China Bound
Image from a magazine advertisement.
Virginia
In July of 1943, in the midst of World War II, our family relocated from "Luxmanor Farm" to "Old Town" Alexandria, VA. Until the start of the war, Alexandria was a sleepy, pre-Revolution town on the west side of the Potomac River just south of Washington, D.C.
Our first Virginia house at 1012 Prince Street was a modest, framed, three-level townhouse. Directly across the street from the new house was the Robert E. Lee public school where I attended first grade.
There are indications the Prince Street house may have been purchased hastily. First, it was not of the style Mom and Dad generally favored. That being the case, the house may have been acquired quickly in the face of what seems to have been Dad’s sudden transfer to the State Department in Washington, after less than a year in Bethesda.
Within two years, we again relocated, this time to 215 Jefferson Street in Alexandria not far from the Potomac River. It was a beautiful, three story, brick, 18thC, freestanding Federal house of lovely proportions with a large, one-half acre backyard with fruit trees. By any standard it was an elegant home with a white post fence and prickly hedge in front flanking either side of the house. This was the home where the majority of my formative and the most memorable years of my childhood occurred.
It is said Thomas Jefferson visited the very house we had just purchased near the end of Jefferson Street. It’s location, once overlooking the grand Potomac, is located not far up river from George Washington’s Mount Vernon.
China Bound
I was ten by late in 1947. Mom had broken the news at dinnertime. Dad had been assigned a fabulous, diplomatic post in Shanghai, China.
Judging from the books we children had read, China had always been seen as an ancient, mysterious empire located on the far side of the world. Our books depicted Chinese people who dressed in brilliantly colored silk gowns, wore their hair in queues and spoke in pidgin English. Quite suddenly, our parents realized that, prior to leaving for China, the family had a lot of homework to catch up on..
Unfortunately, the China we children knew from reading old books no longer existed. In fact, since the end of World War II, China was in the midst of great change.
China’s Civil War Rekindled
At the time World War II was ending, the Roosevelt Administration had sought to further solidify America’s already close relationship with China. For better or worse, General Chiang Kai-shek was considered by America as China’s leader. China’s ensuing civil conflict pitted warlord Chiang and his Kuomintang (KMT) forces against revolutionary Mao Zedong and his People’s Liberation Army. By 1944, America’s General Joseph Stilwell, himself a “China Hand,” was placed in full command of the entire China Theater.
China Hands
Assigned to Stilwell’s staff was a political attaché, John Davies, Jr., a highly regarded China expert. His assigned “Dixie Mission” focussed on Yenan (Yan’an) Province, the purpose being to compare Chairman Mao’s growing Communist (PRC) movement with that of Generalissimo Chiang’s Kuomintang. Several other diplomatic “China Hands,” including Messrs. John Service and John Vincent, collaborated with Davies in producing the Dixie Mission study. In the end, the study purported that Mao’s form of government would be more acceptable to China’s vast population. Indeed, Davies went so far as to conclude that, in all likelihood, Communism would become the future of China. Furthermore, a point was made that with careful handling, America could win over Mao and China as formidable allies of the U.S. General Stilwell was supportive of the Dixie Mission study as his opinion of Chiang and his government was that they were corrupt and incompetent.
Questionable Foreign Policy
In 1944, Roosevelt assigned General Patrick Hurley to China to assess the Administration’s China policy. Hurley held a strong anti-Communist bias. In due course, he would berate and threaten many of those associated with the Dixie Mission findings. At one point, Hurley even accused Davies of being a Communist. During the period from late 1944 to early 1945, General Stilwell, the American Ambassador to China, and Davies along with several other “China Hands,” were all relieved of their jobs and sent home. Eventually, a number of the “China Hands” would be fired from or demoted within the Foreign Service. General Hurley, on the other hand, was appointed Ambassador to China.
Not long after the war, Washington announced its support of General Chiang Kai-shek as China’s recognized leader -- a watershed, perhaps questionable, foreign policy decision by the U.S. Thus, began the deterioration of America’s relationship with China.
As an aside, my father, then acting-Consul General in Taipei, wrote a telegram to Secretary of State Acheson dated August 24, 1949. The date was in advance of the communists’ complete takeover of China’s mainland. In many respects the flavor of this telegram to the Truman Administration seemed to support a number of the original 1944 conclusions earlier communicated by General Stilwell and his “China Hands.” In Dad’s telegram it states “ -- that the Kuomintang had lost the leadership of the people -- and -- that graft, corruption, and poor government had all become characteristics of China ---.” Shortly thereafter, the Truman Administration finalized its China White Paper.
Retribution
The resulting controversy over China (Chiang versus Mao) would rage throughout the State Department for years. Witch-hunts and scurrilous inquisitions took place. Some of World War II’s China-related controversies even became enmeshed in the infamous 1950s McCarthy Senate hearings.
When our family was being posted to China, America’s Foreign Service itself was on political tenterhooks.
Changing China
In 1912, the Qing Dynasty had collapsed in favor of a Republic under Sun Yat-sen. Dad served with the American Consulate General in Hong Kong from 1931-33 during the start of Japan’s invasion and occupation of a large portion of China. Following World War II, by early 1948 when our family arrived in Shanghai, China’s political and economic landscape had changed dramatically.
Throughout the war, America had supported General Chiang’s forces financially. Then in late 1948, Madame Chiang requested of President Truman yet further financing, namely, a three-year, $3 billion “loan” in support of her husband and his army. Its stated purpose was to defeat Mao’s Communists.
With the Korean War looming, back home the Truman Administration’s Far East policy began to come under heavy scrutiny.
Divided Family
The news of going to China was bittersweet for our family. We children were told we could not complete our respective school years. Jock was attending St. Stephen’s in Virginia while Heather and I attended Sidwell Friends in Washington. Tom was not yet in school. I was particularly sad to leave my wonderful Virginia home and growing group of friends.
The worst news involved Jock. He would not be coming to China with us. Instead, he would transfer from St. Stephen’s to The Harvey School, a boarding school in upstate New York. Both grandmothers, GranE and GranC, would serve as his surrogate parents. I was devastated by the news. Jock and I had lived and played together going back to our very beginnings. Although tough competitors and often at each other’s throats, we were pals. This new turn of events weighed heavily on me. I would never understand why Jock couldn’t accompany us. Looking back, the special relationship he and I shared up until then would change markedly.
With great sadness, Dad also announced that, due to the date of our China departure, Jock would not be celebrating either Christmas or his birthday with the family. Traditionally, our family celebrated Christmastime. That time of year extends from Christmas Eve to the first Sunday following Epiphany, January 6th, the date referred to as the Visit of the Magi.
Every Christmas Eve our family would scurry about town in search of the least expensive, yet perfect, tree. By bedtime the tree would be decorated in its full glory, ready for Christmas morning. It would remain standing, brilliantly lighted until the symbolic date following Jock’s birthday. That ritual had remained in place from Jock’s birth until 1947. That year, for the very first time, Jock would not be with us, neither on Christmas Day nor on his 13th birthday. Those of us who were leaving for China had to depart well in advance of Christmas. Jock would remain with a grandmother until his school opened in the new year. This was a heart rending, watershed event in our family. All of us were deeply saddened, not least of all, Jock.
Leaving Friends
I had been attending Sidwell Friends School since second grade. As I left in late 1947, in the middle of my fifth grade year, it dawned on me that most of my school friends had been with me since second grade. Those close friends included Leland Phillips, Jimmy Lynn and Jody Moran. Other friends included Estelle Knowland, Susan Staats, Paul Hoffman, Kit Huettig and Billy Holmes, to name a few.
Harking back to second grade, Susan, a pretty little girl with a slight lisp, became the apple of my eye. It was she who gave me my first kiss as we hid in the school’s hallway closet for a couple of moments. Awkward in such circumstances, all I could remember saying: “You make me happy, Suzie”
As I departed, the class presented me with a large box of individual gifts for my long trip. Each day a single gift would be opened.
It was difficult for the class to grasp the realization that anyone, much less one of their friends, was going to live in mysterious, even magical, China. When asked by our teacher, none of my classmates were able to locate China on the map.
In front of Grayson House of Sidwell Friends School in 1947 just before we left for China. Tony is second from left.
Leaving Home
Late that December, Dad, Mom, Heather, Tom, and I -- and Flirt -- left Washington from its Union Station. Jock was noticeably absent. We boarded an overnight train to Chicago thereby beginning our month-long odyssey to China. Everything our family owned -- furniture, an extensive library, clothing, carpets, paintings and engravings, silver place settings, toys, even chinaware -- would be shipped to China in wooden crates.
Even after World War II, few people traveled the oceans on commercial airlines. Most international travel was done by steamship. Personal steamer trunks, specifically designed for traveling the high seas, measured 3'x3'x5’ in size. On one side space was provided for hanging suits, dresses and coats. Shoes were tucked in below the hangings. On the opposite side, a tier of three or more drawers were for folded garments and assorted items. For our trip, we had five of these marvelous, self-sufficient trunks.
For years, most transcontinental passenger trains heading West had to pass through Chicago. We spent an entire day in Chicago’s station awaiting the Union Pacific Railroad connection to San Francisco. Our accommodations on this two- day trip consisted of two connecting compartments that housed the five of us, ...and Flirt. Day and night the train would stop periodically allowing passengers to disembark and stretch their legs. Even late at night and in the wee hours of the morning, I would disembark at most of the stops to walk Flirt. I had to be careful at each stop not to miss the train’s sudden departure. As the family crossed the West, we were fascinated to see grazing bison, cowboys with their Stetsons and chaps working cattle, and American Indians on the move with their families, horses, livestock and dogs. What I witnessed was but a tiny bit of the honest-to-goodness American West, not that which Hollywood had been portraying to the public through its movies for years.
Leaving America
We arrived in San Francisco just before Christmas Day and stayed for several days at the St. Francis Hotel. One day, a highly unusual, light snowfall blanketed the streets, parks, and palm trees of the city. With Flirt in tow, we walked around the city enjoying its many attractions. Shortly after Christmas Day, our family boarded the SS President Cleveland that was to carry us on its 30-day maiden voyage across the Pacific and to Shanghai. The fabulous 600 foot luxury liner sparkled with coats of red, white, and blue paint. The smell of deck varnish and fresh paint hung in the air. We were among its 380 first class passengers.
Foreign Service officers and their families were extended diplomatic status. This provision afforded many advantages, particularly while traveling overseas. One could not be scrutinized by Customs either abroad or in the U.S. More importantly, a diplomatic passport precluded its holder from being arrested, or even detained, by foreign governments.
On board, our family was assigned two beautiful suites located midships. Each had a bedroom, a connecting sitting room and bathroom. Heather shared Mom and Dad’s suite while Tom and I shared another having two berths. Both suites provided sufficient space for all our luggage. Flirt had her own space located on the ship’s topmost deck, forward of the ship’s two funnels.
At the boarding, there was great excitement and fanfare. The embarkation was of considerable note. Even “Life Magazine,” one of America’s most widely-read, weekly magazines, assigned a team of its reporters to cover the ship’s launching. The S.S. President Cleveland was America’s first passenger ship to be launched following World War II. Bands played both on the pier and onboard. Pushy crowds were everywhere. Throngs of curious visitors mingled with passengers throughout the ship. At dockside visibility was limited by clouds of confetti and miles of streamers swirling in the wind. The thousands of streamers even appeared to connect the ship with the pier.
At departure time, the swarms of visitors reluctantly disembarked, many of them clutching their glasses of celebratory champagne. As the ship was tugged from the pier and out into the sunny bay we could still hear the bands playing in the distance. To a ten year old, nothing was more exciting. I ran from one side of the ship to the other absorbing all of the commotion. Fire boats surrounded the ship pumping continuous arcs of water high into the sky celebrating that first-of-a-kind event. Finally, the grand ship disengaged from its bevy of tugboats well before slipping gracefully under the Golden Gate Bridge into the Pacific, westward towards Hawaii.
In the days ahead, my parents allowed me to roam the ship without their supervision, the exception being at night or during rough weather. I was expected to join my family for all meals, properly attired, to take a quiet hour by myself each afternoon, and to be in bed by no later than 9:00 p.m. I was proud of having these new freedoms extended me. It was made clear I was to take full responsibility for Flirt: cleaning her crate, feeding and exercising her, and giving her required pills.
It wasn’t long before I came to realize that all passengers on board were not treated the same. As in the case of most passenger ships worldover, in addition to First Class, the Cleveland had Second and Steerage sections as well. Inquiring of Mom about this distinction, she explained the differences. She made me promise not to venture beyond our assigned First Class areas. I was not to go anywhere alone below our cabin deck. On the other hand, Heather and Tom, still young, still required regular supervision. On most days I had the full run of First Class.
Numerous activities were available during the daytime. Skeet shooting took place off the stern. Shuffleboard and paddle tennis were played on the top deck while ping-pong and pool tables were available inside. As I recall, there were two outdoor swimming pools that provided welcomed relief from the sun.
The ship’s dining rooms were elegant and served sumptuous meals. Dinner required a suit-and-tie. Occasionally, formal dress was called for. Most evenings dancing with live music was provided. After dinner, passengers could chat, dance, watch movies or play bingo, or even “the horses.”
Paradise
After a number of days at sea, in the distance the Territorial Islands of Hawaii came into view. Hawaii had not yet become a state. Our ship was guided carefully into Honolulu’s blue-green harbor. As we entered the bay, a flotilla of 50 or so outrigger canoes approached, surrounding the ship. Beautiful Hawaiian men and women, clad in bright-colored swimsuits, sarongs and wearing leis of fragrant flowers, dived into the water and swam towards us. Netting was lowered over both sides of the ship. Most of the Hawaiians climbed on board, up and over the sides, singing and dancing their traditional music. Hundreds of scented leis were distributed among the fascinated passengers. A number of the natives climbed high into the ship’s rigging before diving into the harbor far below. Ukulele music and singing was heard everywhere on deck. Then, as the ship approached its pier, the natives dived back into the bay, returned to their outriggers and paddled away. The Hawaiians in their lovely costumes, fragrant flowers, singing and ukulele music provided a memorable welcome to all.
The President Cleveland remained in Oahu’s port for several days allowing passengers to take daily tours around the island. Dad had the foresight to book rooms at the grand Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki Beach. The hotel was, and remains to this day, painted pink. The fountains in the hotel’s hallways provided fresh pineapple juice rather than water ...a child’s delight.
As a boy, I saw Hawaii as the most perfect place I had ever visited. Few tourists were evident. Due to the Pearl Harbor attack five years earlier, the islands’ large military build-up was still in evidence everywhere. Military vehicles scooted about the island. Uniformed personnel even outnumbered Hawaiians themselves. The early January weather was sunny, the air soft and the brilliantly blue ocean water, warm. Colorful birds, extensive greenery, orchids and fragrant flowers were everywhere. Hawaiians played much of the day on their 12’ long surfboards off Waikiki Beach. To me, everything about Hawaii seemed perfect.
Before leaving the islands, Dad drove us to fascinating points of interest such as Kailua to see the giant, thunderous surf. I recall visiting Mom and Dad’s Alexandria friends, the Dillinghams. Their tropical home was located high on the side of Diamondhead, Hawaii’s iconic, extinct volcano.
More celebrations aboard the Cleveland took place on the afternoon of our departure from Honolulu. Again, natives swarmed the promenade deck creating a festive atmosphere with their harmonious singing and rhythmic dancing. Their clothing was scant. While the ship got underway, again they dived overboard to their outriggers waiting below, waving and singing as they returned to shore.
Horror Movie
It was the first evening at sea following our stop-over in Hawaii. Mom and Dad were attending a dinner dance at the Captain’s Ball. I had been given permission to see a late movie. It was Dickens’ “Great Expectations”, a horrifying, black and white film replete with gibbets and ugly, murderous characters. To me, the film’s most frightening scene involved an old woman, Miss Havisham, wearing a rotting wedding gown that accidentally caught fire causing her death. The film proved too frightening for a ten year old, unattended youngster, out late at night.
Petrified, I scurried back to my cabin. I envisioned scary characters lurking around each corner. As Heather and Tom already had been put to bed in our parents’ suite, I had to go to bed in Tom’s and my cabin ...alone.
It must have been midnight. Once in my cabin I checked carefully under the bunk and in the closets and bathroom before bolting and chaining the cabin door. At first sleep, nightmares mulled about in my head. It wasn’t long before I could hear fierce pounding on cabin doors in the distance. The noise only grew closer and, of course, louder only reinforcing my twilight state of fear. Hiding under the covers, my body was in a total state of fear. The pounding outside finally reached my cabin door. Who was trying to get me? I didn’t budge and held my breath for what seemed to be an eternity. Only the persistence of the pounding on the chained and bolted door and the shouting of Tom’s and my names finally convinced me to open the door. In a calm manner, a purser wrapped me up in a blanket whisking me up several flights of stairs and out onto the ship’s deck not far from a row of lifeboats. A life jacket was placed over my pajamas. With a note of urgency in his voice, he instructed me to stay and wait for his return. He disappeared among a growing, bustling crowd of noisy, frightened and confused passengers milling about dressed in various stages of night clothes. I waited ...and waited, exactly where I had been told to stay.
What was not apparent to most of us passengers on deck, was that a fire had broken out in the ship’s galley. Fire alarms screeched from every quarter of the ship. Still, I remained where I had been told to stay. It seemed all of the ship’s lights and searchlights had turned night into day. Some of the passengers were instructed to climb into lifeboats to be lowered onto the sea. In due course, a crew member approached me sitting in a corner. His intent was to get me to a lifeboat. But, at that very moment, my parents appeared out of nowhere and, after thanking the crew member profusely, took charge of me. In time, the kitchen fire was brought under control permiting all of the somewhat confused passengers to return to their cabins. Regardless, I did not sleep well that night ...even in Mom’s and Dad’s bed.
Mystery Man
Early into the voyage while sleuthing about the ship I spotted a lone, handsome, impeccably-dressed, middle-aged man who seemed to keep to himself. As he walked the ship’s promenade, he always wore a well-shaped fedora. Occasionally on seeing him across the dining room always eating by himself, I drew a simple conclusion. The loner might be a spy. Much later and quite by chance, I saw my father suddenly chatting with the “spy.” Up until then, Dad had not introduced the man to our family. During the few encounters Dad had with the man only further whetted my curiosity. Inquiring about him, Dad simply told me that he, Culver Gleysteen, was a diplomat with the State Department. I was further informed that Mr. Gleysteen was a U.S.-Soviet relations specialist and was on his way to Manchuria. That he was fluent in both Russian and Mandarin only reaffirmed my suspicions that he was some sort of secret agent.
On several occasions, Dad invited Mr. Gleysteen to join our table though usually at black tie affairs. To me, his voice and demeanor were intriguing. Then, once in Shanghai, I never saw him again.
However, from time to time over the years, I did come across his name in The New York Times’ and Foreign Affairs’ articles. There I learned Mr. Gleysteen had played important roles in crafting major arms control treaties such as those at the Vietnam peace talks. Later and over the course of a somewhat tumultuous career, Mr. Gleysteen was appointed consul general to Leningrad.
War-Torn Island
Our voyage to the Philippines seemed to take forever crossing the Pacific including the infamous “Typhoon Alley.” A few heavy storms required passengers to stay below deck in their cabins. After many days at sea we arrived at the entrance to Manila Bay. Everyone was ecstatic to see land. As the ship was piloted slowly into the mammoth bay, I noticed a number of passengers congregating on the ship’s port side. Their excited voices were discussing Corregidor Island (Gibraltar of the East), not far from the ship. It was from there only five years earlier that General MacArthur had to flee on PT-41 shortly before the U.S. forces surrendered their last defensive Pacific island to the Japanese.
The pilot guided the Cleveland carefully into Manila Bay to its assigned berth. As far as the eye could see, the bay remained clogged with many rusted hulks of ship remains from World War II that had ended only two and a half years earlier. Their deteriorating superstructures still rose well above the water. It was explained that unexploded war munitions abounded in the polluted bay made the ship’s progress across the bay even more treacherous. It seemed like hours in the searing sun for the ship to reach its assigned berth.
Great numbers and all sizes of shark followed the ship. As the ship was finally nestled into its berth, masses of skinny children treaded water beneath us diving for coins tossed from the ship.
For the first time in my life I was introduced to dire poverty of major proportions. The wharf was filled with hundreds of undernourished Filipinos trying to sell all types of paraphernalia. Much of it was World War II memorabilia: mostly American and Japanese weapons, silk flags and wood carvings of all types. Mother-of-pearl products, including Balisong Butterfly knives, were thrust at us at every turn.
Bargaining had always played a meaningful role when purchasing or selling anything in Asia. Walking among the hawkers on the pier in Manila, it was not long before I spotted an interesting item. Dad refreshed the bargaining techniques he had reviewed with us onboard the ship.
When looking to buy an item with a “marked price,” simply ask the hawker for his price. His “response price” should be somewhat lower than the item’s “marked price.” After a reasonable pause, the buyer should counter with a figure of around, or occasionally more than, fifty percent less than the hawker’s first “response price.”
We children were reminded that friendly interaction is the key to bargaining. The hawker must be encouraged, engaged and comfortable with the dialog. The buyer should pause between counter offers while looking at other items of interest and for sale.
The buyer must not forget that the hawker will never lose money on any trade. Dad pointed out that when negotiating for the lowest possible price, don’t ever feel sorry about the well-being of the seller and even his/her family. The buyer always has the advantage of walking away from a difficult or tiresome negotiation. Likewise, the seller can always say “no.”
So, to close on a purchase as the seller begins to lose interest, smile and offer the seller a price equal to 50% (or a bit more) of the original “marked price.” In doing so, keep in mind that the seller’s original “marked price” was higher than the hawker’s original “response price.” This tactic often will be accepted by the seller as being attractive. Of course, if you really must have the item in question, then be willing to offer a “final price” amounting to as much as 60% (or a bit more) of the original “marked price.”
We children were encouraged to practice our bargaining techniques even if we didn’t want to buy the item in question. Bargaining became great fun, not only in Manila but everywhere we travelled throughout Asia.
That first day in the Philippines, I recall the family being driven to lunch at the American Ambassador’s lovely residence. The building may have belonged to one or more of America’s Governors-General. The Philippines had become a territory of the United States since the Spanish-American War of 1898. The Treaty of Manila in 1946 established the independent Philippine Republic. This, and having come through a devastating war, by 1948 the Filipino people were absolutely ecstatic about their country’s new-found freedom.
At the Ambassador’s residence, for the first time, we were introduced to the very diet we would experience in China over the next two years. Recognizable red meat was scarce. Rice would replace potatoes. Imported powdered milk supplanted fresh milk. As a rule, fresh dairy products, especially ice cream, were never available. To have potable water, every drop had to be boiled, and real Coca-Cola was hard to come by.
Last Stop - China
From the Philippines the “SS President Cleveland” continued its trip north through the Formosa Strait towards China leaving Formosa to its starboard. Soon the weather changed markedly from hot sun and extreme humidity to colder, overcast, wintry weather.
By late January 1948 and after almost thirty days, our ship approached the mouth of the Huangpu River, a branch of the lower Yangtze River. We had finally arrived in Shanghai, China, bringing to an end our family’s wonderful, fascinating odyssey across the Pacific.
