Chapter 3

In March, 1945, nearly six months after I joined the Air Corps, we finally left Bombay aboard an American military cargo ship, setting out on the last leg of our journey to the United States. Because of the constant threat from the Japanese navy, we sailed south for several days, then east, and off the southern shores of Australia and New Zealand in very rough seas. This was my first time at sea, and though I considered water my special friend, I became very sea-sick. With each roll of the ship I became sicker until I was sure the roll would probably bring death. But instead I just got sicker still. All over the ship the crew had placed big oil barrels for us to vomit into.

Even the gluttons had no appetite. Everywhere men lay sick on their beds. My bed was down on deck three. After several days, I eventually became accustomed to the rolling and tossing of the ship and relaxed by laying on the outer deck looking at the sky and the ocean all day long. The cool splatter of water on my face from the waves, cut through by the prow, was a special pleasure. So too, the rhythmic sound of the waves striking against the prow and then turning back again into the sea. Nothing but sky and water, and the radar—a new thing to us—turning round and round against the blue sky above us. The scene reflected a rich, serene, but lonesomely poetic flavor. During these endless days of leisure, many memories of childhood played across my mind. Then, as I tried to imagine how what I was then experiencing would effect my future, I realized that all my hopes depended on our defeat of the Japanese invaders. My way to the future could open only after that was achieved. But what would that future be? I had no idea.

Once again I had the opportunity to encounter many
Blacks amongst the American troops. Because of the leisure
time we had together, their musical talent impressed me even
more than it did while I was in the hospital. They seemed to
have either more, or special, musical genes inside of them. One
morning I watched a Black soldier mopping the deck when a
jazz song came out over the loudspeaker. He was like a wound
up musical robot that started to dance with the music. His body
twisting, rising and then falling with the melody unlike anything
I had ever seen except in American movies. All while
continuing to mop the deck! He had a bright smiling face and
hummed along rhythmically with the music as he danced. He
composed a symphony of changing movements, all on time. My
heart beat strongly with him, but my body remained in an
embarrassed stillness. Only my eyes revealed my fervor and
passion for every move he made. I looked forward to arriving in
America and being able to listen to new jazz tunes everyday. I
wanted to understand and appreciate it more and more. Jazz
had been misunderstood in China. It was, and sometimes still
is, seen as a decadent music of the bourgeoisie, which is not
fair to the music, nor to the Black musicians that created and
can play it.

I have tried to help the Chinese people understand jazz,
and once in 1974 translated an article, “How Jazz Began.” Not
until the 1990’s have many people in China begun to really
appreciate jazz. When, in 1985, the American trombonist Irving
Wagner performed in concert at the Central Conservatory of
Music in Beijing, I watched the audience’s growing fascination.
By the end, I saw as they understood the power of the music
when it grew stronger and more sure throughout the song.
Wagner played jazz versions of Blue Skies, Sunny Side of the
Street, and Blue Heaven. All were very popular songs, and very
familiar to me, in which I found a new excitement from his
talented interpretations.

Our voyage half way around the world to America was
peaceful except for one day, near New Zealand, when we
realized a Japanese submarine was following close behind our
ship. The alarm sounded on all decks, and we prepared for an
attack. Fortunately for us, two New Zealand destroyers soon
appeared and escorted us out of danger. I went up on the deck
to see those two beautiful light-grey ships on either side,
guarding and protecting us from the sharks in the water.

Because we were so often on alert for Japanese ships, we
were forced to spend most of our thirty-one day voyage from
Bombay to Los Angeles below deck. There was no fresh air nor
any sunlight down in the belly of the ship. Not my cup of tea. It
grew extremely hot, especially as we travelled north across the
equator. The only relief from the heat was in the toilet room
where the big water pipes gave off faint traces of cool air. We
slept four high in hammocks that sometimes flipped completely
over when big waves caught the ship from the side. Dishes,
cups, and plates on the long dining tables constantly slid from
one end to the other. Climbing the little ladders was always
difficult because the ship would randomly lurch or roll. We
would step, the ship would lurch, our foot would miss the step,
and the force of gravity would cause our leg to bang against the
iron railings, leaving terrible bruises. Our whole world moved
continually. Up and down, side to side, back and forth, for over
a month.

One warm day some tragic news came to us while we
were below deck. One of my fellow cadets, a quiet man from
North China, had just committed suicide by going up on deck
and jumping into the sea. I hurried up to the stern as soon as I
heard, but could only see the endless churning waves of our
wake that had already engulfed him in his sea grave. All on
board our ship were helpless to find or save him. He had
received a letter back in Bombay telling him that his father had
been buried alive by the Japanese. I couldn’t imagine how bad
that had made him feel. Enough for him to give it all up. He
had been in a very depressed state from the moment we began
our ocean voyage. Practically all the sons and daughters in
China of that generation carry with them their own sad
memories of what the Japanese had done to their families and
loved ones in those times. Down in the low, suffocating cabins
on board ship, I would hear horror stories as we laid in our
hammocks gazing into the darkness. So much sadness could be
seen in many of the soldiers’ eyes. Looking at the waves that
swept away my friend, my desire for revenge grew stronger, but
first I was going to the light of America for training.

On board ship in April 1945, I woke up earlier than usual
to the sound of mounting commotion coming from everywhere
throughout the ship. When I finally got up on deck to see, it was
already full of people looking with excitement at the horizon.
Understandably, the Americans were much more outwardly
excited than we, because soon they would be reunited with
their families after countless months, even years, of bitter
battles in far off lands. We all watched as a dark thread of color
appeared on the horizon. Shouts echoed across the ship. “We’re
here!” “At last!” “Los Angeles!” “Home!” Amidst the shouting,
many began to sing, “God bless America, land of the free...”
Yes, a new and very strange world was now upon me.

~~~

People? Where were all the people? My first impression
when I stepped ashore was that there were far fewer people than
I had expected, the streets seemed quiet, almost deserted, tidy
and clean, while the life and work around me seemed to
proceed so efficiently. Southwest America seemed totally
lacking in people at that time, or at least compared to all the
people throughout China. As we disembarked, we were lead
directly from the ship to a train. It felt as though I were in a
very strange world, very unlike what I had expected. The
novelty of its uniqueness affected me strongly. The people in
the cars on the highway,which was parallel to the railway,
waved and smiled at us. This sudden friendliness caused me to
feel very warm and happy to be there. I knew that this change
of events was to become the opportunity of a lifetime.
From Los Angeles, our train headed for San Antonio,
Texas, where a United States Air Force preparatory base was
located. Once we reached the station there, I finally saw the
cowboys I knew from the American movies of my childhood.
But I was disappointed not to see the revolvers on their hips,
that I had seen in so many westerns. Still, they fascinated me.
They seemed so natural in that vast empty land. The weather in
Texas was warm and sunny. Upon our arrival at the air base, we
desperately wanted to see the many strange sights, but instead
we were isolated from the rest of the base for a health check.
We were told that this was mainly to prevent the spread of
infectious diseases from tropical Asia. A red ribbon on our
sleeves marked us for quarantine. We were not allowed to get
in touch with anyone already here, nor go outside our own
designated area. There were also French as well as American
air cadets in our quarantine area.

The quarantine lasted for two weeks. But this, on top of
our thirty-one days at sea, made us go almost mad from a sense
of isolation and oppression. Then suddenly, one day we were
free! Like horses escaping from the confines of a small corral,
we ran aimlessly everywhere! We had to see this new
wonderful world! We went to the movies, shopped at the PX,
tasted Coke and 7-Up. For me, I enjoyed the jukebox the most. I
only had to put in a nickel, press the number of the song I
wanted, and like magic, the machine played the song I wanted
to hear! The first song I selected was, You Belong to My Heart,
by Bing Crosby. To be able to hear such a famous song by only
pressing a button was beyond belief.

One day on the air base we roamed into a building that
was very quiet, as if it was abandoned. Soon, one of us
discovered that none of the usual urinals were in the toilet. We
realized immediately that this was a WAC’s, women only,
barrack. We were all frightened, for fear of being caught in the
act of spying. When we stepped out onto a balcony, we looked
down on a group of women, skimpily clothed, lying on the grass
below us! Sunbathing! We started to run for the exit at once.
Based upon our traditional moral concepts, we didn’t want to be
seen as hooligans or ill mannered. Immediately peals of
laughter, not screams of indignation, followed us as we ran from
the building. I couldn’t understand American women. They were
so strange. How could they react so casually to the shameful
act we had just committed?

We were located on a very large training base that was
divided into a number of sections. Every section had its own
theater, PX, swimming pool, laundry, and so on. Bus routes also
circled the base. Professional and amateur entertainers often
performed for us, but one was unforgettable. It was a water
ballet, presented when this art form was still in its early stages
of development as a form of entertainment. Beautifully shaped
girls swimming to music. I never imagined I would see such a
sight. I shall never forget their freestyle Blue Danube. I was
completely enchanted by it.

Everything was so new to me. As a soldier on a military
training base in the middle of a terrible war, I was surprised by
our first instructional class. It was not on aircraft or flight safety,
but on sex. A sex educational film! It told a story of three air
cadets having sex with girls in what looked like rooms in a
nightclub. The first cadet had taken the appropriate preventative
measure beforehand, so his behavior was considered all right.
The second took preventative measures afterward, and nothing
happened to him either. But the third took no preventative
measures either before or after he had sex. The film then told
how he soon became infected with a venereal disease. His
health grew worse and worse, and his illness interrupted his
study as a cadet, and created a great deal of trouble in his life.
On the day of his final flying exam he had a dizzy spell and
crashed into a tree. While his friends celebrated receiving their
certificates, he was lying in the hospital, his whole body bound
in bandages and plaster. He did not graduate, and it was a long
time before he recovered from his injuries and the dreaded
venereal disease. How very strange this all seemed. Our first
impression was that our health was more important than how
well we fought. America’s strange new values were to affect me
for the rest of my life.

When we returned to our barracks, the poster on the wall
of the toilet room caught our eyes with a new force. The letters
VD were superimposed in bold print on a picture message. The
movie and the poster combined left the impression that to
Americans, sexual love is a natural need, but one must first
learn to prevent VD and be safe. My friends and I became
careful, but we also learned to be sure we didn’t go to the clinic
on Mondays. This was because the American doctors insisted
on giving all of us a preventive shot on Monday, whether we
needed one or not. They knew that Chinese soldiers were
embarrassed to tell them what they had done the night before,
so they just gave us a shot to be sure.

The relations between males and females was quite
different than in China, as were the moral concepts, as we
began to understand them. In America, these relations seemed
so free and natural. Boyfriends and girlfriends were everywhere,
even among the teenagers we saw. It seemed as if courtship
was not used as a means for seeking a spouse, but rather for a
source of immediate pleasure only. Fun! If a couple was really
in love with each other, then sexual activity seemed to be a
natural result. It didn’t seem to matter if they are married or not.
This was all so different!

The movie theater, which was open most of the day and
evening, was a favorite place for lovers. Young couples would
hug and kiss throughout the movie, or until their hearts were
content. It seemed as if they were in a world of their own, not
aware of anyone else around them. No one interfered or felt
embarrassed, and the elders often smiled back with what
appeared to be their blessings.

When a young man whistled to show his admiration for a
girl, it was seldom taken as an insult. In fact, sometimes the
girls even responded with a smile. They could make friends of
the opposite sex very easily, on any occasion, at any time! A
man could get a date with a salesgirl, even while he was
buying a soda or a shirt, if she felt the same desire. Even on our
air base you could see lovers two by two on the lawn, but
especially on the weekends in the summer time, and until late
at night.

Life in America was becoming very intense for me. With
nearly three hours of physical training every morning, we were
tired when we came to the last and my favorite event,
swimming. If we hesitated on the edge of the pool, the
American coach would push the hanyazi (land ducks) among us
into the pool from behind. I was in the best condition of my
whole life because of this training and the nutritious food. I had
never before consistently eaten such nutritious foods! Most
Chinese, un-familiar with western food, did not find it tasty, or
easy to eat. I don’t know why, but it always seemed good to me.
Cold drinks, ice cream, candy, cakes, salad, macaroni and
cheese, all became among my favorite foods!

Throughout my entire life, music has always soothed me.
This is especially true when I feel blue or in trouble. However,
at no other time in my life did I feel this so strongly as I did one
Sunday morning in America. Our Air Force drill instructor came
into our barracks for a surprise inspection. He walked up to the
bed next to mine, took a quarter out of his pocket and tossed it
onto the bed to see if it would bounce. I was scared that my
bed, not as tightly made up as my neighbor’s, would never pass
this impossible test. I felt nervous as he walked menacingly
toward me. Suddenly he saw the guitar on my desk against the
wall behind my bed. He picked it up, handed it to me, and
commanded, “Play something.” I felt embarrassed. I was just
beginning to learn, but with my poor English I couldn’t explain.
So I plucked up my courage and played Aloha Oe, a song I had
just learned from my friend Li. When I finished the instructor
nodded his head, said something that I could not understand,
and walked away without checking my bed. Music had played
its magic power in my behalf once more, even if the music was
rather poor.

In July of 1945, we were transferred to Scott Field,
Illinois. While there, we would spend nearly every weekend in
nearby St. Louis. I remember my first Sunday there, which
impressed me more than I had ever expected. We traveled on a
Greyhound bus, which had a figure of a running dog on its long
body. (During my second trip to the United States, forty years
later, I again saw these Greyhound buses everywhere, still
painted with the same running dog on the side.) We traveled
through Belleville and then crossed an immense bridge over the
Mississippi River. Once in downtown St. Louis I had my picture
taken by a stranger who suddenly stepped in front of me. He had
me sign a receipt, gave me a copy of it, and then charged me
fifty cents. Three days later my photograph arrived at my base
by mail. An interesting composition—a bewildered Chinese air
cadet walking with an inquisitive smile in a strange American
city. Though the quality of the photograph was poor, this photo
became very precious to me as the years passed by. But that
photo, with many others like it snapped in America, were
eventually taken from me when I was being investigated many
years later in China. Sadly, I have never been able to get them
back or to ever see a one of them again.

The amount and manner of private selling in America
amazed me. How natural a free market seemed to be there.
When we were on the San Antonio Air Base, an American
instructor learned that we wanted to buy some musical
instruments. He said that he would buy them for us. Two days
later he and his wife returned in their pretty car with all the
instruments we requested. They brought a clarinet, guitar,
trumpet, saxophone, and even a violin for me. They were all
second hand, and we did not know the market value, so we paid
what he asked. I gave him $75 dollars for a very good violin.
Another day at Merced Field, in California, an American
soldier, a stranger to us, brought a dozen different types of
second hand pistols to our barracks to sell. I bought a
Smith&Wesson revolver with a lengthened barrel for only fifty
dollars. I began to understand this way of making money, not
just the barter of goods for goods, as I had grown used to in war
torn China, but actual cash for a product or service.
While in St. Louis I went to the Arena, an amazing place
designed just for people to have fun. It was built with a
swimming pool and a skating rink, and included all those
automated machines that take your picture or record your voice.
I saw these machines everywhere and they made a deep
impression on me. They became obvious symbols of the gap
between China and the developed countries, and I felt sorry,
and then angry. The Chinese are not incompetent compared to
these other peoples! The explanations for this, I realized, was
both historical and political. The more I saw, the more I built
hopes in my mind for the future of China when the war was
over. But meanwhile I sang a song, I Can’t Begin to Tell You,
recorded it and then I took my own photo, all in less than ten
minutes! It was all so unbelievable.

My first time roller skating at the Arena was more fun
than I ever expected. Skating to the pleasantly rhythmic music,
I stayed till the final number, “Good night, sweet dreams.
Tomorrow is another day. Good night. Sweet dreams,
sweetheart...” It was 11 p.m., closing time.

By that time I felt hungry and went to the only snack bar
close to the Arena. I was surprised to see that I was the only
customer. A kind old lady behind the counter asked me what I
wanted. I did not know how to name any American foods in
English other than Coca Cola, bread and butter. So I looked at
her helplessly. Then I think she said, “Would you like to try
chili?” I nodded and thought that if Americans could eat it, I
could too. When she brought this highly seasoned dish of beef,
chilies, beans, and tomatoes it was very much to my taste for
the food in my hometown is also very highly seasoned. Over the
table of my booth, there was a little wall jukebox with 24
buttons on it. I put in a nickel and pressed the button for my
favorite song. Then, as soon as the music began to play, my
nickel dropped out of the machine into a little slot in the
bottom. There was some-thing wrong, or maybe right. I checked
all of the jukeboxes for nickels and collected almost fifty cents
from them!

For a young Chinese airman who couldn’t speak English,
I had some rather interesting experiences. That night, on the bus
ride back to the base, I felt tired from such a big day and fell
fast asleep sitting in my seat. I woke up abruptly, shocked to
find a pretty blonde sitting on my lap. I was very embarrassed
and didn’t know what to do. She was about eighteen and wore a
pair of the brown and white saddle shoes which were then
popular with students. She hugged me, smiled, and then
murmured something I couldn’t understand at all. The other
people in the bus also smiled warmly at me with good will.
When the bus stopped, she gave me a kiss, jumped up from my
lap, and got off waving goodbye to me until she quickly
disappeared from sight. I sat there motionless, my face burning
the rest of the way to the base. My roommates laughed and
pointed at my face as soon as I stepped into our barracks. “Hey!
What sort of girl did you run into tonight? Such a lucky guy!” I
wondered how they all knew about it. I hurried to the bathroom
and saw in the mirror the red lipstick on my cheek, neck, and
collar. She must have kissed me for a long time while I was
still asleep!

What did this mean? Was she a loose girl? A prostitute?
If that had happened in China I would be sure that she was. But
of course she wasn’t. She was a good girl, clean, innocent and
artless. It was wartime. A baby faced airman from the allied
nation of China asleep in a bus alone. She probably wanted to
show her sympathy and affection to let me know that I was not
alone, that’s all. In any case, she had certainly warmed my
heart.

I often spent time at the Arena after that delightful first
experience. One day I went swimming, as my love for water
could not resist it. I saw people diving from the high board on
the tower, which tempted me to have a try. But when I climbed
to the board and looked down, I realized that it was much
higher above the water’s surface than I had thought it was when
I was down below. The people in the pool appeared so small
that they looked like ants floating in a small bowl of water.
Many were watching me as I searched for the courage to jump.
Perhaps they were curious to see how the Chinese dive. Perhaps
they thought that I was a practiced diver, since I went right up
to the highest platform. I was nervous and wanted to back down.
But what a disgrace it would be to withdraw now, before all
those who were watching me. So I had to do it, and try not to
make a poor exhibition of myself or have an accident. I tried to
calm myself and concentrate exclusively on how to keep my
body in good form and balance while diving. I roughly
estimated the time from the platform to the water, and then off I
went. I tried my best not to lose control, but my heart seemed to
go in the opposite direction, or at least stay up on the platform.
I felt like an arrow when I finally hit the water. My hands
seemed to touch the bottom of the pool as soon as I cut through
the surface. As I rose to the surface along the wall of the pool,
my head became sandwiched between two legs, and I felt the
legs pinch my head willfully. When I finally surfaced, I heard
laughter all around. A young girl was looking at me and
laughing gleefully. Unable to explain or apologize, I was
embarrassed. I could do nothing but flee from the pool at once
and change back into my clothes. Still her charming laughing
face would not let me flee. I went back to the upper fence on a
balcony overlooking the pool, leaned against it and looked for
her. She was lying on her back off to one side with an older girl.
They smiled sweetly when they saw me looking down on them.
They whispered to each other, rose to their feet, and went to the
dressing room. I realized that they were planning on coming to
me. Instead of happiness, I felt even more nervous. How could I
keep company with them with a sealed mouth, unable to speak
English. I did not want to look like a dummy in front of girls. So
I sneaked away hoping they would retain a pleasant first
impression. The young woman’s great beauty and my inability
to speak caused me to lose courage completely. This was a
reflection of my belief, do everything well or not at all. Still, I
wanted to have such a nice girl in my company, so I turned
around to try and find her again. It was in vain. I was too late.

~~~

August 14th was Air Force Day in China. But August 14,
1945, was especially unforgettable. All the Chinese air cadets
at Scott Field were celebrating our holiday at Chongqing
Restaurant in St. Louis at 6:00 pm when the radio music
stopped suddenly. After a brief pause, we heard the voice of the
United States President, Harry Truman, come over the radio
loud speaker. As he began to speak, everyone became very
silent. Then he told us that the Japanese had unconditionally
surrendered to the Allied Army. No sooner had the President’s
voice stopped than excitement overcame the people both inside
and outside of the restaurant. I hurried into the street. A stream
of people carried me to the center square of the city. With the
traffic at a total standstill, I was drawn into the sea of faces.
Servicemen and girls kissed wherever they happened to meet. It
was another great American adventure for me. While lost in
thought, a girl of about sixteen suddenly hugged and kissed me.
The stream of people swept us along together and allowed me
to give her only a smile in return.

People massed at the big square. People leaned from the
windows of buildings along both sides of the streets, shouting
and throwing brightly colored paper flowers and ribbons. Like
others, my new young girlfriend and I were part of this feverish
scene. Searchlight beams swept around and around the
darkening sky. Laughter bubbled through the singing. Tears
rolled down people’s faces amidst sweet music. I remember that
the wine and excitement made my mouth feel dry. We tried
hard to get two bottles of Coca Cola from any place that sold
drinks, but they were all full of more people than I had seen
since I had come to this country. Suddenly, people were
everywhere! Clearly it was really a carnival day. Happiness
filled the entire city. I stayed until early the next morning.
When I returned to our base, I saw an American air crew
joyously tearing up suddenly outdated wooden signboards and
shouting, “No more war!” Oh, that their proclamation was true.
It is too bad history has proven them young and naive.
We remained on the base to finish our training, even
though the war was over. Before long I, who could only utter a
few English words, actually had a real girlfriend. Her name was
Millie. We came to know each other while skating at the
Arena. Millie in English sounds like the Chinese word moli
meaning jasmine. So, I thought of her as Jasmine. Pairs of girls
and boys often came to skate at the Arena. Millie and her
girlfriend smiled their acceptance when my friend, Tan, and I
first gestured for them to skate with us. Millie’s friend, a tall
girl of sixteen, pretended to be eighteen, just as I had done to
join the army. She later became Tan’s girlfriend. Millie
seriously explained to me one day that unlike in China, when
children become adults, they are independent and have full
rights, including the right to sexual relations. Their parents no
longer have responsibility for them. This surprised me, but
helped me to understand the many confusing things I had seen
girls do in America.

Both of these girls were very nice, honest and full of
tender feelings. We often went to a restaurant, movie, skating
rink, or the park together. They tried as much as possible to
make us feel warm and comfortable in this foreign country, and
did their best not to refuse our emotional needs. They
understood that we were far away from home. I was once told
that during World War II women and soldiers were seen as two
respectable flowers. I’m not sure if that is true, but in our case it
seemed to be. Millie once took me to her home in an old
residential quarter of town, along a narrow street with dim street
lights. The house inside was simple and crowded with old
furniture. Even though the family had a sofa, refrigerator, and
other things we Chinese considered expensive luxuries, they
were considered poor, below the average American income.
Late one night when I escorted Millie home, I saw people
sleeping on the sofa. They turned the sitting room into a
bedroom, just like most families did in China.

Millie once led me into the sitting room and sat on my
lap in front of her parents! For a Chinese this was hard for me
to believe. In China, even married couples dared not do such
things. Here it seemed so natural. Even parents seemed happy
to see this public display of affection. It was as though love
were a holy human right with which no one should intervene. I
saw lovers hug and kiss each other in the cinema, parks,
streets, and everywhere. Once I stood at a bus stop waiting for
my bus to arrive, and a young couple on the platform were
kissing as if nobody else was there. Yes, I thought, all human
beings have the same feelings, the same needs. Some see love
for what it is and express it publicly, but others hide it in the
dark, insisting on secrecy. Perhaps that suggests different moral
standards. I don’t know. But Millie taught me openness and she
made me feel so warm and cared for, like I had never felt
before. She cured much of my homesickness.

After I left St. Louis, Millie wrote to me, sending me
beautiful Valentine’s Day cards with her picture in them. I had
very happy memories of our time together and of my stay in St.
Louis. We lost touch in 1949 when the Communist Party took
power in China. Then I lost her address during the following
years of turmoil.

I learned that Americans are frank, open and warmhearted.
They are bold and put their ideas and feelings into
practice. On Christmas or New Year’s people would often ask if
I were homesick and invite me to join them in their homes for
the holiday. Donald Lewis was a sixteen year old high school
student, helping his father in the snack bar in the Arena during
his summer vacation. One day when I ordered some ice cream
we started to talk and we became instant friends. From then on
I would always make a point to go see and visit with him
whenever I was at the Arena. A few months later he invited me
to spend Christmas in his home with his parents and older
brother. He later helped to organize a teenage dance that I was
invited to, and in the spring I also went to a baseball game with
him and his family— I believe the game was between the St.
Louis Cardinals and Chicago Cubs. That was the first time I had
seen a baseball game and I found it to be very interesting,
especially the uncontrolled excitement of the crowd.

I was also surprised by another example of American
hospitality. One afternoon, after class when I was strolling alone
down a country road by our base, a car pulled over and stopped
in front of me to offer me a ride to my destination. When I said
that I was just taking a walk, the elderly couple invited me to
have coffee in their home about two miles further down the
road. I was happy to accept their kind offer and thought it would
be an interesting experience. Their home was a very
comfortable single-story house with nice furniture. They had
three children, a seventeen year old daughter and two older
sons. They asked many questions, but I could only smile back.
Sometimes I understood one or two simple sentences, but even
then I would just nod and shake my head. I couldn’t tell them
anything that might interest them about China. I was like a
mute and hated that I could not understand or communicate
more!

To this day, I still miss my American friends Eddy,
Millie, and Donald. The last I heard of Eddy he was discharged
in 1945. I believe he lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and I would love
to find him again. I was luckier in renewing contact with
Donald Lewis. Bob Mestemacher came to Beijing in 1988 with
a group to study art at my school. I told him about Donald, and
was surprised to find they had gone to school together in St.

Louis and had been in the same class. What a small world!
Bob videotaped me as I talked to Donald. Then he called
Donald when he returned to the United States and sent him a
copy of the video tape. Donald then sent letters and photos to
me in Beijing in January, 1989. To bad it wasn’t possible to
email each other back then.

Of course not all my experiences in America were
pleasant. Once Tan, his girlfriend, Millie and I were about to
get into a taxi to go to the Arena when a drunken American GI
in a great rage saw us and came bounding toward me. He began
shouting, “Damn Chinese, no sooner we beat the Japs then we
get caught in your dirty civil war! We don’t want any more war,
do you hear me?” No matter how right or wrong his words, I
couldn’t handle his insults. When he tried to push me I dodged
quickly to one side and threw him down using the momentum of
his own weight. Before he realized what had happened to him,
my friends pushed me into the taxi and we drove off. Millie
tried to comfort me by explaining that he was drunk and did not
speak for most Americans. I resented his insult just the same,
but I also felt badly that Chinese soldiers, after eight years of
bitter fighting against a foreign aggressor, now faced the terrible
prospect of fighting their fellow country men. I shouldn’t have
blamed the drunken American soldier, but his words had cut
deeply into my heart.

In those war years everything in America seemed so
cheap. Cigarettes were only three cents a pack. Coke Cola was
a nickel. Even sex was available cheaply. My fellow cadets
readily learned to smoke, gamble, and go whoring. I seemed to
be the lone exception. I would spend my free time reading the
magazine, Health and Fitness, both to improve my English and
because I was deeply engaged in body-building and continued
to do so until the age of forty. Somehow I remained successful
in my resistance to those popular temptations.

Most of my life in the States was also full of music. The
jukebox was one of my best friends, which is where I learned
the words to the songs I liked the most. I would carefully try to
hear all of their words and then began to learn them. I bought
records, never missed a movie that was a musical, and went to
band concerts on weekends with my American friends. That is
how I became familiar with George Gershwin, Irving Berlin,
Jerome Kern, and all of America’s better known popular singers.
Fifty years have passed and I still cherish those lovely songs of
the 40’s. For years I have sung them to myself and taught them
to my children, my friends, and my students. Through the dark
years that were to follow, I would even sing the Air Force
anthem, “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder, Keep the wings,
level and true...” Those songs sustained my spirit during the
days I was imprisoned in 1957 and later during the cultural
revolution. So, through the years I have always tried every way
I could to find the words of songs I couldn’t completely recall
from those early days.

Years later in February, 1984, I was on a train to
Chengdu from Beijing. A young American couple walked down
the aisle looking for their berths. I could see they didn’t speak
Chinese, so I asked, “What can I do for you?” As they handed
me their tickets I discovered that their berths were located right
below mine! Yet another one of life’s mysterious coincidences
had taken place. There were six sleeping berths in one
compartment, three on each side. They were the only two
foreigners on that train and they seemed very happy to have a
fellow traveller who spoke English. We talked a lot and sang
the songs of the 40’s together. With their help I regained the
words of “Summer Time” and “As Time Goes By.” You can
imagine how happy this made me feel.

After the war’s end, we remained in the United States for
another nine months for the continued training required to
complete our cadet course. During this time, I discovered that
America is really a beautiful country, and that part of its charm
is its multinational diversity. I once visited New Mexico and
found that it has a distinctive and exotic atmosphere. Most of
the people that I saw on the street were Mexicans. Oriental skin
and hair, but western shapes and eyes. The girls were beautiful
and dressed in vivid colorful clothing. Their Mexican music and
the folk songs of a Latin American style appealed to me
immediately. There I also saw the last, and worst, movie of my
American stay. It was a rather senseless fighting film of the old
West. The hero was all-powerful and fought from the beginning
to the end without ever losing. Now that I reflect back, it must
have been made for teenagers.

Before we left the United States for China we were taken
on a memorable trip to Yosemite National Park in California.
The dense forest spread peacefully through the quiet clean
mountains. There in the middle of the forest was a tree larger
than any I’d ever seen before. I was told it was the second
largest tree in the world, and it was still growing. Unbelievably,
cars drove on a road running through a large opening cut in its
base. There we also saw native American Indian women selling
their handicrafts at the bus stop. Their skin color, facial contour,
and hair reminded me of the Mongolian women back home in
China. So, I was happy to buy a few souvenirs and postcards
from them.

~~~

In May, 1946, after over a year in cadet training, we
bade farewell to the United States in Seattle. As I stood on the
deck of our ship, I realized how reluctant I was to leave this
beautiful land. Still, I was naively excited over the prospect of
returning home and going to school at last, now that we had
finally won the war. The bright future of China absorbed my
thoughts, as I believed it could now only get better. I believed
that we could soon be as strong and prosperous as America. But
only a little more than a month after my return from the United
States the civil war conflict that the drunken American GI
cursed me for, broke-out into open warfare. My dreams were
lost and my heart broken. The calamity-ridden eight-year War
of Resistance against Japan had taken a terrible toll on China
and her people. Our motherland was a giant wasteland of
devastation. Everywhere people were in undescribable
destitution. Was there not to be even a breath of respite? Must
brother now fight brother? Where was the hope? What should I
do? I was both angered and distressed.

I didn’t know the right and wrong of this conflict, and
really didn’t care. I understood nothing about the politics. I
didn’t even know what a Communist was. Why were they
called the commi-bandits in China? What did they look like? I
simply never could aim my gun at my own brothers.
When I had joined the expeditionary army, it was
stipulated in explicit terms that all volunteers would be
discharged in three years and recommended for admission to
institutions of higher learning. With that as my motivation, I
made up my mind to leave the army when the time was up, and
go on to school. But the government was to throw its promise in
my face. After three years, in 1947, I handed the authorities my
discharge petition. The result was a resounding, “No!” The
reasons given were, first, I was not in the expeditionary army
any more, but now in the air force. Second, it was a time for
suppressing the Chinese Communists and all military personnel
were needed. It didn’t make any sense to me, what difference
was it if I was in the army or navy? “Discharged after three
years of service,” was for us, the volunteers. There was no use
trying to reason with the military authorities, and any efforts to
do so would only bring big trouble. I felt that there was only one
choice left for me, and that was to go my own way, which I
thought was the right thing to do.

One January day in 1947, just by chance, I saw in a
newspaper advertisement the name of my cousin-in-law, Xia
Yun-hu, as the producer of a movie. I thought he might be a
way for me to at least get considered by a school. Being very
desperate, I went to his office at the Continent Movie Company
in Shanghai to ask for help. Even though we hadn’t seen each
other for many years, he was very encouraging. He was all for
my dropping out of the army and boarding in his home until I
could find a job and a place of my own. I headed for his home
without hesitation and changed my name from Wu Chiachi to
Wu Jieqin, the one I now use. This new name is homophonic
with my former name, because I wanted my English certificate
from the U. S. to still be recognized. My new name also reflects
how much music means to me. The last part, “qin”, is the
generic name for stringed and keyboard instruments.
After leaving the army I stayed at my cousin’s home, still
hoping for a chance of getting into school, although I knew it
was nearly impossible. I had no money of my own, no
immediate family financial support, and no state support. My
only hope was now my cousin-in-law. He was very rich. I could
not find the courage to speak to him about my financial need
for school until one morning I happened to find him sitting
alone in his parlor. He encouraged me by asking, “What do you
think about your future?” The time seemed right. I answered
wistfully, “I wish I could go to school.” “Oh no,” he said, “I
think you’d better get a job.” My heart sank. I understood it was
too much to expect such a distant relative to support my dream
of going to school. After all, my cousin was only his concubine.
His wife would be unhappy and resentful if he supported his
concubine’s family member. I realize now, many years later,
there was yet another reason. With all the daughters in the
house I was not welcome. I did not know what to do. I was
uneasy in the house when his wife was home and resolved to
leave as quickly as possible and find a new place to live.
In a state of total frustration, I would often wander the
streets alone for hours. One day I was having lunch at Kai Fu
Restaurant with my close friend Zhang, when a man
approached from the next table. He heard our chatter and
realized that we were all from the same province. Once he
understood our need for help in finding a job, he showed his
concern as a fellow townsman by telling us of an organization
called, the Students’ Society. He told us that the leader of this
society was a man of power and influence. If we were to apply
for membership in this society, the leader, Mr. Liu, would help
us. In our desperate state, we did not hesitate in our decision.
We needed a job too badly. We did not realize until the day we
were asked to go through a rite of acceptance at Mr. Liu’s
home, that the Students’ Society was actually a part of a well
known secret society called, Qingbang (Blue Faction), an
organization of truly mysterious motives. It was a mutual
support fraternity originally formed by people of the lower class
struggling to make a living.

Mr. Liu was a pleasant old man from north China. With
his young wife he welcomed us and led us into the sitting room
of his home. There, hung on the front wall, was a silk scroll
with the name of the Students’ Society founder, Pan, written on
it. Incense burned on the desk before the scroll while big red
candles burned on both sides. A new member was to kowtow
(kneel on all fours with our heads touching the floor) to the
society’s ancestor, Pan, and then to Mr. Liu. But knowing our
family and social background, Mr. Liu advised us before the
ceremony, “You don’t have to kowtow. A simple bow will do.”
He may have also felt that two men still in Air Force uniforms
would look and feel ridiculous kowtowing to an old man.
We learned later that Mr. Liu was once the secretary to
the Kuomintang Minister of Finance, Kong Xiangxi. Then he
became an assistant director in the Central Bank of China. As
time went on, I visited him more often as a friend than as a
member of his organization. He recommended me to a number
of positions, but none worked out. I soon recognized that since
the war’s end he had lost his power and influence. Still, I liked
and sympathized with this kind hearted old man just the same. I
continued to visit him in his loneliness long after I lost hope in
his ability to help me find a job. One day he and his young
wife, formerly an actress, politely indicated that they would be
pleased if I would consider marrying their elder daughter, who
was then living in Chongqing. She was the daughter of his first
wife. I was embarrassed, for I was still very young and had not
the least desire to marry. Besides, I still had no job. My great
ambition was still to go to school. I said nothing in response to
their request, but they understood. The matter was tactfully
never brought up again, and we continued to be close friends
until I entered the Zhejiang Institute of Fine Arts after the
People’s Republic of China was founded in 1949. After that we
lost touch.

While still living at my cousin’s, I traveled to visit a
friend in Changzhou, Jiangsu Province. This is a small city
between Shanghai and Nanjing. One day while there, I
happened to pass by the Junior School of the National
Conservatory of Music. The jumbled sounds of different
instruments came from inside its walls. I couldn’t help but turn
and go on in. The students were children aged from about six to
eleven. All wore the same yellow cotton padded overcoats.
Some wore the coats of adults and looked very funny, but
charming nevertheless. I saw the terrible meaning of
malnutrition in their baby faces. But their wonderful musical
performances touched my heart deeply.

Roaming freely through the school, I came upon an older
boy playing the piano. When I appeared in front of him he
stopped and smiled with embarrassment. We chatted and I
understood that most of the children were orphaned during the
war against Japan. They came from an orphanage in Chongqing,
so they could all speak the Sichuan dialect. Learning this, I felt
even warmer towards them. The young pianist’s name was Bai
Zhemin and he went on to introduce me to one of his closest
friends, Gao Jinhua, a nine year old violinist. Soon I became
fond of them both and, during my stay in Changzhou, I took
them to my friend’s home with me whenever they were free. I
also took them to the cinema, bought toys for them, and played
games with them. Almost every day but Sunday I found time to
visit their school and listen to them practice.
We kept in contact from that visit until 1957 when I was
imprisoned. In 1951 they became among the original members
of the First Philharmonic Orchestra of the People’s Republic of
China. Then I would miss very few of their regular Sunday
concerts. Gao Jinhua would grow up to become the first violinist
and a conductor of the Central Philharmonic Orchestra of
Beijing. Bai Zhemin went on to play the clarinet and eventually
emigrated to Hong Kong.

During these difficult months my cousin-in-law still
would not help me go to school. His wife was not happy with
my residence in their house. One day he led me to his movie
studio and suggested I become a trainee to a movie
cameraman. It was impossible to refuse his offer. The next day
he moved me out of his home to the studio. I was disappointed
from the beginning. A trainee served in fact as his master’s
servant for an unspecified number of years. He was not
permitted to work with the camera until he had mastered all of
the techniques, yet they would not really teach me any of these
techniques. A camera-assistant named Hu, from Brazil, had
worked as an assistant for eight years without ever being
allowed to work independently behind the camera. The
cameramen jealously guarded their profitable monopoly on their
work. It was very frustrating for me, as I am a doer, not an
observer.

Soon I was forced to make up my mind to get out of
there. I had to try every possible means to get into school. With
my small allowance I had bought some books and began to
study English. I began to believe that my best chances for
schooling would be in the United States. I knew it was almost
impossible for someone like me, with no money, no financial
support, and no social status, to have such a chance. But I kept
on dreaming. After all, I had been to America once, why
couldn’t I go again?

One day at the studio, in the fall of 1948, my cousin-inlaw
told me that my third uncle had just returned from the
United States. The next morning,with my heart filled with hope,
I went to see him. He lived in a house with beautiful
surroundings in the western part of Shanghai, which was
formerly the French concession. A plain clothed guard answered
the gate bell. He demanded my identification and a letter of
introduction. I had neither. After confirming by phone that I was
his master’s nephew he let me in. As I looked at all that
enveloped me while being led in to him, I wondered what work
my uncle could be doing that brought him such luxury and
service. I waited in the parlor for ten minutes before my uncle,
still in his nightclothes, appeared. I asked during our talk what
he did in the United States. He casually answered that he had
“been in the States on a study tour and now was running some
newspapers and magazines.” It wasn’t the truth of course. I
discovered the truth in 1950 after the Korean War broke out. By
chance I saw some photos in the window of the Xinhua Book
Store that exposed the United States’ training special agents of
the Kuomintang. My uncle, Zhen Xiling, was pictured as one of
the administrative heads of the KMT Ministry of National
Defense in Secret Affairs.

When he eventually understood what I had been doing for
the past few years and what my expectations were, he said he
would send me to one of his friends in San Francisco who
owned a large ranch. His friend had been swindled out of eighty
thousand U. S. dollars by his former assistant, so he needed
someone he could trust. Needless to say, I was overjoyed by
this sudden and unexpected turn of good fortune. My uncle said
I would have to be patient and wait for his telephone call,
which he would make to me after he completed the
arrangements and all the formalities, including a visa from the
United States Embassy. I waited day and night until early one
morning in the spring of 1949. I could wait no longer, finally I
went to see him. As I stepped into the parlor I saw the house
was in chaos. People rushing to carry things in and out, upstairs
and downstairs. My uncle spoke hurriedly to me, “I’m leaving
for Sichuan right away. The plane is waiting.” He went
immediately back to packing. The air was very tense. I still
didn’t realize what my uncle was up to. All I could see was that
my hopes were vanishing like soap bubbles. Turning, with my
heart in my throat, I left without a word.

By this time I had reestablished contact with my father,
but he was very poor and weak by then. I felt compelled to
reach out and help him even though he had virtually destroyed
our father-son relationship. I sent him a watch, my uniform and
an overcoat. I soon discovered that he sold them all for alcohol.
In those days my income was only two silver dollars a month,
just enough for my meals and incidental expenses. Yet he
continued to beg me to send him money. The only way I could
do as he wished was to sell something, and the only things I
had worth selling were the violin and the revolver I brought
from the United States. So, I took my beloved violin to the
Mayhui Music Instruments Store in downtown Shanghai. The
shopkeeper looked it over and pretended little interest. “Well,
twenty,” he said. That was lower than the lowest price in his
store. The highest was 240 Jinyuanquan (the new currency
issued by the KMT). Even though I knew little about the value
of violins, I was sure it was worth much more than what the
shopkeeper was offering.

While I stood there not knowing what to do, an old
couple came in and asked the shopkeeper to show them the
best violin he had. They were not satisfied with the instrument
he brought out to them from his private quarters. When I noticed
their continued dissatisfaction, I went up to them a little
embarrassed and asked, “Would you like to have a look at
mine?” They looked it over carefully and asked how much I
wanted. This put me on the spot because I had no idea what it
was worth. Then I thought since mine was to their liking, that
meant mine was better than the best one in the shop. So, if I
asked the average price of the violins in the store, it would not
be unfair to this old couple. As soon as I said 150 Jinyuanquan,
they took me to their home on Xia Fei Road to get the money.
The furniture, paintings, and sculptures told me that this was
the home of artists. The master’s name was Pang Xunqin, and
they had a son and a daughter. It was their son who would be
receiving the violin.

Later, one morning early in September, 1949, as a new
freshman in Zhejiang Institute of Fine Arts, I waited in front of
the auditorium for the opening ceremonies. To my surprise, I
saw Mr. Pang, my violin buyer, waiting there also with the
faculty. As it turned out, he was a well known professor at the
institute. What a small world! He greeted me, “You are new
here, aren’t you?” He also recognized me at once. His two
children were also new students. His son, Pang Jun, told me
later that the Shanghai Philharmonic Society offered them 2500
Renminbi yuan for the violin, but that he had refused. In 1950,
2500 yuan equalled approximately $10,000 while 150
Jinyuanquan equalled only $400. Still not bad for my $75
investment. Whenever I saw him playing my violin that year, I
felt both very proud and sad.

The money I got for my violin and the $80 more I got
from selling the revolver lasted me for about six months. Then I
was again very short of money. Once the civil war broke out
inflation was incredible and the money just wasn’t lasting like I
thought it would. This run away inflation lasted until the
Communist Party was able to take complete control of the
county. During this turbulent period we had to carry a sack of
money to buy a pair of shoes. One day I went to a small
restaurant for noodles. When I ordered a second bowl, I found
the price had gone up! In just a blink of an eye I had to pay
more for the same thing. I began to realize that it was vanity
under such circumstances to think of going to school or
especially abroad. I continued to fall into total despair.
My most rewarding activity during this period was
bodybuilding. I had known my coach, Zhao Zhugang, since I
was a boy. He owned the Shanghai Institute of Bodybuilding. I
took my training course very seriously, never missing an
exercise. My dedication earned me the nickname Pin min san
lang after a Robin Hood type figure from the classic novel, The
Outlaws of the Water Margin, who was noted for his willingness
to disregard even his own life in his enthusiastic devotion to a
task. Mr. Zhao was so pleased with my enthusiasm and progress
that he actually waived my tuition. This dedication repaid me
with a very strong, well muscled body that helped me greatly to
survive the many years of hardship that lay ahead.