Jade Snow-Wong potter

1329 POWELL STREET • DOUGLAS 2-2713
SAN FRANCISCO 11, CALIFORNIA

February 22, 1951

黄玉雪

Dear Mr Basso,

Do keep the ashtray - it was probably my error for assuming that because you reviewed the major book for _The New Yorker_ the week it carried a review of my book, you must have reviewed mine too.

I am glad you have the ashtray, and you are not an imposter; it was made for you, or as the Chinese believe, fated that you should have it and not the person who did review the book, although I wish I could also do him justice.

Thank you for the nice comments in your letter about my book. I am sure the ashtray falls into sympathetic hands.

Jade Snow-Wong potter

December 9, 1951

黄玉雪

Dear Hamilton,

We have wanted to write you even before we received your letter, because we have been so happy with a new house we finally found. I think the first day we moved in, about a month ago, we said to each other, "We must tell Hamilton about this."

Through devious, indirect means (a bartender who was a good friend of a brother-in-law of a mother of a classmate of mine at Mills) we heard about a house in Tiburon, which is a peninsula in Marin County, 30 minutes from San Francisco. We came over one gray and rainy morning, I in clay spattered clothes, and Woody in his smock and unshaven as customary, and saw this house. It is a huge place to us, with two beautiful gardens, trees, vegetables, and flowers; about a twenty-five foot living room, master bedroom, guest room, two bathrooms and shower, breakfast room, kitchen with loads of drawers and cabinets, and a sort of storage hall with three sliding double closets for clothes and linens. It has a sun deck which runs the length of the house where it faces the San Francisco Bay. The living room has wall-te-wall glass windows which look out on the deck and the water. From where I sit now in a corner I see Angel Island, Berkeley, San Francisco, and Golden Gate Bridge. The sun makes a sparkling path upon quiet water. Less than half a mile away, you can guess what Woody is doing -- fishing!

I enumerate all these details because you would understand how much all this means to us.

Nevertheless, we debated about taking it, partly because of the commuting, partly because it was completely furnished, and we had to lease it, etc. We finally decided to be courageous and make the break from Chinatown.

We have never been happier, either one of us, than we are now. We sit by the fireplace sometimes, looking out at the diamond points of lights in the evenings, completely at peace, and ask ourselves what we have done to deserve all this.

Today is Sunday. Yesterday, we had cleaned house, waxed the floors, etc., and today the house smells clean and fresh. I can see the clothes I hung out this morning out in the garden. It felt good to putter around the kitchen and do womanly chores - work, but such different work from ceramics (we had been working every night last week to rush things for our opening.) I thought several times how much I wanted to write to you, and so here I am.

Even with the commuting, we seem to get more done than ever before. No matter how tired we are, we come to life again a few minutes after we come home. For the first time, we have been able to get our art objects out of storage, and have around us the books and things we love. Kenny is a different, relaxed dog.

The separate guest room with its bath has been a great pleasure, because we have had our mutual in-laws over. Their reaction starts with awe and ends up in laughter and relaxation unlike anything we have ever seen in our parents. Sunshine and fresh air and space, the most naturally pleasant sensations to human beings, are more difficult to come by in Chania than in Cadillac, diamonds, or mink coats. Even disciplined Daddy instantly saw the advantages of this example of American middle-class living.

I am talking unduly about our personal life, I know. But since we gave you our problem, we must share with you the solution we have found. We have somewhat the same feeling as freed prisoners looking back on their former confinement.

Next Saturday, we are having a party at our studio, on the fifteenth. We have invited only friends we liked, and no one because of duty, or that we should. We have asked Chinese and Caucasians, old and young, for five to seven. We are going to have champagne, fruit punch, Chinese style prawns, meat balls, water chestnuts, and Western style turkey and ham sandwiches, nuts, and cookies. We are having dancing upstairs and the food downstairs. We wish you could come and have fundwith us.

The new studio is not yet completely fixed. We have to partition the upstairs office, and right now still have to finish the display cabinets in the show room on the street floor. We decided to use Phillipine mahogany, rubbed with white filler, and finished flat. That's what we have been working on last week. When everything gets organized at 408, perhaps with this new house, I shall have the time and the inspiration to write again.

We'd love to get a few lines from you in between your magazine articles.

At home, Sunday afternoon

January 6, 1952

Dear Hamilton,

I was completely mystified by the copy of the December issue of
Holiday which came Airmail, until I opened the card which explained
that it was you who had started a gift subscription to us. How
nice of you to remember us this way. (Not steak and potatoes talk.)
As a matter of fact, we have no subscription, but I had picked up
that particular copy from a magazine stand because I found it had
an article by you on Savannah. From the time I picked it up until
this moment it has stayed by my bedside waiting to be read. But
each night I have been so exhausted when I finally reach that spot
that I have read nothing at all. After my exhibition gets off on
January 15th, I will get to it, if not before then. What with
the holidays, our studio party which was attended by 200 people,
and now trying to finish up my one-man show which is to tour the
country, life is still an insane rush.

This is probably the first quiet moment I have had since I last
wrote to you. We are enjoying Tiburon more and more. We haven't
explored the one block which constitutes the whole commercial
district, don't know our neighbors, and haven't hung our pictures
on the walls yet, but the house grows on us more and more.

We haven't quite decided whether or not we should go to Chicago
for the February 1st opening of my show. It is a cold and nasty
time of the year there, as we were there a year ago. Woody
and I are still in the discussion stage. We are playing with
the idea of coming home via New Orleans about February 12th, if
we go at all. Woody has always wanted to see that city. Can you
tell us anything about what we should do or where we should stay
there? I know it was your home town, and we don't know a soul
there. If this were a warmer time of the year, we might think
of visiting your present home town, but I am afraid the weather
to the south tempts us more.

Thanks a lot for the subscription - we will enjoy the magazine,
and especially your articles when they appear.

Notes on the Margin

... Hamilton Basso, long a student of the American frontier, has just signed a contract with McGraw-Hill for a book that will relate, from a new angle, a fascinating chapter in American history. It will be devoted largely to the peak years of the fur trade in the U. S.—the years 1822 to 1834. But it is based on a huge accumulation of original papers, including diaries, journals and letters, most of which have never been used, or even seen, by scholars. A few knew that they existed but were never able to get at them for very special reasons which Mr. Basso told me when he was in California a couple of months ago, but which he may or may not choose to explain in his book, wherefore I'd better not say anything about it here. Anyhow, the material has at last been turned loose, and Mr. Basso was the fortunate one who was on the spot when that happened. He's going to devote full time to the book, and hopes to finish it for publication early in 1953.

408 Pacific Avenue
San Francisco, California

NOTE: Connie and Woody have asked that copies of their letters from abroad be sent from this studio to a few of their personal friends. You are on this list and as other letters are received, a copy will be sent to you.

Letter No. 1
En route by "Clipper"

January 12, 1953

Dear People,

The routine of the studio seems a long way off as we wait rest-
lessly for the plane to reach Honolulu. Nothing seems to happen
simply--we are encountering strong headwinds; necessitating this
Stratoeruiser to fly at 8,000 instead of 15,000, and to cruise
along to conserve fuel. The Captain tells us that a normal 9-hour
flight is extending into 13 hours--the longest flight time in the
history of Pan Am from the Pacific Coast to Honolulu.

Otherwise, all is normal. The first sun we have seen in 5 days
shines brightly on the waters of the Pacific. We had a good rest
at the home of our friends, the Strongs, in Portland, and enjoyed
the opportunity to see our one-woman show opening at the Portland
Art Museum. The press was unusually generous, giving us a wonder-
ful send-off on our world tour with warm memories of American
hospitality.

Added to our happy send-off was an impromptu supper last night
at the Strongs. The Budapest String Quartet arrived in Portland,
and on impulse we all got together to talk about old times at
Mills. The Quartet had not before known of being written in
"Fifth Chinese Daughter" so while Woody, Esther (our hostess)
and I stirred up the makings for an Oriental lamb curry, we heard
them chuckling to read about themselves, two years after some
perhaps hundred thousand others had already read about them.

Woody and I are fine and happy. We send our greetings; at this
point, two hours' flight time from Honolulu.

/s/ Connie

Letter No. 2: ENROUTE FROM TOKYO TO HONG KONG: LATER
CHANGED TO "DIVERSION" TO MANILA

January 31, 1953

Dear People,

All our flights on this trip have been extraordinary; either extraordinarily rough and pro-
longed; or, as in this case, extraordinarily strange in routing. We were over Hong Kong and
couldn't land because of bad weather, so now we are flying south to Manila, to stay over
night, then try to get into Hong Kong again tomorrow morning. Woody and I have already been
in the same clothes for three days of traveling, without having slept in a bed for as many
nights, and we know now how tiring travel can be.

Of the thirteen days we had for Japan, six were spent in Tokyo, and the rest in travel through
outlying cities: Kyoto and Nagoya primarily, and small communities like Tajima, Seto, etc.,
near these. Everyone had said Kyoto would have a charm of its own, and we found this charm
in wide, clean streets, many old shrines, quietness, and warm, sincere people. In Nagoya,
which had been levelled by bombing, we had our experience with defensiveness and sharp
Japanese tactics. These are generalizations, of course, for we saw in all places charming
bits of Japanese life: women drying long, narrow kimona cloths outside their front doors;
textile dyers washing their new colors in the river; fathers or mothers alike with a baby
on their back, and a quilt around the baby for protection against the bitter winds; (sometimes
it was not a baby, but an old mother); children and more children, dressed in the red or
winter wool pants and jackets, playing everywhere; expert nurserymen moving trees casually
during this dormant winter month; colorful geisha girls who kneel by your side to assist you
as you eat a Japanese dinner.

There was also beauty in unexpected places: magnificent "benzai" in department stores; a
stone crook with a catfish at someone's front door, a flower arrangement in your taxi;
Japanese food served with each piece in abstract design order; farm lands neatly laid out,
so that you would not find a weed, nor even a handful of dirt out of place; nearly two-inch
long, pointed, red, sweet strawberries on your breakfast tray, (not grown in a hothouse in
January's freezing weather, but between rocks outdoors, where sun-traps are thus created);
tiny specialty shops with orderly rows of the youngest, freshest vegetables, or with samples
of stunning new textile designs; or bright with winter apples and tangerines (seedless, too!)
or gay with bunches of new blossoms; beautiful stoneware jars, which turn out to be
"hibaches" to warm your hands with charcoal fire in otherwise unheated, freezingly cold
Japanese buildings.

There appeared to us odd contrasts in the Japanese' ideas of the proper or improper, as of
course we would expect. One follows definite procedure in sitting in someone's home, or in
sipping tea, or in how to eat a pudding. A woman sits on her heels, while a man sits cross-
legged (on the floor). All these details we were most careful to observe; yet when we boarded
a sleeper-train, I climbed hastily into my berth, for the male passengers had started cheer-
fully to shed their trousers in the aisles! (Women, you see, just don't exist unless con-
venient.)

The best food in a Japanese home of limited means goes to the man, second-best to the chil-
dren, and what's left, to the wife. For the Japanese world is definitely a man's world. I
had a hard time convincing them that a woman can be an artist, much less a potter. A woman's
reason for existence is to help her man at every turn: to put on his coat, tie his shoe-laces;
bear and raise his children; keep his fields weeded and hoed; chop his firewood; say nothing,
and if she has time left, kneel in a corner of the room at attention.

We have found honorable Japanese with whom to do business--but only after talking for hours
and hours through an interpreter, with such sessions repeated several times. I would say
five words in English; the interpreter explains with twenty Japanese words; the Japanese
gentleman in question would reply with thirty Japanese words; the interpreter may or may not
understand, and would ask a question with forty Japanese words; the Japanese gentleman
clarifies with fifty Japanese words; the interpreter finally, hesitatingly, gives me back an
answer in five English words. I never really know how much of what I say, or what the
Japanese gentleman says, really gets across to one another.

No one believes in using the telephone, except as a necessary evil, nor do they believe in
appointments. Two businessmen who arrived with us in Tokyo told us that after one week they
succeeded only in making one courtesy call!

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Page 2

Our times over at Chinese New Year time, on February 14, to take advantage of the people in holiday mood.

I met all of these, many times in their homes, sometimes in our hotel, where they came to see me. Our hotel suite, which we were told is "The Senator's Suite," was the scene of many surprising events. Soon after our arrival, we were besieged by strangers who sought audience (really for money) who had some fairy tale or another to tell--from unseated Nationalist generals, stranded on their way to Formosa, who said they were starved but looked like the fat roast geese for which HongKong is famous, to despairing adolescent girls who want to go to college, but had no funds, and would die of ridicule if they worked their way. These, together with bearded, grieving professors, newspaper feature writers anxious for a scoop, desperate war refugees, ceramic peddlers, and a host of other characters, called on us, never by appointment. I would open my door, hair down, in a robe, thinking it was morning coffee arriving at 8:00 AM, only to stare into the face of a total stranger, grinning at me!

Woody and I had some clothes made to order by the excellent tailors--all from Shanghai. He had two and I had three--or a total of five. These came for fittings at unannounced times. So it was common to find one or two tailors, a stray student, a stranger-author, a relative (we did have some bonafide ones who also called without appointment), and us, all of us trying to carry on at one time. We had first thought we would rattle around in such large "Senator's" quarters, but we soon were grateful to have this extra room.

In HongKong, the British govern, and the Chinese are governed--definitely. The streets are spotless; downtown is silent, for no horn-blowing is allowed. The two English papers were completely different in character from the numerous Chinese papers. The front page of the English papers, at the time we were there, expressed daily anxiety over America's removal of the Seventh Fleet from Formosa, and was deeply concerned about the possibility of an American blockade in Chinese waters. Take away Communist trade--and the people of HongKong would surely starve. But the second and third page of the same paper, in the news section was immediately concerned with horse-racing, cricket, soccer, archery. News was resumed in subsequent papers. An extra sheet in blue is inserted in the center--not a sport section, but a shipping section of vessels due to come or leave.

The weather was most pleasant for us--something like San Francisco. For the first time on this trip, we didn't freeze and we didn't melt.

The Gloucester Hotel, where we stayed, was amazing like many other HongKong experiences. When we arrived, we entered an arcade of shops on the ground floor of a British stone building, at HongKong's busiest commercial corner, and took the elevator up past floors of business offices, like any American business building. At the top eighth floor is the hotel's main office, dining room, bar, etc. We registered, and a tiny child dressed like Philip Morris' caller, took us downstairs to our room on the sixth floor! This hotel was the cleanest we have found in the Orient, with a huge balcony overlooking the harbor. Our bedding was a pleasure--pure linen sheets; white wool blankets light as a feather. Service was excellent but food was like any hotel food. It was a relief to be able to speak Cantonese and get what we wanted without sign language.

In fact, most people said, "How do you do?" to me, and after a few sentences, could not contain their amazement that I spoke like a native Cantonese. Those ten long years of Chinese evening school are now more significant than ever before, fifteen years later.

It would be impossible to tell all the events of those three weeks. Some highlights were: a dinner given in our honor by the Wong Association of HongKong--abanquet out of this world, with whole suckling pigs, Yunnan ham (cured in huge vats with a live dog thrown in, it was reported to me) wild duck soup (with the duck head pointed toward me to indicate the guest of honor), and a host of exotic dishes I had never tasted before--the speeches were out of this world too: I was affectionately and warmly proclaimed as their Fifth Daughter, and I wished that my father could have been there to witness that educating a daughter is not in vain; a visit to a Buddhist temple in Macao, where I met a monk, exalted in surprise at their 400 year old kitchen with stone floors and table, and a cat which matched their yellow clay chimney, and saw besides exquisite teak furniture and silk scrolls donated by loving disciples hundreds of years ago; a walk with the Chinese New Year's Eve crowd on February 13, when we joined thousands, on a purchase tour of the new flowers which would mean good luck if their

Letter No. 6: ON KUALA LUMPUR

March 15, 1955

Dear People,

From Singapore we flew up about 200 miles to Kuala Lumpur (K.L. for short), which I did not know was the capital for the Federation of Malaya's nine states (excepting Singapore which the British retained as their Colony) until I prepared for this trip. By the way, I had not known either, that the nine states are Sultanie, ruled by a Malay Sultan who worships in his own mosque (allowed four wives by law), but advised by a British adviser in each state. The people in the smaller city of K.L. were more friendly than Singaporeans, and our visit to Malaya took on new meaning as we learned what Malaya's problems are.

I asked the State Department representative for a briefing immediately after arriving, even as Moody was supervising the transfer of our luggage to our hotel room. It seems that the population, divided half and half between Malays and Chinese, had a basic national cause for restlessness, distrust, and suspicion. The Malays, natives of this land, devote Muslim followers of Islam (men always wear a black or green velvet pillbox hat from the time they are small boys; women wear veils of sheer cotton print) feel that this is their country because until the Japanese occupation, Malays were the only ones allowed to be citizens of Malaya. The Nationalist government of China used this citizenship vacuum of the Malayan Chinese to register them as citizens of China, and supervised the Chinese schools here. The Chinese, who have been settling here for several hundred years, pay 98% of the country's income tax, control the nation's small businesses and large shares of rubber and tin interests, so they feel that they have raised Malaya's level from a primitive jungle to a modern economic unit. It was the Chinese who resisted the Japanese when the Malays cooperated with them good-naturedly; the Chinese are diligently turning out the best educated boys and girls in the Federation; the Chinese feel that they have a superior culture--and so they do not feel that they should give up their interests and "leave Malaya to the Malays."

Inasmuch as Chinese still have to make application or pass tests for citizenship in Malaya, and since it is difficult for them to wrench their loyalty away from China just because it has turned Communist, Communist infiltration and terrorism has been working here, especially directed toward high school level students and teachers. I was informed that America's interest is to have Malaya emerge a strong nation, divorced from Communist China, somehow with Malaysia and Chinese cooperating. The British ostensibly agree that Malaya should be independent, but "the time is not yet now, since the two racial groups will not cooperate." The only other racial group is a small percentage of East Indians imported by the British government to be road laborers, garbage collectors, etc., jobs which neither relaxed Malays nor energetic Chinese will consent to do in this 90° climate. These Tamil speaking Hindus are situated in government housing projects; in one village in Ipoh, 12,000 strong. A few other Indian merchants are cloth merchants or jewelry makers or are employed in other small businesses. The Malays live mostly an agricultural, rural life, and if they own businesses, usually have them on the most meager level--such as a few peppers spread out on a piece of cloth, or a cage of bread on a bicycle.

So I learned all this at last in K.L., and it was my job to do what I could, in one week, toward American objectives. Without having had a day's break since my last week in Hongkong and my week in Singapore, I worked 85 hours in this following week, to pitch into the situation in several ways:

1. By daily appearances at a hall where my ceramics were shown in connection with representative Chinese ceramic antiques borrowed from collectors (mostly English collectors), and where I spoke in Cantonese to groups of school children. (There is no co-education in Malaya except at the Raffles University in Singapore.) At these occasions I traced for them, Chinese ceramic development, explained my own work, and asked them as Chinese descendants to build on their heritage and create an art of their own. This was the first art exhibition in the history of K.L. The response was terrific and it was a greater success than anyone planned. Malaya has been called a cultural desert, but the exhibition showed that they will drink in culture if offered.

2. By scheduled lectures at the exhibition in English to reach British governmental people or other English-speaking people.

Letter No. 7: ON IPOH AND PENANG

March 22, 1953

Dear People,

Ipoh (pronounced E-po) had not even been on our itinerary, but we learned that we were to be there two days, in view of the fact that it was one of Malaya's wealthiest cities as a tin mining center. Because of the physical state I was in, we cut the program there from six lectures to three in two days. A formal dinner and speech to the local Rotary club was inescapably one of these. Woody and I grumbled about how absurd it was to be dressing formally for dinner for the first time on this trip in the smallest town of all--a town where our hotel accommodations, including said formal dinner, had to be in the railroad station, its largest semi-public building.

Only a few things can be mentioned in brief, to give you a taste of Ipoh. There is no American Consular office here, and the person who unofficially scheduled my program with State Department approval was Harry Haines, a Methodist Missionary Minister who had served in China. Haines was also president of the previously mentioned Rotary Club. English education in this city, which followed the pattern of the rest of Malaya, had been established originally through the efforts of energetic Methodists. It was not surprising, therefore, that all Ipoh events in which I participated, except one, were held either under Methodist auspices or were for Methodist personnel, church members, or students. I am a member of the Methodist Church in San Francisco, but I must confess that I never learned of this strong arm of theirs until my arrival in Ipoh. Perhaps some of those "world service" dollars our family contributed on Communion Sundays might have been sent their way here.

I guess my time there was worthwhile enough as my talk to the Rotarians provoked more questions than I had received at any previous occasion, and the one non-Methodist-flavored assembly of Chinese vernacular school teachers who gathered from all over the State of Perak for the occasion, responded enthusiastically to my talk which had to be translated into Mandarin as I went along. (I was discovering now that Malaya Chinese vary considerably in their dialects, and include principally Fukien, Swatow, Teochow, Hainan, and Hakka.) Mandarin is being taught in Chinese schools to give students one common language. I was told that the Chinese language school teachers are the hardest audiences for an American to reach, inasmuch as they are the least exposed to Western influences. But they are most important for reasons which I mentioned in my last letter.

The town of Ipoh was suburban in character. Modern homes built by wealthy Chinese were almost Southern Californian in style--modern in the sense of their concept of imitating "modernistic" form. The Chinese business section was again old Hongkong in feeling--the same Chinese character to restaurants and type of food (good), and stores featuring Chinese imports. Everything looked very clean: the streets were spotless, and buildings well maintained. Mr. Haines proudly declared it cleanest in Malaya. But we discovered that there were practically no telephones in this town. The first afternoon we arrived, we were caught in a typical tropical downpour which descended without warning while we ate lunch, and were soaked to our skins while looking for a telephone or a taxi, neither of which materialized. But Woody resourcefully located a hotel whose manager recognized him from newspaper pictures, and gave us a ride back to our railroad station hotel, half an hour late for my next lecture.

We were strictly strangers here with limited time, but we glimpsed into one family's intimate hour. We were driving around the Chinese section on Sunday, a day when the government of Malaya compels all shops to close. We discovered that all the open fronts of stores had been boarded or fenced up. Woody said, "This town is certainly deserted on Sunday--not even a funeral!"

Thereupon our car rounded a corner and we saw half a dozen blue-clothed figures hooded in white. We both exclaimed, "A funeral!" But where was the customary casket? We saw the figures enter a small shop around which a few spectators gathered. We drove around the block and parked outside this doorway.

It had been a book store. Now all signs of business had been hidden away. Two white strips of paper were "X-ed" over both gilded signs of the store, outside and inside. From the car, we saw the previously mentioned figures kneeling down in front of a raised casket. One must have been elder son--his different mourning clothes were a type of burlap; on his head was a matching burlap cap. He knelt at the foot of the casket while others were at one side. The Chinese caskets we have seen may be described as made out of four half-round logs, with

Letter No. 7 -4-

which I shall write another time) are the greatest free-spirited Chinese mass in Southeast Asia. They can be our friends--or could be made our enemies.

That was a long digression. With a little description of Penang, which has been called "The Pearl of the Orient," I shall wind up this already too-long letter.

Penang is an island, set in beautiful waters, sometimes blue, often pale green. It has all the characteristics you think of in a tropical island—including the green growth I previously mentioned as peculiar to Malaya. Beautiful beaches, peppered sometimes by boats of Tamil fishermen, mountain tops to which you can ride up past wild hibiscus, orchids, gardenias, to escape from the heat when you reach the end of the journey, as we did one day, lovely parks where hundreds of monkeys roam and beg you to feed them, never-ending waterfalls, Malay villages, old Chinese Buddhist temples (where tough Japanese generals immediately went to worship upon occupying Penang), gave after grove of coconut palms—these are what you see in a two-hour drive around the Island.

In the center of town itself, located in the flat tip of an otherwise mountainous island, is a seaport with typical shipping activities, and several main streets filled with thriving businesses, some Indian, but mostly Chinese. And here again, as in other Malayan cities, the Chinese sections are miniature HongKong again. Perhaps I should describe here what I call HongKong style. Architecturally, the second floor of a building is built out to the edge of the sidewalk curbstone, and this overhang is supported by large square cement columns, perhaps ten feet apart. These pillars are kalsomined in bright colors and the name of the store is painted thereon. When one looks down a block of stores, one sees column after column in various colors. The second floor overhang creates a shelter in case of rain, and shade for the completely open store fronts below. In Penang, as in all other Malayan cities, the streets are demarcated with deep open sewers along the gutters. One walks over stone steps to reach from street to sidewalk. After a sudden downpour, which happened almost daily with accompaniments of thunder and lightning, these three to five feet deep sewers will be filled to overflowing.

As far as I could see, in Malaya, there was no paint as we know it. We saw only kalsomined surfaces. In fact, come to think of it, I haven't seen a paint store in south east Asia. Good woods, however, are plentiful. Solid teak floors which would cost a young fortune where I come from, are laid in second-best establishments. The best floors are laid in cool, square unglazed tile of red clay, or equally cool, glazed squares, colored in near-East designs. After being walked upon for 50 years, some of these glazed floors are still in marvelous condition.

Besides the usual coconuts and bananas, Penang grows nutmeg, cloves, cashew nuts, and other tropical produce. It also boasts the best fruit in Malaya. I cannot recall all the Malay names, but I might describe these fruits as almost invariably thick-skinned (½"), bright red, yellow, or green, with juicy inside meat like the texture of grapes but with a defining fragrance according to specie.

In Penang, you can get the best Chinese food, with ingredients imported from Siam, China, or Borneo, but without the razzle-dazzle atmosphere of the great HongKong restaurants. You can also get authentic Indian foods, or the Malay type; both of these are curries in endless varieties. They are terribly hot, augmented with little red chili peppers. A high frequency of peptic ulcers is one result.

There are so many other little things one could go on to mention—such as the long queues of people waiting in line on the street which will tell you that you are approaching a movie house with some title like "Million Dollar Mermaid," or "Hangman's Knot." Or the way Chinese women have forsaken carrying babies on their backs, but have adopted the cooler Malay way of carrying a baby on one hip at their side, while the baby somehow knows to grab his mommy with both legs.

And the people in Penang are nice, showing that Singapore was an exception. We made friends particularly with a young Cantonese called KOK. His father and mother were poor, with a large family. He started to take a course in agriculture and his business instincts got the better of him. ("Chinese are natural-born economists"--Kok) He started the first seed and animal feed business in Malaya. He has more commonsense than ten of the usual Malayan you meet, and we enjoyed him during the few hours we had free in Penang. He was an excellent guide, taking

Letter No. 7 -5-

as to markets and mountains, pawnshops and temples, farming villages and unique eating places. We had some priceless conversations while we were sightseeing.

Between the end of Kuala Lumpur's 85-hour week, and the end of the week in Penang, I had put in another 60 hours for our government. In K.L., knowing the schedule which was still to come, we had asked for three days' leave after Penang work, and they had wired Bangkok for permission which was duly awarded me. The days for resting came, and I fell apart, spending two days in bed, being too tired to move. The third day, instead of feeling better, I developed all kinds of uncomfortable symptoms--headache, sore throat, cough, intestinal pains. In that state, I traveled to Bangkok.

I shall tell of my stay in Thailand in another letter, but just now I should explain the circumstances in which I find myself. I was not given any time to rest after arrival and had two more full days of speeches and official activities. On the third day, I flew up as scheduled to Chengmai, 400 miles away. Even when we staggered out of bed at 4:50 a.m. to make the plane, Woody, who came with me, wanted to cancel it out. By now, I was taking cough medicine, terramycin, penicillin lozenges, and opium tables. But we got the plane nevertheless, and saw a doctor upon arrival here. It was a local Thai recommended by the Consulate. To reach his office, one goes past a yard of chickens and roosters which he keeps to experiment on egg production, an orchid lathhouse, and two black baby bears chained at his front door. (The cubs had been orphaned, so the hunter had brought them to the doctor for care.) The doctor, after due examination, declared me in a state of exhaustion; exhaustion had brought on the other secondary illnesses. He recommended at least one week and if possible, two in a hospital--unless I wished a complete nervous breakdown.

To spend a week in a hospital in Chengmai (Population 50,000) sounded to me like going to the end of the world! We had a conference with the full staff and wives at the American Consulate. There were some complications--so many more scheduled speeches had already been announced. Woody took a firm and stubborn stand--the doctor had been educated at Johns Hopkins, and his diagnosis was good enough; we should follow doctor's orders. I left it up to everybody else. Woody won out.

So that is why I am now writing, two days later, at such a leisurely rate, with the luxurious prospect of days more before me. I am in a clean, cream-colored room, with dark solid teak doors and shutters. The only spots of colors are a bouquet of roses which the night nurse brought me, and an enamelled spittoon from Japan. The hospital consists of a series of low buildings, set in spacious grounds. I am the only one occupying this particular building, or I should say "we", for Woody is with me; he sleeps in a bed in the corner intended for a special nurse. Our corner room opens on three sides. To the east, I see the hospital grounds; to the south, fields filled with grasing water buffalo; to the north a paved road, where I see all kinds of Thai people pass by--Buddhist monks in yellow, young men with their girl friends riding on the same bicycle, Thai women with red parasols.

We are getting absolutely clean food for the first time on our trip. The charming Thai nurses are the most gentle in the world, I think. There are only three patients to two nurses. The Thai doctor's diagnosis has been checked by an American missionary doctor from Portland, Oregon. "Missionary," because I owe this haven of rest to the Presbyterians, who have been working in Thailand for a hundred years and are to this country what the Methodists were to Malaysia. They founded this McCormick Hospital in Chengmai, and train the best nurses in the nation - even Bangkok looks to McCormick Hospital for good nurses.

What did the Bible say about every little sparrow being cared for? Do not worry about me. I feel vastly better already, and have never had more sympathetic care. I can catch up on my letters, notes, and what not, and I am sure that the doctors won't let me out of here until the rest cure is complete.

/s/ Connie

Letter No. 8: ON BANGKOK and CHIENGMAI

April 3, 1955

Dear People,

Before I left on my trip, I had heard from many who had visited it, that Bangkok was one city I would surely love. We spent two days in Bangkok before leaving for Chiengmai, 400 miles north. These two days were filled with official activities--visiting Chinese schools, a press conference, setting up an exhibit of our ceramics, social engagements, etc. I was nearly at the end of my energy, but somehow got through. (After I finally landed in the hospital, the person handling my schedule finally got the cable from Kuala Lumpur, three weeks late, asking them to take it easy on my schedule in view of the strenuous Malaya activities.)

The state of my fatigue must have colored these two days' impressions, and seeing downtown districts is no way to judge a city, but we concluded, before we left for Chiengmai, that Bangkok was dirty, crowded, badly in need of repair, noisy, smelly. Over all these characteristics hung a mantle of heat and humidity, both of which stood at 95. I might add that it was 95 in the shade, but who can stay in the shade?

You know by now that after arrival in Chiengmai, I was hospitalized and this took up practically all of the time which would have been spent in the usual official things for the State Department. But disregarding this upset for them, that week was a good thing for three reasons: (1) It kept me from having a more serious breakdown later. (2) I departed with a doctor's recommendation that a maximum of 6 hours before the public daily while in the tropics was my limitation. (3) I spent the longest single period of this trip in one place where I got to know some native people well.

From our room in Edg. F(F stands for "foreigners") it was as if I had a peephole into Thai life. Peephole viewing is limited to what happens to come in front of you, so what I say may not be inclusive of Thai life, but a hospital is close to both life and death, and for that reason, the glimpses are illuminating.

A day at Mo'Cormick Hospital begins exactly like any other you may have known: at 6:30 AM a nurse wakes you up to put a thermometer in your mouth. But I think the resemblance ends there. The atmosphere is so relaxed, without the crispness I have known in American hospitals. We could order American, Thai, or Chinese food. We sat on our outdoor porch, and fed three black hens and their red-and-black rooster-leader, who visited us at meal hours. We watched two cows grazing on the hospital lawns, keeping their grass clipped automatically; sharply at 6:00 PM as the sun receded behind the coconut palms, their owner came to fetch them each night. Once a runaway horse came through the front gates with his maker's red cash caught playfully in his mouth, and he was finally cornered. We also saw a family of three Chinese hill tribesmen and a woman, clad in black coats, black balloon trousers, red sashes, and small brown felt hats, stay three days under the huge trees in front of the hospital. The story we learned from our doctor was that they were almost aborigines; their two-year-old boy had climbed a tree and had gotten caught in an animal snare and hence had developed an infection. This hill family walked three days and two nights to carry the boy to McCormick Hospital--even they had heard of this excellent medical institution. We watched as they took turns walking the boy on their backs while he was convalescing, until he recovered, and they joyfully carried him off-only returning a minute to take off their giant tree shelter, a cup they had overlooked in their excitement.

But not all the stories at McCormick were of lives saved. Within 24 hours, four lives were also lost. One was a little girl with TB to begin with, who also came down with meningitis. After four days of this at home, her mother brought her to the hospital, and she died that night at 2:00 AM. We knew it was 2:00 AM because in our room, in another building several hundred yards away, we were awakened by piercing screams and prolonged wailing, as her mother protested her loss for 45 minutes. The next day, when a funeral procession quietly carried away the child's body in a brown box slung from bamboo poles, the mother returned to the hospital gates, kneeling where the hill tribesmen had happily departed a few hours before, she faced the child's former ward, and shattered the drowsy afternoon with more weeping and means in Thai words.

That afternoon, the wife of an administrative officer of the American Consulate moved in to occupy the other room in building "F", to have her baby delivered. The next day, her husband came in to tell us that he had fathered a 7½-pound boy. He was harrowed not only by hours of waiting, but also by some tales of three Thai women who had been admitted to the maternity ward that same night, and all three had died. One had had a miscarriage, and had carried this dead within until it began to disintegrate; one who had given birth outside the hospital but

Letter No. 9: ON RANGOON

New Delhi, April 18, 1955

408 Pacific Avenue

San Francisco, California

Dear People,

Rangoon has had little exaltation in tourist folders. British withdrawal of colonial rule left five states free to form a formal Union of Burma, but in reality, free to fight for control of the Union. So our impression of Rangoon, from our reading, had been clouded with accounts of political coups, accomplished or attempted, and we expected to find strife and unrest.

Approaching from the air, all looked at peace. I could see an area of curving lakes, dotted with islands, fringed with trees; roads which were brick-red with the natural soil color, and in the center of the city, the single spire of a huge golden pagoda, hundreds of feet high, and several hundred feet in diameter at its base. This pagoda is the most distinguished landmark we have seen on this trip. The Rangoon airstrip was formed with strips of perforated metal, laid on dirt (Woody said this was what the Army used for emergency airfields), and the airport building was a dingy, stuffy building. Only two hours before, we had left the most modern airport we have seen anywhere, in Bangkok. Being a military airfield as well, it had had a hundred proud Thai flags flying in its grounds. Not only all that, but the Thai airport had received us with coca colas! (To digress still more, in Manila, we were received with thermometers, which were stuck into our mouths by a starched, white uniformed Philippine nurse. So nothing surprises us any more!) In Rangoon, we were offered neither thermometers nor coca colas, only forms which took an hour to fill out.

While in Bangkok, we had had some happy hours with a former classmate of mine at Mills-- Lien-fung No. When Lien Fung met me at the Bangkok airport upon arrival, she completed my re-unions with all of the former half a dozen girls with whom I used to have fun at Mills--all of whom I have now revisited on this trip ten years later--in Portland, Tokyo, Honolulu, and Bangkok. When I said goodbye to Lien-fung in Bangkok, she asked me casually about my living arrangements in Rangoon. She told me of her unoccupied home, three house servants, a gardener, a driver, and a new car in Rangoon, and told us to make use of all of these if we desired. So our five days in Rangoon were made vastly more enjoyable by this unexpected luxury, which meant more to us than you can imagine--after having lived almost three months in hotels of varying quality. Since I was still recovering from my week in the hospital, her Cantonese cook concocted herbs, or new taste thrills by turns.

Details such as these would weigh heavily to create pleasant memories of a city. Still I think that I can speak objectively of what I saw in Rangoon.

I must start first with the Burmese women, who are collectively the most naturally beautiful women I have ever seen. Perhaps it is because Westernization has not worked its way through their dress or habits, even in this city atmosphere. Or perhaps holding the reins of wealth and authority in a truly matriarchal society gives Burmese women the beauty of possessing more self confidence than any other Asiatic women--anyway Burmese women are dressed exquisitely, and more with grace and dignity, crowned with a serenity and simplicity which sophisticated Western women or restrained Chinese ladies, or bound Japanese girls may well envy

I never saw a Burmese woman with a permanent wave. Little girls have a small top-knot gathered evenly from the top of their heads, and trimmed with a circular fringe of bangs all around. Young women have their jet black shiny tresses flowing in a loose mane down their backs to their waists, with one careless knot in the middle of its length. Older women have their long hair gathered into one secure round bun, sometimes with a small casual loop hanging out on the side of this bun; sometimes with an ivory or tortoise shell comb pulled through the middle. There were also endless variations in flowers decorating their hair. An old lady could have two pink carnations peeking out in front of her top-knot; a younger woman may wear a loose spray of several strings of small fragrant jasmine blossoms, hanging down one side of her knotted hair; a little girls could have a round bunch of bright yellow flowers behind one ear; a housewife with a heavy market basket and a child on one hip, still had time to fasten a band of colored blossoms across the top of her knot.

During this hot summer weather (95° to 105° in the shade, humidity 90%), women wear sheer organy jackets inspired in cut by the Chinese. These bolero-length coats were always white, with collarless round necklines, always fastened by one button at the neck, three down the right side, ending with one button in the middle at the waist where the jacket stopped. The sleeves were long, the fit was close, the buttons bright, of gold or jewels for those who

Letter No. 11, Page 2

Acc tricate design colors, the child puts in the background color. Child labor is the rule, not the exception, in India. It surprised me to find that the heddles of the loom were being mani-
pulated by a blind man who counted the strings with his fingers, in the pattern required for that piece of cloth.

We stayed at Clark's Hotel, where we found the best European food we had ever had in Southeast
Asia, in an English style dining room. It was English to the silver, linen, porcelains, furni-
ture. Around the walls on a plate ledge had been placed oval English platters of antiquity.
Behind these platters lived nests of sparrows which flew around the dining room and offered
their concerts of chirping at each meal. At this hotel, a snake charmer offered to entertain
us for the first time in India. We saw a mongoose-snake fight conducted by the same charmer. A
mongoose, according to Woody's description, is like a miniature silver fox. It is in the rodent
family, I think. In his fight with the snake, he is always the victor; his sharp teeth are
faster than the serpent's bite. The snake charmer also had a python, about ten feet long and
we learned that pythons never bite--they only strangle you after they are old enough. This was
a young and safe one. Did you know pythons have feet? The snake displays aroused my desire to
see the Hindu rope trick. But I learned that this is a myth about which someone once wrote, and
no one in India has seen it. However, magicians are many in all her cities, and whenever you
see a large crowd forming a ring on the sidewalk, you may be sure a magician is working within
the center.

The next morning, we left at 6:00AM to go to the Ganges and see the famous bathing. We hired a
boat for about an hour and a half, to go up and down the river. Long stone steps have been
laid along the river banks for people to use in bathing. These steps are called "ghats." The
people who come, often do so in group pilgrimages, from all over India. We could see by their
costumes where they originated. The brilliant yellows, fuschias were the colors from Madras to
the south; the white cottons were Bengali. Some of the people were merely swimming for fun;
others were washing their clothes in matter-of-fact fashion. But others were standing in water
up to their waists, facing the morning sun with ecstatic expressions in prayer. Others sat un-
moving in meditation, on the shore. On the bank of the river, rising steeply above the ghats
were many colorful temples--pink ones, golden ones, which had been built long ago by religious
wealthy people, as monuments to their faiths and to themselves. In benevolence, maharajahs have
also built hostels for pilgrims.

The Ganges was a wide river--I asked what was on the shore opposite Banaras and our guide told us that it was just a no-account village. The legend is that if a person dies on that other side, he will surely be reincarnated into a donkey. But if he dies on Banaras side, he escapes this fate, though what he does become after dying on the holy side, no one seemed to know. The practical result is that there is a brisk trade of boats which go back and forth to bring over bodies of the dying to Banaras side. We passed by a large area where smoldering ashes were being swept into the river. I asked, "Garbage?" Our guide answered, "Cremation." Woody and I jumped for our cameras and got some shots while the attendant on shore protected that pictures were forbidden, but we paid no attention to him. It was horrifying to me to learn that human ashes of those who escape the dreaded donkey fate were dumped into the River, along with the city's sewage. And since to the River was attributed healing qualities, the sick, contagious or otherwise, come to bathe there, too. One of these sick whom we saw was a man who had turned into an albino from leprosy, and he was bathing next to little children.

Americans have been criticized for not understanding the very different standards of Old Asia. I confess that the religious fervor which will not permit standards of elementary sanitation is not comprehensible to me. Perhaps human ashes carry no germs, and I hear that leprosy is not nearly so contagious as TB, nevertheless how can they add to holiness? And certainly, sewage doesn't help. At the same time, I remember that spotless ceramic research institution in Calcutta, which is India's proof how intelligently she really can approach a problem in 1953.

Our Indian guide, Mr. Khan, was a rather entertaining person. He is large-framed for the Orient, being about six feet tall. I would say he has above average intelligence and takes everything very seriously, including Woody's remark that he would undoubtedly live a very long time because Mr. Khan has enormous "Buddha-like" ears with hanging lobes. But Woody also added that he wasn't helping himself realize this longevity, because he must be forty pounds overweight,

Letter No. 11, Page 7

family is someone--that is what will matter. This may be an adolescent struggle from for-
saking the demands of childhood to assuming the tasks of mature adulthood. After all, India
has had the British to blame everything on for a long time. But for her own sake, and for
the sake of the stability of the Far East, let's hope that this transition will be a quick
one.

We eagerly looked forward to coming to West Pakistan, and the mail that we hoped would be
coming from all of you at home. We had heard from Hamilton, in Delhi, just before departing
for Kashmir--in time to encourage Woody to go out fishing three times there, and the third
time he caught that "Big" one! When we reached Lahore, We got a letter from Mrs. Hall,
one from Elizabeth and Edward, and one from Mrs. Walter. Then what a windfall here in
Karachi! From Vi and Chuck, again from Elizabeth and Edward, from P.J., from Harriet and
Willie, two from Kay and Jo, and three from little Jon. Woody and I read each one twice,
and then last night took turns reading all of them aloud to one another--that is how much we
think of all of you and hunger to hear from you. Just about Spring coming to America, or who
is going where and when, and to hear all your good wishes make us very happy here in Karachi,
where we are surrounded by desert and strangers.

/s/ Connie

Jade Snow-Wong

studios

Manufacturers of Enamelled Copperware and Handmade Pottery
Importers of Oriental Handicrafts

黄玉雪

408 PACIFIC AVENUE • YUKON 6-1923
SAN FRANCISCO 11, CALIFORNIA • CABLE ADDRESS: JADESNOW

June 9, 1954

Mr. Hamilton Basso
Valley Forge Road
Weston, Connecticut

Dear Hamilton,

Toto's letter last week told of the completion of your book. We know how long you have worked on it and how much it has meant to you so the satisfaction over getting a book done must be even more deeply felt by you.

In a small measure I had a similar satisfaction today. I finished typing my first draft of that article you wanted me to do for the *New Yorker*, on the *Wong Association* in Hong Kong and the Ongs and *Wongs* in Rangoon. To get out of the muddle of daily routine and freshen my mind, Woody and I drove four hours to a friend's ranch in the Sierra Nevada Mountains where we have spent several days. While Woody washed the diapers, sterilized bottles and tended baby, I have been working steadily.

The first rough draft is the stage where I sweat it out. What not to say is as much of a problem as how to write what I want to say. Now what I have written is about 14 typewritten pages and some details sort of asked to be included, surprising me. I can never tell whether a piece is any good. But of course the editorial blue pencil can be more selective; that is, if it is at all acceptable. If it is not, we have tried.

Whether or not this one is accepted, do you think I should work up the Kashmir letter and submit that also?

It will probably be questioned why this article is in the third person. That is the most natural style for me. Of course, we can always re-do it substituting I's, me's, and my's.

I am sending the manuscript to your desk at the *New Yorker* as you requested. You know that I shall be impatient to hear your comments. A copy is also being sent to my agent, Curtis Brown at 347 Madison Avenue, New York City. The person I work with there is Mrs. Sewell Haggard. I am explaining to her that you are handling this matter.

Did I or didn't I tell you that I finally got that last article rewritten to the satisfaction of Harry Sions at Holiday. Publication date is yet unknown.

THIS WORLD, April 10, 1955

SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE

Some Books for the Traveler

The inclusion of maps does not seem to be the thing for the more modern guidebooks. Fielding's has none, and Olson's contains a well-printed 36-page European atlas whose maps are too small to be of much service to a tourist or anyone else relying upon maps as well as text for information.

Any guidebook, some more than others of course, provides the essential information any traveler seeks before visiting a foreign country. Few of them, however, provide much information concerning the attitude of the people of these countries toward the American

traveler. Fielding does cover this side of travel, but rather briefly; Olson barely mentions foreign attitudes, save for the usual information about local mores.

Richard Joseph's two new volumes are "World Wide Money Converter and Tipping Guide" ($1) and "World Wide Travel Regulations Made Easy" ($1.50). (both Doubleday). They cover currency and travel regulations in all major foreign countries except those behind the Iron Curtain. This information is standard in any guidebook; but the handy size of these two, their readability and clarity, make them valuable additions to any traveler's equipment. Joseph's information, barring last-minute changes, is completely reliable.

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