GUNG GUNG'S STORIES
Dede's note
These stories were mainly written up in December 1993 from notes written down within a few days of each telling, and then revised in 1998 at the time of Auntie Lily's death after I specifically asked Gung Gung -- by then aged 97 -- to tell some of them again.
Upon re-hearing and re-reading, a few themes and perspectives shine through. Not surprisingly for a man of his generation, Gung Gung clearly took pride in being the mainstay for a large extended family, including relatives of Popo and also various business contacts. There are several stories of suicide and untimely death, and a real sense of his sympathy for those who died, especially if they were female. He always had a soft spot for the ladies.
He seemed to tell the story of his early job-hunting days with particular fondness. It's doubtful whether the life of a scholar or government official were every truly open to him, or whether he even aspired to such careers, if only in a nod to convention. Maybe it was just his storyteller's instinct at work. Three tries, three rebuffs. Once refused, twice refusing. The hero had escaped with his honor intact. . . and his nose for commerce validated.
Once at a family gathering, Gung Gung took the liberty of relating what I'd been doing with my life since my last appearance, and from this impressive version of events, the curtain lifted. Who could verify the accuracy of my course selection at school? Or of prices paid in China decades before? Or of any of the other lively details cited? "Consequently..." was a favorite word. What mattered was the trajectory. A story told by Gung Gung stories always had a compelling inevitability.
I have myself lost track of whether some details were really told to me by Gung Gung, or filled in by other family members, or just picked up from other sources. But at this point. . . mei you guanxi! Perhaps of more interest is the fact that the stories I've tried to capture mostly came out during visits to Hong Kong in 1991, 1992 and 1993. At the age of 90, Gung Gung was still making annual trips to Asia – by then under the watchful care of Auntie Lily, his second wife – unable to break the habits of a lifetime.
At his 99th birthday in Los Angeles, he told Lori and me, "Honey," – a favorite term of endearment – "I think I would like to go back to Hong Kong, start a new business, fall in love again." I kid you not! Lori is my witness. "Maybe you could introduce me. Someone about 30 to 40." I believe he even threw out the name of a friend's daughter who had recently been divorced.
Sources tell me that once upon a time he did have a special lady in Hong Kong. . . .
Long may the good memories live on!
Upon re-hearing and re-reading, a few themes and perspectives shine through. Not surprisingly for a man of his generation, Gung Gung clearly took pride in being the mainstay for a large extended family, including relatives of Popo and also various business contacts. There are several stories of suicide and untimely death, and a real sense of his sympathy for those who died, especially if they were female. He always had a soft spot for the ladies.
He seemed to tell the story of his early job-hunting days with particular fondness. It's doubtful whether the life of a scholar or government official were every truly open to him, or whether he even aspired to such careers, if only in a nod to convention. Maybe it was just his storyteller's instinct at work. Three tries, three rebuffs. Once refused, twice refusing. The hero had escaped with his honor intact. . . and his nose for commerce validated.
Once at a family gathering, Gung Gung took the liberty of relating what I'd been doing with my life since my last appearance, and from this impressive version of events, the curtain lifted. Who could verify the accuracy of my course selection at school? Or of prices paid in China decades before? Or of any of the other lively details cited? "Consequently..." was a favorite word. What mattered was the trajectory. A story told by Gung Gung stories always had a compelling inevitability.
I have myself lost track of whether some details were really told to me by Gung Gung, or filled in by other family members, or just picked up from other sources. But at this point. . . mei you guanxi! Perhaps of more interest is the fact that the stories I've tried to capture mostly came out during visits to Hong Kong in 1991, 1992 and 1993. At the age of 90, Gung Gung was still making annual trips to Asia – by then under the watchful care of Auntie Lily, his second wife – unable to break the habits of a lifetime.
At his 99th birthday in Los Angeles, he told Lori and me, "Honey," – a favorite term of endearment – "I think I would like to go back to Hong Kong, start a new business, fall in love again." I kid you not! Lori is my witness. "Maybe you could introduce me. Someone about 30 to 40." I believe he even threw out the name of a friend's daughter who had recently been divorced.
Sources tell me that once upon a time he did have a special lady in Hong Kong. . . .
Long may the good memories live on!