Formosa
Our New Home
In late 1948, Taiwan’s (formerly “Formosa”) extraordinary beauty was more Bali-like than Bali itself. For more than 50 years this obscure island and its culture had been under the rule of Japan. Its landscape of large green-leafed vines and bright-colored fragrant flowers blossomed everywhere. The air throughout the capital, Taipei, was always fresh and often infused with pungent cooking aromas. Streets were swept daily in stark contrast to those on mainland China. Not many single-lane primary roads had been paved. Traffic lights were non-existent for there was virtually no vehicle traffic. Dust aside, cleanliness was a way of life in this very special corner of the world. Special detail to purpose and beauty typified Japanese culture at its very best. Excluding a few battered World War II surplus vehicles still in use on the island, e.g. jeeps and ammunition carriers, the only non-military vehicles at the north end of Taiwan consisted of Dad’s 1948 official, four-door green Oldsmobile sedan. On special occasions a small woolen American flag flew from the car’s front right fender and a similar sized Consul General’s flag flew from the left. For the most part, other than the coal-fired train that ran north-south from one end of the island to the other, transportation was limited to bullock or man-drawn carts, rickshaws, occasional Chinese wheelbarrows, shoulder (bamboo) sticks, and raw manpower.
Most houses on Taiwan were of wooden construction, typically bamboo with ceramic roof tiles laid in the Japanese style. I do not recall many buildings in Taipei taller than three stories. Our official residence, built in 1926, was a large three-story, stuccoed, Japanese colonial building with a grand second-story balcony facing one of Taiwan’s main streets. An eight-foot wall topped with the typical shards of broken glass and three large iron gates surrounded the sizable property. Along with full-time guards, this spacious home and its gardens provided our family a high degree of secure comfort.
Mom and Dad (second from right, partially hidden) with guests on verandah of our Taipei home. 1949
Remarkable Staff
Following World War II, a senior U.S. diplomat was typically provided with a full complement of domestic servants. As acting-Consul General and the senior-most American diplomat in Taiwan, my father was allotted not only a sizable house staff but a separate security team as well. While some of the house staff lived with us, most lived nearby. Quite apart from the two armed gate guards on duty round-the-clock and Dad’s burly, official driver, our house staff consisted of a chef and two kitchen helpers, two “house boys,” a family driver/bodyguard named “Chary,” an Amah (the term for a nursemaid or maid in East Asia) to care for us three children, and two gardeners.
Amah, probably in her late forties, was a proud woman and our family’s first hire back in Shanghai. She was to see that we three children were awakened, bathed and dressed promptly every morning and again before dinner. Her responsibilities also included feeding us at the appropriate times and bathing us every night. She was in full charge of us children, both day and night.
Amah always wore immaculate, blue, mandarin-style clothing (“cheongsam”). Her jet black but greying hair was always pulled back tightly into a bun. Occasionally she wore a long single braid down her back. I was particularly intrigued in that one of her two front teeth was gold and that, as a child, her feet had been bound. As they were not much longer than four inches, she had to walk in short, guarded steps. With bound feet Amah wore lotus shoes.
We three children loved her -- and she us. Alas, I never knew her real name.
Chary, whose family was Taiwanese, accompanied our family when anyone ventured from home. Other than Dad’s official car, our family’s primary mode of transportation around town was a World War II American jeep with all its military markings. Chary served as driver and family protector. He was a handsome, committed, young man.
Our driver, Chary. Taipei, 1949.
One day Chary drove me to visit his family’s home in the country. There in his backyard he wanted to show me a number of items buried since World War II. After digging in a secluded spot not far from his house, Chary uncovered three packages. Each was wrapped in waterproofed material. Both of us kneeling at the edge of the deep hole, carefully he handed me each item at a time. The first was a Japanese double-barrel flare pistol that, unfortunately, had rusted from having been buried for several years. I was in awe as he handed me this special gift. Chary knew I was intrigued with all things military. The flare gun was indeed an unusual gift.
Chary then unwrapped the second bundle. In his outstretched hands he presented me with a folded, maybe three-by-four foot, magnificent, white silk Japanese flag with its striking red circular sun at its center. It was stunning and in perfect condition. Proudly, he explained he had recovered the flag from a Japanese prisoner of war camp on the island and wanted me to have it.
Then, with a big smile, he presented his third and last gift. The item was a small bronze container used by Japanese soldiers to hold suicide poison. This unusual item was attached to a warrior’s belt readily accessible to him as deemed appropriate. The front of the poison pill box had a beautifully molded face of a stern god or warrior. It is an exquisite piece of Japanese art long cherished by me these many years. I was dumbfounded by these three highly unusual gifts. Over the months Chary and I became good friends. He was wonderfully caring of our family during our entire stay.
As might be expected, the introduction of a full complement of servants into our family altered its social dynamics. However, through the eyes of children six, eight and eleven years of age, it did not take long before the wonderful staff became an integral part of our family.
Prior to our departure from Shanghai, our father extended to five of our staff an opportunity to leave an imploding China for a new home in Taiwan. Dad’s offer included only their immediate families. All were ecstatic at the prospect of leaving war-torn China, knowing they would be employed by our family in Taiwan. They never forgot our father’s magnanimous once-in-a-lifetime gift.
Secret Door
Over the years, occasionally Dad would invite us children, one at a time, to spend a “special day” with him at his office. In my case, he provided me with a lined, legal, yellow pad, pencils, scotch tape and paper clips to doodle with. During those special occasions, although I had the freedom to wander about his office, I was never to speak with him until given permission. Under such circumstances I would keep notes, sketch pictures and jot down new ideas that came to mind. Over time, I got to meet a number of Dad’s associates, some of them very interesting.
On one of those “special days” as I walked around Dad’s Taipei office, quite by chance I noticed a well-used door at the center of the building’s ground floor. A number of bustling staff members hurriedly passed back and forth through that door. Always kept shut, the door seemed to require a code for entry purposes. On its other side, its stairs disappeared below ground level. I noted that whenever the door opened, sounds and both green and red lights emanated from below -- especially enticing to a young boy. When the door was shut, not a sound could be heard from below. But, when opened, even briefly, the thumping roar of teletype machines interspersed with monotone voices lent themselves to the intensity of activity below. My request to visit the subterranean room was never approved, or even acknowledged, by my father. Only after many years of research coupled with a modicum of speculation, have I concluded that the door must have led to the Consulate General’s newly-expanded Far East intelligence center.
Our First Typhoon
This particular incident relates to the plane we used in Taipei. It was a stormy evening while our parents were away attending a diplomatic function somewhere in the town. We children were at home under the care of Amah when a call was received from the airport on the outskirts of Taipei. That day’s storm had grown worse -- in fact, it was a typhoon heading for Taipei. The urgent call was seeking Dad’s permission to move our plane to a safer location. The airport had to reach him quickly. Back then, in Taiwan even hard-line communication was not always readily available. We had to locate our parents in person.
Very frightened of typhoons, Amah was already going through our house securing each and every nicknack, hanging picture, piece of crystal, and whatever else there was at risk once the storm hit. I recalled her weeping silently as she became overly concerned even while fulfilling her responsibilities. She was a Trojan.
Surprisingly, one of the staff came up with a way of locating Dad. He realized that our driver, who had returned home, obviously knew where Mom and Dad were. We three children along with Amah jumped into the back seat of Dad’s car and headed off into Taipei’s worsening maelstrom. Having located our parents, Dad called the airport with instructions. We all jumped into the car, this time with Mom and Dad, and returned home through the dark and empty, but trashed, streets. The morning after, we witnessed Taipei’s terrible damage from the night before. Telephone poles overburdened with lines and the tops of palm trees had been snapped like matchsticks. Vendors’ carts had been blown away and many of the Japanese-styled houses throughout the city were badly damaged and some even on fire. Fortunately our colonial style house remained unscathed throughout our first tropical storm.
Dangerous Confrontation
The American consulate’s offices were located near the center of Taipei, then a small town and only a few miles from our family’s house. The Consulate General’s office building was set back from the main street on a sizable tract of land. Fronting the street were palm trees and a large expanse of lawn with attractive gardens scattered here and there. This property was set off from the main street by a tall, wrought-iron fence around the entire property topped with barbed-wire. There was a large iron gate with a 24-hour guard house facing one of Taipei’s main streets. America’s Consulate General’s emblem was perched atop the gate. Overall, the property was attractive in an old-fashioned and in an unostentatious way.
We had been on Taiwan for several months. One afternoon I walked into my parent’s bedroom where, quite by chance, I found my father changing his clothes. I had not seen him returning from the office. He rarely returned home before evening. This time, his clothes were wrinkled and stained and there were sooty smudges on his face. On seeing me, he suggested I leave the room. Without hesitation, I sought out Mom. I always found her helpful when it came to family-related information. She, likewise, declined to respond to my simple inquiry. We children understood that we were never to pursue unanswered, sensitive questions. The event “that day at the office” went unanswered.
One evening over dinner many years later back in the United States, our family found itself in one of its occasional question-and-answer modes. We were always trying to discover heretofore untold family secrets and adventures from our parents. During my turn to ask a question, I referred to the time in Taiwan when I saw Dad changing his dirty, rumpled-up suit in his bedroom at mid-day. Dad smiled and agreed to share with us the untold story that occurred in Taipei back in 1949. He prefaced his remarks by saying that up until that time the event in question had been the most anxious -- if not the most dangerous -- day of his career. Then, he recounted his story:
It was in 1949, when a report was received by the American consulate’s front desk from the military guards reporting that a growing throng dressed in civilian clothes was milling about outside the consulate gates. Typically, when ordered to do so, such crowds disperse. Unfortunately, this crowd was a different kind. It withdrew but only a short distance from the guarded, but open gates. Not long after, a larger civilian crowd, many carrying shovels, rakes and wooden clubs, suddenly appeared out of the alleyways across the street. The guards chose to secure and chain the consulate’s massive gates. Several rowdy protesters stepped forward and began to climb the main gate. According to protocol, the gate guards sent an urgent appeal for support from the Chinese military. Very soon the crowd had grown to more than a hundred. Several Chinese military jeeps with only a few armed soldiers appeared on the scene. Using clubs they managed to clear some of the agitators off of and away from the closed gates. Even though additional armed soldiers appeared later, their numbers were insufficient to handle the expanding mob.
An order was given to establish observation posts inside the consulate and on its roof facing the main street. Continued urgent calls were placed pleading for maximum military support. Outside, the growing mob was growing out of control. Surprisingly, it was becoming clear the military was no longer attempting to hold back the crowd. Dad ordered the consulate to be “locked down” calling for maximum security within the building itself. All gates, doors, window gratings, and vaults were secured. Under no circumstances were unauthorized personnel allowed to breach the building during the dangerous situation.
It then became more critical when the Chinese gate guards abandoned their posts. That was a clear message. Weapons and ammunition were issued to specially-trained consulate staff members strategically positioned at ground floor windows. Dad carried a weapon as well. Once again a large group began to scale the consulate’s walls.
At the time, it should be understood that, in accordance with international law, the walls and everything else within the compound was considered United States property and, therefore, could be defended with force.
A sizable number of attackers managed to get over the consulate’s front wall and into its compound. The growing mob headed for the consulate building. Leading to the inevitable confrontation, a series of shots suddenly rang out, shots believed to have come from the mob. At that point the attackers became a direct threat to the consular staff and to American property itself. This turn of events raised serious concern about the sensitive information in the building. For the first time armed American staff members were ordered to fire a single volley over the heads of the advancing throng.
The consulate’s initial firepower stopped the attack in its tracks. No further shots were fired from either side. The approaching mob inside the compound withdrew hastily. It was as though an extraneous signal had caused the mob to withdraw from the consulate and disappear into the community. Fortunately, it was reported no one had been seriously injured in the melee.
Within minutes of the consular volley, the main street in front of the consulate was empty. Years later, Dad suggested to us that the Chinese military had orchestrated the confrontation. It was interpreted as one of Chiang Kai-shek’s many efforts to further intimidate the United States government. Ever since early World War II, Chiang had consistently mistrusted the United States. By 1949, Generalissimo was seeking to take full control of Taiwan’s government. To that end, Chiang and his military were bent on intimidating Taiwan’s government and its citizenry. This while negotiating with the United States and, at the same time, attempting to hold back Mao’s forces. Chiang’s government was embroiled in a high stakes card game.
International Incident
In late 1949, America’s Consulate status was upgraded to Consulate General. Reflecting Taiwan’s growing importance as a strategic Asian foothold for the United States, by 1953, the Consulate General status was further upgraded to Embassy level.
A number of years after the 1949 incident in which my father was involved, an even more grievous confrontation occurred against Taipei’s U.S. Embassy in 1957. On that occasion, a mob of 6,000 attacked the American Embassy, overturned numerous cars and injured 38 individuals. Worse, several individuals were killed and the American Embassy completely sacked. That particular confrontation developed into a serious international incident.
Horrific Diseases
During our family’s two-year stay in Shanghai and Taipei, several of the Edgar family members contracted various, occasionally life-threatening, diseases. My mother was the sole exception. I don’t recall ever seeing her sick -- certainly not seriously ill. Most of us, however, were struck down with a number of highly contagious diseases, e.g. spinal meningitis, amoebic dysentery. At such times, Mom always became fully involved. During the three children’s bouts with meningitis in the U.S. Army hospital in Shanghai for example, she hovered over us day and night assisting the doctors and nurses in every way possible. She was formidable and always energetic and upbeat. Throughout our sicknesses we three children saw her as a smiling angel. Remarkably, she never seemed to be affected by whatever contagion was in play at the time.
...even Dad
While in Taiwan, both Dad and Tom contracted scarlet fever, but at separate times. Both were confined to bed for several weeks with round-the-clock care. In the early 20th century, worldwide scarlet fever was the leading cause of death among young children. Often the disease could lead to long-term kidney and/or rheumatic heart complications. Fortunately, neither Dad nor Tom seemed to suffer any lasting effects.
During this period there were no western doctors available in Taipei. However, somehow my parents must have had access to medical diagnoses from outside sources. At the very least, prescribed medicines must have been ordered from somewhere outside of Taiwan -- perhaps from British-governed Hong Kong. In any event, while in Taiwan our parents were the only ones responsible for our family’s medical needs.
Risky Trip
Tom, who was about eight years old, was found to have a serious eye problem. There were no competent oculists we knew of on the island. Fortunately, a Western doctor and talented eye specialist was located in Beijing. A determination was made to fly Mom and Tom in our family’s Navy DC-3 from Taipei to Beijing located on mainland China more than 1,000 miles to the north of us. The very thought of that trip must have been seen as perilous. Dad did not accompany them.
The risky trip was possible as Mao’s communist forces (PRC) still were not in control of a number of China’s largest cities, namely, Beijing, Nanjing, Shanghai. At the time, the PRC still had neither an effective military air force nor a navy of any size. Indeed, China’s few heavily-populated cities would remain under Chiang’s (ROC) influence for some months to come. A two-day window was made possible for Mom and Tom to complete the Taipei/Beijing/Taipei round-trip flight to address Tom’s eyes.
The Republic of China had been the country’s preeminent government since the end of China’s last dynasty in 1912. It would not be long after Mom and Tom’s flight to Beijing that Mao’s PRC forces would finally take over all of mainland China, including its major cities, on October 1, 1949.
Mysterious Disease
In the summer of 1949, I contracted an illness that was difficult to diagnose. A high temperature and excruciating pain wracked my body. Again, western medicine in Taipei was not available. At home in bed, every attempt was undertaken to reduce my fever by applying cold towels across my body, morning, noon, and night. Efforts were made to reduce chronic pain by massages applied by Mom (during the day) and Amah (at night). Constant weeping provided little solace. Excruciating pain took on a new dimension. Eating and talking became difficult. Frequently, I would drop off into deep sleep. I do not recall the medicines being administered or by whom. As there was worry of polio, my parents were about to fly me back to the United States for more intensive care. Fortunately, after weeks of confinement in bed and suffering constant pain, my body slowly appeared to recover.
Many months later while receiving a thorough physical check-up at Walter Reed Hospital outside of Washington, it was found that the flexibility and strength in my hips and legs had been chronically weakened. The actual diagnosis of my illness in Taiwan was never ascertained.
With that disconcerting medical assessment in hand, I made a commitment to myself. Looking to the future, I made a decision to embark on a sports program that would focus on strengthening my lower body. For the first time in my life, sports began to play an important role in my life.
From eighth grade through high school, I took up crew, downhill skiing, track and field, sailing, and competitive lacrosse and tennis. While in college, sports included competitive wrestling, downhill skiing, intramural cross-country running and, for a short period, judo. Once out of college and having completed active military service, I concentrated my athletic interests in tennis, downhill and cross-country skiing. Whatever sport I undertook, I did so to build up my lower body strength. While I became competent in a number of sports, I was never fully able to master any. Only after many years did I accept my physical limitations.
No Sixth Grade
When our family first arrived in Taipei there were no English-speaking schools available for Heather, Tom and me. Before leaving Shanghai, my parents had been able to locate an American tutor to join our family in Taiwan. They selected a tutor, Mrs. Jean Krentz, for all three of us children. At the time, Heather was in fourth grade, Tom in second and I in sixth.
A highly respected, international, home-teaching system was the highly-regarded Calvert system out of Baltimore, MD. All three grade levels were to be taught by Mrs. Krentz five days a week. After only a few weeks and for some unknown reason, Mrs. Krentz opted to leave Taiwan. Without hesitation, Mom assumed the educational mantle of home-schooling her three children all at the same time. In this gargantuan undertaking, Mom was both able and heroic. Her commitment to her children was just short of remarkable.
As the wife of a senior diplomat, Mom’s first responsibility was to her husband and his job. In time it became apparent that there simply wasn’t enough time in the day for her to continue the rigorous teaching programs. After a couple of months the Calvert courses were packed away for the balance of 1949. My entire sixth grade turned into a non-event.
1949 Magazine advertisement for the Calvert System.
As the wife of a senior diplomat, Mom’s first responsibility to her husband and his job. In time it became apparent that there simply wasn’t enough time in the day for her to continue teaching us children. After a few months the Calvert courses were set aside for the balance of 1949. In my situation, sixth grade evolved into a non-event.
Special Guests
Historically, American diplomatic missions around the world actively celebrate the “Fourth of July.” Taiwan was no different in 1949.
On that Independence Day in Taipei, the American Consulate General hosted two parties. The first took place in the morning in our garden. All American citizens living “within striking distance” of Taipei were invited with children.
Out-of-doors diplomatic functions as such required sizable back-up support staff. Our staff wore long, handsome, blue or black gowns (chang-pao) with beautifully embroidered black silk caps topped with red knots.
The morning affair was much more casual than the one held in the afternoon. The gathering numbered between 100-125 American guests. For the children there were games (hide-and-seek, potato sack races, badminton, and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey) with numerous prizes being awarded.
For the American guests, difficult-to-find hot dogs, hamburgers, buns, Ketchup, mayonnaise, Coca-Cola, potato chips, etc., suddenly appeared on the Fourth of July. Most of the “home grown” food had to be flown in from Hong Kong on the DC-3 the day before. Ice cream churned by hand, made from powdered milk, and smothered with Hershey’s chocolate sauce was most popular. Everyone in attendance was elated.
Stocked bars for the adults were located in the cooler corners of the yard under stands of palm trees. Gentlemen dressed in either white linen suits or colorful sport coats, slacks and, always, wore ties. Panama hats were commonplace. Ladies wore elegant silk dresses and high heels, often sporting broad-brimmed straw hats with decorative red, white and blue ribbons for the occasion. Smoking was commonplace, both men and women. Some of the men enjoyed cigars or pipes. In Taipei, for Americans the Fourth of July celebration was the highlight of the year. I recall that the few party crashers were promptly identified and escorted from the premises.
At all events, my parents, as hosts, always employed a receiving line for their guests. Near the head of the line and standing next to both Mom and Dad, stood a local consulate staff member whose job was to know the full names and titles of all the invitees. I observed Mom had the ability of being able to identify most of her guests -- a formidable talent. Anytime a guest’s name was not readily identified, the staff member would simply “turn the table” and introduce the guest and his/her title to Dad.
Even by the late 1940s, almost four years after the war, few Americans on Taiwan had access to Western amenities such as cars, Coca-Colas, hotdogs, milk, or fresh meat and vegetables. There were no U.S. military commissaries on the island as it had not yet achieved the importance it would become in the ensuing years.
Once the morning’s Fourth of July party was wrapped up, Heather, Tom and I knew we would be precluded from that afternoon’s more formal celebration. Suddenly, Mom turned to ask me whether I would like to attend that afternoon’s international party. I was thrilled as Mom’s invitation was the first Edgar diplomatic function I had ever attended. I was twelve years old.
Without hesitation, the staff began its elaborate preparation for the gala. Probably 125 guests arrived at our house that afternoon. Everyone was elegantly dressed. Most were in formal attire, some in military uniforms. To the extent men had been awarded military honors, their ribbons and medals were displayed handsomely on their breasts. Earlier, I had researched a number of high honors in the World Almanac. I was particularly interested in, and wanted to be able to identify, those decorations specifically depicting bravery, e.g. the Bronze and Silver Stars, the George Cross, the Croix De Guerre, and, possibly, a Victoria Cross.
As for me, I wore my first khaki suit, white button-down shirt with a regimental tie but -- without medals for heroism.
Unexpected Visitor
Thinking back, I can not recall, whether it was that July 4th celebration or at a subsequent diplomatic function, when General Chiang Kai-shek quite unexpectedly appeared at our house.
It was late in the afternoon. In those years, it was not uncommon for a guest to attract attention at a party by arriving late. The “Generalissimo” rarely accepted invitations. But, at this particular function, as honored guest he arrived late accompanied by a small retinue. Mme. Chiang did not accompany him. For security reasons, the Generalissimo rarely announced his arrival times. Then again, my parents had not expected the General.
That evening I recall having heard a commotion at the front gate. I approached the front door to peer out onto the porte cochere. Beyond, the gate guards were in a frenzy. Behind me, Flirt followed with a low, gravelly growl. Mom and #1 Boy at her side arrived at the front door together to meet the late arrival. I observed Mom’s presence and elegance. Without exception, she shone as a gracious hostess. Almost immediately, Dad stepped forward to welcome the General. It was then that Dad beckoned me forward to be introduced to our new guest. Fortunately, I had been taught how to greet a guest -- any guest -- and when and what to say when exchanging niceties. “Listen. Look directly at your guest. Don’t speak until spoken to, and, remember a firm handshake while using a ‘Sir.’ It all came to me quickly as I stepped forward towards the general with my welcome.
I had seen the General before but from afar. Of course, I had seen numerous photos of him while in Taiwan. However, this time I was taken aback by his appearance. The Generalissimo appeared quite different from what I had expected. By western standards he was not a big man. Nonetheless, he stood ramrod straight and came across as though he owned the space around him. He was dressed in a tan, well-fitted, military uniform. I don’t recall whether he wore decorations. I think not. But there was a pistol worn high on his waist fastened to a brown leather belt with a supporting shoulder strap. He was lean and taut, his head clean shaven. Fascinatingly, his near wrinkle-free face reminded me of porcelain. Did I recall seeing a pencil-thin mustache? He appeared self-assured and projected an easy smile. Up until then, that brief encounter with the Generalissimo had been my most memorable introduction. Little was I aware of Generalissimo’s long checkered history and that he and America were always at loggerheads.
Over the years my parents made a point of introducing us children to interesting individuals. That Fourth of July evening in 1949, was no exception.
Future Governor of Taiwan
Later in 1949, and quite by surprise I was introduced to Dr. K. C. Wu when he called on Dad at home one day. American educated, Dr. Wu was an historian and a political figure having served previously as Mayor of Hankow, Chongqing and eventually Shanghai. As I recall, Dr. Wu was an affable, short, pudgy man who wore round, black rimmed glasses and had an easy smile. He would serve as Governor of Taiwan from late 1949 to 1953 during which, in stark contrast with General Chiang Kai-shek, he espoused a two-party political system and the formation of a liberal modern Taiwan. A proponent of Sun Yat-sen, he finally broke with the Kuomintang National Party in 1954 accusing Chiang’s regime of being undemocratic. He left for America never to return again to China.
I was informed that prior to heading up Taiwan in late 1949, Dr. Wu’s brief visit with Dad was unofficial. On his departure, he presented my father with a lovely gift of jade, a creamy-green stone carved into a small sailing vessel mounted with fishermen on a mahogany stand. Over the years it would accompany Mom and Dad while they traveled the world. Unfortunately, the small Chinese sculpture became damaged. Today the treasure remains in my possession.
Dad and the four of us kids in our jeep during an outing in Taiwan, 1949.
