver Center for Western History Research
Further up on the same street was a meat market, Sam Sing Company at 680 North Spring Street.

Despite the lack of exoticism along these parts, the area's colorful history more than makes up.

Losing "Old" Chinatown (1933)

The obliteration of Old Chinatown, near Alameda and Aliso Streets, began on a Friday morning, December 22nd of 1933.  Legal challenges against the destruction only postponed the inevitable.  The Union Passenger Terminal or Union Station was eventually built on the cleared land, and the first train arrived in May of 1939.  By 1942 the streets and alleyways erased included Apablasa, Cayetano, Juan, Marchessault and Napier Streets.

Early Chinese residents settled in Los Angeles after the completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869. Men found new work and eked out their living in such occupations as vegetable peddler. The Chinese community was victim to the most violent event in the young city's history during the Chinese Massacre on October 24, 1871.

New High, Ord and Spring Streets

A study of Dakin's fire insurance atlas for the year 1888 discloses that Chinese businesses and rooming houses existed outside of Chinatown proper, namely by New High Street (Calle Alta was the earlier name).  See further below for a discussion on early Chinese areas outside of Old Chinatown.  Later in this blog post two other nearby streets will be covered:  Ord Street (formerly Alta, then Walters Street), and North Spring Street (originally called Street of the Maids, then changed to Upper Main in the 19th century, then was known as San Fernando by 1897.)  From the 19th century into the early 20th, these three streets were known as a part of Sonoratown for its Mexican residents.  Italians also settled in this neighborhood.

New Chinatown  (est. 1938)

The Chinese American community found a new core location when its leaders managed to strike a deal and acquired vacant land owned by the Santa Fe Railroad.  New Chinatown opened June 26, 1938, and it was anchored by a central pedestrian plaza on Broadway north of College Street.  The architectural layout and facades have basically not changed all these years.

Also in 1938 two Chinese businesses appeared in that year's city directory listed at 700 and 701 North Spring Street near Ord.  This location was several blocks away from the central plaza. These businesses did not cater to the tourist.  These stores were situated adjacent to China City (to be discussed below.)

Wai Sang Meat Company (700 Spring) and Kwong Dack Wo Company (702 Spring) were meat and grocery markets respectively.  (My parents regularly frequented these markets in the 1960s.  Both stores were listed as recent as in the 1973 city directory.)   Today, both units house the CBS Seafood Restaurant.

Notice on the picture's right side at the rear of CBS that the lit Philippe's sign is visible (Click to zoom in)

CBS Seafood Restaurant opened in 1999.  Their parking lot next to the restaurant has been watched by congenial Security Officer E. Reed since the restaurant opened.  Mr. Reed said he has only missed three work days when he tried a stint at the new Disney Concert Hall but decided he preferred the Chinatown beat.  He is amazingly warm and welcoming to CBS patrons.

E. Reed and restaurant manager D. Ho shootin' the breeze in the parking lot

The CBS site history includes a three-story handsome brick building constructed by the summer of 1888 and named the Tononi Block, for its owner, an Italian, Giacomo Tononi.  The businesses at these locations were a saloon/billiard parlor (700 Upper Main) and wine & liquor store (702 Upper Main.)  Later his widow, Isabel Pelanconi Tononi, lived in one of the upstairs lodging quarters briefly (704 1/2 San Fernando - this address was sometimes listed as the San Fernando Hotel, as recent as 1956.)  She was the great-granddaughter of a Spanish soldier Cornelio Avila who built one of the early adobes bounded near today's North Broadway, College, Spring and Alpine Streets.

Lower 'pink' areas show the brick buildings of the Sunset Hotel and the Tononi Block across the street (Courtesy Seaver Center) (Click on image to zoom in)

The very corner unit (700 San Fernando) also served for many years as grocer Casimiro Michelini's store, as listed in the 1897, 1901 and 1909 city directories.

The Tononi Block is partially blocked by the tree in right foreground.  Across the street was an even taller building, the Sunset Hotel at 703 Upper Main Street (Image courtesy Seaver Center)

It does not appear likely that today's CBS is on the original floor of the Tononi Block, however, the County Assessor's record still lists this site as built in 1887.  A big question -- when was the building razed?  One clue comes from directory listings that place the Tononi building still possibly standing in 1956.

Across the street from the Tononi was the Sunset Hotel at 703 Upper Main.  (This hotel would have been only a short distance from the "San Fernando Street" depot stop of the railroad.)

Another unknown is year that the imposing Sunset Hotel went away.  The County Assessor lists the building where the hotel should have sat as 207 Ord (built 1880).  Today's single story building does not seem to be derived from the hotel. 207 Ord is a long single story building (maybe like the footprint of the old hotel), and Hoy King Restaurant operates here.

This space was the Chung Mee Cafe in the 1942 and 1956 directories.  I know it was still Chung Mee in the 1960s when my grandfather was a "waiter" there.  Actually he ran the gambling operation in the back of the restaurant.
The 207 Ord building continues lengthwise eastward:

The 207 Ord Street building (built 1880; renovated 1935) is showing its age

Across the street southward from the former Tononi Block was an adobe structure at the southeast pictured below with street signs of Ord and San Fernando.  Adobe homes were prevalent on these streets - settled by the early Spanish and Mexican soldiers and other persons of means in the early to mid-19th century.

Look closely at the left side for a downhill descent of Ord Street (today a walk downhill would lead to Philippe's) (Courtesy Seaver Center)
The address site of the adobe would have been about 686 North Spring.  If one walks southerly on Spring before reaching the cross street of Cesar Chavez, contemporary street life is very diversified, as shown below:


Directly across the street is the spot first introduced at the beginning image of this blog posting.  There is still a theater, though now called King Hing Theater:


The Dakin 1888 insurance atlas surprisingly reveals that in this 600 block there was a significant concentration of Chinese quarters, labeled in the atlas "Chinese" Chin. Rest." "Chinese Wash" "Chin. Board'g" "Chin. Tea" and "Chin Rooms."  These notations provide indication that Chinese resided outside of the "Old" Chinatown community.

(Click to Zoom) (Courtesy Seaver Center)
Philippe's Sandwiches

Today's best-known landmark in the area is Philippe's French-Dipped Sandwiches at 1001 Alameda Street, along Ord Street.  Back in 1888 this famous corner was a vacant lot.  Displaced from their location on Aliso Street by new freeway consruction, Philippe's moved here in 1951.


China City (est. 1938)

Across the street from Philippe's, Ord Street was the north boundary for "China City" the Chinese tourist compound created by the "mother of Olvera Street" Christine Sterling.  It opened in June of 1938, a few weeks earlier than New Chinatown's opening.  China City was partly Sterling's solution for the displaced Chinese community.  Less than a year later, a suspicious fire burned in the main section.  After being rebuilt, China City operated for about ten years before another fire brought its demise.  China City extended to Spring Street on the west, Main Street on its east side, and reaching south to Macy Street (today's Cesar E. Chavez Avenue.)

There might be a historical remnant -- at Philippe's parking lot across the street from the restaurant hangs a neon sign which reads "Shanghai Street."  Shanghai Street existed in China City so this might have been an authentic, salvaged sign.


Sonoratown

In the 19th century, the city blocks considered today's New Chinatown was home to a different ethnic group: Hispanics.  The barrio developed and resulted from demographic changes following the American period of the city after 1850. Whereas Mexican and Hispanic residents once comprised more than half the population, new Anglo settlers changed the equation. A segregated area north of the Los Angeles Plaza became inhabited by Mexicans and referred disparagingly as Sonoratown by Anglos. A study (The Los Angeles Barrio, 1850-1890 by Richard Griswold Del Castillo) delineated that the most concentrated ethnic enclave between 1872 through 1888 was the large area bounded by Main, College, Yale and Short (formerly Corta Street, about where Sunset Boulevard is today.)  Two of the main thoroughfares in Sonoratown were Castelar (today's North Hill Street) and Buena Vista (originally Calle de la Eternidad and today's North Broadway.)

Early Real Estate Subdivision Nearby

Prudent Beaudry, who served as City Mayor and who was also the developer of Bunker Hill, subdivided the hill to the west of Sonoratown about 1884.

Courtesy of the Seaver Center for Western History Research

More on New High, Ord and Spring Streets

New High, Ord and Spring may have been the fringe of Sonoratown. There was also a concentration of homes and businesses to Italians as part of L.A.'s Little Italy in the 19th century.  In 1897 and 1901, Soon Wo laundry was listed at 688 San Fernando.  In 1901, Yik Wo had a tailor business at 674 San Fernando.  In the 1909 city directory, the businesses and residents appear ethnically integrated by whites and Hispanics, without Chinese names listed. At 751 San Fernando Street was the Church of St. Peter. By 1938, New High Street (600-700 block) was mostly Hispanic, but in light of the new Chinese settlements (New Chinatown and China City) subsequent city directories showed increasing Chinese business and residential listings.

The 1943 city directory indicates these city blocks a mix of Italian, Chinese and Hispanic residents and businesses.  By 1956, the following line of businesses on Ord Street reflected the diversity:  120 Ord - Flora's; 122 Ord - F. Suie One Co. Chinese Goods; 124 Ord - Jun Quon Hin; 207 Ord - Chung Mee Cafe; 301 Ord - Juarez Cafe; 302 Ord - Lake Sun; 304 Ord - El Capricho Cafe.

At 708 New High, the corner lot sits ABC Seafood Restaurant.  Prior to their venture, the Limehouse was here.  One of their predecessors was the J.G. Medina Grocery operating in an old adobe after vacated by the El Adobe Cafe.  Click here to see a photo from the LAPL archive.


Across the street the Phoenix Inn Restaurant opened at the corner of 301 Ord Street in the year 1967, and it is still in business.



This corner has had its share of restaurant operations, including Kong Woo in 1942; Juarez Cafe in 1956.  The facade of this 1906 building has hardly change in its century-long existence.  Click here for an LAPL archival photo when it was the site of the Peluffo grocery and liquor store.

Houses of Ill Fame

Behind the brick building was another building, labeled in Dakin's 1888 insurance atlas as ILL Fame (a house of ill fame, or a brothel).  Such establishments were notorious over by Alameda and Aliso, but along these several city blocks it was commonplace, too.

(Click to zoom in) (Courtesy Seaver Center)

On New High, below Walters (Ord Street) there are at least six buildings of ill fame.  They were probably "cribs" made of small rooms.  On this street there were also two buildings for "Negro Rooms" and "Negro."

(Click to zoom in) (Courtesy Seaver Center)
The Los Angeles Times printed a "community" notice on July 1, 1889.  Various property owners supported the idea of containing prostitution houses to a single street:  along New High between Bellevue (today's Cesar Chavez Avenue) on the south and Alpine on north.  The supporters reasoned that there weren't families with children or private houses along those two blocks.

The newspaper reported on October 26, 1889 that a city order was under way to pave New High between Walters and Bellevue.  By mid-November, the paper reported a protest against paving the street.

The following year in October, a single-track railroad right-of-way was awarded; the route would travel down Buena Vista, then east onto Walters, then south onto New High.

Upper Main also had a house of ill fame, a short walk northward from the Tononi Block.

(Click to zoom in) (Courtesy Seaver Center)
From today's perspective the site of the row of prostitution houses would have been just beyond the apropos American Apparel girls billboard:

View north on the 700 block of North Spring Street


Tuesday, July 17, 2012

To Shine in the West

FONG FOO SEC, POMONA’S FIRST CHINESE IMMIGRANT STUDENT, WOULD BE HAILED AND CELEBRATED IN LATER YEARS AS A RESPECTED SCHOLAR AND GOODWILL AMBASSADOR. BUT HE ARRIVED IN THE U.S. IN 1882 TO FACE VIOLENCE, DERISION AND A NEW LAW THAT WOULD DRAMATICALLY CHANGE AMERICA’S APPROACH TO IMMIGRATION.
On a summer day in 1922, as the strains of opera music and applause from the commencement audience faded away, President James Blaisdell presented a doctor of laws to Fong Foo Sec, the College’s first Chinese immigrant student. It was only the third LL.D awarded since the College’s founding 35 years earlier, and the story of a peasant laborer turned goodwill ambassador receiving an honorary degree attracted coverage from as far afield as the New York Times.
 Fong had become the chief English editor of the Commercial Press, China’s first modern publisher. At Commencement, he was praised as an “heir by birth to the wisdom of an ancient and wonderful people; scholar as well of Western learning; holding all these combined riches in the services of a great heart; internationalist, educator, modest Christian gentleman.”
The pomp could not have been more different than Fong’s arrival four decades earlier, when his improbable journey to Pomona began under the cover of twilight. After his steamship docked in San Francisco in 1882, the scrawny 13-year-old boy hid in a baggage cart, while his fellow passengers banded together to fend off attackers along the waterfront, in case the immigrants were discovered before reaching the sanctuary of Chinatown.
 “I was received with bricks and kicks,” Fong said, describing his reception in a magazine interview and in his memoirs decades later. “Some rude Americans, seeing Chinese laborers flock in and finding no way to stop them, threw street litter at us to vent their fury.”
 Fong’s immigrant tale is both emblematic and exceptional: emblematic in the peasant roots, the struggles and dream of prosperity he shared with Chinese laborers of that era. Exceptional in the fact that Fong, though he came as a laborer, was able to get a college education in the U.S. and seize the opportunities it brought. He arrived at a time when formal immigration restrictions were scant, but also to a land gripped by anti-Chinese hysteria, just before a new law that, in the words of historian Erika Lee, “forever changed America’s relationship to immigration.”
 IF FONG, IN HIS TINY VILLAGE in Guangdong province in southern China, had heard of such threats against his countrymen, he remained undeterred in his quest to go to Gold Mountain, a name California had picked up during the Gold Rush era. Fong’s childhood nicknames, Kuang Yaoxi, “to shine in the West” and Kuang Jingxi “to respect the West” are revealing. “He was expected, or perhaps destined, to become associated with the Western world and Western culture,” says Leung Yuen Sang, chairman of the History Department at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, who has conducted research on Fong.
 Born in 1869, Fong tended his family’s water buffalo and planted rice, taro and sweet potatoes, but did not begin school until he was 8. Often hungry, he went barefoot and wore patched clothes, reserving his shoes for festival days, Fong wrote in his memoirs. But his father saw a way out for Fong. From the start of the 19th century, his clansmen, driven by bandits, floods, war and rebellion, went abroad to seek their fortunes. After seeing villagers travel to America and return with “their pockets full,” his father asked Fong if he’d like to go too.
  To pay for his ticket, the family borrowed money from relatives and friends, a common practice for would-be travelers. In January 1882, accompanied by his neighbor, Fong left for Hong Kong where he stayed before sailing for San Francisco on the S.S. China. In the crowded hold, amid stormy weather and high waves, he learned his first words of English and picked up advice. Fong’s steamship was one of scores jammed with thousands of his compatriots who began rushing over while the U.S. Congress debated a moratorium on most immigration from China.
 According to his memoirs, Fong arrived sometime after the passage, on May 6, 1882, of what became known as the Exclusion Act, but before it took effect 90 days later. The San Francisco Chronicle published the arrivals and passenger load of steamships from the Orient, noting in March of that year, “It is a matter of some interest to know just how many Chinese are likely to be pressed upon our shores.”
 The Chronicle also wrote of crowded, unclean conditions aboard steamers, which were anchored on quarantine grounds and fumigated to prevent the spread of smallpox. In headline after headline, the newspaper created the sense of a city besieged: “More Chinese: Another Thousand Arrive in This Port,” “And Still They Come … Two Thousand Others on the Way,” “Another Chinese Cargo: Eighty Thousand Heathen Awaiting Shipment to This City.”
 ANTI-CHINESE SENTIMENT had been building for decades on the West Coast. During economic downturns, the immigrants, with their cheap labor, became scapegoats. Mob violence flared against them, and in San Francisco, in 1877, thousands of rioters attacked Chinese laundries and the wharves of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, the chief transpacific carriers of the laborers.
 California had already passed its own anti-Chinese measures, and after years of pressure, particularly from the West Coast, Congress took unprecedented federal action in the form of 1882’s Exclusion Act. The 10-year ban on Chinese laborers would be the first federal moratorium barring immigration based upon race and class. Only merchants, teachers, students and their servants would be permitted to enter thereafter.
 At first, confusion reigned. When the Exclusion Act took effect, a Chronicle headline proclaimed that the arrival of the “last cargo” of Chinese in San Francisco was “A Scene that Will Become Historical.” Still, the Chinese continued arriving as enforcement in the beginning remained haphazard. The act represented the U.S. government’s first attempts to process immigrants, and officials at the ports weren’t sure how to handle Chinese laborers under the new regulations, says Erika Lee, director of the Asian American Studies Program at the University of Minnesota. But in time the law succeeded in reducing Chinese immigration, which plummeted from 39,579 in 1882 to only 10 people, five years later. The Chinese population in the West shrank, as immigrants moved east to work and open small businesses. In the months and years to come, restrictions would tighten, with Chinese required to carry certificates of registration verifying legal entry. Later on, the right to re-enter the U.S. would be rescinded, and the act would be renewed.
 “Beginning in 1882, the United States stopped being a nation of immigrants that welcomed foreigners without restrictions,” Lee argues in her book, At America’s Gates. “For the first time in its history, the United States began to exert federal control over immigrants at its gates and within its borders, thereby setting standards, by race, class, and gender for who was to be welcomed into this country.”
 AFTER ARRIVING IN SAN FRANCISCO, Fong was forced to hide in a basement his first few days in Chinatown, a neighborhood of narrow alleys and cramped tenements, but also of temples and gaily-painted balconies. Laws targeting Chinese—their tight living quarters and their use of poles to carry loads on sidewalks— reflected the simmering resentment. “The city authorities, because they had not been able to prevent their coming, tried to make it difficult for [the Chinese] to settle down here,” Fong wrote.
 Like many immigrants, Fong turned to kinsmen for help. He left for Sacramento to live with an uncle, a vegetable dealer, who found him a job as a cook to a wealthy family. He earned $1 a week, along with the occasional gift of a dime, which he treasured “as gold.” He—like many Chinese immigrants—sent money back to cover the debt incurred to cover his passage to America and pay for family expenses.
 At his uncle’s urging, Fong studied English at a night school set up by the Congregational Church in Sacramento’s Chinatown, but he started gambling and stopped going to class. Scolded by his uncle, he returned to school and a new teacher, Rev. Chin Toy, became his mentor.
 Fong found himself debating whether to convert to Christianity. Among his parents, relatives, and friends, not a single one was Christian, and he hesitated giving up the idols his ancestors had worshipped for generations. “If Christianity turns out to be unreliable, I will lose heavily,” he wrote in his memoirs.
 After a fire gutted the heart of Sacramento’s Chinatown and destroyed his few possessions, Fong had to move into a dark basement room, thick with his uncle’s opium smoke. Fong then asked if he could stay in the mission church, and Rev. Chin consented to the unprecedented request. From age 15 to 17, Fong lived in the mission, where he learned Chinese, the Bible, English, elementary science, and read books such as Pilgrim’s Progress and Travels in Africa. Six months later, he was baptized, but it took the Salvation Army to stoke his religious passion.
 Drawn by the sound of the bugle one night, coming home from his cook’s job, Fong watched the preachers in the street, fervent despite a jeering crowd. Their zeal led him to question his faith and whether his sins had been forgiven. Struck by a vision of Christ’s breast streaming with blood, he knelt during a church service and repented.
 His conversion was unusual—missionaries in those days did not make deep inroads among Chinese immigrants, who “did not seem to see the efficacy of a god who sacrificed his son on a cross,” says Madeline Hsu, director of the Center for Asian American Studies at the University of Texas at Austin. “Until there was a better sense of community and utility in attending church, missionaries seemed largely ineffectual.”
 The Salvation Army, unable to proselytize among the Chinese until Fong joined up, sent him to their San Francisco headquarters in 1889 for six months of training. As a preacher, Fong became the object of “laughter, bullying, and insults. As a Chinese, I suffered more than any Westerner,” he wrote. Still, for more than a year, Fong evangelized in California, Oregon and Washington.
 One night, a brawny man in the street started beating Fong, who could not defend himself, and the teenager escaped after a woman intervened. Another time, while Fong passed a football field, boys swarmed around him, spitting and assaulting him until he found refuge in a nearby house.
 After a labor meeting to discuss measures against the Chinese, boys began following Fong, who brandished a paper knife to ward them off. He might have found his greatest peril in Tacoma, Wash., where mobs in November 1885 drove out every Chinese, part of a wave of xenophobic violence sweeping the West. During an evening meeting sometime after the anti-Chinese riots, Fong’s friends heard voices outside and urged him to change out of his Salvation Army uniform, hide in a friend’s house and then aboard a ship anchored in the harbor where he spent the night. “Later, it came to light several hundred people had gathered outside the door of the meeting place, ready to seize me,” he wrote in his memoirs.
 Fong endured. After taking typing and shorthand in night school, he became a clerk at the Salvation Army, and then was promoted to secretary to a major, the organization’s ranking leader on the Pacific Coast. The next few years had “significant bearing” on his future, he wrote, because he associated with people of “superior class” who spoke fluent English. On his own, he studied history, archeology and literature, and honed his public speaking and debate skills.
 BUT FONG HAD AMBITIONS that would lead him to Pomona—and, eventually, back to China. “If I could obtain higher learning, I could go back and be of service to society,” he wrote in his memoirs.“To spend my whole life in a foreign country did not seem to me the most ideal solution.”
 In 1897, Fong met Pasadena businessman Samuel Hahn, whose son, Edwin, attended Pomona. Fong shared his dreams with them. Edwin Hahn, in turn, told Cyrus Baldwin, Pomona’s first president. Not long after, President Baldwin called upon Fong in San Francisco at the Salvation Army headquarters, urging him to come at once. Fong’s $300 savings, and his pledge to work part-time, would cover his tuition, the president assured him. Years later, Fong would name his first-born son Baldwin in gratitude.
 Fong entered Pomona’s prep school, cleaning houses, waiting on tables, typewriting, picking apples and cooking to cover his expenses. Like some students, Fong built a wood shack to save on rent and prepared his own meals, harvesting vegetables from a friend’s garden, according to classmate Charles L. Boynton, who contributed to a memorial volume after Fong’s death. Rev. Boynton would become a missionary in Shanghai. (With the College’s Congregationalist roots, a good number of Pomona students went on to become missionaries in the early days.)
 As a student, Fong helped bridge the gulf between cultures and countries, a role that would become his life’s work. He was seen as an expert on his homeland. Under the headline “The Views of a Bright Chinese Student,” the Los Angeles Times printed the transcript of a lengthy address Fong had given in Los Angeles regarding current events in China. And Boynton asked Fong—known as “Sec” or “Mr. Sec”—to speak with students planning to become missionaries in China, to share what he knew of the country and to make a personal appeal for evangelization. Fong also began his decades-long involvement with the YMCA during this time, after hearing about a fellow student’s account of young people surrendering their lives to Christ at a gathering on the hillside overlooking the ocean at sunset in Pacific Grove.
 He interrupted his studies at Pomona twice: first, shortly after enrolling to accompany General William Booth, the founder of the Salvation Army, on a tour of the United States, and for a second time, in 1899, after he contracted tuberculosis and a physician ordered him to recuperate in a mountain camp for a year. “I was under the impression there was no cure for the disease and that it was a matter of a few months before my life, with its hopes crushed and work undone, would come to an end,” Fong later wrote in a letter.
 A friend reasoned with him, helping restore his enthusiasm, and he looked fondly upon his time at Pomona. “Five years in college and all the assistance from friends—these I cannot forget.” After four years in Pomona’s prep school followed by a year of regular collegiate enrollment, he transferred to the University of California at Berkeley, where he graduated with honors with a bachelor of letters in 1905. He then headed east to Columbia, where he earned dual master’s degrees in English literature and education—fulfilling a prophecy. A generation ago, a fortune teller told Fong’s grandfather that an offspring would be awarded high academic honors.
 FONG RETURNED TO CHINA in 1906 after a quarter-century absence. “The people are my people, and it doesn’t take long for me to forget that I had seen life—lived, struggled—in the West, and I was one of them once more,” he wrote.
 He taught English and landed an appointment at the Ministry of Communications before taking his post at the Commercial Press in Shanghai, which published textbooks and translations. Such work contributed much to the educational development of China, which he considered vital to ensuring the country’s survival. Fong believed Chinese students also had to understand sciences, art, history, law and the government of Western countries.
 In the decades ahead, Fong would become a prominent volunteer leader in Rotary International and the YMCA, and travel to Europe, Australia and the United States. And yet, despite his degrees, despite his accolades, under the Exclusion Act, he was not unlike the lowliest Chinese laborer who returned to his village after spending years in Gold Mountain.
 America, it seemed, wasn’t ready for them. Permanent settlement in the U.S. was not an attractive option, because Chinese were prohibited from becoming naturalized citizens and faced a limited set of economic and social options. Many Chinese Americans were barred from certain professions, such as practicing law, even if they were college graduates. “It is notable that he ‘made his mark’ in China, not the U.S,” says Lee. During this time, the U.S. system for dealing with immigrants was becoming more and more formalized. Only a few years after Fong returned to China, an immigration station for detaining new and some returning Chinese immigrants opened on Angel Island in the middle of San Francisco Bay. By then, the Exclusion Act had set into motion new modes of immigration regulation that would give rise to U.S. passports, green cards, a trained force of government officials and interpreters, and a bureaucracy to enforce the law.
 When Fong died in 1938, the Exclusion Act was still in effect. It wasn’t until five years later, when China and the United States became allies during World War II, that Congress repealed it. Large-scale Chinese immigration wasn’t allowed until the passage of the Immigration and Nationality Act two decades after the war’s end.
 But throughout his life, Fong had remained optimistic about the power of education to alter American attitudes toward the Chinese, even if the laws hadn’t caught up to reflect that change. He exuded that spirit in an interview with a YMCA magazine, Association Men, in 1922, the same year he returned to the U.S. to receive his honorary degree from Pomona.
 “The presence of several thousand Chinese students in your colleges and universities has given you a truer conception of us, than you get from the Chinese laundrymen,” Fong said. “The change which has come over the American is truly remarkable … you receive me with cordiality and friendliness. I am hailed as an equal.”

Monday, July 16, 2012

Forbidden Citizens Chinese Exclusion and the U.S. Congress A Legislative History

By Martin B. Gold
Described as "one of the most vulgar forms of barbarism," by Rep. John Kasson (R-IA) in 1882, a series of laws passed by the United States Congress between 1879 and 1943 resulted in prohibiting the Chinese as a people from becoming U.S. citizens. Forbidden Citizens recounts this long and shameful legislative history.
H. Res. 683 Acknowledges Injustice of anti-Chinese Discrimination, June 18, 2012
"In other cases, we admit the people and exclude the individual. In the Chinese case, we admit the individuals and exclude the people."
--Representative Henry Naphen (D-MA) (1899-1903), 35 Cong. Rec. 3695 (1902) (§ 9.30)
Forbidden Citizens: Chinese Exclusion and the U.S. Congress- A Legislative History

Cover Images

Claims of China, by J.A. WalesMain cover image (bottom-left of the cover) is from the cover of Puck magazine, March 17, 1886, one month after Secretary of State Thomas F. Bayard wrote to China's Washington legation that "the violence against Chinese immigrants was precipitated by their resistance to cultural assimilation, and that racism against Chinese was typically found among other immigrants rather than the majority of the populace."
The cartoonist was J.A. (James Albert) Wales.
The cartoon shows the Chinese Minister to the United States Cheng Tsao-ju handing "claims of China" to Secretary of State Thomas F. Bayard. The sign above Bayard reads, "The Chinese have no votes and no rights which this government is bound to respect, 1886."
To Secretary Bayard's right, previous Secretaries of State James G. Blaine and William M. Evarts sit below identically worded signs dated 1881 and 1877.
Cheng Tsao-ju's left hand holds another scroll that says, "The Government of China paid over to that of the United States the sum of [500,000 taels] $735,258.97 in full liquidation of all claims of American citizens in 1858." [Note 1]
On the night of December 14, 1856, the foreign factories at Canton were burned and foreigners were compelled to flee the city; and on the 13th of the next month [January 13, 1857] all foreigners were forced to abandon Whampoa, the port of Canton's Hostilities between China and Great Britain growing out of the controversy concerning the lorcha Arrow -- a controversy which served to inflame the feelings of the Chinese against all foreign residents. "The destruction of the foreign settlements at Canton, although apparently the act of incendiaries," was "known to have been arranged by the authorities of Canton, who made no distinction between enemies and neutrals; and the subsequent proceedings of the Canton government in offering rewards for the heads of all foreigners indiscriminately." [Note 2]
 The caption below the illustration reads:
Chinese Minister: "Therefore, all things whatsover ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets."
Secretary Bayard: "That's some nonsense of that old Confucius of yours, I suppose?"
The image is from the Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Online Catalog, http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/cph.3b49114.


The ultimate cause, by Frank A. Nankivell

The Ultimate Cause 
is from the cover of Puck magazine, December 19, 1900. In the spring of 1900, during the Boxer Rebellion in China, several Christian churches were burned and Chinese Christians were killed. Hundreds of soldiers from eight foreign countries were then dispatched to protect the foreign legations in Beijing. (§ 9.12)
The cartoonist was Frank Arthur Nankivell.
The cartoon shows shows a Chinese woman with two children talking to an American missionary on a street in front of a market.

The caption below the illustration reads:
The Ultimate Cause
"But why is it," asked the thoughtful Chinese, "that I may go to your heaven, while I may not go to your country?"

The American missionary shrugged his shoulders. "There is no Labor vote in heaven!" said he.
The image is from the Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Online Catalog, http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2010651356.