On December 21, 2012, Mr. Huang Yunji, a veteran newspaper man, famous writer, social activist, honorary president of San Francisco's "American Chinese Literary Association," and lifelong president of "American Literary Magazine," passed away in the hospital at the age of 80 years old. The sad news came to our colleagues with great sorrow.
Remembering that a year ago in December, I returned to San Francisco from China to visit Mr. Huang at his home, I was delighted to learn that the old man, who went on hemodialysis three times a week, had completed the last book in his trilogy, The Giant Wave, which is the final book of The Songs of a Strange Land, the first in a trilogy that was written by Mr. Huang. "A long-cherished wish has been fulfilled, and a big stone in my heart has finally been put down!" His smile was so bright. I, however, secretly almost shed a tear, which means grueling struggle.
220,000 words of the manuscript, he is so completed: three times a week to the hospital the day after hemodialysis, the spirit of the better, he got up at 5:00 a.m., grabbed the time to code, until the physical strength is exhausted, and only left the computer, bed rest. Later, due to asthma caused by colds, he went on the dialysis machine, next to the oxygen infusion equipment. A weak body, supporting the head of concentration and transportation, fortunately, this novel has been brewing for many years, and the writing is quite smooth.
I was one of the first to read it. This new novel, together with the previously completed Running Current and Raging Tide, constitutes a long scroll of the destiny of North American Chinese in the last hundred years, starting from their imprisonment in the Angel Island Immigration Detention Center, which is an indispensable sensual reference to the history of contemporary overseas Chinese and a monument to the history of Chinese literature in the diaspora.
Mr. Huang Yunji is one of the leaders of the Chinese writers in the U.S. His life is rare and magnificent, spanning two countries, two systems and two contexts, beginning with his experience as a laborer at the bottom of the ladder, followed by his career as a newspaper reporter, and then culminating in his literary creation, and then in translation, with a life that is rare, rich and deep.
The first time I met Mr. Huang Yunji was around 1981. In those days, I was a new immigrant who had not long been "on the port", and I had experienced all the difficulties and embarrassments at the beginning of the uprooting of the foreign troops after the soil troops. As for the literary dream, it had long been squeezed out by all kinds of urgent matters, such as remedial English to support the family. At that time, I was working as a trainee in a Western restaurant, and on one of my days off, the poet Lao Nan was excited to show me the way, and the two of us walked along a winding alley near Chinatown and into the old clubhouse of The Times. He and I had been co-writers of new poems before we left the country, and we have become even more like brothers since we immigrated.
When we entered the newspaper office, Mr. Huang Yunji, the president and editor-in-chief, greeted us in a small room filled with white paper, ink and a variety of Chinese and English books. I was in my early 30s, Nan was in his early 40s, and Mr. Huang Yunji was in his early 50s, all of whom were characterized by their confidence in tomorrow.
President Huang introduced the operation of the newspaper, led us to meet its volunteers, and encouraged us to write for The Times.
In the spring of 1986, on the recommendation of Mr. C.M. Chen, a well-known literary figure in Taishan, Mr. Nan and I joined the newspaper together, with me as the editor of the California news section, and him as the proofreader. This was my only white-collar career in the 30 years I lived in the U.S., with a large mahogany desk in the attic of a warehouse-type brick building at 1600 Amsterdam Street. Mr. Huang Yunji was president and editor-in-chief, but he was away so much that the day-to-day editorial duties were handled by Meng, a deputy editor-in-chief with a degree in political economy.
President Huang was a modest man, and always came in quietly to work, in the open office with a row of bookshelves for the interval of intense work, and never bossed his subordinates around, always in a consultative tone of conversation, and even less inspection, supervision, and never in the reporter, the editor of the mistake of not letting go.
Those days, run such a daily newspaper, editors, typists, printers, distributors, handyman, a **** there are twenty or thirty, all take more than a thousand dollars in wages, but advertising revenue is very little. As a legal representative, he mainly focused on getting money. In November 1986, one noon, as usual, we gathered in the simple dining room outside the underground kitchen to eat lunch made by the cook. After the meal, President Huang, looking grave, announced a sudden news to the effect that due to the depletion of financial resources, we could not afford to operate, and would stop publishing immediately. The crowd hurriedly packed up their belongings and said goodbye in shock.
In the last issue of the newspaper, an open letter from the president appeared on the front page, and it was full of grievances.
The letter was published on the front page of the last issue of the newspaper, and it was full of grievances. It turned out that what Mr. Huang had been trying to raise was a fund for the newspaper's long term operation, but he had to shut it down after running into walls.
Leaving the newspaper more than 20 years later, the site is for sale, in order to take some of the outdated "American Literature" magazine as a souvenir, into the interior wandering for a long time.
The editorial desk, the wall paintings, the old fax machine for receiving AP wire services, the books and clippings on the shelves, everything was the same as before, but covered with the dust of the long years, which made me feel a lot of emotions.
Mr. Huang's mood was also at a low point during that time. It was only then that I understood more thoroughly that he, as the earliest Chinese community to support the People's Republic of China, the most active and unselfish newspaper man of his generation to publicize the new China, founded The Times in 1972 on his own, with a second-hand typewriter bought at a cost of $200, and struggled all the way to work part-time to make up for the newspaper's shortfalls, and with what deep patriotic feelings and thoughts of his homeland.
Fourteen years later, the illusion was partially shattered, and the man who broke his arm was left with no choice but to regret it!
It has been another quarter of a century since the Times closed its doors. Over the years, Mr. Wong and I were close. My home and the couple's home were just 20 or so blocks away, within walking distance. After he left journalism, this veteran journalist, fluent in both English and Chinese, continued to work as a certified translator of official documents for a translation company, and as a literary and social activist, participating in the heyday of the Chinese literary scene in the San Francisco Bay Area since the Gold Rush of 1849.
His home on 27th Street became a meeting place for the cultured. I can't count the number of times meetings, reunions and dinners were held there, and the editorial board of the American Chinese Literary Magazine held events to welcome visitors from the Chinese cultural community. Two or three friends, each holding a glass of red wine, looking out of the shutters of his restaurant, the flat blue sea, a round of blood-colored sunset slowly sinking, in the passionate discussion of the ancient and modern style of the literary friends, sprinkled with amicable gold, this is the elegant exotic lanting. Mr. Huang Yunji was a mentor, benefactor, guide, and sincere friend to me and to many people who grew up, lived, and worked in the San Francisco Bay Area (not only new immigrants like me, but also generations of international students from China, as well as compatriots of different ethnicities, ages, and occupations and cultural backgrounds).
He has been running a newspaper for more than 20 years, from the East-West Newspaper, where he was the president, editor-in-chief, reporter, artist, typesetter and publisher, to the Times, a sizable daily newspaper, and enjoys high prestige in the journalism world, according to which he can be called a veteran newspaper man. He has been engaged in literary creation for nearly 40 years, and his short stories have been selected for inclusion in China's Selected Novels many times, while his trilogy of full-length novels can be called an epic masterpiece documenting the struggle of Chinese immigrants in the U.S. Accordingly, he can be called a well-known writer.
He immigrated to the U.S. at the age of 15, and was persecuted by the McCarthyists. He fought for the rights of Chinese Americans to live, speak, publish, and participate in politics in the U.S., and in his youth he was a popular leader in the Chinese community, which makes him a champion of civil rights.
He has served as the leader of many associations, the president of the San Francisco Chinese American Literary and Artistic Association for three consecutive terms, the president of the American Chinese Literary Magazine for 15 years, and a frequent sponsor of cultural people and cultural activities, and Mr. Wang Dingjun, a master of literature who lives in New York City, has called him "the Meng Chang Jun of the Chinese American literary world. Mr. Wang Dingjun, a literary master living in New York, called him "the Meng Changjun of the Chinese American literary world", according to which he can be called an excellent cultural activist.
As for me, as a junior who often seeks his advice, I think it would be more appropriate to call him an outstanding idealist.
Idealism was carried out throughout his life, from his youth to his old age, he was always full of passionate dedication, and for the sake of the general public's interests, for the truth and goals he recognized, he did not care about his personal gains and losses, and went to the front line of the struggle without hesitation. After the passage of time, we may not agree with all the "ideals" he defended back then (and he may not agree with them himself), but we will always admire this kind of passionate and religious devotion.
We could not witness Mr. Wong's outstanding contributions to the Chinese community in San Francisco during the 30 years before we immigrated (the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s), but seven or eight years ago, when I attended the 30th anniversary of the Chinese Progressive Association (CPA), I partly knew that Mr. Wong had been a fierce advocate of social reform. Maurice Chuck (Mr. Wong Yun-kee's English name) was the leader of the young ABC men and women who fervently joined the social reform movement, ranging from protesting against the U.S. government's war in Vietnam, participating in the civil rights movement initiated by Dr. King, and opposing the pervasive racial discrimination of the day, to fighting for the rights of low-income elderly residents during the demolition of the Chinatown International Hotel. They burned with a passion that never runs out. I was overcome with tears as I watched the hundreds of attendees standing up, chanting Mr. Wong Yun-kee's name and applauding him.
These compatriots, who have been labeled by conservatives as radicals, all speak standard American English and are of course many levels above us new immigrants who have yet to enter mainstream society in terms of their state of mind and commitment to social affairs. The members of the "Chinese Youth" who clashed with the police during the demonstration are now in their middle age, but they still remember Mr. Huang Yunji's teaching and support in the early years. One of them, a middle-aged woman of Japanese descent, who was a college student when Mr. Wong started the English and Chinese editions of The Times, is now the chief lawyer for Pacific Coal and Power Company, and remembers her struggle with the **** and thanks Maurice again and again.
As for what I have personally experienced, the most touching is his founding of the American Chinese Literary Magazine. in the winter of 1994, Mr. Wong Yun-kee invited Lao Nan, me, Wang Se-chu, Liu Zi-yi, Zheng Qi-xian, and other literary friends living in San Francisco to discuss the establishment of a literary magazine. He had been running a newspaper for many years, how could he not know the market? The saying, "If you want to harm a friend, encourage him to start a magazine," has spread from Taiwan to the United States and has been proven time and again. However, he firmly said that he was ready to lose money. As a result, it was organized. At first, it was called "American Chinese Culture People", published as a newspaper, and later changed to a magazine. It ran for 16 years, until 2011, when he was sick and dying before handing over the baton.
His persistence was not out of love for the position of "president," but out of a spirit of sacrifice.
In his later years, he passed the reins to his only daughter, Huang Xiaojian. The magazine has published 80 issues so far, and apart from subscribers and a few sponsors, he (and his daughter) are the only long-term contributors, the most important patrons, and his family has invested $120,000 or more in general terms, with not a single penny in return, purely out of sheer dedication. He is not a rich man, although the couple has been working hard for more than 60 years since they came to Midas, and they have a thin asset, so they have no problem to maintain a well-off situation, but he is eager to be righteous, and he has sponsored international students and the needy with his money, which is uncountable, and he and his wife have saved from their daily expenses to run the magazine.
Whenever we think of this old man, who was never ostentatious, looking up dictionaries with a magnifying glass, translating the Medical Manual for the Kaiser hospital system, sentence by sentence, and sleeping and eating to decipher the difficult medical terminology, and spending the money he earned on translations to promote the great cause of Chinese literature, our friends who knew him well are touched by the thought.
There were two scenes that fully demonstrated Mr. Huang Yunji's high prestige and charisma as an idealist, and I was one of those present.
The first one was on February 1, 1998, at the Miramar Restaurant in San Francisco's Chinatown, a large-scale dinner party was held to raise funds for the American Chinese Literature Magazine and the American Chinese Literature Series, and Mr. Wong Yun-ki, as the initiator and operator, was awarded by the Mayor of the City of San Francisco with a Certificate of Appreciation. The mayor's representative announced on the stage that the day was named "Mr. Huang Yunji Day", and more than 400 guests gave a thunderous cheer. Amidst sustained applause, Mr. Wong Yun-kee gave a speech in which he warmly thanked his friends and fondly thanked his wife, Mrs. Leung Kin, who has supported him without complaint.
The second was on October 5, 2002, at the Hong Nin Restaurant in San Francisco's Chinatown, the day of Mr. Wong Yun-ki's 70th birthday. Many people conspired and prepared secretly to organize an extremely grand birthday party without his knowledge. What a wonderful surprise it was!
When he walked into the banquet hall, 300 old acquaintances and new acquaintances stood up and applauded. On the stage, there was a cake, souvenirs and a large portrait by an oil painter.
At the party, friends took the stage one by one, American humor and Chinese style frivolous, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, recalling the days with Maurice, one or collective memory of the flash fragments, Mr. Huang Yunji's life experience strung together, is a three-dimensional capitals of the Chinese. 1948, he took the "General Miguel" ship across the world. "General Miguel" ship across the ocean in 1948, was 15 years old, a miserable green boy, on board the ship delayed reading Bajin's "demise", blood and the waves of the sea in general surging.
Today, he stands on the podium, on the peak of his life, standing as an example of a generation of overseas Chinese, with the Golden Gate Bridge on the shores of the Pacific Ocean as a backdrop.
Mr. Wong left a will that he would not hold a public funeral, but his wife and daughter said they would hold a "celebration" next January.
Yes, we want to celebrate Mr. Huang 80 years of glory, he fought a lifetime, struggled a lifetime, dedication to a lifetime, no regrets, only comfort. Rest in peace Mr. Huang Yunji!
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