That's Puget Sound behind my hat.
Wing and a Prayer
March 23
I had picked up a brochure in China
Town on Monday for a museum called the Wing. So that’s where I went yesterday.
The full name is The Wing Luke
Museum of the Asian Pacific American Experience. It is housed in the East Kong
Yick building, a former hotel where many immigrants from Asia and the Pacific
islands first roomed when they came to America.
The man it’s named for, Wing
Luke, came to the States as a young boy in the early ’30s and about 30 years
later became the first Asian-born city councilman of Seattle. There’s a photo
of him as acting mayor signing, in English and Chinese, a law banning
discrimination in housing. He died at 40 in a plane crash over the Cascades, so
his legend was sealed.
China Town is part of a larger
International District of Seattle. There is a remnant of a Little Japan to the
north, I’m told, and there is a strong representation of Vietnamese in the
neighborhood, too. The menu at the Ho Ho, where I had lunch Monday, is in
Chinese, English, and Vietnamese.
Dragon plaque with real noodles.
When you come up out of the light
rail station at the International District/China Town stop you see the gate to
China Town. It’s not traditional, though. According to John, my guide at the
Wing, it was put up recently. I think he said 2005 or 06.
There are also exhibits where
people can leave personal notes. The Letter Cloud is an installation in one of
the building’s lightwells. It consists of folded papers, some blank, some
written, representing the communication across the Pacific between immigrants
and those they left behind.
The most interesting part is the
third floor, which is accessible only with a guide. Enter John.
The building dates back to 1910
or earlier, when a small room with a bed cost a quarter. Of course, that could
come to a fifth of a guy’s wages. As one of the exhibits said, many of the
newcomers had been doctors or lawyers in the old country, but here they were
busboys and laborers. The rooms have been furnished but little else has been
done to the interior, except to make sure the old floors are safe, John said.
We went into a little room with a
single bed, wardrobe, and bench. This would be an immigrant’s first home in the
U.S. His kids might be teachers or businessmen. Or like Wing Luke, a lawyer and
political reformer.
There was a room where a family
association met—the Gee How Oak Tin Family Association. I remember this because
the association still exists, in a building of its own about a block from the
Wing. The table cover is actually a wall hanging and would not have been on the
table when they met there. I loved the box of firecrackers.
The Wing was very moving. Even I
can’t think of anything wise-ass to say about it.
There is an entire grocery store—the
Yick Fung Co.—attached to the museum. It was originally a block down the
street, and when the owner, a local benefactor, reluctantly retired at the age
of 90, he left the whole thing, merchandise and all, to the Wing. Besides Asian
groceries, he sold steamship tickets, so there’s a counter for that in the
back. Recently arrived immigrants often bunked on the upper level of the store
until they could find a place to stay.
The narrow street that runs past
the side of the museum is Canton Alley.
I strolled from the Wing to the
Pyramid Brewery pub. The Pyramid Seattle IPA was good and hoppy. Discord was a
little sweeter and gets its name because it combines elements of a black ale—a
porter or a English stout, say—with those of an IPA.
I was comparing travel notes with
the guy next to me at the bar. He had traveled to New York to see the U.S.
Open. He’s been to the city a few times and likes it. He is even thinking of
moving to Brooklyn.
Now, that sounded almost funny to
me. He’s the first person I’ve met out here who expressed any desire to live
anywhere but Seattle.
I don’t know what the attraction
is, but I have to believe there is one or more. It’s a lovely place, sure, and
I’ve only been here a week. I have a feeling that things here are freer and
easier than many other places. I’m in Starbucks right now, drinking expensive
coffee and using free WiFi. There’s a man on an easy chair who just finished
feeding an infant. Now he’s put the kid in a carrier and he is leaving. Even
the babies out here are mellow.
I stopped at F.X. McRory’s Steak,
Oyster, and Chop House. I didn’t have room for a chop, but did go through half
a dozen Pacific oysters and a half-pound sirloin. I had that with a Washington
State syrah. Thanks for the tip, Larry. It was delicious, and strong enough to
stand up to the steak.
It was music night at Bernard’s,
the bar in the cellar of the Hotel Seattle. They were local guys playing for
tips. The opener was Joe Motor. At least, he says that’s his name. He’s a long
silver-haired dude who was in the Seattle punk scene more than 30 years ago. He
did a punk version of “The Unchained Melody.”
He was followed by a mournful guy
who made me want to yell, “Dustin, lighten up.” But hey, they were playing only
for fun and tips, so I gave him a few bucks.
Then Bob, another veteran of the
old punk scene, took off his knee brace and set aside his cane to do a set.
Except for “Unchained Melody,” I
didn’t recognize any of the songs these singers did.
I don’t listen to recorded music
often. About the only time is when I’m in the car. But I do like to see and
hear musicians work.
A fourth singer got up, but I was
pretty well blitzed by then, so I left him and the bartender a tip and headed
for the room. I know I got there because that’s where I woke up.
It’s about 11 now, so I have to
sign off. Checkout time is noon and I don’t want to be late. I have a day to
kill before I need to go to the airport. If I don’t lose my computer again, I
may send something tonight or tomorrow morning.
`
Mural at Bernard's. Nobody seems
to know what it signifies or even
what the scroll says. Any educated
(or ignorant) guesses out there?
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