Macon, Georgia: Letters To John Jung (1952-1954)
Like the North Dakota John Jung, a generation later another son of a Chinese immigrant, laundryman also named John Jung, experienced a solitary childhood in Macon, Georgia. His family members were the only Chinese in the entire city during the WWII years, a time before the civil rights movement challenged and refuted the Jim Crow laws that were prevalent throughout the South for decades. There, his parents operated a laundry. When he was 15, John, like the North Dakota John, was suddenly uprooted from his hometown when his parents decided to move the family to San Francisco to provide them with contact with a Chinese community. His father make the sacrifice to stay behind alone to run the laundry to support the family in San Francisco. Overnight, John went from being totally isolated from other Chinese in Macon, to living in the midst of the largest Chinese community in the United States.
During this sometimes bewildering transition, his emotional ties remained to Georgia and it was through letters that he maintained ties with people in Macon that were important in his life. Two teachers were faithful correspondents. Miss Rosa Taylor, the retired principal of his elementary school, who had taken a special interest in my development as far back as when he entered the first grade. She invited John to visit her occasionally after school at her nearby home. There, they would sit on her front porch and converse at length on many topics. She served in the role of one of his grandmothers in China that he never met, always patiently listening, with indulgence, to his undoubtedly childish banter.
What was important to John about this relationship was that a highly respected adult had a genuine interest in his personal growth. After he moved to California, she would often write spirited letters of encouragement. When John once confided that his high school in San Francisco was very difficult, she wrote: “I only know that you are in every way an A-1 boy and will always be a joy and a credit to everyone who has had the happy privilege of knowing you. Right you are! Show the Westerners that the “deep South” is not so benighted as we have been pictured…
A second mentor, Mr. Guyton Carr was John’s 9th grade science and homeroom teacher. A curmudgeon at heart, he was a master teacher captured and held the attention of fidgety 14-year old boys long enough to teach them the principles of physical science. In his letters, Mr. Carr was full of encouragement and praise, expressing high hopes for John’s success. When he disclosed that his new school, the prestigious Lowell High, was intensely competitive and that he was no longer making all A’s, he offered support with a dose of humor. “As far as I am concerned, something about your school has the delicate aroma of a two weeks old fish-head. Surely that school is not than much harder … Another thought just struck me… Are you a courting boy now? If the love bug has bitten you, that explains it.”
Mr. Carr treated John as a colleague or peer rather than as one of his pupils. For example, in more than one letter he described his ideas for new ways of teaching certain concepts, and then asked for John’s opinion: “Do you think I give too much homework? What methods could be used to get them to have fun doing science? Anything you can say would be very much appreciated. You would be a much better critic than practically any of the students I had last year.”
And then there were townspeople who cared about John. Mr. Shirley, the manager of an office building, was a father-surrogate to him, and a family friend who treated them respectfully and was always available to assist my father in business matters. Mr. Shirley was a prototypical Southern gentleman, the kind who tipped his straw hat and nodded to women as they walked by on the street.
His style was polite, genteel, and refined. In one letter, he wrote,
“I pass by the store daily, and it suddenly dawns on me that my fine young friends,
are 3000 miles away.” He also would comment reassuringly on how well John’s father
was doing alone in Macon. And he often noted my father “missed his family a lot.”
A second correspondent was Mr. Jessie Cooner, an elderly good ol’ boy who served as a surrogate for the grandfathers in China that John never met. He was the clerk at the small liquor store next door to the laundry. The two of them developed a deep friendship through their mutual interest in baseball, and they would spend hours discussing major league teams and players and listening to radio broadcasts of games. On Sundays, they often attended local games together under the broiling Georgia heat.
From Mr. Cooner, John would get a letter every few weeks lamenting about the local hot weather, how much he missed his companionship, and how poorly the local baseball team was playing. He liked to tease when John’s favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals, was not doing well. He often mentioned his conversations with John’s father when they would sit outside their stores to cool off during the summer evenings, “I talk with your Daddy every night and of course it is about you all. He tell me every time hear here (sic) from any of you.” In several letters, his Southern racial biases would emerge, “John, your Daddy just told me that Negroes go to the same school you go to. How about that. I bet you don’t like that at all. Write me all about how they work that kind of business.”
And so it was, that when John moved across the country, this assortment of correspondents helped him adjust by expressing interest, concern, and confidence. These correspondences lasted for only for one to two years, brief compared to those of the North Dakota John Jung. Nonetheless, the affirmation and support John received were invaluable in giving him confidence in his potential.
None of the letters that John wrote to these mentors are available. John recalled that he usually rambled over many topics, as adolescents tend to do. He usually wrote about new experiences, schoolwork, tourist sights, career plans, the weather, and, of course, how much he missed his Georgia friends