The Chronicles of Chow King Leong & His Family

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One Sunday out of the month, the family would make it a point to attend the Cumberland Church in San Francisco. Getting a family of nine to church, ready, and on time for the morning sermon was not easy. The Bay Bridge had not yet been built. It was necessary to ride the inter-city train to the pier, the Oakland Mole, to catch the ferry boat, and after docking at the San Francisco ferry building, to take the cable car up the hill to Powell Street. To find nine seats together on the train, on the ferry boat and on the cable car is no small matter. Once, after boarding the cable car the family discovered the youngest child Andrew as not among them. The family was thrown into a state of panic and confusion. Willie, the oldest child, retraced his steps and found the missing Andrew still on the ferry boat, sitting atop the captain’s table eating from a dish of ice cream. Another time, we had missed the train and arrived late in San Francisco. Rather than to wait for the cable car, Chow King hailed a yellow cab. Much as he hated to pay the price of a taxi, whenever urgently required, the family would be treated to a taxi ride. All nine filed into the cab, three in front with the driver and the other six in the back. We were small and could easily squeeze into the space meant for three adults. Usually Willie and Chow King with Lee on his lap sat in the front. La Yung, Harry, the three girls and Andrew would compact themselves into the back. Arriving at the church, Chow King paid the driver the fare indicated on the meter, but the driver asked for an additional amount citing that company rules stipulated that was the case for the extra passengers. Thinking it was a scam, Chow King balked and refused to pay the extra money. The driver stood his ground and a verbal sparring took place. To resolve the heated argument, Chow King insisted that they settle the question before Mr. Henry Shuey Tom, executive secretary of the Chinese Y.M.C.A. on Sacramento Street. Whatever was the outcome is irrelevant. The lesson learned is to stand pat in your belief to exercise the rights due you and not to cave in under pressure. That was truly a demonstration of the much quoted expression; “It’s not the money that counts; it’s the principle of the thing.” Hopefully, succeeding generations have inherited this constitutional characteristic.
In the Spring of 1929, Willie, the oldest child, graduated from Oakland High School. He had learned to drive on his own and had purchased an old Model T with the savings he had accumulated thru the years, from a paper route. Occasionally he’d give us a ride to school – usually on a rainy day. Without exception, the old Model T

The family in front of the Nash Click to view larger

would skid, and swerve erratically every which way. Chow King thought it was time to replace Tin Lizzie with a safe car- a brand new 1930 Nash sedan. Now, the family got around literally “on wheels” and didn’t have to scout around for nine seats collectively. To get to San Francisco, we took the auto ferry, based at the foot of Alice and Fifth Streets. In the twenties and thirties, parking had not yet become a problem. It was a treat and a joy to take short spins in the family Nash. One Sunday, Harry, Son Number Two, then seventeen years old, volunteered to drive the family to Niles to visit the Fon Yuck Family. Lau Yung, our mother, was hesitant but yielded after Harry assured her he was capable of driving the car. The ride to Niles was completed without jeopardy, but coming home we ran into an unforeseen mishap – the car suffered a flat tire. Never having been challenged before by such a predicament, Harry, nevertheless, set to tackling the dilemma. After patching the inner tube and placing it into the tire, the screws for the wheel couldn’t be located. It was getting late and being alone on a dark country road was no laughing matter. It was more jittering than riding the old T-Ford. We were finally rescued by a police patrol car which happened to be cruising by in the vicinity.

At the Waterford peach farm. Uncle Lee says the dog was named Shep. Click to view larger

Having a car afforded us the opportunity of taking more frequent and longer trips. Chow King and his brother had invested in a large grove of peach trees in Waterford, a small rural town near Modesto, California. We enjoyed many summers there before the ranch was foreclosed by the bank. The acres and acres of peaches, large juicy yellow-clings before the introduction of pesticides, were contracted to the Del Monte Cannery. George and his wife and four young children, lived on the premises and managed the orchard, cared for the chickens and Betsy the cow. We learned to swim in the canal fronting the ranch and had hours of fun riding the horses. On top of that, the boys made a good sum picking the fruits and the girls by sorting them by size. We even experienced sun-drying fruits. After the death of his wife, George took to drinking and steadily went downhill, neglecting himself, his family and along with it, the ranch. In the early thirties, the ranch was lost through foreclosure proceedings.

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